#steel bebloggin

[corvidmellow]

"So you crossed half the continent just to not do the work we've hired you to do?"

"Woah woah woah there," the assassin holds out a gloved hand waving the squire down. "I'm not hired yet."

This much is true. They'd crossed mountains and plains to get to the kingdom, but honestly, they'd also pissed off a loooot of people where they'd come from, so a change of scenery is more than welcome, even if it is sounding like it's going to be temporary.

The squire, a young looking man with dark hair that sweeps over thick brows, huffs and goes to stomp a foot, then seems to realize that that's quite a childish thing to do and instead crosses his arms over his chest. "You were called here by my sir knight, so you should-"

"I came here of my own free will," the assassin reminds the squire. "Your letter was preeeeetty vague, so I agreed to come scope it out before signing a contract."

In fact, the assassin hadn't even signed their name at the end of their own response letter. They've been scammed before and aren't terribly keen to have it happen again.

The squire looks even more annoyed, if that's even possible.

"It should be your duty as a citizen t-" "Hey, woah, okay. First of all, I don't live here. I've got nothing to do with this. Second of all, EH." The assassin makes an exaggerated shrugging gesture. "My political beliefs are more along the lines of 'pay me to not pay attention' and I just kill people on the side. I'm very easily swayed one way or the other, and I'm not gonna lie to you, she seems like she has a lot more money than you or your knight do."

They know they're just toying with the squire now, but his face just keeps getting redder and the assassin's glee only grows. They're digging themself a grave and it's never been more entertaining to pick up a shovel.

"The- I- Well- Hmph!" The squire looks around desperately, shifting on the spot and trying to find something scathing to say. "The queen wouldn't be interested in you anyways!"

At that, the assassin shrugs again, gloved hands lifting level with their cocked head. "Maybe not, but I'm young, I'm dumb, and she looks like she knows her way around a dungeon, if y'know what I mean."

They give the squire a dramatic and suggestive waggle of their eyebrows, which draws an outraged half-shout from him, but their mind is elsewhere.

The long, dark hallway of the throne room, where the queen had sat, a stunning centerpiece draped in lascivious reds and purples. The nobles that had come and go, all looking dull and frightened next to her unrelenting aura of strength and power. The flick of a spiked silver gauntlet, glittering in the torch light. The shine of those same torches across exposed cleavage.

What really takes up space in the assassins head, though, is the moment--the singular, heart-stopping moment--when the queen had looked directly at them. Calculating dark eyes had sought their own in the shadows of the rafters, and when they had met, one finger drew itself inward in a gestured command the assassin still intends to obey.

Come to me.

The assassin is shaken out of their reverie by the squire snapping his fingers far too close to their face. Their hand instinctively twitches towards their quiver for a moment, then stills.

"Will you still accept the contract?"

Oh. Is he still on that?

The assassin sighs, then props a hand up on their hip. "How about this, I'll go meet the queen and make sure she doesn't have a better offer for me, and then maybe we can talk. Sound good?"

The squire seems to realize right then and there what the assassin's been trying to tell him the entire time, and his hand drops to his sword.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

"Shame. For you, that is," the assassin cracks a smile, gapped teeth bright in the dying light of evening, "I don't take orders from people who haven't paid me."

The squire doesn't even have time to fully draw his sword before the assassin's thrown themself over the side of the bridge, landing a little less than gracefully in the river below.

However, for all their mishaps, for all of the excitement of the day, for how heavy their sopping wet clothes are, they return to the castle. And when they collapse to their knees; when the queen sits forward to appraise them; when the cool finger of her gauntlet curls under their chin to guide their wide, willing eyes to meet her own sly, approving ones; they don't think they could imagine a better outcome for this venture.

"Let me put this in a way you'll understand: you may have summoned me, but the evil queen is like really hot, and my moral compass is very hormonal."

[corvidmellow]

moved cause i genuinely hated thinking about my main LMAOO

anyways

welcome to my blog!!

here is where i post art i’ve made and reblog art i like!

i’m a traditional artist who usually uses alcohol markers for my colour work

…undertale and oc hell, sorry not sorry. the special interest is strong and underfell sans has had a vice grip on me since 2016

asks are open! feel free to bug me about my little shit characters or request a sketch

more under the cut

here's some stuff about me :D

favorite colour? cyan!

favorite genre of movie? horror!

favorite genre of music? ...quite literally everything. my liked songs is a minefield. rn i really like rage rap and swing though!

favorite song?

favorite musical artists? will wood, hozier, jhariah, do not resurrect, BABY GRAVY, pierce the veil, melancolia, deftones, kendrick lamar, tyler, the creator, nothing but thieves, depeche mode, ghost, the decemberists, colter wall, etc. my music taste is the equivalent of throwing a dart at a roulette wheel

favorite literature? oscar wilde my beloved (i left his book at home don't ask me trivia blease i just love him), biology, thrillers, societal commentary

fandoms? undertale (obviously), UTMV (obviously), homestuck, deltarune, the magnus archives/protocol (no spoilers pls), the arcana, marble hornets, creepypasta… sorry.

favorite aus? underfell!!!! though i am also very fond of understate, echotale, and sunnemona’s dreamtale!

gender and sexuality? am trans and some flavor of asexual idk. but i'm also the asexual who's posting pure filth on ao3 and will not shut up about being attracted to underfell sans and nightmare

my aus and fics, currently! (corvid_mellow on ao3)

-UnderHeist (unpublished)

-Veneraverse (unpublished)

-Death and Despair Multiverse (unpublished)

-FINAL GIRL (18+)

-Finis Via

-being so normal series (on hiatus)

-Should I Stay or Should I Go (on hiatus)

-The Cat and the Canary (under major reconstruction and hiatus LMAO)

-The Proxy Projects

-a surprise tool that will help us later (i need to finish my breakdown and analysis so i can start on my rewrite)

i consider myself to be somewhat ship neutral!

that being said, i don’t go through and block people for ships and stuff, and the less i think about it the better, BUT!! i am incredibly uncomfortable with incest and a lot of comships! whether that be fontcest, dreammare, frans, etc. sanscest is fine (id fuck an alternate version of myself, but never my siblings), but please don’t bring any of that onto my posts 🫶

also dni if you're any kind of queerphobic, racist, fatphobic, ableist, hateful in general, OR support the harassment of people over silly internet things. you really won’t like me anyways lmfao. i will be mostly avoiding fighting with people on this blog, so i'll just block you if i catch your ass being hateful in here. i do not tolerate the hate of those who have done nothing to deserve it.

#'s!

i tag my art with “steel arts”

reblogs are “steel bebloggin”

asks and text posts are “steel blogs” and/or “steel says stuff”

me being absolutely down bad (usually underfell sans) is “steel simpery”

my writing tag is “steel be writin”

the (hopefully) occasional drama is tagged with “interfandom drama oops”

aaaaaand my ocs are tagged with “[character name] posting”

i try to tag everything i reblog with important tags, and i don’t do politics here!!

love y’all :)

divider by @kodaswrld !!

[corvid-mellofficial]

hhhhhhhai

i’m steel :)

(he/him/it/its/bird - 20 - queer - US American)

welcome to my art blog!!

here is where i post art i’ve made and reblog art i like!

i’m a traditional artist who usually uses alcohol markers for my colour work

…undertale and oc hell, sorry not sorry. the special interest is strong and underfell sans has had a vice grip on me since 2016

asks are open! feel free to bug me about my little shit characters or request a sketch

more under the cut

here's some stuff about me :D

favorite colour? cyan!

favorite genre of movie? horror!

favorite genre of music? ...quite literally everything. my liked songs is a minefield. rn i really like rage rap and swing though!

favorite song?

favorite musical artists? will wood, hozier, jhariah, do not resurrect, BABY GRAVY, pierce the veil, melancolia, deftones, kendrick lamar, tyler, the creator, nothing but thieves, etc.

favorite literature? oscar wilde my beloved (i left his book at home don't ask me trivia blease i just love him), biology, thrillers, societal commentary

fandoms? undertale (obviously), UTMV (obviously), homestuck, deltarune, the magnus archives/protocol (no spoilers pls), the arcana, marble hornets, creepypasta… sorry.

favorite aus? underfell!!!! though i am also very fond of understate, echotale, and sunnemona’s dreamtale!

gender and sexuality? am trans and some flavor of asexual idk. but i'm also the asexual who's posting pure filth on ao3 and will not shut up about being attracted to underfell sans and nightmare and i love my girlfriend SO MUCH

my aus and fics, currently! (corvid_mellow on ao3)

-UnderHeist

-Veneraverse

-Death and Despair Multiverse

-FINAL GIRL (18+)

-Finis Via

-being so normal series

-Should I Stay or Should I Go (on hiatus)

-The Cat and the Canary (under major reconstruction and hiatus LMAO)

-a surprise tool that will help us later (i need to finish my breakdown and analysis so i can start on my rewrite)

i consider myself to be pretty ship neutral!

that being said, i don’t go through and block people for ships and stuff, and the less i think about it the better, BUT!! i am incredibly uncomfortable with incest! whether that be fontcest, dreammare, frans, etc. sanscest is fine (id fuck an alternate version of myself, but never my siblings), but please don’t bring any of that onto my posts 🫶

also dni if you're any kind of queerphobic, racist, fatphobic, ableist, hateful in general, OR support the harassment of people over silly internet things. i will be mostly avoiding fighting with people on this blog, so i'll just block you if i catch your ass being hateful in here. i do not tolerate the hate of those who have done nothing to deserve it.

#'s!

i tag my art with “steel arts”

reblogs are “steel bebloggin”

asks and text posts are “steel blogs” and/or “steel says stuff”

me being absolutely down bad (usually underfell sans) is “steel simpery”

my writing tag is “steel be writin”

the (hopefully) occasional drama is tagged with “interfandom drama oops”

aaaaaand my ocs are tagged with “[character name] posting”

i try to tag everything i reblog with important tags, and i don’t do politics here!!

love y’all :)

[corvidbeebleblogs]

slenderman

Why are you lgbtq+? wrong answers only GO

[corvidbeebleblogs]

@lichts-stuff @lavenderanxiety @dourgeek @phenabon and whoever else would like to play :3

Challenging you all!

Put your music library on shuffle, then list the first five songs that come up in a poll to let people vote for which one they like the most!

Then tag Tumblr friends to keep the game going!

[corvidbeebleblogs]

big fan of these (hoping i interpreted this correctly)

CHAT I’M IN THE MOOD TO DO OC CHARTS

GIMME OC CHARTS

[corvidmellow]

amen

☆good evening esteemed followers of my Blog. due to deeply misfortunate circumstances (my pen being Broken) i could not post anything for the twins' birthday (on account of my pen being Broken); i no longer deserve the title of the Number One Fan of (the hyper specific version of) Dreamtale (that only exists in my head). My (self organised) public execution will be in One Week (after which i will resurrect jesus style, as i refuse to die before donald j. trump)

[corvidmellow]

well no one can say i didn’t try

my mutual in arms you must resist her. the saccharine promises of betty crocker… they are lies

ASHES TO ASHES BONES TO PASTE

[corvidmellow]

“All because of a tart?”

The baker stands flanked by royal guardsmen, but she pays them no mind. Instead, her gaze is fixated directly on who she now knows is the prince.

Upon closer inspection, it’s quite obvious that the “stains” and dirt on his clothing is artfully placed, and the clothing itself is high quality and obviously expensive. The baker internally chides herself for not noticing sooner. It wouldn’t’ve made much difference anyway, she supposes.

“Do I need another reason?” The prince smirks impishly up at the baker, his legs swinging giddily under his chosen chair.

He isn’t very old, quite new to the whole “needing a wife” thing.

The baker supposes she isn’t much older than him, but given the circumstances, she allows her lip to curl into a look of pure disapproval and reproach.

“Yes, you do,” she tries to sigh rather than spit, though it comes out a little more vehement than she meant it to. “You need someone who actually consents to being your wife, first of all, and second, you need to know something about her other than she cooks well!”

The prince’s head cocks to the side, his brown hair bobbing and hazel eyes bright with confusion. The baker watches him pull the puppy dog look, but her already thin patience is cracking with the echoing booms of a frozen over lake and she has to hold herself back from screeching at him.

It’s been a long day. Up before sunrise to get to the bakery, well past sunrise getting pastries and loaves into the oven, and then the rest of the day spent setting out stock and charming customers. Her apron is floured and her jeans have stray streaks of dough on them, and she knows the heat of the day isn’t helping the way her curls frizz out of the clip she’d put them in. She’s tired, unequipped to be a princess, and furthermore, wants nothing to do with royalty.

“I will not be your wife,” she states again, firmly.

The prince’s face drops into another pout and those caramel hazel eyes go round and pathetic as he tries to convince her with expressions rather than words.

“…Please?”

The baker sighs, knowing this is getting her nowhere.

There’s a beat of silence, then she moves. The guards on either side of her jostle one another, going to stop her, but she bats them off, fingers glancing off of the armor of their gauntlets. She walks to the other side of the small table the prince had sat at, then pulls out the chair there and drags it to be in front of the prince himself.

“Listen,” she starts after settling into the seat, her joints aching, but singing in relief at the same time. “You seem to be inexperienced when it comes to love, so let me tell you something.”

The prince seems befuddled, but says nothing, for which the baker is grateful.

“I am sure that you will find a wife. A woman who will throw herself at you and gladly take her place by your side. I am not that woman.”

The prince opens his mouth to say something, but the baker barrels on, needing to make her point before he says something else idiotic and distracts her.

“I never want to be that woman. For anyone. I’m not interested in being a wife, a partner. Even if I was, though, this would still be an issue.”

She gestures at the walls of the bakery and watches the prince’s eyes follow her hand.

“This place? This bakery? It’s mine. I own this business and it is my life’s work. I love it more than I could hope to love a man and I will not abandon it because you command it so.”

She leaves out the parts she wants to say; the parts about her struggling for years to save up to even rent the building, the almost two decades spent proving herself to others, the time and patience packed into her craft. She does love it, but more than that, she worked hard for it.

No prince will take that from her.

“But again, even if that was not the case, you would still have a problem. We do not know each other. I don’t presume to know your name, and the only reason you would know mine is because it’s on the building.”

The prince looks sheepish at this, ducking into his oversized hoodie and resuming kicking his legs, though this time it seems to be in embarrassment.

He really is young.

With that in mind, the baker sits forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Your Highness, I am flattered, but I don’t think I’m incorrect to assume that I’m the first you’ve pursued?”

A moment of hesitation, then the prince’s head dips in a nod.

As she had thought. A small, tired smile graces her lips and she tilts her head, trying to catch the prince’s eye.

“I am the first, so allow me to let you depart with a little bit of wisdom. When it comes to the courtship of women, and I have courted many, you must get to know her. You have a goal of a wife, but she also has the goal of a husband, if you’ve met someone who matches your ideals. Romance goes both ways, sir prince, and you cannot simply decide on a woman because of a cherry tart.”

The prince looks sheepish again, but this time there’s a bit of a smile on his face.

“…I’ve never been allowed romance before. Father told me to wait until I was in need of a wife.”

The baker cocks an eyebrow. An unusual practice, but not unheard of. Likely something the king was taught as well.

“In that case, I’ll tell you something else. You will make mistakes. You already have, as you know.”

Finally, those bright, hazel eyes meet the baker’s own and she allows her expression to soften.

“Not every woman will be willing to be your wife. Many would likely die to have a chance to be your princess, but there are those, like myself, who will not be interested. Hear them, as you have heard me. A wife may not come quickly, or easily, but it does get easier if you attempt to choose them for something more than beauty or a material skill.”

A wry smile twists her lips and it’s echoed on the prince’s face.

He’ll be alright.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down at his cherry stained fingers. “I just… don’t know where to start. I figured finding someone with a useful skill would be fine.”

The baker’s eyebrow lifts again, though this time she’s holding in a laugh. “You’d be hard pressed to find a commoner without a useful skill around here, sir prince. Try going to a bar, attending a dance, something social. Get to know your people, your future wife.”

She knows that it’s likely that it will take the prince some time to find someone actually romantically interested in him, if he ever does. Hell, for all she knows, he’ll forget everything she’s said as soon as he steps out the door and he’ll move onto the next business with nary a thought of consideration in his head. It’s worth a try, though, if nothing else.

The prince does seem to consider her words, though. “A dance?”

“Yes,” the baker nods, sitting up, “there’s a dance hall just down the road. Every other day they have something.”

At this, the prince looks downright delighted, something that makes a little part of the baker ache. A lonely child, then. No wonder he doesn’t know much about connection.

“A dance sounds grand,” he says, a real smile putting his teeth on display and his hands drawing up to his shoulders to flutter, fingers spread.

There’s another beat of silence while the prince thinks about what he’ll do, hands rocking back and forth next to his face. Then he stills for a moment and looks at the baker again.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The baker sighs and shrugs, her once waning patience healed by the prince’s willingness to listen. “I don’t mind much. You’re a paying customer, after all.”

She stands, clapping calloused hands down on her thighs and sending miniature clouds of flour dancing through the late afternoon air. She picks up her chair, setting it back where it goes, then turns to the prince, who is also standing.

“I wish you the best, sir prince.”

He nods for a moment, fidgeting with the cuff of his hoodie sleeve. “Could I… Have another one of those tarts?”

The baker smiles softly, and nods once.

This time, the guards part for her as she makes her way behind the counter. She slides the pastry into a to-go bag, then hands it over to the prince, who smiles again and fumbles with his pocket to pull out payment.

The baker begins to tell him not to bother, but the prince has already turned the bag of coins over, emptying half of it onto the counter. It’s triple what the tart is worth, but before the baker can protest, the prince is scooting out the door, waving a tentative goodbye over his shoulder.

The guards follow and in an instant, the bakery is empty.

The baker stands alone, as she prefers to be, staring out the window after the royal entourage. Then she looks down at the coins on the counter and huffs out a low laugh.

Yeah, he’ll be alright.

It was announced the prince was looking for a wife, but the baker girl didn’t care. That was until the very tired and sad-looking boy wearing a hoodie and sweatpants bit into a cherry tart, looked as if he was about to weep, and whispered: "She’s the one." Then a bunch of officials entered.

[corvid-mellofficial]

the arms are fucked up and have since been erased but uh

he would listen to hatsune miku and totally not because i listen to hatsune miku

idk messy sketching for @karineverse ‘s dtiys in the kitchen while tom cardy songs loop in my head

[corvidmellow]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61879393/chapters/158222167

tumblr when i get you

i have officially committed to a new project

oops

[corvidmellow]

I CAN'T FUCKING BOOP FAST ENOUGH

My favourite tumblr activity, making the website crash by spam clicking on things

[corvid-mellofficial]

there's already a custody battle

Please forgive me for the horrendous ask I just sent the demons took over .

☆thanks so much person i am currently dating. i love you too.

[corvidmellow]

Picaresque is a personal favorite of mine, but the Crane Wife is kind of the best intro to the band. I was raised on the Crane Wife 1 & 2

What is the best decemberists album to start with

[corvidbeebleblogs]

ough g’morning

1) O Valencia! -The Decemberists

2) The Exorcist -CALYPSO, David Goldstein, Selma Cheeks

3) Person In the Mirror -Naethan Apollo

4) SLAUGHTER HOUSE -Phonkha, zecki

5) The Island: Come and See/The Landlord’s Daughter/You’ll Not Feel the Drowning

6) Absinthe -IDKHBTFM

7) Breezeblocks -Alt-J

8) About You -Caravan Palace, Charles X

9) Otonoke -Creepy Nuts

10) Digital Silence -Peter McPoland

tagging @dourgeek @lavenderanxiety @hackrusty and anyone else who’d like to play :3

Tagged by @artsy-cryptixx

Go to your "on repeat" playlist, shuffle it and post the first 10 songs:

Alrighty here we go!! :D

1. Father Finlee - Spencer Hood, Justin Ray Stringer

2. Creatures of the Night - Joshua Mitchell, Shanko

3. Champagne Pink Convertible - The Alex Opal Outfit

4. Neon Medusa - The Midnight

5. Nothing Fades Like the Light - Orville Peck

6. Know Me - Sean Altman

7. Mr. Pinstripe Suit - Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

8. The Witch Queen of New Orleans - Redbone

9. Coal Eyed Birds - The Blasting Company

10. Go Get Your Gun - The Dear Hunter

Tags (no pressure): @starsandmyrhs @sweet-reaper @hildcit

[corvidmellow]

well, i suppose i could...

When the invitation comes, years later, it's nothing less than a work of art, as the baker had supposed it would be. She's pleasantly surprised that the prince remembers her at all, but if nothing else made an impression on him, it seems her tarts sure did.

The off white parchment comes out of the envelope easily, and the card itself is lavishly decorated with gold leaf and floral motifs that bring a smile to the baker's worn face. A gesture to her baking assistant, who in a moment wears a matching smile and blows thick coils of hair out of her eyes to better see the invitation, and soon both women are making plans to not only attend a royal wedding, but cater for it.

Weeks pass, though not without their hurdles, and when it comes time for the ceremony, the baker swears she gains more grey hairs in the moment she watches the king's men unload her cake from her cart than in the entire twenty-five years she's been baking. The few hours between that moment and the ceremony itself fly by, both baker and assistant skipping around one another. They speak not a word, but always know what the other needs.

At the end of it, the baker stands before her own spread, pleased with herself and her work. The pastries and breads stand beautifully in contrast with the charcuterie boards and assorted self serve meals, and that's all she could ask for. The cake is a stunning centerpiece in the bride's favorite flavors, with beautifully piped flowers and vines, and all in all, the baker figures she's done a rather good job.

Now comes the hard part.

Her assistant manages to coax her into something that isn't stained overalls, giggling all the while in her own pale orange dress that stands stark and lovely against her dark skin. By the end of it, the baker huffs alongside her in something that could passably be called a suit, her fiery red hair cascading down her back.

They stand at the back, something the baker is grateful for. She almost falls asleep during the ceremony, and is elbowed awake more than a couple of times by her assistant.

It's the reception, though, that warms the baker's heart.

Here she can see the impact she's made, the happiness she's brought.

All it takes is one moment, a mere second of eye contact, the flash of a smile of recognition, and she knows that the prince has followed her advice.

He not only loves the woman he's married, but she loves him as well. It's evident in their faces and in the brightness of their eyes, in the way that they pull each other across the dance floor, the new princess's wheelchair gliding across the glittering tiles in time with the prince's steps and their smiles never faltering for a moment.

The baker watches them for a moment longer, then has to drop her gaze.

A familiar elbow digs into her ribs and she looks up to meet dark, understanding eyes, blinking what might be tears out of her own. She manages a smile for her assistant, then scrubs a tired, calloused hand over her face.

They've done good.

They'll be alright.

It was announced the prince was looking for a wife, but the baker girl didn’t care. That was until the very tired and sad-looking boy wearing a hoodie and sweatpants bit into a cherry tart, looked as if he was about to weep, and whispered: "She’s the one." Then a bunch of officials entered.