#so the anatomy studies for this round gonna be interesting

[ecto-stone]

+Rule Explain: -Everytime This post hit a note goal, i will draw the feature charater in this round DAN base on the goal promt. -At 300 notes Voting for third round will start. -After each voting round all charater that lose vote except for the second place charater will be scrap from the protential charater pool for Strip Game 4 ever.

Charater that win vote will be feature on the next round. And second place will get another chance to run for top spots.

[lialialialialialialialiaa]

okay guys this is that one fic that got deleted about hamzah but i have the screenshots of it so i’m gonna copy and paste it all and i’ll tag the people that wanted to have it!!!!

THIS IS NOT MY FIC!!!!!!! im just reblogging it for the people who wanted it

@hamzahsfav @slushynoobzluvr @lovretrait

i would tag everyone who replied but i cant for some reason🙁

Your last straw is close to snapping. You're sure of it.

That's the thought that's been looping inside your mind as you sit on top of the sheets of your bed, ankles crossed. You pop your bubblegum, eyes trained on the man sat in your chair across the room. 21:06.

That's what the clock reads. It's been an hour since Hamzah arrived, bashful smile at the door as he apologised for setting this session back an hour.

"And, you see, the specific shape of the active site of an enzyme enables it to function," Hamzah drawls on, unfaltered by your clear disinterest. Maybe he doesn't see; his nose is pulled tightly in his book. "It's - It's really a simple understanding of 'lock and key. You can think of enzyme activity as molecular collisions resulting in the formation of enzyme-substrate complexes." All the terms blur together in your mind.

In one ear, transformed and decorated by the thought of anything else, then out the other.

You almost feel bad for Hamzah, pulled into your room to try get you to learn something, anything, for two hours, just so he can earn some extra money. He sits at your desk while you distract yourself with whatever is more interesting which, as it so happens, is almost everything. He doesn't complain, doesn't say much to you other than hey and a string of jargon you don't care to understand. It's not like your bitchy, unimpressed stare is very welcoming.

Hamzah has this certain aura around him. A loser trapped in a hot body.

Really, he could be getting absolutely no play, or the exact opposite, it's hard to tell with those nerdy shirts and nervous energy. But does energy matter when he's gorgeous? He's got big, brown eyes, with a charming shy smile, and adorable curly hair. Girls would look away a flutter of red flags if it meant birthing kids with those traits.

You sigh, pushing the textbooks off your bed, rolling to your belly. You rest your chin on your crossed arms, eyeing Hamzah. He gives you a look at the shifting noise, rounding his eyes as they fall on the stripe of skin your loose lounging shorts have revealed in the crossfire. It's barely a few centimeters of your asscheeks, but Hamzah blushes all the same, flipping back to his book as though burned. You smirk.

Interesting.

"Hamzah" you trail lightly, the cadence of a song.

You found your bright new, shining distraction. Your smile is vicious and dangerous, ready to bite, to gnaw to the bone.

Hamzah looks up at you, incertain. You rarely address him during your tutoring lessons. You're not even sure you've said his name before, at least not to him. "I'm bored with biology," you declare, artfully pouty and dejected.

"Oh," he says. He swallows thickly. Flips through his book. His nervous tics make him all the more tantalizing to you. Some cruel need to toughen him up. “Um—“

You lick your teeth, grinning. "I want to study anatomy."

Hamzah laughs, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"That's not in the syllabus." There's something about the way he tries to display like he has a total misunderstanding of your line, like he misses the intention you clearly display, that makes the need frizzle inside of you. An innocent little thing, to pick and devour through.

You sit up, resting your weight on your heels. Your knees part suggestively, the loose shorts riding up your thighs. Your crop top sits up your ribs. Belly button piercing winks at him. Hamzah takes in the sight, face pale. You grin, victorious.

"I didn't mean that anatomy," you say, teasing. You rest a hand loosely on your leg, purposefully dragging his stare down to it. Your delicately painted nails flash against your skin.

"Oh." He swallows thickly, hypnotized by the soft flesh of your thighs. "I-" He shakes his head, as if to draw himself out of the daydream. "I, um-" He repeats, then laughs, "What?"

You sigh, kneeling up and getting off the bed. Your bare feet wiggle in the fuzzy, soft carpet. You prowl to him, predator-like. His breath hitches in his throat, right where you want it.

"Hamzah," you sing, and he chokes at the sound. Just his name drives him wild - good to know. You get close enough to lean on the desk, to tower over him.

He blinks up at you, robbed of speech. You flutter your eyelashes at him. "Are you a virgin?"

His lips part in surprise, but he doesn't answer. Not that he needs to; the fucking sight of him is enough to know. It's about the fun of watching him stumble, stutter, push his little glasses up his nose, telltale signs you revel in.

You sit on the desk, bunching his careful notes. You trail two fingers up his shoulder, that awful cheesy shirt. You almost resent the feel of it on your skin, if not for the way he shivers.

You pout mockingly at him, stopping where the collar of his shirt meets the skin of his neck. "Are you gonna answer me?"

"Yeah, l'm- yes." You run your fingertips on his neck, a grazing touch that has him staring up at you in devotion. You smirk.

"Have you ever been touched like this?" You run your thumb to the other side of his neck, a strong path. You want him to feel it, until your hand stretches over his throat, possessive.

He swallows under your palm, Adam's apple bobbing on your fortune-telling palm lines. "No," he admits quietly. You feel it resonate more than you hear it.

You hum, silently thrilled. "And have you ever been kissed?" You whisper.

Hamzah stares up at you. He waits a second, two-takes his time. "No." You smirk. You pick your gum between two fingers, pressing it into the corner of his notes. Perfect.

It's a little awkward, of course, because you're perched on the desk and he's sitting all the way down on his chair, gripping its arms. But, still, you bend down and kiss him square on the mouth.

He gasps against you, freezing there. You're undeterred; you kiss and kiss him, smearing your strawberry lipgloss, until he snaps into action and kisses you back. It's a rhythmless, artless thing.

He doesn't know how to kiss.

What he lacks in technique, he makes up in eagerness, opening his mouth and licking a wet tongue into yours. You giggle a little, taste the Sour Patch kids he nervously ate from his bag between two scientific words you purposefully didn't remember. You press at his throat, just so he's as breathless as you are. He moans against your lips, panting.

Hamzah doesn't dare touch. His body is fixed to the desk chair, letting himself be kissed, taking only what you are willing to offer. He sits there like you are breathing life into his mouth, eating and eating and never asking for more. It's what makes you want to give him more.

You pull away from him, straightening like a queen taking her throne. Under you, the pages wrinkle and ruffle, and he doesn't even care. His lips are swollen and pink, shiny from the lipgloss. Breaths puff out from there, pulling attention.

"You're really pretty," you admit lowly, like a secret he should know.

"Thanks," he flushes.

You release his throat, wiping your pink gloss off his lips. They part instinctively. You smile, slipping your thumb inside. He sucks the strawberry, warm tongue on your fingerprint. Power loosens your head.

"Do you want me?" You ask, as though his mouth drooling around your thumb wasn't indication enough.

You want the words; you want the worship.

"Yeth," he says, choking on your finger. You smile, taking it out and drying it on his cheek.

You don't make a big show of taking your shirt off.

Your hands are at the hem of your baby tee, then it's off your shoulders, thrown on the pink carpet. Hamzah whines, surprised and overwhelmed, throwing a furtive glance at the cracked door of your bedroom.

"It's okay," you whisper, taking his hand. Soft and weak; he hasn't worked a day in his life. It's slack between your fingers. He lets you puppeteer it to your breasts, lets you grope yourself with him as an instrument.

He makes another small noise from the back of his throat, staring at the fucking sight like he can't quite believe it truly is his own hand. "God," he mutters to himself, and it's exactly how you feel.

"Say thank you," you taunt him, because you know he will.

"Y/n," he sighs, looking at you pleadingly. He's embarrassed, and you'd stop if it didn't turn you on so much. You raise your brows at him expectantly, waiting.

Like clockwork, Hamzah lowly revels, "Thank you." You grin, satisfied. Growing bold, he rubs a thumb over your hard nipple, a tough callus you didn't expect on the tip of it. It makes you moan; a crack in your spotless armor, but he doesn't even notice. Too preoccupied with playing with your tits, pawing at it greedily.

"Can I-" He flushes, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Can I lick them?" A drop of heat strikes through you.

You clench your thighs, arching your back into his readied palm.

"Yes." He leans in before you've finished the 's, sucking your abandoned nipple into his mouth. He licks and rubs and pinches, raw skill pulling at your sensitive skin. You bite back groans, breathing harshly. Your chest rises and falls into his mouth, but he's just as diligent.

You rake a long-nailed hand into his hair, scratching his scalp with every particularly delicious lick. He moans at that, vibrating on your sensitive nipples.

He sticks his tongue out, panting like a dog, dipping down to the valley of your tits and pressing a kiss, then climbing up a new breast. He bites gently, and you jump, surprised by his boldness.

"Sorry," he whispers. You don't like this little switch-up in power. He's supposed to be purring for you, enthrallment shining in his eyes. You tug on his hair, making him look at you.

Hamzah stares up, dutiful. He doesn't care about the power game; hasn't even realized you were slipping.

He takes what you give.

You soothe away the sting of his hair. "Pretty boy," you coo. Hamzah beams at that, you can see it in his eyes.

"Wanna ruin you."

With this, you jump off the desk, and kneel under it.

"Oh," Hamzah says, eyes wide as he watches you fumble with his pants. You unbutton and unzip, fast and knowledgeable, dipping into his boxers— "Wait."

You look up at him, inches from your goal. You cock your head, frowning. "What?"

"Just-" He pants, staring at you with those big, brown eyes. God. "Just give me a second."

You hum, grazing a finger on the faint happy trail of his stomach. His belly sucks in. "Are you nervous?"

"No," he says. Lie. "Yes. I don't know." He nervously laughs. His hands still grip the armrests, white-knuckled. "Why are you doing this?"

You shrug. "I want to." You tip your head, kissing his soft hand. "Do you want me to?"

"Well, yeah."

You grin. "Relax." Finally, your hand slips under his underwear, and you wrap around his hard length. He gasps, cold fingers against hot skin, fingers against him.

His hips jump into your fist as you draw him out.

Another nervous glance to the door, still half-opened.

There's nobody else home, he knows this, so you wonder why he seems so cautious. You lick your lips.

Perhaps it's the thought that your roommates could come back any moment.

You lightly scratch your nails against him. You run a thumb on his tip, smearing precum. He hisses, turning into a moan as you slowly drag your hand down. He's frozen and tense, almost afraid of moving, as if that would make you go away.

"Teach me," you say.

He blinks at you, dazed. "Huh?"

Your eyes vaguely look up to the desk you hide under, biology notes in his scratchy writing laying wrinkled.

"Biology. I'm paying you for a reason, aren't I?"

"Oh-" He flushes, embarrassed. Pushes his glasses up. "Right, right." His hands let go of the armrests, searching through the pages. You choose this moment to kiss the tip of his cock. He whimpers, shutting his eyes in pleasure. "Fuck." You giggle, all too happy.

He struggles to find where you disturbed him, biting his lip in comical concentration. You tease him, enjoying all the little breaths he chokes on, the soft sounds he tries to hide. Your hand pumps up and down, twisting at the wrist.

You wonder how often he's done this on himself, who he imagined between his legs.

From now, it'll be you. You'll make sure of it.

"Right, so," Hamzah starts, out of breath. "In some reactions," he continues arduously, "one substrate is broken down into multiple products. And-" Devilishly, you lick a stripe up his length. He groans, twitching on your tongue. "Shit," he mutters.

He drags his stare down, pulling away from his notes to watch you. You indulge him, parting your lips and wrapping them around his tip. You suck on it gently.

His face wrinkles, a moan breaking from him. You pull your head down, swallowing him. He clutches at his papers, scrunching them himself.

"Oh, God," Hamzah says, trying to catch his breath as you bob your head. "I'm- Shit."

You let go of him with a wet pop, stroking him quickly.

"Shh," you tease him. "You're too loud." Again, he throws a nervous look towards the door.

Saliva and lipgloss and precum already lube him, but you keep your hand at his base as you spit on his cock.

You drag it down his length. Hamzah's eyes snap towards you. "Do that again." He wants to see you.

You smirk, tilting your head to leave wet kisses up his cock, then lick his tip. You spit on it, and a low groan resonates from him. His hips rise up into your hand, but you push them down with your claws.

"Fuck," he whimpers from the back of his throat, melting on the chair. He likes it messy. You grin, peppering little kisses over his cock, smearing him in strawberry lipgloss.

"What's the other thing?"

"Huh?" He blinks, tying himself back to reality. "Right, um, substrates. It's-" Again, you choose this moment to push him down your throat. He loses speech, mumbling incoherent syllables, some broken version of your name.

Though your head bobs quickly, pulling further and further down his length, twisting a stroking hand all the same, you pinch your nails at his hip. He jumps, struck out of the daze of pleasure, blinking down at you.

"Yeah, it's — The other reactions are-" You let go of his hip, pinching your own nipple instead. Hamzah whines, losing his train of thought. "You're not being fair."

You laugh, spitting him out to catch your breath. You grope yourself and he watches, not sure which hand to focus on. His cheeks are tinted red, maybe from effort, or adrenaline, or shyness. It's cute enough to bite.

Wonder shines in his eyes. He can't believe this is happening; he's eternally grateful, as he should be. As they all should have been, those faceless men you've blown in the bathrooms of parties for attention and a momentary stop to complete boredom. They stayed quiet, almost afraid to make noise, to show they enjoyed it, until they shook and spilled inside your mouth. Hamzah's not afraid to moan.

Your brain rushes, sticky happy. You pant on his cock, trailing a finger down your stomach, then dipping in your shorts. Hamzah's eyes widen, straightening to catch a glimpse. You smile, catching a pool of your arousal.

You come back up, fingers sticky and wet with your slick, and smear it on his cock. Hamzah scrunches his face, whimpering, shaking under your hands.

"You're trying to kill me."

"Only because it's easy," you mock, jerking and twisting your two hands in rhythm, wet sounds ringing in the room.

You free his cock, gripping the armrests of the chair instead. You wrap your mouth around it, and bend down until your nose touches the faint smatterings of dark hair on his belly. You gag on him, and he strangles the edge of the desk trying to kill his moans.

You pump him in your mouth quickly, feeling him twitch and rise to meet you. He remembers himself, falling down on the chair dutifully, not even burying a needy hand in your hair, as though afraid that would be asking for too much.

You drag up, making him hit the inside of your cheek, before releasing him. You spit the precum on him, blinking up through teary eyes. He doesn't have any words, red swollen lip bitten raw.

"I taste great," you say, and then offer up your still-wet fingers to him. He's eager, sucking them into his mouth. He bobs, imitating you, and the sight and feel makes hot desire drip inside of you.

You want to squeeze him until he pops.

You take his hand, pulling it into your hair. He grips instinctively, pushing it out of your face. "Don't push," you warn, serious. He nods frantically, and you trust him to mean it.

You take him into your mouth for what you know is the final time. You're certain he won't last long, droopy and moaning and twitching, hissing every time your tongue runs on him. You bob with skill and precision still. He tugs at your hair, both hands in now, trembling in the mess of it. He never pushes, or fucks his hips up; trusts you to undo him yourself.

He swears and curses and whimpers, head falling down and back, vacillating between the sky and your red, puffy face. You don't think he's even aware of himself, doesn't even process the sounds he's letting out, doesn't give himself even a second to feel embarrassed.

"Fuck, fuck— this isn't—," he whispers to himself, sounding wild. "You're killing me. I'm gonna- I'm gonna-" Hamzah cries, slapping a hand over his mouth, and comes down your throat. He shakes, moans hidden in his palm, eyes shut and forehead wrinkled.

He lets go of your hair with a fucked-out sigh, panting.

His eyes never leave you, disbelief written all over it.

You pull him out of your throat, and smile at him.

You're about to swallow when he touches your arm, unsure of where he's allowed to now. "Wait, can you-"

He grows embarrassed, blushing. "Can you open your mouth?”

You part your lips, showing off his white cum still sitting on your tongue. He whimpers at the sight, fingers digging into your arm. His breathing turns irregular, cheeks reddening, eyes darkening. He's so strange.

Still, you stick your tongue out, putting his load in evidence, making a spectacle of it. He looks tortured, enthralled.

You stay long enough that you feel it run down, long white rope hanging from your tongue, then dropping on your breast.

"Fuck," Hamzah whispers to himself. Seemingly without thinking, he runs his thumb on your breast, catching his cum and sucking it between his lips.

You smile, slurping the cum back into your mouth, and swallowing it. You flash your red tongue at him. "All clean."

"Thank you," Hamzah says. "I- I'm not sure why you did that, but- I, you know, appreciate it." He's so polite. You'd laugh if he wouldn't snap back into that little head box of his.

"I'm very thankful for all those lessons," you wink.

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not." Hamzah's finger rubs the skin of your arm, that strangely tough callus, and it has you leaning into his touch. "Though, this has been my favorite lesson."

"God, I couldn't even get a word out."

"Hence why."

Hamzah snorts and he offers you a hand. You grab it to manoeuvre out from under the desk. You push your sweaty hair out of your face, then wipe the leftover stickiness from your breasts.

Hamzah, of course, follows the movement to your tits.

He swallows. "Do you, um," he pushes his glasses up.

"Do you want, like, something back?"

You arch an eyebrow, incapable of holding a small giggle this time. "Do you know how?"

He stares into your eyes. "I could try."

And, again, there's just something about his eagerness, his willingness, his open devotion, that has you saying, "Yeah, I guess you could try."

You tiptoe to your bedroom door, looking left and right into the hallway, before quietly shutting it. You turn around to a displeased Hamzah. "Oh, so you get to have it closed?"

'''S fun when you're struggling, besides, you know no one's home," you shrug, devilish. You run to the bed, falling on the pillows, fluttering your eyelashes at him.

"Come here. cutie." He practicallv trips out of his chair to find you. He's three steps in when you stop him.

"Take your clothes off."

He grows shy under your gaze. Staying in place, fingers shaking, he starts to lift off his shirt. He kicks off his sneakers and his baggy jeans until he stands there in his boxers. He's as hot as you imagined him to be. You smile.

Hamzah crosses his arms. "Can I see you, too?" He whispers.

You shimmy your shorts off your legs and throw it beyond the bed. Hamzah's stare stutters on your pink lace, wet patch where your desire pooled.

You draw a hand towards him and he takes it, falling over you on the bed. He doesn't waste time, giving you a sloppy kiss before mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, your tits. He laps at them first and you wonder if he's trying to get the last lingering taste of his cum. He catches a nipple next and sucks it.

Gaspy moans leave your lips. You part your legs instinctively and he buries between them, already hardening. His cock hits your thigh and he sucks and pinches and plays until you start thinking he might really be able to try.

Your hands descend down his back, freckled under your nails. You grip his waist, pushing at his hip, the hem of his boxers. Hamzah understands, leaving you long enough to kick them off. He pants in front of you, leaning back already, wet, swollen mouth parted.

Hamzah lays over you again and his hard cock presses into your need. You scratch your nails up his back and he jerks, bucking into you. A moan leaves both your mouths. He tries again, artless, just off your clit.

"Oh," he whispers, mostly to himself. He does it again, building and building heat inside of you, yet never relieving.

You huff. You sneak a hand between your bodies, moving your underwear aside until he slips under it.

Another boy would have taken the opportunity, would have buried inside before you even had time to nod, but Hamzah doesn't even think of it.

He humps your wet cunt, tucked tight under your underwear, hem pressing his length. Hamzah moans every time, quickening, desperate. He tilts his hand to better see as his cock bulges the cloth, a wet patch forming where his precum stains.

"Fuck."

And it's better; he's faster, and firmer, and mostly there. He follows your little puffs of shameful breaths, staying where they transform into slack moans.

Pleasure starts waking up inside your belly, sickly warm.

But you've had boys hump at you before, had them bucking between your legs. You know it's not what will get you off. You need your mind stimulated, to be so thoroughly hot and desperate you finally let yourself

до.

You pinch the nape of his neck, making him look at you. A slack, messy smirk lays on your lips. You tease,

"Have you ever thought of me during our tutoring sessions?"

Hamzah's hips stutter. He looks away. "Like..."

"Yeah, like, on my knees."

Hamzah blushes. "Well, yeah."

You grin, too pleased. A deadly smile, hunting.

"When?"

"I don't know..." He mutters. You scowl to yourself, and maybe he senses that, because his chin grazes your shoulder and he admits shamefully, "When you ate that popsicle. And you licked and you slurped and you sucked and, just- I'm a guy. I had visions."

"I had visions." You imitate, mocking. You tsk, "You're such a nerd." You roll your hips back against him and a whimper buries in the skin of your shoulder. "Was it how you imagined?"

"Better." He nods fervently. "So much fucking better. I actually died, I think. You're insane." Pride and power makes your head loose, makes pleasure ripple through your flesh.

You claw at his skin, warning dangerously, "You like it." All it does is make him moan, bucking faster against you. Your toes curl. You breathe in his ear, "Tell me more."

"I, uh- Shit." The tip of his cock burrows in your underwear as he slides, wet and slick from you. He shivers over you. "I'd think about— bending you over the desk."

Your smile ghosts your face, grazing his soft, fresh cheek. "Really?"

"Just, you know, when you wouldn't listen. And you'd pop that chewing gum, and you'd ignore me, and you'd be mean."

You smirk, clicking your tongue. "So you wanted to, what, toughen me up? Take your revenge?"

His cheeks redden. "No." His lips brush your shoulders, and he kisses, opposite. "I don't know. I wanted you to pay attention." He licks your neck. "I wanted to make you scream." Mouths at your jaw. "I wanted to fuck you. Or I- I wanted you."

You can't believe you're now the one blushing. You pant, glad he's buried in your throat, that he can't see.

A moan slips from you as he nips gently at your skin.

Your eyes roll in your skull.

"You like when I'm mean to you?" You tease meanly, out of breath. You scratch his back, burying your hand in his hair, and tugging until he looks you in the eyes.

"Gets you all bothered?"

Hamzah shivers, whining, "Fuck, please-"

You push him onto his back, rolling over. Two hands press into his chest, and you might very well concave his ribcage. You stare him down, divine. "You wanted to fuck me?"

His messy, unbrushed hair falls around his head like a halo. He's sweet enough to make your head spin. He watches you openly behind the glass of his specs, breathing, "Yes."

You trail your fingernails on his hard cock, down to his base. "And now?"

Devoting, "Yes."

A rush of thrill fills you. You kneel up, shimmying your underwear off. Hamzah gasps at the sight, raking a hungry gaze up and down your body. He holds the sheets of your bed with white-knuckled fingers.

You waste no time, rocking your cunt against his tip once, twice, before slowly lowering yourself on him.

You inhale at the stretch. Hamzah's eyes shut, whining. "Look at me," you order, and he listens.

His eyes flash open. He blinks at you as you bottom out. His head rolls, shaking. "Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." You go to move up, but he holds your hip down.

He takes deep breaths. "Can we- Just, this is-"

"It's okay," you whisper, taking his hand and placing it over the regular beating of your heart. He thumbs your nipple while he's there, breathing in sync with your pulse. You slowly roll your hips on him.

Hamzah moans, gripping the flesh of your thigh. You let him adjust to the feel of it, rocking softly, dragging your clit on his pelvis. You bite your lip raw as pleasure blooms inside of you. Your thighs ache to go faster, harder, but you maintain the delicate pace for him.

Just that has him shaking under you, and you once again grip his hand over your heart to ground him.

"Sorry," he says with an embarrassed laugh. "Fuck," is immediately added when you circle your hips, his eyes rolling. "Fuck, sorry."

"Stop apologizing," you order. "What are the other reactions?" You say, attempting to drag him out of his anxiety-filled head. He frowns at you. "Of enzymes."

His lips part. "I didn't know you knew that term."

You roll your eyes, then your hips, euphoria fizzling under your skin. "I listen to you." His unconvinced look betrays him. "Sometimes."

"They're, um- Shit. They come together to create one

- fuck, one larger molecule or-" You finally rock faster, angling your hips to have him bury inside you right where you need him. You moan, chest rising and falling quickly. Your legs grow desperate; you chase that sickly pleasure.

"Yeah?" You encourage him on, seeing his own pleasure resonate in his face. He bites his lip, pawing uselessly at your thigh. "Or?" You're out of breath.

"Or swap pieces," he finally finishes between two moans. Chuckles, "Actually, pretty much all biological reactions you can think of probably-" Your hips fall harsher on him and he loses his train of thought, overwhelmed. You smile, setting a wild pace, completely unfair.

"Probably what?" You say, teasing, "I'm always thinking about biological reactions."

"Don't tease," he pouts, and you slow down your thrusts just to spite him. He whines, pressing his short fingernails into the skin of your thigh.

"Come on." You make him look you in the eyes, mocking, "Educate me."

"They all have enzymes," Hamzah finally finishes. You reward him by reaching down and pinching his nipple.

He whimpers, cursing your name. "Why have you suddenly decided to be a good student?"

'Cause you're adorable when you're struggling to find words," you answer honestly. You hold your weight up on the hand pressed into his chest, angling your hips until your clit rubs and rubs his pelvis. Your eyes roll, fucking him quicker. "Fuck. I love when I can make you all stupid for me." The power in changing up his DNA composition, making a smart boy incapable of remembering all the jargon you yourself don't know, is addictive. Undoing him block by block until he's putty in your hands. Hamzah just moans, not arguing.

Sweat pearls his forehead. The white sheets make him angelic. He breathes your name, fluttering his eyelashes at you. "Can I try on top?" Maybe it's because he looks so reverent, so innocent, that you nod.

Hamzah doesn't push you and roll you over, instead staying there, as though waiting for it to just magically happen. You giggle to yourself, unmounting him and falling back on the mattress, legs parted. He swallows thickly, laying over you.

His glasses fall down his nose and you laugh, grabbing them and carefully placing them on your nightstand.

He blinks, adjusting to the blurry sight.

His hand shakes as he grabs himself and lines up. He misses once, twice, until you rest a soothing hand on his and guide him. Hamzah moans in your hair as he slides in. He stays in your wet heat for a second, catching his breath, before he thrusts.

And it's bad, of course. He doesn't have any rhythm, bucking blindly inside of you. It's a strange pace, irregular and powerless. He certainly can't find any type of mindnumbing spot. Pleasure simmers lowly in your belly, heat turned off almost to nothing if it weren't for the pretty moans that bury straight in your ear.

You grab his hip, making him look at you. "Start slow," you instruct, guiding him. He follows the movements of your hand, rocking back and forth, slow but regular.

"There," you nod, arching your back. "Just, tilt-" He repositions himself, eager to learn, and you shudder.

You call his name, syrupy with moans.

He's a fast learner, following diligently the guidings of your gripping hand. He fucks into you slowly, but surely. Your toes curl. Pleasure wakes up again, coiling in your belly. "Like this?" He breathes. You nod, encouraging him on.

"It's like I'm tutoring you," you remark, chuckling to yourself. Hamzah snorts. "I like being the smart one for once."

Hamzah frowns. "You're always smart." He says it without thinking, because he means it. Something wet chokes your throat, tugs at your lips. You stare up at his dark eyes, holding them through fanned lashes, searching for any hint of a lie behind his words. Truth.

You swallow, heart growing. "You just don't listen."

"Would you like me to?" You say, tone taunting. A self-destroying instinct, telling you to hurt, to ruin. "Make me your little pet? Be all obedient? Have me sucking your cock while you tell me all about biology?"

His eyebrows furrow. "Do you want me to do that?" All your bullets don't land. He's unconcerned on what he wants. You huff.

Instead of reckoning, you order, "Faster, now." Hamzah nods against your cheek. He obeys, thrusting quicker.

You let go of his hip, climbing up his back just to rake your nails down it. His hips snap faster, harsher, endeavored. You grin, licking his jaw, kissing the bone

"Fuck," he whimpers, catching your lips and kissing you. You wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him there as he ruts between your legs. You swallow all the sounds he makes, kill the swears you think of saying. Euphoria washes you.

He leaves your lips just to smack wet kisses over your face, again and again. On your forehead, your cheeks, your eyelids, your chin. He mouths down your throat, starts sucking and nipping at the side. You bury a hand into his hair, pushing him further down. "Not the neck," you explain, breathy.

Hamzah finds the side of your tits and he buries there, sucking at your skin. You arch into his mouth, pleasure rushing up your side at the pinpricks of pain. He moans against you, bucking faster. Your mind spins and spins. "Hamzah." Again, he speeds up, harsh and wild. "Fucking hell, Hamzah."

You tug at his hair and he releases you, lips wet and swollen. He pants over you, eyes dazed with pleasure.

A new wave of heat strikes you just from the sight of him, unmade and wild. You sneak a hand between your bodies. You find your clit easily, rubbing.

Hamzah's head drops to watch you. He whines, seeing where he disappears inside of you, over and over, where your nails swipe at you.

He leans his weight on one arm, joining his own hand with yours. You're surprised at the act, at the willingness of involving himself in the complicated business of your pleasure. Your fingers stop, resting up on your stomach.

He paws blindly at your cunt, just a little off where you need him. You grip his wrist, angling him at the right place, gently circling and swiping with his finger. The callus presses on your clit and it's a delicious sensation. You roll your eyes, crying out, then slapping your palm over your mouth. Hamzah grins proudly, continuing to rub at you.

"This is good, right?" He whispers, pretty eyes all vulnerable on you.

You nod frantically. "Yes. It's good." You melt on the sheets, parting your legs further. "It's really good." His cheeks flush at the compliment. You wrap your hand around his throat, resting there with silent ownership.

"Did you ever think it'd be me?"

He chokes on a laugh and a moan. "No. I never thought you'd ever even give me a look."

You hum, pleased with the answer. He realizes it's a privilege. You grin, pressing your fingers on the sides of his neck. His hips stutter, then snap even faster, a broken cry leaving him. His lips part in quiet ecstasy.

His eyes shut, rapid movement behind his eyelids.

You grin at him. "Well, you deserve it, helping me out this much."

You release him, at least giving him a chance. He falls into your shoulder, taking deep inhales, shaking.

"Thank you," he says, mumbly. "Thank you, baby, fuck." You rake through his hair, soothing. "Aw, fuck, I'm gonna-" He twitches inside of you.

"Not inside!" You shout. Hamzah gasps, thrusting out of you. He cries as he comes on your navel and cunt.

He catches his breath, blinking himself back to this reality, still shaking.

"Sorry," he says, shortwinded. A pang of

disappointment hits you. It's not like you've ever come with someone else before, but it had felt really close this time.

At least Hamzah tried.

Hamzah watches his cum painted over your skin, catching your piercing, mixing with the slick of your cunt. He moans to himself, then bends down between your thighs.

You rest on your elbows, frowning. "What—" He licks a stripe over your cunt, tasting both your juices.

Euphoria strikes through you. Your back hits the mattress as you fall back, legs shaking. "Hamzah." He hums, faraway, licking and licking to clean you all up.

You bury a hand in his hair, grounding him in place.

He finds your clit, rubbing it with the tip of his tongue, circling then sucking it. You jolt on the bed, biting back a scream. You frown to yourself, tugging on his hair, fire boiling inside your stomach. What the fuck.

He laps at you, moaning every time your nails scratch his scalp, the sound vibrating against you. A hand wraps around your thigh, keeping you open for him.

He devours you eagerly, hungrily, until you're a mess melting into his mouth.

"God, Hamzah," you cry. You have to actually hold back another one with a slap of your hand, shocked at yourself as you scream into your palm.

Hamzah stops, breathing harshly, and you throw a glance down in question. He climbs up your stomach, lapping at your skin, cleaning the last of his cum. You whimper at the dirty sight, desire drumming down your limbs.

He throws you a hot look. Tongue out, full of white cum. He goes back between your legs and buries it in your cunt, fucking it in. You jump, cursing to the ceiling. He laughs, greedily tasting you.

You roll your hips into his face, hitting the tip of his nose on your clit. Every strike has ecstasy resonating in your bones. You feel light on your bones.

His lips wrap around your clit. He sucks, grazing a tongue, swiping and circling like you showed him. You recognize the same pattern, recognize the rhythm. Of course he's a fast learner.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you chant, choked by your hand.

You raise your hips into his mouth, silently begging.

Your legs shake, desperate. Pressure pushes at your belly. Your eyes roll. "Don't stop."

He mumbles something in your cunt, probably a promise or a praise, dutifully not stopping. He laps and eats and fucks until your brain melts into your skull, dripping down your spine.

"Oh, fuck, l'm-" Your head shakes fervently. "Just stay

- Shit, Hamzah, just- I-" The pressure snaps and you come on his readied tongue, screaming. Hot white flashes in your vision. Relief washes you, dipping to every crevices, relaxing you. He moans against your cunt.

Hamzah continues to lick you, mission-bound, until your lungs are on fire and you physically push him away. He smiles up at you, chin sticky and wet and red. He wipes it, kneeling.

"Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?" You say, shortwinded, shocked to your bones. You stare at him like he's grown a second head.

It's the first time someone other than your knowing hand made you come. And it's fucking Hamzah. You blink at him.

“What?” He laughs, falling beside you on the bed.

You gesture vaguely downwards. "That."

"Oh," he blushes. Shrugs. "I don't know. I watch stuff," You laugh, shaking your head. "You perv. Knew you weren't all innocent,"

Hamzah grins, cheekily proud. He gently grazes the bruise he left on your breast, the splotch of red that will darken, be a leftover trace of him.

"Thanks," he says simply.

"You're welcome." You shift your legs, feeling the wetness still between them. "Thanks to you too, I guess." He grins, hiding in the white pillows.

He gives you a look. "Will you listen when I tutor you now?"

You smirk mischievously. "Maybe if you have my fingers in your mouth."

"Oh," Hamzah says, eyes wide. "Will you — Will this happen again?"

You make a noncommittal shrug, though a more definite answer hums in your heart. "Maybe if you're really good." You smile to yourself. "Or really boring, and I need to shut you up."

"You can shut me up any day."

"I know." You linger in that moment for just a second more, eyes locked together, smiles tickling your lips.

Then you sit up, reaching for your underwear.

"Session's almost done."

Hamzah nods, lips thin. "Right." He pats the nightstand for his glasses.

You dress yourselves, wiping away sweat and cum, brushing wild strands. On the way to the door, your roommates arrive back home, in the process of taking off their shoes when you catch their eyes.

"I didn't know you'd be here, Hamzah," One of them says. You don't like her tone, or the way her eyes glaze over him, like he's a prize she's chasing. Hamzah awkwardly laughs, looking over at you for some type of guidance.

"He's just leaving,"

She pouts, "That's a shame,"

A green fire flames in the pit of your stomach, glowing and thrashing, a mix of jealousy and possessiveness that grows with each second too long she looks at him. It's unsettling, so incredibly annoying, watching your roommate stare at him like some kind of God, merely minutes after taking his innocence, as if you just painted him in some type of glow, that only now people want to take what's yours.

You can't stand it, tugging on Hamzah's arm and guiding him to the door. "Hamzah," her voice has both of you snapping your heads back,

"Are you busy tomorrow? I was wondering if you wanted to go out?"

Fuck off.

And maybe you wouldn't have spoken up if he didn't look to you right away, lost puppy eyes and all, like your approval and opinion is all that matters to him. So you take control, "Oh, Hamzah's busy tomorrow, right?"

"Right," He nods, unconvincing. But it's okay because he won't be lying, you'll make sure he's busy because he's yours now.

[cheerioskid]

Whered you learn to draw humans/anatomy

And can you give us any tips, or recommend us books,videos, ect, that focus on that :3

drawing really is just observation like the first thing i ever learned to draw were ponies because i had an mlp dvd i rewatched the time and i would copy what i saw on the screen, literally just observing and copying!

then when i was just starting to take my art "seriously" (i was in 5th grade that shit is so unserious) i would look up tutorials on how to draw something and that was super helpful since i could actually see someone's drawing process so yes i definitely recommend any kind of video tutorial in a style you're interested in

but eventually i grew out of that as i developed my own style so now i've just been doing figure studies w pictures on pinterest (art teachers will tell you drawing from life is the best but my socially awkward ass is NOT doing that)

so the best thing i can recommend is (and i know you've heard this time and time again but i'm still gonna say it) using reference pics!!! they're super helpful even if you think you know exactly what you're drawing still look up a reference so you can train your eye to look for certain things (also look up pics of actual people, using drawings as a ref can be incredibly helpful but the best thing is to look at actual humans if anatomy is what you're wanting to learn to draw)

gonna cut this in half so i don't clutter peoples dash but here are some study pics & some things i look out for

idk how to explain my drawing process in detail but the main thing i think about is how i can take the organic shapes of the human form and make them fit my style which ranges from angular to round whenever i see fit so it's really about observation and interpretation if that makes sense??

really tho everything depends on your individual style and how you go about drawing so some of my tips may or may not be helpful for you this is just what i think is helpful for me!

[kiddokori]

will you guys promise not to make fun of me if i share some anatomy practice i did w tp link i swear i just think musculature is fun to draw

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love and Medicine ~ 14

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 5,000ish

Summary: Just another day at the medical center, right? (Based off Grey’s Anatomy)

Heading back into the hospital, you went straight for Natasha’s room. The other interns were already in there, surrounding her bed.

“Hey,” you smiled, walking over to her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she responded. “I’m okay.”

You grabbed her hand and gave it a slight squeeze. She needed to know that you were there for her, but you weren’t going to push her into talking about something she wasn’t ready to talk about.

~~~

You slammed down a shot, needing to feel the alcohol rush down your throat. 

“How was Nat when you left, Scott?” Val asked, bringing more drinks over.

“She said she was okay, again,” he responded with a slight shrug.

“Nobody goes what she went through and is totally over it by now.”

“Natasha can.”

“She’s fine,” you added, taking another shot.

“Too fine,” Val said. “She’s cold.”

“No, she’s hardcore,” Clint said. “She’s got ice in her veins. She does what she has to do to get through it.”

“She lost a baby. She lost a fallopian tube and she’s acting like she doesn’t even care. She’s acting like she has no emotions or warmth, like she’s missing a soul.”

“She’s gonna make a great surgeon.”

“Clint!”

“It’s true. You show no weakness, you make it to the top.”

“Some people just keep their feelings to themselves,” you commented.

Your eyes were on the door, where Steve had just walked in. If he noticed you, he didn’t make it noticeable. You watched as he walked over to the bar and sat beside Gamora. Steve ordered a drink from Happy before talking to Gamora. Too bad you were too far away to hear them.

“Y/N kissed me,” Steve told Gamora. “Peggy kissed me… My wife and my girlfriend kissed me on the same day.”

“Happy, do I look friend to you?” Gamora asked.

“Oh, you’re a tiny little kitten of joy and love,” Happy responded, only for Gamora to make a face. “What? He saved my life.”

“His first mistake.” She took a sip of her drink. “Captain McDreamy, go sit by someone who cares.”

“Oh gee,” Steve mocks hurt, but doesn’t make a move to go. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Peggy will leave. Y/N and I will start over. Everything’s gonna be fine. Right?”

“You are so damn stupid.”

~~~

“With Natasha out, I need everyone focused today,” Gamora told her group of interns as you all headed off to rounds. “I have a feeling it’s gonna be be one of those days and since we’re short an intern, you do not want to get on my bad side.”

“When are we not on her bad side?” You whispered to Clint.

“Speak for yourself,” he replied with a scoff. “Scott and I are her favorites.”

The group walked into their first patients room. The woman was sitting on the bed, enthralling a group of hospital workers with a tell.

“So we're in the middle of the Belizean jungle and this jaguarondi jumps out and bites one of the guides,” the woman says. “They all look at me. They're yelling, "You're a doctor, help him!" This is one time a PhD does no good.” The people laugh.

“Sorry,” Gamora interrupted, “did I miss the memo about social hour?” Everyone quickly began leaving besides your group.

“Tales of missionary life,” the woman explained.

“You’re a missionary?” Val asked.

“No, my parents. We traveled a lot. Well, they still do.”

“Lang, tell me about our patient,” Gamora ordered.

“Okay, um, this is Dr. Banner’s patient, Talya,” Scott explained. “She, uh, presents with multiple syncopal episodes and ventricular arrhythmias.”

“So you’ve been passing out?” Gamora asked.

“Yeah,” Talya confirmed, “and having palpitations.”

“Talya has past medical history of rheumatic heart disease with mitral valve stenosis,” Scott added.

“They had to ship me from Zambia to the States for 3 months of treatment when I was 8,” Tayla said. “Rheumatic fever almost killed me.”

“Someone please tell me what the primary causes of ventricular arrhythmias are,” Gamora said.

Before anyone in the room could responded, Natasha appeared in the doorway. She leaned up against it in her hospital gown with her IV stand.

“Valvular disease, mitral valve prolapse, stimulants, drugs, and metabolic abnormalities,” Natasha answered.

“Out!” Gamora ordered.

“I’m fine.”

“Out! And you better be in your bed by the time we round on you!”

“And when will that be?”

“In 15 seconds. 14. 13. 13. 11.” 

Natasha turned around to head to her room, revealing her underwear through her nightgown. The group of interned laughed.

“Nice panties, Romanoff!” Peter laughed.

Natasha flips him the bird as she keeps waking. “In your dreams, Quill.”

They followed Natasha into the room, where she huffed as she got back into bed.

“L/N,” Gamora called.

“Right,” you responded. “Natasha Romanoff. Post-op day 3 from a unilateral salpingectomy.”

“And ready to get back to work,” Natasha said. “I'm taking solids and my pain is controlled with oral meds. I'm ready.”

“Well, it says here on your chart on you had a fever?”

“Y/N,” Nat growled.

“Natasha, did you have a fever?” Gamora questioned.

“Temp spiked to 101 last night. Big deal.”

“She worked 2 shifts last month with a 102 degree flu,” Clint added.

“Yes! Exactly, Clint. Thank you.”

“And we appreciate your dedication but you're staying in bed until it normalizes,” Gamora said. “You need to relax, shut up, and get better. You're a patient this week so you can be a doctor next week. Understand?”

“I understand,” Natasha grumbled.

~~~

Rounds had finished as you were heading to your assignment when you ran into Steve near the elevators.

“Skipping rounds?” He wondered.

“No,” you replied. “They just finished.” You kept walking, when Steve took your arm to stop you.

“Y/N…”

“You’ve got a wife.”

“Yes.”

“You’re life is complicated.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need more complicated. I have that all on my own.”

“Yes.”

“Stop saying yes.”

Steve smiled. “I’m trying not to make any sudden movements.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Peggy’s leaving. She doesn’t have any more patients. There’s no reason for her to be here.”

“No reason? Really?”

“No really whatsoever.”

Steve stepped closer, bringing his hand up to brush your cheek. You stood there, trying to not let it get to your head or, well, anywhere else. Suddenly, Peggy appeared.

“Well now, isn’t this cozy?” She said. “Can I join in or are you not into threesomes?”

“I have to go,” you said, rushing away. You didn’t go too far, interested to watch everything unfold.

“Y/N…” Steve called with a sign. He turned to Peggy. “You really are Satan. You realize that right? If Satan were to take physical form, he'd be you. Everywhere, all the time.”

“I am so not Satan,” Peggy responded.

“How come you haven't got on your broomstick and gone back to where you belong?”

“Stop being petty.”

“Stop being an adulterous bitch.”

“You know, you are going forgive me eventually, right? I mean you can't just ... I mean there was a time when you thought of me as your best friend.”

“There was a time where I thought you were the love of my life. Things change.”

Peggy sighed and pulled some papers out of her bag, handing them to Steve. Steve quickly flipped through them.

“Divorce papers,” he said.

“Your lawyer said they're ok. I haven't signed them yet. The ball's in your court. If you sign, I'll sign. I'll sign and be on the first plane out of here.”

“I'll sign them immediately. I want you out of here as soon as possible.”

“Steve, have you ever thought that, even if I am Satan and an adulterous bitch, that I still might be the love of your life?”

Not answering, Steve walks away, completely not noticing you listening in from behind a pillar.

“What are we looking at?” Tony asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“Ah!” You exclaimed, jumping slightly. “Don’t do that!” You playfully hit him. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “I just saw you over here and I was interested in seeing what you were observing.”

“I think… I think Peggy just handed Steve divorce papers.”

“Really? That actually surprises me. I thought she would put in a little more of a fight.”

“Yeah…”

“I guess that’s good news for you, right?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I want him to choose me because of me, not because of a divorce.”

“In my ever humble opinion, I think it will always be you. Trust me. That man is whipped.”

~~~

Natasha snuck out of her room and stole her chart. She sat in her bed as she made changes to it. Walking by, Banner looked in and noticed that no one else was in there. He quickly took the chart of Nat.

“Hey! That’s my chart,” Natasha complained.

“You're the patient. Not the doctor. Act like one,” Bruce reprimands as he studies her chart. “It's been tough finding you alone.”

“Yeah? Well…”

“How are you doing?”

“Well, you have my chart, you tell me.”

He sighed. “Natasha, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine. Perfectly okay.”

“I had a right to know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Natasha—“

“Look. Now you know. It’s over. There’ soothing for you to deal with. So I don’t know what else there really is left to say.”

“Plenty. For starters you could've come to me—“

“And what? We could have raised it together? Or you could have held my hand when I got the abortion? I did not need any of that. I’m an intern.”

“Nat—“

“Can you just go? I need to rest. Doctor’s orders.”

~~~

Gamora called you to help her with a patient. You two walked into the patient room together, revealing a younger man on the bed.

“I thought I told you I never want to see you again,” Gamora said to the patient.

“That's only cause you're too lazy to learn anything more,” the man responded.

“Dr. Y/N L/N, this is Nick Tate. He thinks he knows so much cause he was one of my first patient's as an intern.”

“I knew as much as she did. She was clueless about how to treat cystic fibrosis. A simple cholecystectomy turned into a month-long stay.”

“Better not be alleging malpractice. Guy raises about a 100 grand a year for cystic fibrosis, running triathlons. Thinks he's a big shot.”

“Wait, you run triathlons?” You questioned, confused how it could as a patient with cystic fibrosis.

“Yeah, why not?” He responded.

“It’s a pain for one,” Gamora replied, flipping through the chart. “Says here you're finally admitting to feeling a little unwell?”

“A little.”

“How little? Truth.”

“Oh, enough to keep me awake at night. Had some seizures. Um, too weak to work out.”

“Anyone been through here with your CT results?”

“No. It's probably just my pancreatitis kicking up again.”

“All right then. We'll be back. With your results and a plan.” Gamora walked to the door, with you following. She glanced back at Nick. “Huh, where do your parents think you are this time?”

He smiled. “Hmm, San Diego.”

Gamora shakes her head as you follow her the rest of the way out of the room.

“What about his parents?” You asked. “Shouldn’t he, or we, tell them?”

“No, he doesn't like to bother them until he's well or about to get discharged. He understands his reality. He just chooses to ignore it. Denial works for him, L/N.”

~~~

After Bruce had left, it only took Natasha two minutes to have found blue scrubs and change into them. She took out her IV and snuck out to the nurses station. She began looking through patient charts. The head nurse, Phil Coulson, found her like that.

“Where’s your IV?” He asked, looking at her with a disappointed father face.

“I've taken solids. I HEP-locked it,” Natasha replied.

“On whose orders?”

“Mine.”

“Okay.” Phil quickly found her chart and began reading it. “Romanoff. How about this order: best rest, out of bed to chair, bathroom privileges. Nothing about stealing charts at the nurses station.”

“Okay, you know what….” She quickly looked around to find a nearby empty wheelchair. She brought it over and sat down in it. “There, satisfied? I’m out of bed to chair.”

“I’m telling your intent on you.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.”

She wheeled off with a patient chart, heading to Tayla’s room. When she arrived, she witnessed Tayla, by herself, taking a pill.

“I saw that!” Natasha exclaimed from her wheelchair in the doorway. “I saw you take that pill.”

“Oh it's, it's my pill,” Tayla excused. “You know... the pill.”

Natasha quickly looked over the chart. “It’s not at all in your chart and you are supposed to tell us the meds you are on.”

“You’re not my doctor. You shouldn't even be here.”

“She’s right,” Val said, appearing from behind. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I saw her take unauthorized medication!” Natasha continued.

“Well, you’re unauthorized to be here.”

“I’m on the pill and I had grapefruit juice this morning,” Tayla explained. “Since the juice inhibits enzymes involved in the metabolism of OCPs, I thought I'd avoid the interaction by taking it two hours after my meal.”

“She's has a doctorate in neuropharmacology, Natasha.”

Natasha huffed, “Well, Val, I don’t see any place where oral contra—“

“Okay so now you will. Will you just go back to bed and stop bothering the other patients?”

Tayla’s heart monitor suddenly started racing, bringing the other women attentions to her. She fell to the floor, unconscious, and Val rushed to her.

“She’s in V-FIB!” Natasha said. 

“Call the code,” Val ordered as she began compressions.

Natasha practically jumped out of her chair to call a code, which didn’t feel good. Val got Tayla back as the code team arrived.

“No code?” The nurse questioned.

“Not anymore,” Val answered. “Can you help get her back into bed.

“I’ll—I’ll help,” Natasha breathed got, struggling to get back to her wheelchair. “Just give me a minute.”

“Would you just go back to bed? Seriously, please just go.”

Natasha nodded as she finally made it to the wheelchair. “Just… if she’s on OCP’s, mark it down. Okay, Val?”

“Yeah.”

~~~

You had gotten Nick’s x-ray’s back and were currently putting them up to view them with Gamora by your side.

“Nick’s got a mass in his midepigastrium,” you explained. “Diffused enlargement of the pancreas. That, with his hypoglycemic seizures—“

“He's going to need an exploratory laparotomy. But, despite his triathlons, his lungs still make me hesitant to cut,” Gamora added.

“What are we going to do?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Doctors,” Peggy greeted.

“Dr. Carter-Rogers.”

“How old is he?” Peggy asked, studying the x-rays.

“26.”

“Survivor, huh?”

“And them some. My patient for at least 5 years. I'm not gonna lose him now.”

“You planning a laparotomy?”

“Hmm. You know, I think I could help you with this. I've seen one case like this before in a 9 year old. We ended up having to do a total pancreotectomy.”

“I'd be honored to take any help you can give me.”

“You’re a neonatal specialist,” you said. “What, uh… this isn’t your area.” Gamora looked at you, annoyed, as she shock her head. “I’m just saying that—“

“I did 2 years genetic research in cystic fibrosis,” Peggy told you. “I've pretty much seen it all, Dr. L/N.”

“Oh.”

~~~

Walking down the hall, Steve found you. Always trying his best to make a conversation with you. This time it was easy.

“Are you sure your wife is leaving?” You questioned. “She offered to help on the case Gamora has me working on.”

“Just because she offered her services doesn't mean she intends to stay,” Steve responded.

“Well, what does it mean? Because it seems to me—“

“It means that she's a good doctor.”

“Huh… why are you suddenly defending her?”

“I’m not. Y/N, she gave me divorce papers. She filed.”

“Good for you.”

“All I have to do is sign, and I’m free… We’re free.”

“Is there anything to think about?”

“No,” he shook his head, “of course not. I have to read through them, sign, then Peggy’s on the next plane out of here.” He grabbed your hands. “This is going to work.”

~~~

After the conversation he had with you, Steve immediately went searching for Gamora.

“Of all the fine doctors in the city, you accept a consult from Peggy Carter,” Steve said, angrily.

“Carter-Rogers, isn’t it?” Gamora retorted.

“The point is she should be on her way home. Are you purposefully trying to drive me crazy?”

“You think this has something to do with you?” Gamora’s voice was loud and upset. “You think I’m even thinking about you and your romantic problems? I’m trying to help a patient very near and dear to my heart. And if consulting with your wife—your ex—your mistress, what ever it is that she becomes! If that’s the thing I have to do to save my patient, them I’m damn well gonna do it.”

“I understand… and I totally deserve the yelling. It’s just that—“

“Just, you look! You have put yourself between two very fine women and you looking for an easy way out and you wanna use me, and the hospital and... somebody to make the decision for you, and it's not gonna happen!”

“Could I just… could I just say a couple of things?”

“No.” Gamora stormed off.

~~~

You found Natasha sitting in her bed, in her room. Thankfully. Though she was looking through another patient’s chart. You pulled a chair up to her bedside and sat down in it with a sigh.

“What’s your problem?” Natasha asked.

“Peggy gave Steve divorce papers, which is good. I mean she’s still here, being Peggy, but it’s not like I’m jealous or anything.”

“That’s odd.”

“It’s odd I’m not jealous?”

“No, you have every right to be jealous. It's your territory and she's peeing all over it.” Natasha went back to focusing on the chart in her hands. “What’s odd is Banner’s patient.”

“Tayla?”

“Yeah. She’s been in 4 other hospitals this year. You know something’s not right.”

“You seem awfully interested in Banner’s patient.”

“This has nothing to do with Bruce.”

“Natasha, you lost a fallopian tube, a baby and a boyfriend all in one day. You have the right to be upset.”

“And you’re losing Captain McDreamy to his perfect wife. You have the right to be jealous.”

“I did not lose Captain McDreamy. Divorce papers, remember? And I’m not jealous.”

“And I’m not upset. I really need to get out of here.”

“You’re on bedrest, remember?”

“Okay, if the situation was reversed, would you wanna spend time with your mother in a confined room with one window?”

“No. I guess not. But still. You need to stay put.” 

Before Natasha could respond, your pager beeped. You looked down at it and groaned.

“I got to go,” you muttered, leaving.

“Good luck!”

~~~

Peggy and Gamora met you in Nick’s room. There you began explaining the surgery to him.

“We won't know for sure until we go in there, but it looks like that I'm going to have to take out your pancreas and re-route your intestines,” Peggy said.

Nick looked at Gamora. “Did you tell her that my lungs don't do well with anesthesia?”

“Don’t I always have your back?” Gamora retorted.

“Your kidney function is decreasing rapidly and I'm afraid you're gonna go into multi-system organ failure if we don't operate,” Peggy continued.

“If I say no?” Nick wondered.

“There’s no guarantees, Nick. You know that,” Gamora answered. “It's gonna be a long, hard surgery and put a lot of stress on your body.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “but I’m me.”

She smiled back. “But you’re you.”

“So if we don’t operate, I die. And if… we do operate, I may die.”

“Basically, yes,” Peggy responded.

“Well, I like those odds. And 26 years with this disease is awesome. And that's the reality. So if I get lucky ... great. And if I don’t…” Nick grabbed Gamora’s hand, “it’s been sweet.”

“It’s gonna stay sweet,” she replied.

~~~

Natasha was laying on her bed with her harm over her eyes when Clint walked into the room. Tayla’s chart was laid out on top of her.

“Why do you have that?” He asked.

“I’m working,” Nat answered. “Trying to figure out what’s going on with the crazy woman on four.”

“You are the crazy woman on four. Though, I have to say, you have a better patina than me and you don’t even really have a patient.” Clint plopped down in the chair next to her bed. “Y/N’s got a CF case. Peter has a gunshot wound. Val’s got the mystery arrhythmias. I have babysitting a crazy old lady! I’d rather do scut with Scott than this! I’m a surgeon. A cutter. I don’t want to be a fake surgeon! I want to be a real one!”

“She’s faking it,” Nat repeated to herself. She quickly got off the bed. “The missionary. Talya… Thank you!” 

She patted Clint’s head as she walked by. Natasha headed straight for the nurses station, where she saw Val looking around for something.

“Val!” Natasha called. “How how Talya’s studies been?”

“Hey!” Val responded, not pleasantly as she took the chart from Nat. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that!”

“Negative, right?”

“Oh! The echo tests showed mild mitral stenosis, the tilt test was negative. We're doing EP studies.”

“I can tell you what's wrong with her without sticking electrodes in her heart.”

“Really. Just by the chart?”

“No, from the pill she took.”

“They were contraceptives, Natasha! Why are you so obsessed with this? Just go back to bed!”

“I think she’s doing this to herself.”

“You think she's inducing ventricular arrhythmias? She'd have to be crazy to do—“

“No, no, no. She'd have to have Munchausen’s.”

“Okay wait. You think she's secretly ingesting something to produce real symptoms? Seriously?”

“Yes. Run it by Banner and tell me what he thinks.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself. He is standing right behind you.” Val made eye contact with the man. “Dr. Banner.” 

Then Val left. Leaving Natasha will Bruce. She sighed as Bruce guided her into the small office nearby before listening to her.

“I mean, she obviously loves the patient role. She practically lives in hospitals. And... and, and we're like an imaginary family to her because her really family blows her off to go take care of other people.... And, and I saw her take something.”

“It's not enough,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “We have to rule out everything else. Everything physical.”

“She even lied about her job. She's a pharmacy tech, not a PhD.”

“So she's a liar. I've been lied to before.”

“Hey, we're not talking about us here.”

“Maybe we should be.”

“I didn’t lie!”

“You withheld the truth from me. How was00”

“Okay, you know what? I distinctly remember you breaking things off with me. And you didn't seem so upset about it. And this?” She motioned between herself and Bruce. “This is, this is not a relationship. This is not real.”

“Natasha…”

“Okay, and, and so what's with the big display of fake hurt and drama?” She began walking out of the room.

“Natasha!”

“I’m supposed to be in bed.”

~~~

You absolutely did not want to be in surgery with Peggy. Yet there you were.

“I need more traction,” Peggy stated. “Dr. Y/N?” You quickly did as you were told.

“Here,” Gamora called, “give me some suction there.” So you did. “Now L/N, retract the duodenum. Good. How’s he doing Vis?”

Vis was keeping watch over Nick’s vitals and such. “Harder to ventilate and no urine output since we started,” Vis informed.

Peggy shook her head, “he’s shutting down.”

“Did you increase his peak pressures?” Gamora asked.

“Any higher, I blow his lungs,” Vis responded before the monitor beeped. “Bradycardia. Pushing 1 of atropine.”

“Try ventilating him manually,” Peggy ordered, “see if he starts coming back up.” Vis began pushing on a bag.

“Did we miss any bleeders?” Gamora wondered.

“The surgical field is clear.”

The monitor began beeping faster. “Agonal rhythm,” you said.

“Any pulse with that?” Gamora asked.

“No carotid,” Vis answered.

“Okay, starting CPR.” Gamora handed over her tools and begun CPR. “Push one of EPI.”

“No extraordinary measures, Gamora,” Peggy warned. “He’s DNR.”

“No this is just good medicine.” Sh continued CPR, almost frantically. “Come on! Come on! Don’t give up. Come on.”

“You’re getting tired,” you noted. “Let me take over, Dr. Gamora.” She nodded, letting you quickly switch her places.

“Gamora, his intestines are cyanotic,” Peggy stated. “There’s no blood circulating.”

“It’s been shunted to his brain where he needs it,” Gamora responded as she studied your CPR form. “You call those compressions.” She shoved you to the side and took over CPR. You and Peggy made eye contact, worried. “Fight it. Come on.” Peggy looked around, shaking her head, and everyone stopped what they were doing. All but Gamora. “Why isn’t anyone moving? Whose recording?”

“It's been ten minutes since we've had a perfusing rhythm.” Peggy goes to stop Gamora but is shrugged off. The monitor flat lines. “It’s your call, Gamora.”

Taking a shaky inhale, Gamora stopped. She pulled off her mask as the monitor continues to flat line. “Asystole.” She looked up at the clock. “Time of death: 19:35.”

Gamora rushed out of the OR, trying not to cry. She went straight to the sinks and began cleaning her hands furiously. She paused when she noticed people covering up Nick’s body. Peggy walked in and started washing her hands as well, with you following. You both eyed Gamora a few times, worried. Soon, she left.

Peggy sighed. “It’s hard to accept the end when you’re too close.” She looked down as she slipped her wedding ring back onto her finger. She noticed you watching. “Look, I don't want someone who doesn't want me, Y/N. But if there's the slightest chance that he does, I'm not leaving New York.”

~~~

Val walked into Natasha’s room, not excited for the news she was about to tell her.

“Well?” Natasha asked.

“You were right,” Val sighed. “Talya definitely suffers from Munchausen’s.”

“See I was right…. I was right…” She closed her eyes. “I was right…” Nat began to cry. “I was right. I was… I was right. Oh… I’m—I’m—“ She let out a sob. “I’m right. I’m—I’m right.”

Val looked out of the room to see Clint walking by. “Clint! Page Y/N!”

Clint hurried in. “Why? What—what’s happening? What did you do to her?”

“She just started crying and I don’t know what to do!”

“I’ll get one of the nurses to page, Y/N.” Clint rushed out.

“Natasha,” Val tried, slowly coming closer. “Natasha, calm down.”

“The nurses paged her!” Clint came rushing back in.

“It’s okay, Nat.” Val went in for a hug, only for Nat to shrink away and cry harder. “Okay, okay. I won’t hug you.”

“What’s going on?” You came running in, panicked.

“I can’t stop!” Nat cried. “I can’t—-I can’t stop…”

“Crying,” Val finished for her. “She can’t stop crying.”

“I can’t see that!” You replied. “What did you guys do to her?”

“Nothing!”

“She’s going to dehydrate,” Clint said. “Nat, do you want some water?”

Nat shook her head, “no, no…” You tried to go in for a hug, only to be pulled away.

“NO!” Clint and Val exclaimed.

“I already tried that,” Val said. “It just made it worse.” Clint tentatively handed Nat a tissue.

“Natasha,” you tried again.

“Make—make it stop,” Natasha sobbed. “Make it stop… Somebody sedate me!”

“What’s going on in here?” Bruce asked, walking in. He was dressed like he was about to leave. There was clear concern etched on his face. 

“We can’t get her to stop crying,” you replied.

“Y/N, get everyone else out of here.” Bruce was taking off his jacket. “Watch the door.”

You nodded, quickly ushering Clint and Val out. They voiced protests, but willing left. You shut the door behind you and watched. Peeking through the window, you watched as Bruce got in the bed beside Nat. He wrapped his arms around her and brought her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Natasha willingly curled into him, welcoming his comfort. You sighed and turned away, leaning against the door to keep watch. Steve noticed you and came up.

“Hey,” he smiled.”

“Hey.”

“When are you off?”

“Uh,” you glanced at your watch, “in about an hour. Why?”

“Meet me at Happy’s when you get off.” He started walking backwards, sly smirk on his lips. “Don’t be late.”

~~~

Steve and you arrived at Happy’s bar at the same time. He gave you a smile as he held the door open for you. You walked over to an empty table, Steve close behind.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” you said.

“Me too,” Steve replied. He set it briefcase on his chair. “Want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Turning around, Steve knocked his briefcase onto the ground. A stack of papers slipped out.

“I’ve got it,” Steve quickly said, bending down.

“I’ll get it,” you said, picking up the papers.

You glance at the papers as you stand back up. There his divorce papers, that he has yet to sign.

next chapter >

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

LOVE AND MEDICINE TAG LIST

@fyreball66 (won’t link)

@alwaysnervousturtles​

@anxiousgoldengirl​

@lahoete​

@hersilencedscreams​

@elenaxoxo22​

@marvelfan29 (won’t link)

@wanniiieeee​

@a-little-counter-esperanto​

@aikeia​

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​

@aubreeskailynn (won’t link)

@austynparksandpizza​

@fandom-life-12​

@illyrianprincess​

@osugahunnyicedtea​​

@taliarosej00​

@bellamy-barnes​

@hallecarey1​

[fangirltothefullest]

i love your art and how versatile your styles are - do you have advice for experimenting with art style? like i know that to find ur own style its best to experiement a lot and develop it constantly, but where do you find motivation for that? did u fond inspiration from other artists? do you have a drawing routine? are there specific drawing exrecises that help/helped you?

sorry for so many questions, i love ur art and have a great day!

Thank you! It always makes me grin stupidly when people comment on my art with words like “versatile” because I do try to have a lot of fun with it! And it’s no trouble at all! I’m always playing with my style.

Getting the style I have now currently that I use most took work- I looked at my style and tried to change things deliberately until I was happy. I experimented with eye shape and face shape, body shapes and such until I was happy. That took a lot of study and work because I wanted the anatomy to look decent:

The other styles (because I play so much....) don’t all look that different, only mildly. The cute one I just did for that comic I approached in regards to shapes. I kind of have this idea that I want a character to be a shape or word- so for Patton I chose “circle” and so I made most of his features round in some way. Not full circle but soft~ Logan was “square” so he looks a little boxy but I wanted him approachable so I softened his angles a liiittle bit. The twins were “tall bold” so they have a lot of sharp or elegant lines. Virgil was “droopy” and so he sort of just... droops. Puffy jacket, longer lines for the hair, and curved legs so he looks tired. Janus was “refined/put together” so most of his lines are pristine. All sharp and clean in most of his clothes but curved hat and hands to make him a little more snekky curvy if that makes sense. Note that their eye shape also reflects their shapes a little too. Virgil’s eyes are tired and droopy and Logan;s are quite squared compared to Remus whose eyes are taller because it makes him look more awake (too much coffee lol).

The Poisoning Pigeons animatic was interesting because I am really slow at doing animatics but this one was based on something comedic so I literally sat down and went.... ok, what’s the fastest way I can draw these characters while maintaining their basics? And I was thinking about how @aimasup​’s style is REALLY fun and captures the sides in a unique way. What I like about it is the clean shapes so I thought, how can I do something a little similar but also REALLY FAST because I’m super distracted and get bored easily? I come up with stuff like this, wherein I drew the characters’ most basic silhouettes/defining features faster and faster until I reached a point where they were super quick to draw and still recognizable (Note that I always seem to draw their hair the same lol I can’t help it I gotta max the floof): 

Read more below for Starcrossed stuff cause this post is already getting long. XD

And then there’s Starcrossed. This one is interesting because I went through a lot of style possibilities with these through development. I tried my regular style but that took too long even when not really coloured which is why I didn’t do many of these. I was in school and had no time for it.

 I tried a cleaner style but that took even longer with the colours. It’s beautiful but just not possible.

Then I tried this one but it was not round enough/exaggerated enough for the cutesie feeling I wanted. If I was gonna go for cute it better be CUTE but also it had to be uniform- if you are having your characters all together they ought to look appropriately like they all come from the same 2d plane of existence if that makes sense lol so this was just not gonna cut it: 

Finally I landed on specific shapes and a style that complemented each other and settled with some rules: Anvity would always have sharper features because he is a Dragon so horns, ears, wings and eyes all had to match that; Moxie cannot have any sharp edges except for the points of her eyelashes, Viran would look inquisitive but approachably soft etc. so his glasses can never be fully square or rectangular:

Vircei would always look a little bit weirdly elongated regardless of how tiny he is because he is a monster and quite spider-like at times so his hyperflexibility needed to be shown in his elongated limbs:

Anyways, I’d say a good way to practice is DEFINITELY looking at other people’s art to get inspiration. How to they make their shapes and thinking about why it works for them. I recommend googling “Character Design” and browsing the images there or searching character design here on tumblr. You’ll find a lot of them definitely play with shape which I think is incredibly important! 

As for motivation, I dunno I just really like drawing so I have a lot of fun playing with style!

[chokefriends]

Anatomy model Eustass Kid

By @godims0tired ♡ for my fic Life Drawing

Rating: E

Warnings: None

Characters & ships: Eustass Kid / Trafalgar Law

Word count: 2978

Summary: Law practices his anatomical drawing with Kidd as his subject. With his devil fruit abilities he can see right inside him.

Kidd finds this insanely romantic.

~~~

Read on Ao3 or below the cut. I know it's an older fic by now but I havent posted it here before so here!

~~~

Kidd jerked into full awareness as he lay sprawled in his bed. He checked around himself without moving and sensed a second heartbeat in the room, near enough that the dim echoes of its electrical impulses lapped at his skin like waves. Slow and calm. Just watching then; not yet poised to attack…

There were eyes on him.

It took him a moment to remember that the other heartbeat was supposed to be there. He wasn't used to having bedmates stay overnight.

Red eyes slid open and found keen grey ones fixed on him.

“The fuck you staring at.”

“You, idiot.”

The big redheaded sprawl snorted crassly at that and flopped over, returning the stare with sleepy menace.

Law smirked. He was wedged sideways in one of the heavy carved armchairs in Kidd's quarters, loosely wrapped in a sheet and busily scritch scritching in a large book. His gaze flicked from page to Kidd and back.

Kidd prodded him, “See something you want, Trafalgar? Come over here and take it.”

His limbs were still all loose and languid from when they'd fucked a couple hours before, but Kidd could stand to go another round. Especially with the sharp, evaluating looks Law was throwing him right now.

“Come on, c'mere.”

“Later. Go back to sleep, Eustass-ya.” The pen bobbed.

“Don’ wanna. What are you doing still up?”

“Just passing the time until my brain decides to let me fall asleep.” Law's insomniac woes again.

“A good fuck will do that for you. Lemme do the ligature thing and you'll be out like bam .” Kidd offered generously.

“Heheh. Thanks but oxygen deprivation is not the kind of sleep aid I need.”

“Your loss.”

Kidd burrowed into his cluster of satiny pillows with a sigh. For an infamously brutal pirate captain he sure liked his little extravagances. The whole room was draped with horribly clashing bits of luxurious fabrics and furs, and the odd shiny sharp thing. The manic magpie whims of past raids.

“Nah, that's no good,” Law recrossed long legs over the chair’s arm, well cushioned with some spotted pelt. “Go back to where you were a second ago.”

“Are you…? What, taking notes on me? Writing an ode to the sinful curve of my flawless ass?”

“Something like that. I'm adding my own anatomical diagrams to this medical text. It’s my favourite for reference material but the illustrations are scanty and kinda shit -- it's like they've never dissected anyone before.”

“Nice. Add a diagram of these.” Kidd kicked up a leg.

“Hah. I'm nowhere near the section on genital abnormalities, but I'll look you up when I get there. Turn on your side again, I was doing upper body musculature.”

“Ooo. I got lots of that, yeah.” Kidd complied.

The lamplight was flickering low behind Law. Kidd could see him and his book backlit dimly, the small hairs on his leanly muscled shoulders aglow like a nimbus. Tinged subtly blue.

Wait, blue?

“Do you have a Room up?”

“Yeah, so I can scan down and see the actual anatomical stuff.”

“Huh. That's handy. You don't even have to dissect anyone.”

“Yeah but it’s easier to see everything if you physically open someone up. You can isolate the individual structures that way.” Law peeked overtop of the book. “And it's more fun to do it the old-fashioned way, heh…”

Kidd gave a low laugh. Law wasn't even joking, he knew. He imagined waking up one night like this, to find some part of him delicately splayed open and the dark haired doctor sketching away with the same expression. If Law used his devil fruit power he could do it painlessly and bloodlessly, without even waking him. Kidd had seen him sever heads away from bodies completely within that blue sphere, both pieces still functioning as one. He’d never been the subject of that eerie power himself, though.

He didn’t think so, anyway.

Law untangled himself from chair and sheet, and finally came over to join him on the bed. Kidd was gifted briefly with a full view of the lithe figure. His recent handiwork was beginning to show in the mottling that ran up either thigh and the bites framing his chest tattoos.

The long limbs refolded next to him. “Stay there, I wanna do the neck muscles now.”

“Lemme see that first.”

“Don't be grabby,” Law complained, but gave up the book.

“Holy fuck.” Kidd flipped through studies of his back, shoulders, hands. “So that's how I look without skin, huh.”

He had been expecting more… yeah. Skin.

“I did say I was drawing the muscles.”

“And my bones and everything.”

“Yeah. Good skeletal structure too. Several odd calluses where breaks didn't quite set right, though.”

“You can see all of that?”

“Yeah, of course. Like I said, I can scan down to any level. Though it helps if I know already the shape of what I'm looking for.”

Something about the drawings was just so Law. The lines so precise, so sharp, somehow impatient. A little obsessive and overworked on certain details, like the hollow between his collar bones and the knobbly crook of his index finger, broken at least twice. Many practice studies on loose sheets of paper showed that Law had been trying to get these parts just right.

It occurred to Kidd that these weren't just anatomical studies using him as a model -- these were him.

Jotted notes crowded around the practice studies, but Law grabbed the book back before Kidd could read them properly.

“Trafalgar. Does that seriously say I have 8.2 litres of blood in me.”

“Nevermind that. Just an interesting fact. You have a lot of blood.”

Kidd stole another peek as Law held him off. “And that I have a grip strength of 68 kilograms in my right hand?”

“At least. That’s not something I can see; that's from uh, experience.”

Kidd leaned back with his hands laced behind his head to look at Law. “One might misinterpret this as a target profile of some kind.” Because that's exactly what it was -- a detailed map of Kidd’s strongest, and weakest points.

“Whoa, your blood pressure’s spiking.” Law grinned with more teeth than usual and leaned in to hover over him.

“Now you're just showing off,” Kidd complained.

“Does this disturb you?”

That wasn't exactly the feeling that was spreading through him, no. Or not entirely, anyway. Kidd just cracked his neck, stretching it out for Law's benefit, and raised an eyebrow.

“So you wanted some neck action? It's all yours.”

Law seemed to like the sound of that. He angled Kidd’s head away and up with a gentle press of fingers, so the ear and neck were exposed to him.

Kidd watched his shadow flicker on the opposite wall and listened to the pen scratch across paper. The undulating magnetic field of Law’s heart was so close now, washing over him. His own blood thudded in his ears, senses all on high alert from holding himself in this vulnerable position.

He could be fuckin patient. Sometimes. Well… when he had all of Law’s attention focused on him like this, he’d stay still forever. He could feel the sharp eyes on him like a touch. His own eyes started to wander back over…

He jumped a little when Law did touch him, nudging him back into place. And then trailing fingers over the mound behind his ear.

“Sternocleidomastoid,” Law mouthed to himself. “Levator scapulae…” The hand travelled down to his collarbone and rested there lightly, his thumb tracing little circles.

It was so calm. And strange. Rare for the reserved doctor to be so casually intimate. Even while they were fucking, touch was more like a struggle, hands straining against and into each other. Kidd was rough without even trying, but it was Law who seemed to flinch from any contact not resembling combat. Or medical care. Such structured things. He’d objected -- vehemently -- to being “pawed at” and “pet like a lap dog” often enough. As though anything less than bruising force would hurt more.

He was so guarded. It made Kidd greedy.

“You're hard, you know,” Law breathed onto his neck.

“Yeah I'm aware.”

“Heh.”

Tattooed fingers ran along Kidd’s side, over the tight bands hugging the ribs (“Serratus anterior…”), and pinpricks rose in their wake. Kidd found himself arching up against the hand desperately.

“Ah, fuck, Trafalgar…”

“Mhm,” Law responded, distracted. Or pretending to be. He followed a particular cord of muscle down Kidd’s powerful thigh with his thumb. “Sartorius. Gracilis.”

“Dick.”

“No that's not a muscle, Eustass-ya.”

“Oh for the love of GOD.”

Law made a sound that was probably a muffled laugh. “Hold still. I'm doing anatomical studies.”

“Oh is that what we're doing.”

“Obviously.”

“Where's the book.”

“It's…” Law looked around for a minute. “On the floor.”

Kidd covered his face with his hands and just laughed. Law sighed dramatically.

“Well. Guess I gotta start from the top again.”

 

---

Law could be a pushy bastard when he topped. But he kept up the slow, focused treatment this time and it was driving Kidd fucking insane.

“I'm gonna flip this the fuck around and pound you inside out if it takes any longer.” Kidd growled from under his arm, slung across his face.

This was as close as he could get to actually asking for it. Here he was laid out, so open and ready, core clenching and unclenching. Needing to be fucked, to have hands on him, in him, whatever. All of it.

“Nah you're not.” Law countered smugly.

“F-uck,” was all Kidd could come up with when a third finger twisted into his slicked up hole. His body tensed and spasmed before yielding itself open.

By the time Law was actually fucking him, Kidd had nearly popped a fucking vein.

Law pushed in slowly, slowly. Until they were pressed together as tight as they could go, breath hot on each other's faces.

“Shit, Tr--ahh…”

“Eustass-ya…”

He was done with all the slow shit. Kidd was a shifting mass of need under him and honestly, he was even more worked up. He dragged almost all the way out only to grind back in hard, and the tight body jolted.

“Aw fuck, yeah…”

Law braced his weight on his arms, pressing Kidd’s hips into the bed. He watched the muscles bunch beneath him with each impact, Kidd straining to meet him. Watched through skin so pale it was translucent, glowing and rippling.

Kidd still wasn't entirely sure what to make of that gaze. All hunger and splitting seams, open lips and ragged breath.

He quirked up one corner of a mocking mouth.

“The fuck’re you-- ah --staring at?”

Law didn't answer for a moment. Under Kidd's skin it was like… layers of red ribbons, wrapping him up. The ribbons all pulling and straining against each other when Kidd moved (when Law moved in him), like something inside was trying to burst out. Under them, ribs curving -- jealous fingers. Wetly clinging membranes. Then under that…

“Your heart. It's…”

Their bodies collided, beaded with sweat. Harder. More. Law could see, hear Kidd's heart beating faster as he picked up his pace. God, he could feel it in his palms. In his dick. Beating so strong it echoed in his ears, drowning out his own.

“Fucking perfect. It's perfect.”

Kidd laughed breathlessly. His heart. What the hell. “...You wanna get your hands on that too?”

Law did.

He wanted to grip it, feel it flutter, make it burst …

… What if I could? he thought. He slowed, thinking, and spread a hand over Kidd’s breastbone. Not just to incapacitate through dismemberment, but to cut a piece from the whole, one vital piece…

Kidd watched the pensive eyes flicker and gave him a swift jab of encouragement with his heel.

“You'll just have to get hold of it the old fashioned way. Hahahaaa…”

“Hah.” Law shook himself from his distracted state. He picked up a pace that was slower than before, though not less jarring. “Like… I should court you or like I should cut you open?”

“Whichever ...ah ... But you should fuckin get me off first.” Kidd guided the tattooed hand down from his chest to his dripping cock, and Law obliged, finally.

They fucked with foreheads pressed together and grips slipping on sweat slick skin. Kidd thought of Law digging his hands right into his chest and came in jerking starts like it was being beaten out of him, legs clamped tight around him. Skin thrumming with the echoes of hands and heartbeat.

 

---

Kidd flipped through the last few drawings with some undefinable flutter in his gut.

“That's some shit you won't see in any other textbook.”

“Mhm.” Law allowed himself to press against Kidd just slightly as they lay sprawled out, sweat drying in the cool air. He was in a fuckin good mood, kinda dazed.

“I do look damn good without skin, I'll say that much.”

“Heh. And with. You can see the suprasternal notch really clearly even under the skin, it's nice. I fuckin love all of that. That area.”

Kidd choked a little but Law didn't seem to realize what he'd said. And that's not even what he meant anyway, Kidd told himself.

But the whole thing kinda was the same as a confession, at least as far as Law went. The drawings, as vaguely threatening as they were, betrayed an intimate preoccupation with Kidd's finer points. Maybe even admiration. Definitely possessiveness. Need.

“I wanna do you too.”

Law grinned, “Already?”

“Not that, idiot. Draw you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

“Well, draft. I can draft things -- just basic. For engineering stuff on the ship, mostly.”

“Oh, nice!” Law bounced up to get fresh paper from the floor by the chair. “How does one usually draft stuff? Don’t you need a triangle thing? Compasses, etcetera?”

“Maybe. I’ll just make an outline for now.”

Law seemed right into this whole idea. “Draw me like one of your machines, Eustass-ya.” He draped himself dramatically across the bed and Kidd shoved him with a grin.

“How do you want me, though.”

Kidd appreciated that question for a moment.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged. “I don’t know how to draw from life -- like perspective or anything. So it’s gonna be pretty diagrammatic. I just need a few details and some numbers.”

“Like specifications? How to build a Trafalgar?”

“Yeah, so I can make another if this one breaks.”

That made him laugh.

“Okay lie out flat and lemme measure you.”

“With what measuring tools?”

“I'll just eyeball it,” Kidd insisted.

This turned out to mean that he was going to get his hands all over him, which Law supposed was fair. He tensed and shied but stayed mostly still, letting Kidd explore his dimensions and proportions. Pages filled up with ratios and vectors of movement. Things got off track again around when Kidd was testing the rotation arc of his arms and quickly became vicious rutting. Light, skimming hands could become crushing ones so quickly.

Anyway, turned out that Law could get off while his arms were being hyperextended behind his back. Pretty effectively, in fact.

After, when they were laid out next to each other once again, and Law’s breaths were finally lengthening into sleep, Kidd dared to try another light touch. Without their thin pretense of functionality this time -- just want. He smoothed a hand over all the tattoos he'd taken such careful note of earlier. A large heart on his chest with a grinning skull similar to his Jolly Roger. Hearts on his shoulders. Kidd’s fingerprints blooming dark purple on his upper arms.

Sixty-eight kilograms of pressure and Law hadn't made a sound, but a feather touch over the marks and a quiet ah pushed past his lips.

“Whose emblem is that tattoo?”

Law mumbled with his eyes closed, “Someone who died. Long time ago.”

“Someone…” Kidd repeated to himself, but didn't probe. “You going to get any more?”

“Nah.” His breath stuttered slightly when Kidd trailed knuckles down his jaw. “I just like… your marks…”

He fell asleep with Kidd's lips against the shell of his ear.

 

---

A roll of broadsheet tied with string arrived by carrier gull when Law was back on his sub some days later. He stole away to his cluttered quarters and spread the roll out on the bed.

Inside the broadsheet was a large-format technical drawing.

There were three flat outlines of Law: front, back, side. All heavily marked out in blunt pencil, all surrounded by arcs and lines, dotted and solid, indicating measurements and angles of motion. The insides of the outlines were empty except for perfectly to scale renderings of his tattoos.

[sp00kyjellybeans]

Hi there! Could I request an x reader with Stu and a nerdy girlfriend? Like, she has big, round glasses and likes to read

tee hee yes ofc this is adorbs - fyi this is just gonna be a cute little one-shot since I wasn’t sure if u wanted hc or nah. I really hope you like it aaaa I kinda went for the 10 things I hate about you trope (except stu isn’t actually all deep and whatever.... he likes being around his smart nerdy gf who reads<3 he’s a himbo who can’t read. it events out)

Warnings: None Word count: 1,437 Genre: Fluff, Oneshot

The library was your safe space during school hours. You’d be in there every moment you got for some peace and quiet. With a building full of teenagers, there were only so many silent spaces to enjoy Austen or Hawthorne. As of today, you were rereading Pride and Prejudice in your usual corner surrounded by mounds of books. But your mind kept wandering elsewhere.

“Hey, do you know where I can find a book about uh... science?” A boy said to you a little too loud. A loud shush echoed across the library from the school librarian and he flinched in response. “Geez...”

“I don’t work here, you know,” you whispered, not looking up from your book, “Just go ask a librarian.”

“Aw come on,” the boy whined, “The lady hates me and you seem to know your way around here.”

You slammed the book down on your lap and glared up at the boy, revealing it to be Stuart Macher. The goof of your grade in Woodsboro high. “Why? Because I have glasses and I don’t talk to anybody?” 

Stu looked taken aback, “Uh... because I see you in here all the time. But those are your words... not mine,” he chuckled slightly.

“Oh...” your face flushed in embarrassment, attempting to focus your eyes on the shelf of history books to your left instead of the tall blond. “What kind of science book?” You said referring to his question, to make up with the guilt you felt in your stomach. He stared at you blankly. “Biology... Anatomy... Chemistry?”

“Oh! Right!” His face lit up in realization. “Anatomy. I need to stare at a skeleton... or... something.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly and shoved a hand in his pocket, his bracelets spinning around his wrist from the sudden movement. You noticed that his fingers fumbled with the necklace around his neck while he scratched his bare skin. 

Throwing your book on the table next to your seat, you lead Stu out of your secret hiding place and to the educational aisle of books. It was a maze to him, each book cover looking seemingly indifferent compared to the next. The tall aisles of books were no different to him. Instead, he focused on you while you adamantly searched for whatever he was looking for. Each time you slowed down in front of a section of books, you would lean your head to the right, your glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose from the awkward angle. This happened a few times and a smile tugged at his lips every time you would push the frame upwards, only to have it happen again a moment later. 

“Hello?” You waved up at Stu, who was staring off. “This what you need?” You gestured toward the large sum of anatomy textbooks. His face fell flat, annoyed that he had to actually study... not follow you around this confusing place all day. 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Thanks, book girl.”

“That’s not my name,” you responded curtly, kicking your heel to head back to your secret hiding place. 

“Hey, babe,” a warm, and somewhat sloppy, kiss hit your cheek. “Whatcha reading?

“Shut up!” You hissed at Stu. “All the times that you’ve been here, you still haven’t learned library etiquette. I’m surprised Mrs. Worthington hasn’t banned you for life.”

Stu shrugged and plopped his large body on the carpeted ground, laying his head against your thigh. “That’s who I am baby, you couldn’t change me if you wanted.”

You bopped him on the head with the Jane Austen novel and he let out a groan. “You can learn some manners.”

“Whatcha reading? He repeated, now setting his chin on your thigh in an attempt to look at the page you were on. This gave him no clues since the writing style was something he hadn’t seen. “Fancy...”

“I’m re-reading Pride and Prejudice.”

“That love story with the mean guy?”

“He just doesn’t know how to express it,” you scowled. “But yeah. I can’t seem to focus on it.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged this time, letting the hardcover rest on the arm of the chair. You stared forward as the illusion of how you and your boyfriend met replayed a few feet ahead of you.

“I keep thinking about how we met. I feel like it kind of reflects this book,” you said and tapped a finger on the book. Stu stared up at you with wide eyes.

Those blue eyes followed you everywhere after that. You were used to keeping your nose buried deep in the pages of the next novel your entire high school career, yet those wide ocean blue eyes disrupted this cycle. It made you hyper-aware of your surroundings. Especially aware of the fact that you and he shared a class together.

It was right before the free period. The class you shared together. His unfiltered glances would always meet yours and it resulted in a confused flush of your cheeks. You just wanted to focus. You saw a lot of his confident smirks during the lecture one day and decided to scurry off to your safe space before he tried approaching you. You knew it was coming.

But he didn’t that day.

You finally thought you were at peace. 

Although, the day after that proved you otherwise. You found yourself staring down at a familiar pair of sneakers amidst flipping pages and groaned in disgust.

“Do you need anything?”

“Yeah,” Stu grinned. “Another anatomy book.”

Then he showed up the next day.

“Hey, can you-”

“Fine!” You slammed the book shut and led him to the science section.

Then the next.

“Hey, book girl can you-”

“Shouldn’t you know where the science section is now?” you snapped. 

Usually, Stu would be taken aback by such an outburst. Instead, a look of joy planted on his face as soon as the sound of Mrs. Worthington’s shush echoed through the library, obviously aimed at you. 

“I wasn’t going to ask about anatomy this time,” he said in a normal tone, stepping towards you. You felt flutters in your stomach but didn’t move an inch. “I wanted to...” Stu lifted his finger to point at the book you clenched in your hand. “See what you were reading. You’re always reading that author and. I want some recommendations.”

You stared up at the boy, absolutely dumbfounded. Never would you have thought that the class clown would want book recommendations from you. Even less over the thought that he wanted to read. You lifted the large novel to your line of sight, which was a Stephen King novel, Pet Sematary. 

“You want to read... Stephen King?” you mumbled and Stu nodded his head. His words replayed in your head. He noticed what you were reading. You knew he had been staring at you for the past week but you didn’t assume that he wanted to know your interests. How often did he pay attention to you?

You ended up taking him to the horror section, where the boy’s love of the genre became evident. Stu went on many tangents about various movies that were books beforehand. He had no idea! This passion of his was unexpected but you were more than happy to fuel it. Stu took a deep interest in Alfred Hitchcock and Stephen King the most out of your horror recommendations. He was ecstatic. 

“You know,” You sighed, running your fingers through his short hair, “I didn’t think you liked books when we met.”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But you liked them a lot and I wanted to see what the hullabaloo was about. You never focused on anything except reading.”

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Stu sat up straight. “I mean, I noticed you a while ago but... didn’t know how to approach. Asking for an anatomy book for the first time seemed like the best option.”

The familiar hotness etched onto your cheeks as Stu spoke. He was so cheesy. “You always know what to say...”

“It's true though!” Stu exclaimed. “I didn’t even take anatomy!”

Your eyebrows knitted together, “Wait you didn’t even take- oomf!” You were cut off by a swift pair of lips, melting into your boyfriend instantly. 

“Shhh,” he whispered, remaining close to your face as you pulled away. “We’re in the library.”

“I can’t believe you,” you giggled, lazily placing a hand on his cheek. 

His signature grin grew wide, “Really? Cause I’d say that I nailed the slow burn trope really well. Even better than Mr. Darcy.”

“You wish,” you chuckled once more and leaned in for another kiss. 

[taikova]

do you got any tips on studying and applying anatomy to art? your character art always inspires me because of how well rounded it is. i get frustrated practicing life drawing because it feels like i never get anywhere.

so because it’s kind of vague to me what you mean by “well-roundedness”, i’m gonna just talk about general things (i do this a lot with art asks. i just have to keep reiterating about learning something of every single possible art fundamental from painters and illustrators and graphic designers and even 3d artists because doing that has helped me tremendously to improve my art. it might help you too, so here i go again. for more of the same and others, you can try the tag “art help” on a browser ver of my blog)

i think i practised *some* anatomy by drawing plain naked bodies at one time. but honestly rn i’m pretty bad at drawing that, because i haven’t drawn anatomy studies of muscles at all or done it very little lately. and there IS plenty of references to use if you google. it’s good to do life drawing for anatomy’s sake but there’s more to characters than just getting the muscles where they’re supposed to go (and you can actually just find/make a reference very specific to your art piece whenever you need it. reference is good.)

(cut for length)

i like drawing clothes folds, and you can make them look good with just a little knowledge of how certain clothing acts, bulks or wraps around a limb. i think rather than getting things anatomically correct (though it certainly helps me) it’s more important to focus on knowing how your character would look if you walked around them and saw them in 3 dimensions. gesture, body type, hair volume, clothes etc on top of this are part of well rounded characters. observing real life is very important, for example, often in my everyday life i’ve just taken a moment to stare at something objectively like how my clothes fold at the elbow or how i adjust my hoodie and how my hand grips something, and thought about how fun it could be to draw that. sometimes i just look at other people or their hands or clothes and try to keep them in mind for when i draw again. like it’s not very different from using real ref but you have to actually, actively think about it, incorporate it just a little into your daily life so you can remember it (on top of doing studies!). but when you’re in front of your canvas and need to be able to or need to solve a problem in your drawing, try to make sure you don’t get distracted by other things around you, and focus on drawing one thing for a little bit. (put on something instrumental, repetitive for focusing, like game bg soundtrack), and find or make the references you need, and go.

i’ve gotten frustrated a lot too, specifically about how HARD it is to like. see a full body and reference that instead of getting stuck into details like this one fold that’s right above the knee and you just can’t seem to make it look right and you gotta erase it over and over and over.... until you realise its sucked all fun out of drawing it cause you just can’t “see” the drawing anymore...

i think i had to find ways to make it more interesting to LEARN. it’s not always fun, but i’d just try to find any way to get me inspired to push into doing lots of bad drawing. there’s plenty of other reasons like feeling inadequate, which you SOMEHOW need to psych yourself out of. maybe if you’re not making something for an audience (so don’t think about posting it online, even if you likely would), but you’re making it cause you want to feel the satisfaction of either the process, or solving a problem, or the eventual long-game finished drawing that you will like to look at, or just the motivation from knowledge that if you push through this patch of studies, then drawing that next time will get a little bit easier. you won’t notice improvement until you stop to compare your old art to your new, it will be pretty gradual. (or maybe the satisfaction just comes from imagining a fave character and expressing that in whichever way or quality through your art? or just from imitating a cool speed painting from youtube and dreaming about achieving something like it *at that specific time*, even if your art will likely not look the same because you take inspiration from a lot of different places)

but anyway, i recommend trying to maybe find a fun way to do studies? if you find some fun references, try making them your fave character you like to draw each time. draw your own clothes! you have a free model living inside you all day and night. maybe try copying another artist, see what they do right (buuuuuut maybe don’t post it anywhere). Like, REALLY good painters have taught me to see better in 3d and what that means for art? it’s a lot of things that come together to make a very nice drawing of a character. good luck!

[urfavfandomles]

more modern au!!!!! chief of neurosurgery! valdemar x resident! reader

months pass without a single encounter with the horrific doctor you had been forced to wake up

you were still disgusted by them, how little they seemed to care

you had muled over so many different reasons they must have become a doctor, for surely helping others was not one of them

wealth, prestige, honor? pressure from family?

this must be the reason Dr. Valdemar must have put out so many research papers and done so many controlled experiments— simply because they wanted their name on an important article

you were livid yet still find yourself rereading their research papers over and over, entranced by their words and findings

however, you were still positive of one thing—

you would take over their position one day.

you had got into the grind of working in this hospital as a resident, getting positive feedback from all your mentors and each department head, with the exception of one

The Chief of Neurosurgery, Dr. Valdemar

you have yet to help perform any sort surgery with them, even though you had been making your rounds and had eagerly written that you were most interested in neurosurgery when asked, back in your university days

you stand next to the nurse's station, reading over the files of all the patients you should visit today when your pager goes off

surprised, you quickly look down to see if any message had arrived

your heart stopped

the message was clear

"head to conference room 216 immediately."

you quickly excuse yourself, and head to the room.

you open the door, expecting to see the doctor who was your mentor in the room. you close the door behind you, speaking before you even notice who was in the room.

"i apologize for being late, i arrived as quickly as i could—"

and then you look up

your blood runs cold

at the end of the long conference table sat Dr. Valdemar, their long fingers interlaced and head rest in the curve of their hands.

"Dr. (l/n), I do not appreciate tardiness of any sort. Have you never been told that when your pager rings you must run, not walk, to the destination to which you were called to?"

fury fills you at these words, and yet you can find no reply for once.

you stand there, scowling, and the Chief of Neurosurgery gestures for you to sit.

"Now, we must get to business. My collaleagues have spoken highly of you, Dr. (l/n). You have made rounds with them, successfully performed mediocre surgeries with them, and made a name for yourself as, well— quite a talented, if not cold-hearted machine."

you bristle at these words, opening your mouth to respond, when they raise a hand to stop you.

"It has come to my attention that you originally entered this residency program with the intent to become a neurosurgeon. Is this correct?"

"Yes, Dr. Valdemar," you answer cooly. "As you can see from my papers, I expected to be placed in your clinical rounds and have yet to do so."

"Which is why you are here."

you still.

"Excuse me, Doctor?"

"You will be scrubbing in on my next surgery. Here is the duplicate of the files I have made for my research on the subject—ah, sorry, patient—and what I expect you to learn helping from such a procedure. As you have been positively boasted about, I expect excellence."

you suck in a breath. this is the defining moment. you had the right to turn it down, but there was no way in hell you could. it was like a the forbidden fruit.

and so, you stalk up to the table and pick up the folder filled with copies of Dr. Valdemar's case study.

"Thank you for the opportunity, Dr. Valdemar," you try to say as evenly as possible, hiding both your excitement at scrubbing in on neurosurgery and apprehension at being in such close quarters with this moraless doctor.

they smile softly, though it reminded you much of a cobra's mouth. ready to strike at any second.

"Now, that is all for now, Dr. (l/n). Read up on the documents and be prepared for surgery tomorrow at approximately 3:00PM on the dot. And do try to not be late, or show up in such a disheveled state."

you nod your head once, though you stare Valdemar in the eyes, refusing to back down. yes, you may be a resident, but you were still a doctor. you may not have the prestigious position they possess as of the moment, but soon that would come tumbling underneath them.

it was determined the second you agreed to perform surgery with Dr. Valdemar. you were going to be the best damn resident there was in this hospital, and get offered a position that rivaled Valdemar's, even if it killed you.

the next day, you were quite literally shaking from nerves and caffeine. you had spent a good portion of the night reading their notes on the surgery. it was simple, but it was obvious by their notes they left no corner untouched. you begrudgingly had to accept that this must be why they have earned their position. hard work. effort.

you take one last look behind you at the hospital corridor, before heading up the short stairs leading to the operating rooms floor. you could practically feel the hospital mocking you, a voice whispering, "oh, you silly mortal, what have you gotten yourself into?"

you quickly sign in to the surgery, writing your name and position on the OR board next to Valdemar's. it felt odd, seeing your name next to theirs.

you grab your supplies: your gloves, your gown, and the mask you would be wearing.

setting it to the side, you walk inside the room with endless lines of sinks. idle chatter was held between fellow surgeons who were working on different surgeries, but this did little to settle your nerves.

you grab your own soap, and activate the sink. just as you begin scrubbing underneath your fingernails, you hear a voice from behind you.

"How adorable," the voice mocks. you refuse to look at them, simply continuing to stroke your nails clean.

you hear movement and the sink directly next to you turn on.

you felt a towering presence next to you. your heart was admittedly beating very fast from nerves, but now you felt boiling hot rage enter your veins.

the audacity that Dr. Valdemar had was unlike any other's. you knew this was a game for them. it was best to ignore them, you decide, and not engage.

"Good afternoon, Dr. (L/n). I suspect you slept well last night after reading over my notes for the surgery?"

you grit your teeth and start scrubbing your fingers with the soap and counting each scrub.

"I do quite adore cases like this. So simple of an issue, yet so much could go wrong. The fondness I have for neurosurgery revolves around its precision. One wrong move and your patient could become a vegetable. Don't you agree?"

30 scrubs. best to move on to the next hand.

"Why, are you nervous? Don't be, you're in safe hands with the fact you're with me. I am the best at my job, as you know."

it was time for the wrists. you had walked through the steps of washing your hands properly since the very beginning of medical school, had it ingrained in your mind as easily as remembering anatomy.

you finish washing your hands and forearms before valdemar, and quickly leave the room, hands held above your waist and below your shoulders. you press your back against the operating room door as to not touch your hands to anything, and quickly head in.

you make quick work of your time, buzzing over your surgical gown. you open it, as you had done for countless surgeries, gently putting on the scrub gown.

just as you hike it up, you hear a noise and see Dr. Valdemar has entered the pre-op room.

they smile fondly at you, as one night a child.

you turn your back quickly, trying to hide your angry red cheeks, and begin to fasten the ties at the back of your gown when you feel as soft touch.

"Allow me," comes the purr of the Chief's voice.

you still as their hands make quick work, tying each knot no doubt perfectly and tightly.

"Thank you," you manage.

They simply hum in response, putting on their own gown. You put on the gloves, and await for the Chief to finish.

"Are you ready, young resident?" asks the Chief.

You bite your lip to keep from snapping. "Yes, Doctor, I'm ready."

A light chuckle fills the air as they walks backwards, pressing their body against the door that lead to the operating room.

"Rumors have flown around saying you wish to be the Chief of Neurosurgery. So let's put you to the test."

their grin is anything but kind.

but damn it all, you think as you walk into the brightly lit OR, I'm either gonna marry or kill this doctor.

[ayellowcurtain]

since anybody asked, can you write a part 3 for that yann story? with z 😗 you wrote about them, babe, see the monster you created, they're my favorite couple now.

hahaha I love them too, anon, it makes me so happy that an original ship that I created is your favorite couple now!!!! 

Part 2

-

“Hello? Anybody home?” Yann says loudly, hearing the tv on Z’s favorite show about renovating houses. He closes the door with the back of his foot and toes his sneakers off, taking the groceries to the kitchen. 

He bought a lot, has to put somethings on the small rounded table and the rest on the counter and finally, he has company. Z hugs him from behind, kissing his neck. 

“Thought you got lost or something.” They whisper against his neck and Yann has to hold the bag of pasta tighter to keep himself from shivering. 

“I would have been faster if you had gone with me.” Z’s hand caresses his abs under his shirt and they move away, helping Yann put everything where it belongs. 

“I’m studying, sir. You bought snacks!” Yann smiles, putting everything that goes inside the fridge in it, hearing how Z’s hands work quicker, probably with more interest now that they found their snacks, searching for more. 

“Yes, because I’m a nice person. And I thought you might need something to eat during your study session.” 

Z sighs and folds their tote bags to put one inside the other, hanging behind the kitchen door. “I can share my snacks. But only if you help me study.” 

“And what are you studying?” Yann crouches down to put the dry food inside the pantry, but he stops when he hears a zipper loudly being unzipped. 

They’re wearing their usual tiny loose shorts and a bright, 90′s vibe windbreaker. Nothing underneath the windbreaker, Yann realizes. Z takes the windbreaker off and smiles and fucking hell.

“Anatomy.” 

“You’re not in college yet to be studying anatomy...” Yann leans against the counter behind him, falling deeper in love every time Z smiles at him. They have this puffy top lip that looks like they’re constantly pouting and little fangs that sit perfectly against the bottom lip like they’re some type of mixture of greek statue and vampire. 

“But I will be. Soon enough. I’m gonna be the biggest doctor that France has ever seen and so for that, I need to study a lot. And practice.” Z grabs the big bag of chips Yann bought and wiggles their eyebrows, walking backward to the bedroom. 

“Come.” 

And Yann can do anything else but to obey, following Z to the bedroom to help them study. 

[wallaceandpestle]

tough love art advice two

bc you guys liked the first one

* art youtubers are great places to start out, its how I started out, and I def understand why so many people like these videos, but dont follow them too closely. understand that these youtubers primary concern most of the time is making videos that get attention, not necessarily the most informative or even skilled videos. they’re fun to watch, but dont take them too seriously for instruction or think that their method is the only one. kinda like dessert, more serious courses would be, idk whole grains?

* speaking of, take art courses!! there’s cheap ones online, research ones in your area! its fall so manu places are just starting workshops. join ones that have something new if you’re a;ready pretty experienced-- if you’re really good at photoshop and use it all the time take a charcoal drawing course or something. dont do the same thing over and over again, even if it’s easy. 

* do artwork thats deliberately for practice. not to look good, not to show people, art thats intentionally for you to learn better. most likely it will probably look like crap as a side effect of you learning. 

* set realistic goals and challenges for yourself. especially with stuff you can count. no more “i’m gonna improve my anatomy,” and more “i’m going to do five study sketches a day of a different part of anatomy for a month.”

* follow a lot of artists!! follow youtubers who make epic fantasy art and small businesses selling watercolor prints and comic artists and fine art traditional painters. follow character designers for disney and naturalist artists cataloguing plant species. you’ll be so much more inspired, well rounded, and original!!!

* ik its a hard habit to get into but BLEASE save art you like. I have a pinterest board for all art stuff, and smaller sub-boards or w/e you call them for different things. if you find drawings you find interesting or unique or inspiring or all around cool save them. my board is just “drawing inspo,” you can get more specific (landscapes, animal art, fantasy humans, etc) but keep it separate from tutorials. 

* put on captions or descriptions of your art! if youre trying to get more into posting art online and want more attention I strongly recommend writing a lil description or something on art you post if you don’t already. talk about the process you followed, bumps you hit along the way, things you learned, funny little tidbits, etc. it gives you a whole lot more personality and relatability and can also be really educational. 

* I said it in the last one but it bears repeating: if you dont feel confident pricing commissions you do for fun (not out of necessity to make a living) at at least $5 USD dont do commissions at all. 

* in fact dont do commissions unless you have at least 3 years of serious practice, i’d say. 

* I think other people have said it but regardless: you can’t sell bad anatomy. if you want to open commissions or sell prints, you need to have the anatomy of your subject down, ESPECIALLY if it’s humans/humanoids. anatomy is one of the first things people notice in a drawing and the first thing that people notice if it’s off. 

* you dont always need to find a silver lining, sometimes the only benefit to your art is that it exists at all. it might look terrible and maybe you can’t even pinpoint anything in particular you learned from it other than that sometimes it sucks. this is okay. 

* will probably edit this with more if I think of it, feel free to add on

[vizkopa]

Three Ways to Study Anatomy (Ace x Reader x Sabo) College!AU PART 1.4

Part 1: The Usual Way Chapter Four: An Unconventional First Day ~

You were panicking. Day one of college and you were already threatening to break down into tears. Sabo had been kind enough to show you to your first class that morning (Intro to Physiology with Dr Kureha) but your next class was across campus, and despite the maps dotted around the grounds, you could not for the life of you find building 403. Finally, you gave in and ducked into the nearest building in search of someone who could help. Peering into every open doorway along the vacant corridors, you grew increasingly frantic as each one turned up empty. Just your luck that the one building you happen to enter was deserted. Finally, you rounded a corner and heard the distinctive sound of welding from a room at the end. You peeked inside. A man in a white vest top and welding gloves was hard at work on some sort of metal monstrosity. His face was hidden behind the welding mask, but you could see the sweat dripping down his freckled neck, making track marks in the layer of metal dust that had settled on his skin. You’d recognise those freckles anywhere. “Ace!”

He looked up at the sound of his voice. The welding torch shut off. “Oh, Country Girl!” he said, nudging the helmet up off his face. “I didn’t know you had classes this side of campus.” “Uh, I don’t, really…” you laughed nervously. “I’m kinda… lost…” Ace set the welding torch aside and held out his hand. “Let’s see your schedule.” Your eyes were inevitably drawn to his face as he looked over the paper. He looked good like this, you decided. His cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat of the torch, and he had a smudge of dust on his chin from where he had brushed it with one filthy glove. His sweat-damp hair was pushed back from his forehead and you could imagine him running his fingers through it in to keep it out of his eyes. You blushed when you realised you were ogling and quickly looked away. “Anatomy 101, huh? It just so happens I know the lecturer. I’ll take you there myself.” Your face flooded with relief. “Really? Thank you!” Ace set his gloves and mask aside, wiping the sweat and dirt from his face with a clean rag (he missed a spot on his nose, but you were too shy to mention it) and gestured to the door. “After you,” he said. He locked the door behind him. The two of you fell into a silence as you made your way through the campus together. He threw his arms behind his head and whistled jauntily. A few students who were studying on the grass nearby glared at him as you passed but if he paid any mind, he didn’t show it. “What were you making in there?” you blurted out, the silence growing too heavy to bear. He cast you a sidelong glance and smirked. “It’s a secret.” “Oh.” You looked down at the path, a light blush rising in your cheeks. Ace laughed. “I’m just kidding.” He threw an arm casually around your shoulders, and you had to lower your head even more to hide the intensifying blush on your face. “It’s my third year project. We’re supposed create something inspired by our own artistic journey or some shit. To be honest, I’m kinda stumped.” “Is that why it looks like a giant pineapple?” Ace’s arm fell from your shoulders and he gaped at you in horror. “It does not.” You laughed. “It really does.” He looked at you in dismay but you could see the laughter in his eyes. “It’s supposed to be a raging wildfire representing the all-consuming force of my artistic genius!” You stifled a giggle. “I mean, I guess if you squint at it a bit?” He groaned exasperatedly. “Now everyone’s gonna think Marco is my muse or something.” “Marco?” Ace didn’t have time to answer the question as he stopped dead in front of the door to a lecture hall and announced: “Oh, we’re here.” You were just debating if you should just walk in and pretend like you had just stepped out for a moment, or if you should be polite and knock when Ace made the decision for you. He pressed his face up to the window and blew a loud raspberry on the glass. “Oh my god, what are you doing?” you cried in horror. He cackled with laughter, almost doubled over clutching his stomach as the door opened and a man with a tired expression and a crop of spiky blonde hair poked his head into the hallway. The man sighed. “Ace, what in God’s name are you doing interrupting my lecture, yoi?” Oh. This must be Marco. Suddenly you understood the pineapple comparison. Ace was still trying to suppress his laughter as he replied. “Just helping out a freshie get to her class. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see my dear big bro.” Wait, big bro? Marco seemed to finally notice you were there. “Oh, you must be [Name]. You can call me Marco or Dr Phoenix, whichever you prefer. You haven’t missed much, come on in.” You smiled and nodded gratefully. “In fact,” Marco grinned deviously. “You’re just in time for a special presentation. Ace, why don’t you join us if you have nowhere else to be?” Ace tried to refuse but Marco already had a vice grip on his shoulders and was pulling him into the classroom to stand at the front. You sat down in a free seat in the second row. A few other students offered you a cursory glance, but most were preoccupied by the two brother’s bickering at the front of the room. Marco raised his voice and addressed the class. “Let’s start today with learning some of the basic muscle groups, as exemplified by our wonderful specimen here.” “Don’t make me do this, bro,” Ace pleaded. But Marco’s grip on Ace’s shoulders was unrelenting. He patted his shoulder reassuringly and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: “not like you haven’t done this before.” It was about to be a very interesting anatomy lesson… * * * * * “I can’t believe he made me do that,” Ace grumbled as he pulled his shirt back on after the lecture. “Well, you were the one making rude faces at him through the window,” you said, still fighting to calm the heat in your cheeks. “I suppose it wasn’t all bad.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out of handful of paper scraps. “I got plenty of numbers.” You rolled your eyes. “I think I got almost everyone in the class,” he said, counting the scraps under his breath. “Except you.” “You’re not getting my number.” “You gave Sabo your number.” You blushed. “Th-that’s different…” “Uh-huh,” Ace grinned, a glint in his eye. “Just in case you got lost on campus, right? He’s a crafty one, that Sabo.” You opened your mouth to protest but, thankfully, Ace changed the subject. “You heading back to the dorm?” he asked, shoving the numbers back into his pocket. You closed your mouth and nodded. Anatomy had been your last class of the day and, unconventional as it was, you felt a slight swell of pride in your chest at completing your very first day of college. Ace fell into step beside you and you both made your way home. “I don’t see the resemblance,” you said after several minutes of silence. “Huh?” “You and Marco. I don’t see the family resemblance.” “Oh. Yeah, we’re adopted.” “Sorry, I didn’t realise.” Ace shrugged. “No need to apologise. Related or not, I still got the looks in the family.” You laughed. You were beginning to realise how easy it was with him. “Thank you, by the way,” you said. “For what?” “For helping me find my lecture.” Ace waved his hand. “Hey, no worries. I remember what it’s like to be a freshman. You’re grateful for any help you can get.” He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “If you want to repay me though, you could give me your number.” You rolled your eyes. “In case I get lost again, right?” He winked. “Exactly!”

[mieran-sanctuary]

How did you make those drawing that mimic the dragon age tarot card look?

I’m sorry that it took me this long to reply, anon! There were some complications and illness that kept me away for a bit, but better late than never! I assume the drawing you’re referring to is the experimental card I made of my Inquisitor 4 years back?

It’s been a while since I worked on it, but I tried to dig up the old psd file to go through the layers and see what steps I made. The drawing itself was highly experimental, as I was completely new when it came to trying my hand at the DA:I card style. For the most part I decided to make the character and his anatomy very simplified, and rather focus on putting the details in the shading and background.

Let me show an example of what my drawing looks like without the added textures and extra overlay soft brush shading:

And here is the same drawing where the textures and shading are added:

But if there is one thing I’ve learned from both my own attempts and other artists, is that textures can sometimes make a very huge difference when it comes to that final touch. Whenever it’s from digital brushes or images that you’ve gathered. It’s no question that most of the work with these paintings lies in the drawing itself, but adding those final textures can really give it that ultimate DA:I card feel you’re looking for.

I’m not really experienced enough to give proper advice or tips on how to make these drawings, but for now, all I can recommend is studying the DA:I cards themselves, take inspiration from other artists, tarot cards in general, or patterns/paintings that can inspire what to use for the backgrounds. Another thing I personally like to recommend, is staying away from too much realism or overblending the image. The more the textures and those rough brush strokes are apparent, the more it adds to it. Keep it simplified, while the more detailed/realism stuff is kept to a minimum in comparison. But once again, this is my personal taste, and not the ultimate way to do this.

However, something I can add to my reply, is showing you guys a very quick, basic and simple way on how I generally go on with these paintings and how I add image textures. Please, rather look at these tips as suggestions on how to do it, as there are plenty of other and simpler ways to go about it. But since this will be a very long post filled with images, I’m gonna keep it under a cut, so that anyone interested can check it out there! Also keep in mind that I’m using Photoshop CS5 on an iMac for this.

First of all, I will apologize to everyone for the extreme low art quality, as I only have my computer mouse to draw with for this. Not to mention the extreme lack of balanced values that makes this more chaotic than it should. Make sure to always keep values in mind with these things, folks!

Anyways, I always start by making the drawing itself. Most of the work and style are put into this part of the process, as the image textures will just be extra flavoring.

Now let’s say that we want to add some fancy gold details to this drawing. We’ll be doing so by making a new layer over the drawing itself, then use a basic round brush to draw the shapes we want to be textured with gold. Wherever you choose to make something more detailed, or just make simple shapes with a single color, is all up to you.

Now I’ll be locking the layer by clicking the icon shown in the image below. It’s usually found over the layers, and make sure to keep the layer with the new shapes activated when you click it.

This will now make us able to draw on the shapes without going outside of them, so let’s use this to add some simple shading based on gold in general. This will add a bit extra once we apply the texture itself in the end. (References are your best friend here!) Also be aware that the colors you choose on these shapes will affect the end results once they are merged with the texture image. Here’s how it looks like after I’ve added some simple shading with a brush.

Now it’s time to add the extra gold texture itself. We’ll be doing so by first digging up your preferred gold texture image that you can either place or copy/paste into the psd file. Make sure the image is on a layer above the shapes we just added. Once that is done, we will right click on the layer with the image, and choose the option ‘Create Clipping Mask’

Now it should only be covering the shapes drawn in the layer below it. So now we can mess around with the image layer until it gives you a look you’re satisfied with. It’s mostly common to put the layer on Multiply or overlay, but try to experiment to see what you prefer. Also play around with the opacity of the layer, too! In this case, I set the layer to multiply and the opacity to 80%. I also adjusted the colors on the shape and the texture itself until I was satisfied.

I also added a gold texture to the circle in the background by doing the exact same thing. Make a layer with the shape, add the gold texture image in a layer above it, right click it and choose ‘Create Clipping Mask’. Then adjust to your heart’s content. This layer is set to multiply with 100% opacity. Colors were adjusted until I was pleased with the results.

And this is basically how I add textures to my art in general. Sometimes the Clipping Mask isn’t even needed if you want to cover the whole drawing itself with it. However, another thing you can do to add a texture over a painting, is having the image on its own layer over the drawing, but instead of setting the texture layer to Clipping Mask, you add a Layer Mask by having the layer itself chosen, then clicking the icon shown in the image below.

The texture layer should now have a white page next to it that looks like this.

This layer will now only let you draw on it with either black or white. Basically what this means, is if you draw on the layer with black, it will “erase” the texture, so that you can draw on the spots where you don’t want the texture to show on the painting. If you want to bring the texture back, all you have to do is draw over the black again with white, and it will appear.

I added a final grunge texture to the background, using the same method as we did with the gold, but simply skipping the Clipping Mask part. Instead I added a Layer Mask and drew over it with black, so that the texture would only show on the brown colored part of the background.

As a final touch, I added one more texture to cover up the whole image. It’s the same gray paper texture that I made and use for all my sketches or paintings in general. It can be found and downloaded here.The gray paper texture was set to overlay, and I darkened its values, as it tends to brighten up the drawing a bit too much when set to overlay.I also added a final layer on top of it all, setting it to overlay, and then draw with a soft brush to add some extra highlights and shadows to give it that final touch. Highlights were drawn with a very light/pale yellow, while the shadows were drawn with more dark brown tones. All in all, I used colors to match the ones used in the drawing.After all of that, this is how it finally looks.

Now this last step is completely optional, but I’ll add it to this post, in case some people will find it useful. One final step you can do to give the painting that extra crisp, is to add Unsharp Mask.First you need to save the drawing as a png file, and then open that file, so that all the layers are merged into one image. From here, we will click on Filter, among the tabs found at the very top of the program. From there we will find and choose Sharpen, then Unsharp Mask. Here’s an image to make it more clearer.

When you click Unsharp Mask, a little window will pop up, letting you adjust on three different sliders. Treshold will be on 0 levels, Radius will be on 2,0 pixels, while Amount is where we can adjust the slider to our liking. Usually it’s enough to keep it somewhere between 60-80%, but experiment and see what you prefer. Once you are done, click OK, and the changes will be added. Make sure to check the box next to Preview, to see what the changes look like before you click OK. When you resize the image to make it smaller, the unsharp mask effect can look pretty neat!

Aaaand one more optional final touch that we can add, is something called the Grain Texture. However, there is already a very great tutorial made that explains easily how to add it, so I’ll link to it here!

And FINALLY. After all these walls of texts and images, this is what the end results look like.

I apologize if my way of explaining these things is confusing and pretty bad. It’s always been a weakness of mine, so if any of you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask! I’ll try to answer as good as I can.Other than that, I hope this is somewhat helpful to some of you. This is basically how I do things in most cases when I make art.I’m not sure how much this helped to answer your question, Anon, but hopefully it shed some light on some of it! If not, I can always try to make another tutorial some other time, once my health allows me the extra time.

Thank you so much for reading, and good luck with your art!

[emospritelet]

KoL Prompt: 26 - “Whisky is a perfectly acceptable alternative to turkey”

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21]

AO3 link

Gold was beginning to wish he hadn’t agreed to come out for a drink.  Granny’s bar had been reasonably quiet when he and Dorothy had arrived, but now the dinner service was in full swing, and the raucous laughter and clatter of cutlery against plates was making him flinch.  Jefferson suggested that they get a booth, which cut a little of the noise, and ordered burgers and fries for the two of them, slapping the large padded envelope he had brought on the table next to him.  Gold wasn’t hungry, but he didn’t say anything about the burger, figuring that Jefferson wouldn’t listen, and Dorothy would probably eat it if no one else did.

He wished that he could stop stressing out over what she might find out; he told himself that it was likely that Belle both had a boyfriend and was happy with him.  After all, who would ever treat her poorly, if they were lucky enough to be with her?  Her boyfriend would be intelligent and funny and outgoing, easily making friends and with a good career.  He was probably the outdoors type, which was why he looked tanned. The two of them no doubt went hiking or skiing together.  She would have met him at college, and they would go on to get married and settle in a pretty little suburban house and have three kids who they would take upcountry at the weekends.  She’d be happy.

Jefferson was rattling on about some new procedure he’d been reading about, but Gold was only listening with half an ear as he constructed the perfect life for Belle inside his head.  Eventually Jefferson sighed, clicking his fingers in front of Gold’s eyes and making him jump.

“You’re not even listening, are you?” he said, sounding both irritated and amused.

“Sorry,” said Gold, and Jefferson shook his head.

“Fine, I’ll stop with the work talk,” he said.  “Thought it might pull you out of yourself for awhile.  You done with that drink?”

Gold nodded, pushing his glass across the table and reaching into his pocket for some cash.

“Next round’s on me.”

“Fine, but you’d better eat something when the food gets here,” warned Jefferson.  “I’m not carrying you home, okay?”

“Don’t fuss,” sighed Gold.

“Yeah, you can say that, but I still remember Glinda’s birthday party.  I’m not doing duets with you when you’re drunk: you can’t hold a high note and it cramps my karaoke style.”

Gold chuckled.

“I promise to pace myself,” he said.  “Are you working Christmas Day?”

“Nah, Whale said he’d cover,” said Jefferson.  “I covered last year, and it’s nice to spend the whole day with Grace.  You could always come over, you know.  Have Christmas dinner.”

“I’m working,” said Gold.

“After your shift, then,” said Jefferson.  “I don’t like thinking of you alone with a bottle of whisky on Christmas Day.”

“Whisky is a perfectly acceptable alternative to turkey,” said Gold absently.

“As a doctor I can assure you that isn’t the case.”

“Well, maybe I’ll come over for a drink, then,” he said, sitting back.  “It’ll probably be late, though.”

“There’ll be plenty of leftovers, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” said Gold, and meant it.  “I suppose you’re off work on New Year’s Eve, too?”

“I’m gonna be in this place, waiting to see out the year with a bang,” confirmed Jefferson.  “You working?”

“As always.”

“Next year you should let someone else take over for once.”

“You volunteering?” asked Gold, with a grin, and Jefferson pulled a face.

“Oh, God no!”

“Thought not.”

The diner door opened with a blast of cold air, and they both looked around as Dorothy hurried over, shrugging out of her coat and pulling her hat from her head.

“Right,” she said briskly, fixing Gold with a beady eye.  “It’s as I thought.  You’re a fucking moron and the guy she’s with is just a friend.  Engaged to someone else, as it happens.  So would you pull your pretty head out of your ass and ask the poor girl out before she dies of old age?”

Gold felt his heart clench, but he tried to keep his emotions in check, reaching for his glass before realising it was empty and letting his fingertips dance awkwardly on the table top.  He licked his lips.

“She’s - she’s single?” he asked, and Dorothy rolled her eyes.

“I’d like to ask what gave you the impression that she wasn’t, but we all know low self-esteem’s a fucking drag, so just trust me on this one, okay?  She’s single.  Very single and very in love with you and very eager to say yes if you just fucking ask her.”

“Right,” he said, his voice echoing strangely in his head.  “Right.  Okay.  I - I’ll give it some thought.”

“I swear by all the gods…” she sighed, sinking into the seat opposite.  “Fine.  I’ve done my bit, it’s up to you now, you big dork.  Is that my drink?”

“I ordered a couple of burgers, as well,” said Jefferson.

“Good, I’m starving.”

She took a slurp of her drink, and Jefferson waved a hand to get Ruby’s attention.  She blushed a little as she came over, and Dorothy became very interested in her drink.  Gold rolled his eyes.

“Can we get another round?” asked Jefferson.  “And maybe an extra portion of fries?”

“Sure thing!” chirped Ruby.

She jotted down the order before trotting off, and Gold eyed Dorothy.

“You know, for someone who talks a lot of shit to me about asking people out, you’re really no better,” he said, and she frowned.

“Shut up.  I’m - preparing myself.”

“To do what?” asked Jefferson.  “Perfect the art of telepathy and ask her out that way?”

“Don’t you start on me,” she said, wagging a finger.  “I don’t see you dating anyone.”

He shrugged at that.

“Too busy being a dad,” he said.  “If Grace suddenly turns around and decides she wants another parent, I’ll be back on the market.  Besides, I haven’t had anything more serious than a one-nighter in years, and I’m way too pretty to get hurt.”

“Why am I taking relationship advice from you two idiots?” remarked Gold.

“Because we care,” said Dorothy.  “And we want to see you coming into work happy.”

“With that post-coital glow I just know Belle wants to give you,” added Jefferson.  “And that you’re just dying to give her.”

Gold frowned at him.

“I’m stressing out enough about my Secret Santa present, without worrying about something that will probably never happen, thank you.”

“Well, you could always give her one of these,” announced Jefferson, patting the padded envelope in front of him.

“What’s in there?”

“Our calendars, what do you think?”  Jefferson beamed as Gold groaned.  “I got some advance copies.  They’re shipping the rest next week.  I’m on the front cover!  Take a look!”

He opened up the envelope, sliding out three of the calendars and handing them over.  Jefferson’s picture graced the front, a pose which had him looking off into the distance as he prepared a syringe, one knee up on the edge of a gurney, the leg bent enough that it hid his genitals.  His belly was pulled taut, his muscles well-defined, and Gold could understand why he’d made the cover.

“Well, you look good,” he admitted.  “Perhaps they didn’t bother adding my picture in.  No doubt it would spoil the aesthetic.”

“Au contraire, Dr December,” said Jefferson.  “You look awesome.”

Gold began flipping through the calendar, grinning as he saw Miss Blanchard, photographed with a jug of water obscuring one breast and a small pot plant hiding the other, a thoughtful expression on her face.  Next was Graham, toned and perfect, one hand on the frame of a saline drip and another holding a patient’s chart in front of his groin.  Dorothy’s picture had her with her back to the camera, looking back over her shoulder with a glint in her eye and a grin on her face as she held up a blood pressure cuff.

“I look hella cute,” she observed.

“Okay, here are your dri— oh!”  Ruby’s eyes went wide as she saw the calendar, and she blushed fiercely, pushing the tray of drinks onto the table.  “Um - your order.”

“Thanks,” said Gold, and smiled at her.  “Charity calendars for the hospital, Miss Lucas.  Perhaps you’d like to buy one.”

“I - uh - sure,” she said lamely.  “I’d love to.  It’s - it’s for a good cause, right?”

“Nurse Gale is looking particularly fine, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” she said, blushing harder as Dorothy buried her head in the calendar. “I’ll - um - just get your food.”

She rushed off quickly, dark hair swishing.

“I hate you,” said Dorothy, from behind the calendar.

“No you don’t.”

Gold turned the page, grinning as he saw Leroy with nothing but his security guard’s hat protecting his modesty.  The man was seriously hairy.  He turned the page again, revealing the month of May, and his heart skipped a beat. The picture was taken from above, and Belle was lying on the hospital gurney on her front, resting on her elbows.  She was completely naked, her feet kicked up behind her and crossed at the ankles.  Dark curls tumbled over her pale shoulders, and there was a medical textbook open in front of her, a copy of Gray’s Anatomy.  She was looking up at the camera through thick dark lashes, smiling slightly, a hint of promise in her expression, and he swallowed hard as his gaze travelled up the page, along the groove of her spine and over the perfect curves of her buttocks.  The sight of her made his heart thump.

“I’m guessing it’s gonna be May at your place for the rest of the year,” observed Dorothy snidely, and he sucked in a breath, flipping the page and seeing nothing.

“Holy crap, Gold, where have you been hiding that ass?” asked Jefferson.

Gold sighed, flipping through the rest of the calendar until he reached December.  Looking the picture over critically, he supposed it could have been worse.  He was standing with his back to the camera, only his nose and the edge of one cheekbone visible as he studied the chart in his hand, the other grasping the handle of his cane.  He supposed his butt wasn’t bad, considering.  It wasn’t exactly something he had ever looked at.

“I don’t say this often, but that is one biteable butt,” added Jefferson.  “Damn those loose scrubs!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, as Dorothy and Jefferson chuckled.

“Just think, pretty soon everyone in Storybrooke’s gonna see that ass,” said Dorothy.  “Pretty sure you’ll get some new admirers.  Zelena’s probably gonna paper her walls with Dr December.”

“Thanks, that’s not at all terrifying.”

“Here are your burgers, and one extra fries,” announced Ruby, sliding plates onto the table.  “Oh, nice ass, Dr Gold.”

Gold frowned as Dorothy and Jefferson snickered.

“Told you,” said Dorothy.

“Miss Lucas, are you single?” asked Gold suddenly, and Ruby looked confused.

“I - uh - yeah, why?”

“Oh good,” he said lightly.  “Because Dorothy here is also single and would very much like to buy you a drink.  In fact why don’t I buy you both a drink and you can go and sit in a quiet corner somewhere and get to know each other? There’s some mistletoe over by the bar, I believe it’s an excellent ice-breaker when people want to kiss each other.”

Ruby’s mouth had fallen open a little and a shade of red was spreading up her cheeks.  Dorothy rounded on Gold with a look of fury in her eyes.

“Oh, so you can’t say ‘hi’ to Belle without freaking out like a big wuss, but the chance to embarrass me and all of a sudden you can’t stop flapping your mouth?”

“Oh my God, does he like Belle?” asked Ruby, wide-eyed.

“It’s - it’s not like that…” began Gold.

“Yes it is,” said Jefferson and Dorothy, and Ruby sighed in relief.

“Thank God, I was ready to ask you out for her myself,” she said.  “She likes you, okay?  More than likes you, if you must know.  Just ask her out and stop being a dork about it.”

She wandered off, still blushing, and Gold glared at her back.

“There,” said Dorothy, sounding satisfied.  “You heard the woman.”

“Fine!” he snapped.  “I’ll do it, if only to shut you up!”

“Never gonna happen, but okay.”

Gold flipped the calendar closed, cutting off the view of his rear end and reaching for his drink.  He was going to do it.  He was going to ask her out.  It was time.

“So it’s a no on the calendar for a Secret Santa present?” asked Jefferson. “Pity, that would have been easy.”

“She’ll already have ordered one,” he said grumpily.  “I need to get her something more - her.  Unique.”

“Well, that’s easy,” said Jefferson.  “Just think about what she likes, and what would make her happy.  Then try and condense that into something that costs around thirty bucks.  Piece of cake.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Gold absently, and tapped his fingers on the table top.  Something that would make her happy.  I wonder…

A thought occurred to him, and he sat up straight as it took form.  It might take some effort, and it wouldn’t technically cost anything beyond the calling-in of a favour, but if he could make it work, it would be perfect.  He grinned as he thought about it, reaching out for one of the fries.  Perhaps the festive season wouldn’t be so bad after all.

[lostinwritingmayhem]

Once Upon A Dream

Did I study for tomorrows’ statistics exam? Hell no. Did I finish another Ansel story? Maybe.

1711 words, tw: murder, mentions of gore, nightmares

At the very top of the Iron Island, in the safest place this hellhole of a prison could provide, Ansel was fighting the one battle she was always bound to lose, the one against her nightmares. It was the same thing every time - her stuck reliving the same scene over and over, knowing what’s to come, unable to wake up or change a single thing, trapped and forced only to witness - but it didn’t make it any less effective.

x x x

“Can we talk about something serious for a second?”

“Yeah, I had a feeling it wasn’t gonna be just a fun meeting.”

“Will you listen to me this time?”

“As long as it’s not the same thing you keep repeating to me every day-”

They were in a small cafe, sitting on two sides of a tiny, round table, looking at the pedestrians walking outside the glass wall. The warm and sunny summer evening was inviting and pleasant enough that people actually got out to enjoy what life has to offer. For Ansel, personally, with every day the range of what the life had to offer grew bigger and more interesting. She was only ever getting better at her job, and that resulted in doors, previously closed, opening in front of her, as her wallet grew fatter and her conscience grew heavier. Not that it bothered her much - she had always treasured herself above anyone else, cause she knew well enough no one would do this for her.

…No one but Casey.

“I’ve been telling you, Ansel, you don’t have to keep doing this.”  His voice, ever so serious, cut through her train of thoughts. She was spacing out again. “We can figure out a way to keep you safe if you have any…obligations that you’d be leaving behind you, you can just walk away, we don’t need you to-”

“We don’t, Casey, but I want it. You don’t understand.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I don’t! I don’t understand why you’re like this, but I don’t care, okay? I don’t care why you feel like you have to do these things, it doesn’t matter to me, all that matters is that if you keep doing this you’re going to get yourself hurt, or killed, one day, and I’m going to lose you-”, Casey’s voice cracked but he quickly collected himself, “I’m going to lose you and I don’t want that to happen, big sis.”

Ansel sighed. She was only older by five minutes, but Casey knew that she felt responsible for him and wasn’t afraid of using that card whenever he wanted to get her to listen. Her brother didn’t understand, though- she loved her job. She loved the thrill of breaking the law, of taking control over her own and others’ lives, of taking what she wanted without having to wait for the things to come her way. Even though she was only 19, she begun making a name for herself in the thief community already and that meant people were reaching out to her, ready to pay for her services. The days of picking pockets were long behind her. Casey, sweet, innocent Casey didn’t, couldn’t possibly understand that every time she came home at the end of the day having a successful hit under her belt she felt alive, more so than she ever did in her life.

She finished her coffee, put the glass back down with a soft ‘clank’ and looked up at her brother.

“I’m going to be alright, Casey. I know what I can and can’t do, and I’m careful. No one will hurt me”, she laughed, tapping a claw on the glass surface of the table, “I’d hurt them first if I had to.”

“Hurt? Ansel, what are you talking about-”

“Casey. Please. Just don’t think about it anymore, okay? You do your thing and I’ll do mine, and it will all be just fine. And if you ever need anything you know you can just ask.”

“I DON’T!” As the silence fell over the cafe he took a deep breath and then shot an apologetic smile to the waitress who was ready to come over and reprimand him for shouting. He lowered his voice and hissed, “I told you the only thing I want is for my sister to open her fucking eyes and see she’s being-”

The glass pane separating the interior of the cafe from the street shattered into thousands of pieces as one-two-three loud bangs deafened her momentarily. Her eyes snapped shut to avoid the glass getting in them but it didn’t stop the shards from cutting her arm and the back of her hood, which inflated without her even registering. It took few seconds for her brain to catch up with the fact that, sans the glass, she’s mostly unharmed - definitely not shot, at least - but when it finally did, she opened her eyes. Looked up. And screamed.

Casey was slumped in his chair, three bullet holes marking his chest in a way she was never going to forget. Ansel knew enough about anatomy to realize, in that split second, that one of them had pierced right through his heart. The kinda wound you don’t ever survive.

(Countless times after that day Ansel wondered how the fuck someone could make a mistake like this. What kind of a shitty hitman do you have to be to kill someone else than your mark? Sure, they were twins, as identical as you could get with them being brother and sister, but still - it shouldn’t have been hard for a professional to figure out which one is which, she knew it very well herself!

There was a quiet voice, in the back of her head, saying that maybe it wasn’t a mistake. That maybe the person who did this knew exactly what they were doing. That killing Casey was a way to punish her in a way that would matter.

She didn’t dwell on that too much.)

In that moment, Ansel felt like entire world stopped in its tracks. It was as if the time went into slow motion, forcing her to take in everything about the scene in front of her. Seconds stretched, feeling like eons, giving her time to register every single detail she could have had overlooked or ignored otherwise. The screech of tires from the car leaving the scene of crime. The cries of people all around them. Casey’s shocked eyes, his mouth open and ready to continue the interrupted lecture he was never going to finish now, to repeat the plea that was never going to be answered. The blood oozing from his wounds and onto the chair, dripping on the floor. The tap-tap-tap sound of the liquid meeting the clean surface of the floor that, to Ansel, may have been louder than the gunshots that broke her world in two.

In that moment of clarity, of realization that her brother is dead, she could not, would not let herself look away from his face. The words Casey had said before some asshole decided to end his life were ringing in her ears and she saw two paths opening in front of her. Two realities, both equally possible, depending only on what she would chose to do now.

She saw the future where his death made her listen. The future where, to honor his memory, she went straight and left the life of crime behind her, right there in that little cafe that both of them so loved.

The other path whispered sweet promises of revenge.

She dove head-first into that one.

Her brother’s murder would be payed for in blood, and she’d be the one to spill it.

xxx

At the very top of the Iron Island which, honestly, felt more like the top of the world, Ansel’s eyes snapped open. It took her a moment to get her bearings, the nightmare she went through still clutching her in its grasp. She looked around only to realize she was tucked safely in Wren’s bed where - she remembered slowly - she stayed last night, taking advantage of one of the rare occasions she wasn’t kicked out soon after they were done with each other. She didn’t mind having to leave much, but she also wasn’t going to question why Wren would sometimes let her spend the night. Mysterious were the ways of the Overseer. There she was, Ansel noted, curled in the corner of the bed, deep in her sleep. It seemed that Ansel was less restless than usual when facing the dreams her brain tormented her with.

She stood up quietly, gathered her things and sneaked out downstairs and to her apartment. She walked past Relsey’s door, cracked open and letting the faint light seep through to the corridor. The Warden of Mechanics must’ve been staying up late again, probably working on something. Or maybe they were out and roaming the Island. They all had their ways of coping with reality.

As she closed and locked the door to her room, Ansel took a deep breath.

She hated feeling like this. Shaken, raw, vulnerable. She walked over to one of the windows, taking in the view that became familiar and comforting quite a while ago. The past was in the past, and yet it didn’t want to leave her be. The past was with her every time she took a life, every time she allowed herself to drown out the anger in the blood and viscera, as she took apart a person after a person, preparing herself for the day she’d dig her claws in this fucker, Stanley’s, throat and rip it open.

The past was with her every time she looked in the mirror and Casey’s eyes looked right back at her.

She exhaled slowly, and then went to drag a blanket from her bed and make a nest for herself on the windowsill. She wanted to get all the rest she could - after all, tomorrow morning new prisoners would be joining them. As she drifted away to sleep, she quietly hoped that at least some of them would be dumb enough to make a scene in the following days.

It was a while since the last time she got her hands dirty.

@mionbirblady @here-be-beckany