#usually when i draw I get tired or discouraged

[aqua-terra-ventus]

really thinking about purchasing a tablet for drawing after i get my ps5..... I want to be able to draw digitally anywhere. right now I just have a cheap one that hooks to my pc, and it's so hard for me to sit down and draw at my computer for some reason.

i've been thinking so much the past couple months abt how i used to draw SO MUCH but depression kicked the motivation out of me and then life gave me little time to even attempt to draw

And some things happened that made drawing rather painful emotionally (lost someone who i used to draw with and she loved my art and it was hard to cope with that)

But I genuinely am starting to feel like I might be re-entering an era of art. I hope it's true bc I so much miss creating and feeling proud of it

Sooo idk. Gonna wait a bit and see how I feel

[kosmicdream]

Hello. After drawing webcomics for 10 years and making about 10,000 pages of comics, here are some things i have learned/observed in that experience..

1) making comics does not get easier.. Not really

Making comics is a tedious and slow process and with so many different facets of the experience to learn - you’ll never run out of stuff to learn or weaknesses to work on. I’m not saying this to discourage but to just give the frank reality that it really takes a lifetime to understand. Be patient with yourself and try to set healthy expectations. 

2) Read your own comics after making them.

I don’t know if this is as important to other people as it is to me, but I do think that sometimes its easy to not re-read your own work and just go from your own memory of it, or maybe you’re tired of looking at it because of all the flaws. I don’t personally get sucked into the “rewrite/remake” cycle that I know is common with comics, as I sort of just accept things as they are, but re-reading my work does help me see where I have come from and where I need to go to next. I personally don’t like to lose sight of that, and I think re-reading helps ground me in the planning process of my work and gives me a better perspective on all aspects.

3) A lot of comic advice should be taken with a grain of salt, because its the person talking to themselves. (including this)

I see a lot of advice that never would have worked for me, or just simply wasn’t something I was ever going to follow. “Dont start with your big epic long stories”! Is a common one. I don’t think that’s bad advice exactly, but how many young artists are going to listen, especially if they’ve never told a story in the first place? Yes, the advice to start small and build yourself up with experience sounds great, I’m sure people do it, but if you’re an artist you’re probably not gonna be that responsible. And for me, when i tried to do this with eggshells, my house burnt down and i kinda gave up comics for a while because i lost a lot of work. 

Writing short stories is still something I struggle with, its just not easy for me. I have gotten better at it but i don’t think that makes me less of a comic artist because I haven’t gotten good at that particular format, or that I jump around on my projects. Is it more impressive to have more completed work under your belt, sure. But I also think that.. Idk.. what is the advice actually saying, because with that one it sort of feels (often times) as a warning that you’re setting yourself up for failure/embarrassment by attempting a comic like that. I don’t know how to tell you this, but comics are gonna be embarrassing no matter what you do and there’s no guarantee you’ll be more successful/not experience failure by avoiding your passions. Something to think about anyway. 

4) Don’t draw every leaf. Unless you really want to.

I’m the kind of comic artist that kind of doesn’t care about the art as much as the whole package of the comic. When i see a very impressively drawn panel/page, with laborious detail that is well drawn and maybe even colored ect.. That usually is kind of, I guess, a turn off for me as part of the reading experience. The thing is, when i encounter that, it usually signals to me that someone has poor planning skills for comics. It says to me that comic is probably not going to see its end or that artist is overworking themselves in an unnecessary way, that ends up concerning me about how they’re doing. Because i know how hard it is to draw comics. When an artist phones things in a bit, or has a limit on how much they work on a page, its a relief for me to see! because I understand they have healthier boundaries and expectations, and the art itself usually is less stiff too. This is all an overgeneralization, but I think with a lot of webcomic artists we are usually drawing a comic for the first time ever, so it makes sense we want to do our best and try as hard as possible - that just usually isn’t the smartest plan to put all the stock in the visual department. This also kinda frustrates me to see because most comics (professional or not) will also (generally) not reel the art in ever or make a more simple style. Generally I see it always trying to outdo itself, which leads to burn out. I personally only work about 1hr on each page i draw, that hasn’t changed in the 10 years I have been drawing comics, but i used to spend hundreds of hours drawing detailed lineart for eggshells and it didn’t even read well and i’d be disappointed with the results, feeling more lost with my goals than ever. PLEASe.. Just draw worse, its usually better looking in the end too. (because you wont have the experience to judge visual clarity until you’ve been drawing comics for a while imo..)

5) Don’t draw ahead, draw those inbetweenies.

“Inbetweenies” are the pages for the “boring” ones. They are also usually the most common KIND of page. Its the pages that are necessary, but “inbetween” the action. The impact moments in a scene, ect. You gotta draw them. They’re always gonna be there. They’re the pages where maybe, the character is walking somewhere, thinking, ect. The after impact from an action.. There’s a million examples, but hopefully you’ll understand what I mean when I say they’re both necessary pages/panels, sometimes so mundane/redundant, but also required for telling the story.. As a comic is a sequence of images. This is why, the previous advice is also important IMO- because if you really want to “draw every leaf” - maybe you should save that energy and effort for those impact moments that you want to impress the reader with.. And not for the inbetweenies, which are the foundational support, but also not the most important moments. If you conserve your energy a bit, the contrast OF that effort will also pop more. I personally find it funny when I put more effort into a page and end up tricking my readers into thinking I got better at drawing, when really i just have been able to draw better and only save it for moments like this instead of always.

Also, when I say don’t draw ahead.. I mean I draw each page at a time before going to the next one. I have no idea if this is an unusual practice or not, and I know a lot of people will draw their chapters/episodes/whatever in sections like sketch/ink/color/ect.. But I personally draw and finish page by page, unless its the thumb/sketch stage. Even then, i don’t go ahead much. I think that you can control flow/pacing better by doing chapters all at once of course, I see that as a benefit. But i also think that makes things very overwhelming and can also result in a lack of flexibility if something isn’t working. No matter HOW much planning you do- comics are always going to have an aspect of IMPROVISATION with the result you get in the end. There are way too many factors in play to be in complete control of all of them and always know the result of the reading experience. SO for me, this technique is easier and has been something that continues to get me to working effectively. Plus, rumiko takahashi said that’s what she does. And i think she has some of the best visual flow/compositions in comics. So that’s what I do.

I could write more personal advice or rules that i follow..but I think those are the ones I find are the most important to me anyway. Of course, comics are a strange medium and not everything that works for me will work for you. That’s all for now.. Bye bye…! 

Oh by the way, my comics are here: feastforaking.com nastyreddogs.com https://kosmic.itch.io/ Support me on patreon! https://www.patreon.com/kosmic

[flowerandblood]

Play with my heart (Epilogue)

[ modern actors • Aemond x Strong • female ]

[ warnings: semi-public sex, smut, angst, fluff, sexual tension, little domination & praise kink ]

[ description: He gets the main role in a series about a great family and dragons, which could change his career. He is set to play the uncle and love interest of his childhood friend. When he meets the actress who plays her role, he begins to lose track of what is an acting and what is his real feelings. Sexual tension, grumpy, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]

Author’s note: Yeah. I talked about it and I did it. You don't even know how much fun I had doing this. Of course, my characters play in a series whose script is an exact copy of my story The Fall from the Heavens. In this universe, Aemond (playing the One-Eyed Prince) and Rhaenys (playing the Princess) are of course not related – the other characters are also just actors. This three-part series is my gift to all fans of the original series, thank you so much for your support. "Rhaenys" in this story is her artistic pseudonym which she use instead of her real name. You can read this as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

The first months after the shooting were both wonderful and terrifying for him. Contrary to his grandfather's predictions, he did not stop thinking about her; moreover, he missed her so much that he did not know what to do with himself.

He got used to their daily conversations, the embrace of her warm arms, falling asleep between her soft breasts, watching Disney movies together with her with a big bowl of popcorn.

She brought a breath of fresh air into his life, a smile, lightness and laughter, forcing him to let his inner child that he had always suppressed within him come to the surface.

With her, he was not ashamed to be weak, tired, sad, discouraged. She gave him the comfort of knowing that all his feelings as a human being were natural and desired by her, no matter how ashamed he might be of them.

They tried to see each other every two weekends, taking turns visiting each other. Although he wanted to spend time with her walking around museums and parks, they usually ended up staying in bed all the time off, trying to make up for lost time.

They also saw each other at interviews to promote the series, for which the producers sent the actors in pairs, and unfortunately, although they tried to hide it, a few gestures and glances during them caused both her and him to be flooded with a wave of comments from fans so large that they had to block them from being added to their profiles.

Nooo, they're not a good match. 😫

It's just a promotional trick. They're going to break up after they finish airing the series. 😒

Leave my prince alone!!! 🤬🤬🤬

I'd love to fuck her myself, not gonna lie 👀

It's already clear where the chemistry between them comes from, lol. Pathetic. 🤮

Both of them were very much affected by the nasty comments and criticism, fearing that the production would draw some consequences against them, but it turned out that this made the whole project generate even more interest before the premiere, which pleased them.

However, in between the nasty, bitter remarks, they also received messages filled with good emotions, wishing them luck, saying that they were great to watch, that they complemented each other perfectly in interviews, that it was clear from the trailers that there was genuine affection between them.

They tried to cope with it all by talking for hours on the phone, sometimes crying together from sadness and exhaustion, falling asleep with speakerphone on, waking up in the morning and seeing that they hadn't hung up all night.

He felt he was ready to move on and thought everything through, at the same time wanting to surprise her.

"– how was your audition? –" She asked softly, excitement in her voice.

"– unfortunately, not very successful –" He lied, fiddling with his pen between his fingers, sitting at his desk, having just exchanged emails with the director of her theatre, with whom he had spoken personally a few days before about the terms of his future employment.

"– oh no – I'm very sorry – how are you feeling? –" She asked clearly worried, making him feel remorseful for a moment that she would believe he was suffering.

"– fine – I wasn't feeling that role – I'm lucky that I can be more choosy now – and how are you, little one? –" He hummed, writing back in an email that, as agreed, he would turn up in three days to sign the contract in their town.

His girlfriend grunted, clearly very excited by the news she had to share with him.

"– apparently they've hired a new actor in our theatre, but no one knows who it is – the director is very mysterious –" She said, her voice light and warm, filled with joy.

"– mmm – are you excited to have a new colleague on stage? –" He murmured as he sent the email, closing his laptop with a quiet click.

He heard her laugh at his words.

"– not in the way you suggest –" She said.

"– are you a good girl when I'm not around? –" He hummed, licking his lips involuntarily, feeling the pulsation in his trousers at his words.

"– well –"

"– are you touching yourself? –"

"– I –"

"– answer me – don't lie –"

She was silent for a long moment making him grin, biting his lower lip.

"– so you haven't been a good girl, or am I wrong? –" He sneered and heard her swallow hard.

"– you know what happens to bad girls, don't you? –" He asked, looking at the display of his screen, feeling his heart pounding fast.

"– but –" She finally mumbled out in embarrassment.

"– mmm – I'll see you soon –" He murmured and hung up, knowing that he had left her in complete shock for sure with her panties wet with her moisture.

The third thing he enjoyed most right after fucking her and talking to her was teasing her.

The next day the removal van took his things to the flat he had rented on short notice figuring they would find something together later, and after two days he drove to her town straight to the theatre building.

He went inside through the main entrance and ran quickly upstairs, praying not to meet her on the way, heading for her director's office. The man welcomed him warmly, saying that he was very happy that an actor with such charisma would be performing on his stage.

From the audience it was impossible to see whether his eye was real or fake, and his scar could be covered up with make-up if necessary.

His grandfather was furious, saying that he was giving up a world-class career for second-rate theatre, but he was relieved.

He didn't want to go through again what he was going through now – being torn apart by paparazzi and fans, being in the spotlight all the time.

He was tired of it and decided that, although it was a great adventure, like her he wanted to work in theatre, where artistic sense, monologues and dialogues counted more than nudity and sex.

It was what he wanted for both of them.

The director said it was time to introduce him to the whole crew.

"– I kept it a secret from everyone so that she wouldn't accidentally find out about anything –" The director laughed, a short, grey-haired man with a warm voice and a good-natured face, a visionary and a lover of the classic literature he was staging in his theatre.

"– I can see you with the eyes of my imagination in the roles of Hamlet and Ophelia – you've been wonderfully matched, I have to give you that –" He said softly, and he nodded, thinking in the back of his mind that indeed, this was a fantastic idea.

He felt excited like a little child and thought in the back of his mind that it was because of her, that she had changed him, making him fight for his fulfilment, his comfort, his joy.

"– my dears –" He called out, stepping onto the stage during their rehearsal for The Wedding of Wyspianski, his Rhaenys dressed in Slavic folk costume and a garland on her head turned towards them along with several other people.

Her eyes grew big in disbelief at the sight of him.

"– I would like to introduce you to your new colleague, who from now on will be playing on the stage of our theatre – I am very pleased –"

Everyone looked at her and she just stood there, looking at him and his grin full of satisfaction, breathing loudly through her mouth, her bright eyes hot with affection, disbelief and happiness that apparently shook her body.

Several people laughed as she threw herself into his arms and burst into a loud, panicked sob, whooping and panting with her own tears, his broad hands stroking her hair and back while his lips placed warm, reassuring kisses on her face hot with emotion.

"– shhh – it's okay, little one –"

She looked at him in disbelief, gushing with energy and joy as she introduced everyone to him one by one. He was relieved by the warm welcome given to him by the other actors, some of whom could have been his parents or even grandparents.

They seemed very close to each other and addressed each other warmly.

He was allowed to stay in rehearsal to see how they worked, so he watched as his girlfriend played a young bride, a village girl marrying a nobleman, during whose wedding many unexplained, mysterious events occur.

He smiled the whole time, watching her, satisfied that apart from one brief kiss there was no intimacy on stage between her and her partner, exactly as she had described it to him in their telephone conversations.

When it was all over she ran up to him in her folk costume, all hot, breathing loudly through her mouth, field flowers entwined together on her head.

"– what do you think?! –" She asked, and he hummed under his breath.

"– I really like your staging – I need to read this drama – you look amazing –" He hummed. He smiled under his breath as she sat on his lap – the seats in the audience were sunk in darkness so the people on stage couldn't see very well what they were doing.

"– I can't believe it – you've been lying all this time –" She muttered simultaneously embittered and delighted. He shook his head at her words.

"– I told you I had an audition – I just didn't say where –" He stated.

"– you said you did badly –" She said, wrinkling her eyebrows – she squealed as he caught her around the waist and pulled her closer, making her feel the hard bulge in his trousers.

"– that was my subjective assessment which was clearly not shared by your director –" He grinned, looking at her with his lips slightly parted. They both sighed as her hips rubbed against his pulsing erection, her gaze hot and misty.

"– my little girl can't stand it? – shall I take you to the toilet? –" He sneered and she swallowed hard, red with embarrassment and nodded.

Nothing more than panting and moans left their throats as they locked themselves in one of the cabins, their mouths immediately clinging to each other in greedy, loud, messy, sticky kisses. Their saliva clicked each time their lips pulled away from each other, his hands pulled up the material of her skirt and petticoat, pulling her panties off her thighs.

"– turn your back to me –" He commanded, and she did so without a word of objection, in a natural reflex leaning over and bucking her buttocks towards him, knowing what he wanted to do. His hands exposed her bare hips to him and what was between them, her opening glistening from her wetness, pink and swollen.

He hit her womanhood with a sharp, short slap and she jumped up with a quiet squeal and whimpered.

"– quiet – I warned you – I said: no touching – didn't I? –" He asked, gently rubbing and massaging the little spot that pulsed all over and leaked from his stroke, teasing the puffy bud between her plushy folds.

"– 'm sorry – I tried –" She confessed with embarrassment, panting heavily, rolling her hips to the rhythm of the strokes of his hand, trying to find a better source of squeeze.

"– the deal was different –" He said coolly, parting and rubbing her throbbing, dripping wet slit, her cheek pressed against the wall all red with pleasure, her lips parted in a helpless moan.

"– it's all mine – the sight of your fulfilment, your moisture, your little cunt is meant for my eyes –" He continued, as if he was explaining to her some essential, eternal principle, something obvious and logical that she could not change. She trembled as two of his fingers slipped between her slick, throbbing walls, stretching her core.

"– yes – I'm sorry – I missed you so much –" She mumbled, rocking her hips to the rhythm of the thrusts of his fingers, which teased and pressed the spongy bud between her fleshy folds deep inside her, from which a trickle of her moisture ran down her thigh.

"– mmm – I know, baby – I missed you too –" He confessed, recognising that although he wanted to, he couldn't last much longer. This sight and the euphoria that gripped his body made him let go of her as his hands slid down to the belt of his trousers, undoing it – her eyes opened in hope, her breath accelerated and uneven.

"– please –" She muttered.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, grabbing her by the waist, the other releasing his throbbing, fat erection, the tip of which he guided to her leaking, swollen slit.

"– thaat's it – there you go – fuck –" He exhaled, slowly forcing his way between her hot, fleshy walls, clenching greedily around his cock, sucking it inside her.

"– yes – yes, God, please, yes –" She mewled, immediately beginning to roll her hips to the rhythm of his impatient, fierce thrusts, fitting his pulsing erection inside her again and again, though they tried to restrain themselves, their panting and moans echoed around the restroom.

"– Rhaenys –" He muttered, sinking his face into her fragrant, hot neck, her scent wonderfully familiar, her insides moist and warm, welcoming him with ease. He thought about it, thrusting into her with slick, sharp stabs – how deep he was in her body, how much they united in this chaotic, viscous act of desire.

"– Aemond – o-oh, fuck, fuck, oh, God –" She cried out as he imposed a fast, aggressive pace on her, pounding into her with the deep, sharp pushes of his hips, opening her wide with his manhood throbbing painfully with longing.

"– shhh – shhh, little one – just a little more – yes, that's my girl –" He praised her, panting heavily as he felt her reach the edge, her breath heavy and loud.

Nothing more than moans and grunts left her lips, her little cunt gave him a few more thirsty, steady squeezes before she shuddered with sweet fulfilment, her wetness running down his thighs as with the last, loud slaps he reached his peak inside her with a sigh of delight.

Since she was taking the pills, he could fuck her whenever and wherever he wanted.

"– fuck –" He breathed out, embracing her tightly from behind, while still rocking his hips inside her and hugging her like a little, longing child.

He wished she would say that they were going to watch some new cartoon or comedy in the evening, that they were going to lie in their sweatpants, spread out comfortably on her bed, cuddled up, eating popcorn, kissing and caressing each other.

"– m-maybe – maybe let's go to my place – we'll watch something and relax – I can cook you something, but we need to do some shopping –" She whispered, stroking his arm, and he purred, delighted by her words.

"– yes – yes, that's what I need –"

[syxilla]

If requests is still up then - Can you please do a kenji sato x best friend/ extrovert x introvert relationship. Where kenji likes showing off , reader is reserved. And like a balanced relation?!🙏

Kenji x !introverted bestfriend reader

my requests are open dw! actually this is my first ever ask, so idrk how i'll do- but i think i got what u wanted correctly? (pls tell me if im wrong) also, as usual i dont proof read so mind my mistakes! (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

cw: ken sato x gender neutral reader, relatively sfw, introverted reader, (pre-relationship) best friend reader, reader is a pessimist, ken is aggresively kind (kinda)

-bestfriend! kenji who aggresively shakes you while holding your arm. "y/n!" kenji yells excitedly, this made you drop your book, bending its pages. "oh my- what do you want ji?" you grumbled, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. "you~" he flirted while smirking.

-bestfriend! kenji who gets a flick in the middle of his forehead. "you made me drop my book." who'd rub the spot with a pout playing on his lips. "that hurttt" he whined. "and what do you want me to do about it?" youd query, picking up your book tryying to find the page. "a kiss to make the pain go away?"hed smile.

-bestfriend! kenji who's smile would grow wider once he felt your soft lift press against his head briefly. "thank you!" hed drag out before swinging an arm pver your shoulder to bring you closer. you know, regular friend things.

-bestfriend! kenji who always forces you out of your comfort zone by dragging you to events such as concerts, parades, festivals and most recently the movies. the movies where hed buy everything for you both, eat an absurd amount of snacks you both knew would make his tummy hurt and yet he still did. putting on a mask to not draw any unwanted attention to you both. forcing you to watch horror movies with him that had an excessive amount of blood and nightmare fuel, making you cling onto his arm whenever itd make you jump. not that he minded. of course he wouldnt mind, he never did when it was you.

-bestfriend! kenji who'd rent out the entire theater if you really didnt want to interact with anyone. youd always try to discourag him from doing so, saying he shouldnt spend a lot of money on you, but he always says its fine. he loves to show off his wealth to you, and he also loves to spoil you. buyinng you gifts and practically anything you wanted. just say the word and youll have it. perks of having rich baseball players as a (sadly) best friend.

-bestfriend! kenji who'd drag you into various fancy stores that someone of your working class would have no idea about just so you could rate the things hed grab. "does this shirt look good on me?" hed ask, as if he could look bad in anything. and youd nod, a slight warmness in your cheeks when youd watch him change in and out of each shirt. trying your best to not stare.

-bestfriend! kenji who'd lay his head on yours or on your shoulder after a tiring game. only wanting to sleep. and you didnt mind, just ruffling his hair and enjoying the company of your friend. all while ignoring the little voices in your friend that were desperately trying to change the word friend into something else.

-bestfriend! kenji who promises to always be by your side in larger crowds. tuggling you close enough so that you felt the warmth generating off of his body. you especially liked this warmth during the winter, he was like your own personal fireplce wrapped in a ball of cuteness and a ribbon of sarcasm.

-bestfriend! kenji who you may or may not have feelings for. the same kenji who just asked you out on a date.

(i hope i didnt dissapoint, ty again for submitting an ask, i hope i did u justice!)

[acewritesfics]

Study Time | Eddie Munson

⚠️ THIS IS A REPOST FROM MY MAIN BLOG @/DLMLUFICS. UNFORTUNATELY, I HAVE TO DO IT THIS WAY. MORE INFO IN MY PINNED POST.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Request: From Anon

Warnings: Self doubt, feelings of failure. Implied smut.  

Word Count: 845

Credit: @/firefly-graphics for the hellfire club dividers.

Tag List: Open - acewritesfics taglist sign up

Stranger Things Masterlist

Y/N is startled awake as the trailer door slams shut. She hadn’t intended to doze off while she awaited Eddie’s return from his Hellfire Club meeting. She was more tired than usual since this week at the video store had seemed busier. She wasn’t sure if it was the upcoming spring break or the fact that everyone had chosen to host a movie night this week. She was sorting through the returned VCRs when she started falling asleep at the counter, and Steve had instructed her to go home. 

As Eddie entered his bedroom with a discouraged expression on his face, she sat up on the bed. The mischievous gleam in his deep brown eyes had faded, and his shoulders slumped. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked as he flung himself on the bed next to her. His face hit the pillow as he screamed in frustration and murmured something she couldn’t quite make out. “I’m sorry. What was that? I don’t understand your pillow grumbling.” 

He groans into the faintly stained pillow once more before turning onto his back and looking up at her. “I’m failing yet again.” 

“No, you’re not,” she responds, perplexed as to why he would believe so. He assured her that he was passing his classes, albeit not with an A or even a B, but he was well on his way to graduating.  

“Ms. O'Donnell told me today that I was barely passing her class,” he informs her. “I have to pass her final or I won’t graduate…again.” 

She frowns, remembering her days in the old teacher’s classroom, Prior to starting a relationship with Eddie, she had never had any problems with the teacher. In fact, she had warned her against being in a relationship with Eddie, claiming that the metalhead would only bring her down to his level. “I’m pretty sure the old hag just has it in for you.”  

He sighs, “Or I’m just stupid.” 

She reprimands him for talking so negatively about himself by giving him a little tap on the shoulder. “You’re not stupid. You just struggle sometimes. You are not failing, either. "You just need to pass this final, like you mentioned.” 

“And how am I going to achieve that?” he asks cynically. 

“I’ll help with your studies,” She gets up from his bed and walks over to the desk, which was across the room. She searches through the notebooks until she locates the one she gave him that had all of her notes from the previous year. He sits up as she returns to the bed and settles back down next to him. “Have you gone over my notes from last year?” 

He has a remorseful expression in his eyes as she glances at him. He hadn’t even glanced at her notes, if he were being completely honest. In order to create room for the notebooks that contained all his notes and campaigns for his Dungeons & Dragons adventures, he pushed her notebooks aside and quickly forgot about them. 

“You haven’t, have you?” His silence was all the answer she needed. “Edward Munson.”  

He rolls his eyes, “Jesus Christ, don’t you start on me.”  

He hated that he was letting her down. He didn’t want to. She had been by his side through both his failure to graduate while she graduated herself last year. She had the opportunity to end their relationship and move on to someone else, but she stuck with him, offered him support, and continued to love him through it all. 

“Look through my notes. I’ve highlighted everything that should be helpful,” she instructs him. “I’ll do my best to help you if there is anything you need help with.”  

“I’m struggling with everything,” he admits, leaning back against his headboard. She feels Eddie drawing circles on her back. His light touches her, sending a thrill through her body. “Where are you up to in class?”  

As he tells her where they were up to, he leans closer, his chest against her back, kissing her from her shoulder to her neck. She chews her lower lip as she flips through the pages, looking for the necessary notes. 

“Eddie,” she breathes softly, a whimper caught in her throat. As he puts his lips on her sweet spot, his teeth graze her skin. To prevent any further moans from escaping her throat, she bites her lip more firmly. “You need to study,” 

“I can do that later,” he replies, moving away from her neck and turning her head towards him. He takes the notebook from her grasp and tosses it to the side, while he crushes his lips to hers in a bruising kiss. 

He pushes her back into the bed, as he crawls over top of her, running his ringed hands beneath his Dio shirt that she’s wearing. With one knee bowed against his hip and the other wedged between his legs, she pulls on his shirt to draw him closer. She was aware that he was doing this to divert her attention from his difficulties. She would allow the distraction… this time. 

TAGGED: LINK TO TAG LIST SIGN-UP ABOVE.

[plutoons]

Can you do a tutorial on how your art process is done I’m about to quit on Art everything I make fucking sucks .

hey anon !! My art process is almost non existent cause i haven’t been able to stick to One definitive way and i don’t want to cause i think its limiting. I still have a long way to go for improving my skills and learning new things and figuring out different styles !!

Heres a quickk drawing showing what my “main” process is

This is something i generally have stuck to for most of my posted drawings (i can post things specific to some drawings on a separate reblog ^^ im just to lazy to get pictures of em for examples rn)

Doodle !! I cant visualize shit, and usually have a very vague idea of what id like to draw Or just nothing at all. So I doodle messily with expressive gestures till’ i find something that sticks

choose one final concept/sketch and clean it up a lil so i have a way better idea of what im getting myself into

Base colors cause i hate doing lineart. So i just go straight into colors casue its fun and i like fun!! Right on top or on a diff layer it doesnt matter. I color pick with my eyes and put base colors or anything i think it would be cool. No pressure and it can messy cause I’ll clean it up and figure shit out later

fuck around and find out (rendering ig)—> i cant explain it super well or definitively. I just layer and throw colors on top till im satisfied or Done with it. I flip my canvas a bunch or check my values to make sure the results come out to look more coherent regardless of the mess of color

Im just a simple person and cant handle something that requires too many steps or things that havta be done Just right so this works for me atm. This may not be your jam but finding a process in that works for you through trial an error is just a part of art. Do what works for you!! I think experimenting is so important even if it sucks in the end

(more Words / “advice ?” under cut)

I have so many shitty drawings and sketches and even colored things that outweigh the tiny bits of art i decide to show off

I totally get that creating art can get really discouraging at times; not getting the results you want when you want them no matter how much effort you put in just sucks, but it won’t always be that way :] even if it takes you 10 years to find your groove and see improvement or 2 years, it’ll happen. I find that i’ve only improved when i actively didn’t give a fuck about how my art looks and only cared that i was having fun through it all, and thats hard cause perfectionism is a bitch and its hard to get rid of. You could improve with studies and daily practice for sure but moving towards improvement can be as fun and light n breezy as you want to make it, like taking a break to explore different hobbies or changing up mediums or fucking around and experimenting with it can help !!! Allow ur art to be bad; cause fuck it, at least you made something and thats really really cool. Once you cut urself some slack it’ll be easier to improve upon your skillset and slowly but surely get to where you want

Sorry im a bit tired idk if this is coherent so heres a more direct thing i’d like to say:

Maybe ur art isn’t where you want it to be rn and ik it can kill ur motivation to keep going at it (i’ve experienced this feeling a lot and im sure so have many others). But you gotta ease up on urself and stop worrying about results so you can allow yourself to experiment and have fun!! And its hard getting into that mindset but you gotta keep trying and you’ll find it getting easier

[decafbat]

I assume you get tired of having to act polite and nice to tactless jerks online but dont want to deal with the almost certain overreaction to you actually expressing urself like a person with real emotions and limits

damn this ones loaded. some parts yeah some parts nah? for one, i dont exactly know what my actual full self expression would entail, but it is something i fear when considering doing nsfw art particularly. its something id like to be doing more of, but i would definitely be hesitant, less due to a fear of an overreaction but more an unintended reaction. im sure for some, my characters fill a fetish niche, and thats not something i can control, but id like to do my best to discourage that kind of perception. the "tactless jerks" part i can link to people in my comments who have decided to make their fetishes my problem. people get weird about leica sometimes, and cath too but to a lesser extent. i dont want to get into a discussion about fatfurs, all ill say is that i sort of wish they wouldnt assume everyone drawing a fat character was doing it with fetishistic intent. leica's fat because i'm fat and i enjoy drawing characters that match up with my body type. i rarely feel motivated to establish boundaries, because i honestly appreciate that people find my characters attractive, even if theyre being weird about it. ive been plenty weird about fictional characters before. ill be honest though, and i think this is the most important takeaway here, these types of comments are vanishingly rare. much more rare then i might have let on in past posts about my experience on twitter. in reality, the fear of a mob of people out to misinterpret and degrade your art is usually more detrimental then any reality that idea is based upon. i felt pretty afraid of my audience on twitter, but im thinking lately that it was at least 80% in my head. so to answer the first question at the end of my long rambly paragraph, its not that im tired of tactless jerks, its that im tired of feeling afraid of nothing.

[cottoncandysecretlair]

I gave up art as a teen. My parents were very discouraging, if I was even caught drawing I was lectured about how it'll never be a job for me.

So I just dropped it. I eventually realized I couldn't go to college: parents refused to fill out the fafsa out of fears their tax fraud would be discovered. I entered the work force extremely mentally ill, traumatized, and with chronic pain.

I didn't think about drawing or art. Or friends. Or really living life. I worked at a job that was mentally destructive for me because I needed the healthcare to make it. My health got worse, I got more tired, more isolated.

I eventually made it out of my parents house. Moved into an apartment on my own in spring of 2020. I relaxed a bit but couldn't drop the grind, rent needed paying. I still haven't dropped it.

I regret all that time I spent not drawing. I feel a resentment when I see amazingly talented folks younger than me, though I'd never show it or discouraged.

Those years feel stolen from me. I couldn't work on my passions because I was surviving, and now I'm so far behind the curve. On occasion I've tried doodling and it made me cry, because I could see where I stagnated, where I haven't improved and have even gone backwards.

But. I recently got graphic tablet again. I was afraid I'd get discouraged again, afraid of how bad my art would look.

But I took a deep breath and did it. I picked something simple and went at it.

And it's nothing special. I have issues with it. My coloring skills always needed work.

But.. I did it. I forgot the way time fades away, how serenely focused I feel despite my usual adhd chaos, how nice it is to spend time experimenting.

And there it is. The start of my new beginning. I'm not gonna be a pro but that's okay.

I'm just glad to have my happy place back

A comic to try and sort through some difficult feelings about being an artist and a reminder to not forget who you are.

[lcec0ldheart]

Random OC stuff of the day #3: New OC! Enter Crimson Starius! And some backstory!

So, I missed two days. This is supposed to be a daily thing. But it was my sister’s birthday on the 20th, and we celebrated it until halfway through the 21st, so I was dead tired. I’ll try to post two oc stuff in one day at some point to recover lost time, but i am excusing myself once bc it was my sister’s birthday lol. Have a BIG post to make up for this? Its pretty late but i got forced to cook not my fault

Anyways, new OC! I know it’s really soon but oh well fkrlgkrjejjrjd

I suddenly got the idea (for what he looks like, Violet having a brother has been in the back of my mind for a while even before her redesign) while doodling stuff, and so I made a quick scribble of him before actually drawing him at school. Surprisingly enough, I was able to start and finish him. Here is Crimson!

Crimson is an 11 year old kid, the younger brother of Violet! The “Sun” to Violet’s “Moon”!

A charismatic, chaotic, fun and bold kid that wants to enjoy himself and make some friends. He’s quite clever, cunning, funny, and is perceptive and likes to share with people. Also very creative and a bit crazy, he’s interesting to be around.

Although he tries not to show it, he’s also pretty emotional, and he’s a bit self conscious of what others think, wanting some attention. Despite this, he’s still a fun, nice and sweet kid who makes mistakes at times. Can be read as selfish, but it’s usually by accident and he’ll do something to make up for it. Shy around new people but that doesnt last long

Somewhat hyperactive and struggles to sit still, and gets bored easily, but he’s really good at being entertaining and enjoyable. He’ll try crazy ideas even if he’s been told it wont end well, and he’s relatively confident in himself, but still wants some validation. He’ll invite a friend to whatever he’s doing, as he wants to make sure they’re enjoying themself too. More relaxed, and kinda goofy.

He draws pretty well for his age (Certainly better than I did LOL), learning how to draw with Violet’s help. A good leader, and smart for his age, notable when he’s around other kids. Relatively mature and knows the most unexpected things (He and Violet share weird fun facts with each other. Sometimes, my irl brother will tell me something he shouldn’t have learned until high school. He’s a great kid, but he scares me sometimes…)

Since he’s so young, he doesn’t really fight (thank goodness although he’s weirdly strong for his age and tall…), but he likes playing with fire, and unfortunately Violet can’t really discourage him due to him being fire immune somehow. I guess he had to pick up some kind of weird trait from her, lol. If he had to use a weapon though, 100% would be a hammer. My IRL brother is having so much fun with the inflated comically oversized one we have.

(Hey guys, it’s Crimson IRL!)

Crimson and Violet’s sibling dynamic is pretty interesting to me. Due to how he and Violet was left on her own without parents when she was 13 (About a year and half has passed since that happened), they’re very close, sticking together no matter what happens. Sometimes they talk like friends the same age bantering with each other (No joke my brother is crazy smart 75% of the time we talk to each other like we’re twins, and he’s NINE), other times they have a younger brother-older sister dynamic, but Violet’s the one that’s been taking care of him. No idea how she manages to get through it all, but she’s the one who makes sure he’s fed, clothed, has somewhere to sleep, making sure he’s happy, helping him whenever he needs it, and is cared for. Give Violet a “sister of the year” award because MAN i couldn’t imagine managing that at 13 no less

Fortunately, eventually the two get some sort of support system (With Violet getting some friends MAYBE found family…) and they have their older (I’ll introduce her eventually but i haven’t introduced her yet. Maybe i will for lesbian visibility week though) cousin, who is sadly pretty far away and busy, but still tries to help, being the one to buy their living space and giving Violet quite a bit of money to make sure the two can live on their own without having to work or worry. Also gives her advice.

As for how they’re managing to live on their own, they’re doing fine. Because of the fact they’re on their own, they’ve adjusted their living to what fits them best. It’s not all that bad. Still stressful for Violet though

Crimson usually attends online live classes on his laptop (They both have laptops they use for personal and school reasons), and he’s actually taking advanced classes, doing quite well in school. (He still needs to pay more attention sometimes though.) Sometimes he needs help, but he knows what to do for the most part, and if not he’ll ask Violet at some point during the day.

Violet does her school work remotely, not on live classes, but that allows her to go however fast she wants to on her school courses. It also lets her manage her own schedule which is good because the only thing holding her back as a kid in school was having to follow everyone else’s schedule.

Her sleep schedule is naturally fucked up (I swear she’s like some sort of nocturnal creature lmao) and was a bit of an issue when she couldn’t get to sleep all night and got sleepy while in class. But since online courses don’t have that problem, she can sleep whenever the hell she wants! Which is why she’s usually sleeping when other kids are in school lol. Crimson is normal (ish) in the case that he wakes up at the crack of dawn, so usually around 6 AM. Violet is quite book smart. Due to her being able to do assignments wherever and whenever she wants (assuming she meets deadlines), she is zooming through highschool. I imagine the story with Frost, Pyrite and Violet would take place around the summer, so after that she’d be starting courses most people wouldn’t get to until junior year, despite only being 14 and half. 2 grades ahead basically

You’d think that one of them being awake half the time the other is asleep would cause problems, but for the most part it doesn’t. They still eat at least 2 meals a day at the same time, just that for one of them it’s breakfast and for the other its dinner lol. Usually when Violet makes her own lunch (which she has at like 12 am lmao) she’ll have a second plate made, and put it in the fridge to leave for Crimson when he’ll have his own lunch since she’ll be asleep at the time. Though Crimson is learning how to cook too, as he wants to make his own food as well, so that won’t be necessary soon!

While Violet and Crimson don’t judge each other much, they still think some of the things the other does is weird. Like Crimson sometimes goes on rambles and rants talking to himself or the wall about practically anything. It’s like he’s a chronically recording youtuber. Violet isn’t really bothered by this, she just finds it entertaining and kinda funny, and talks back if she has something to add. Crimson also tends to pace around the room a lot. He fidgets if he’s sitting in place, and gets kinda restless assuming he’s not being stimulated in some way, so usually if she sees him doing that she’ll find something for him to fidget with (He might just go find like a wrench to twist himself) but she doesnt think its weird or anything

Crimson might ask Violet a question if he sees her doing something not normal (Like using her telekinesis), but assuming she answers he’ll just take it and be like “Oh cool” and maybe ask her to participate in one of his schemes if her powers end up being useful for it. He thinks the purple markings and nails and glowy eyes is normal bc Violet is his standard for what a person should look like LOL (This is why he doesn’t ask why it’s so difficult for her to sleep like a normal person, or why she’ll manage to infodump about something for hours, or how sounds seem louder to her, or why she gets fixated on specific things, because she’s the person he knows the most, so it feels normal to him. and even if he knows otherwise he doesn’t mind)

Overall, they’re very close, and kinda learned how to socialize by talking to each other lol thats why both of them aren’t too good at talking to normal people. The two will stick together and support each other no matter what. Sometimes they have issues or bicker, but they geninuely love each other (Crimson doesn't say it as much but he ends up conveying that by his actions.) I call them the Sun and Moon duo!

Uh I don’t know what else to put here, but that’s another ramble from me that got super off topic lol. Goodnight guys, hope your day is going well, yuh

[crazy-void]

Important update

(sorry for my english, it’s not my native language)

Hello everyone, I'm not usually the type to make these posts, but I think this time it's really necessary.

First of all, about the Bots and Pizza fanfic, for all the fans and especially that anonymous fan who once asked me how the chapter was going, I have to say that yes, I said that December I would release the chapter starting part 2, but I haven't managed to finish it. I only have half of it, and I'm currently having a creative block finishing a particular scene, which I've already changed several times. As I still have to finish it, correct it, translate it into English, correct it again, send it to the person who does the final English correction, it may not even be finished in time this month. I can provide you with some poorly translated excerpts if you're curious, without too many spoilers. The chapter will come out, I just can't promise dates anymore. 

Now, this is the hardest part for me to tell you, but I have to be honest:

I need to slow down.

"Wait, didn't you used to say that you were slow at drawing?" "Don't you already post once a month, without a schedule?" Yes, I have a slow pace for posting, but with this change, it may take me a lot longer to post.

In 2023 a lot of things happened in my life, from graduating, reconciling study and work, increasing the pace of drawing and writing, increasing livestreams, having several long leaves from home that unfortunately prevented me from continuing my projects, and adding all the fatigue of reconciling all this, this year was one of the worst for my mental and physical health.

I don't like to talk too much about my private life, I didn't want to write a long text explaining it, but I think that for those of you who follow me I need to explain why I'm disappearing so much and not being on schedule.

Since the last chapter of Bots was posted, I've had the worst months. I got sick, my cat had an emergency and underwent surgery which meant I had to keep an eye on him for 24 hours, combining that with work, spending Christmas with a horrible cold and pain from falling down the stairs.

And after spending New Year's away from my cat, who had to stay in a hotel because I wasn't going to bring him to the beach, going through all the stress of him trying to attack the cat they brought and thus making his wound worse, which was finally closing up, spending almost all my vacation on the beach, and every day worrying about what the next complaint would be about me for simply trying to do something for everyone, I'm just tired and exhausted.

The problem itself isn't my family, they're amazing, I wouldn't swap them for anyone, but sometimes I can't make myself understood and I can't express myself.

It doesn't help that I'm already a person who for 20 years hasn't known what it's like to relax, I've always done everything as if I were holding a weight on my back, even more so when, even though I'm in pain, I keep pushing myself, going beyond the limit and thus getting worse and worse.

I was doing that a lot throughout 2023, and it just wrecked me. In terms of mental health, I'm very passive, I try to impose myself, but I always lose the argument and do what they want, and I just accept it and swallow it, until at some point it all explodes and I'm left with a mess of emotions.

Little by little, I was getting more and more discouraged, just living each day according to routine, trying to find some happiness in anything at the moment. Drawing, writing, reading, doing anything involving subjects I love was helping, but I was having more and more obstacles, interruptions, I was forcing myself to do things, and not being able to do what I wanted during the day was frustrating me more and more, combined with my increasingly frequent pains.

I had a plan to post more than 6 drawings in the month of December, showing more OCs, as well as finally continuing Not so Superstar. There was going to be a special Christmas drawing. Did I achieve that? No, I didn't even come close. Of course, it's my fault for having imposed this on myself, but each day was more frustrating than the next, and this only added to all the frustrations of the whole year that I don't even feel genuine happiness anymore. I smile because I have to, but I don't fully feel that good happiness. And that frustrates me. 

I've also started to have problems with my body, I don't feel comfortable with certain parts of it. It sounds silly, but it's only helped to increase my discouragement.

With all this, I'm tired.

And I want to change that.

I'm already looking for help to improve, even by 1%, so that next New Year, I can really smile.

I'm not the best example, but if you're reading this and you feel something similar, try to seek help, whether through psychologists, through your faith, or even through friends. Sometimes all you need to hear is that someone cares about you and that everything is going to be okay. And if you're that friend someone has chosen to open up to, reach out, sometimes a simple "I'm here, you can count on me" is all they need.

Anyway, I know it's a huge text, but I needed to explain at least a little to those who care, and that me slowing down doesn't mean I'm going to stop everything, I may even become more productive, who knows? But I won't be promising dates. I'm not going to disappear from the socials, I intend to look at them more often, so you can interact with me just fine.

I hope that by the end of the year, I'll be able to return to this post and see that I've improved, that I no longer feel disappointed and tired, that all the help I'm getting has made me smile for real at the turn of 2025.

Thank you for listening, you are one of the reasons I keep going.

[a-v-j]

RULES FOR NEW COMERS(or everyone really in general)

Most especially if it’s a newly-made account and/or empty blogs or obviously recently filled with with likes from my work to not look empty

*Don’t ask me for requests or free drawings, i only do that for my friends(or announced events)(requests are currently closed, commissions open tho)

*Make good first impression(dont just compliment me that won’t work)(whether if it’s dm or ask), otherwise you’ll be labeled as troll alt acc and will be blocked after 3 violations(no notices, no warning). Automatic block for those who intentionally violate rules

*Know my work first before trying to befriend me(genuine interest in my work=genuine interest in me)

*Know im not always nice but will try to keep things friendly as much as possible

*It’s ok to make a mistake, but don’t make the same mistake twice

*Take note i occasionally make 18+ skeleton materials so when you happen to bump into one and it’s totally not your cup of tea, know that it’s on you for not reading this pinned post

*I’m very keen in details, so better get names right if you want me to have a good impression on you

*Don’t do “what’s everyone’s reaction to this” “what do you think of my oc” in my Ask box. Ask one to two characters only because like you, i get tired drawing too. Unless the question including multiple characters of mine is answerable with words then ok

*Note that i answer asks in three ways; with words only(occasional old art for visuals), drawings(static or animated) or not answering at all. So in such case i dont answer immediately with words, then your ask might be answered with a drawing(or with a gif if it’s taking longer, no promises) or has been ignored due to technical difficulties that i don’t want to answer it.

*Do not submit to me your oc that isnt even related to my characters, im not gonna be some advertisement ad to showcase your stuff in my blog even if that’s not your intention and im not an art teacher who you be submitting your art to. Im sorry, i just can’t give any genuine opinion on things i didnt make or not interested in(it requires me to think harder than i should and I don’t want that) but im not saying your art is bad or anything

*Jesus, one ask from one person at a time. If curiosity gets the best of ya, compile it in one ask. Youre giving me quite a workout, kid

*If you get blocked, im sorry, but you didnt read the rules

*Do not ask me for my favorite things because my head usually doesnt keep record of what they are, I would try answer my friends of course

*When sending an ask addressed to a character, make sure they are residents of Avjverse. See the full list here**. Asking a character i don't have will result in a block under the belief youre just deliberately doing it on purpose to spite me. So read for your own sake

**note: not everyone in this list are available for Asks

*If youre a new acc, DNI, especially as an ask. Your acc must have been 2 weeks active or had been filled with posts. I have issues with previous trollers opening new acc and trying to befriend and exploit me so take in mind it's not to personally attack you i just dont want more bs coming from these people. If youre unable to post anything in your blog make sure your ask or dm to me is within rules so I'd have a good impression on you. It's hard to trust new accounts, im sorry

*DONT send an ask twice because either it's in queue to have a drawing or I DO NOT want to answer it. DONT DM me saying to answer your ask

*Any roleplay fanblogs not run/authorized by me that includes my characters, do not claim youre official 'cause that's a dick move, bro but any one's free to open one. I discourage any acts that could potentially ruin any of my character's image. Refer to this blog for the canon stuff

*No, i do not support Anti_ErrorxErrisk. For Anti, Errisk is A CHILD. So dont creep him up or make him a creep please, make sure Errisk in your version of the ship is of legal age.

*Yes, its totally fine with me to draw fanart of my characters (and to tag me lol) There's no need to ask permission. But i do discourage any fanart that is intended to cause bad image to my characters, any acts relating to hate, racism and assholism. Im against that. Im ok with fanarts with ships(my character x oc/another Avjverse/nonavjverse character). As long as you dont claim it to be the official one and/or canon, im ok with it. If i say i dont like a certain ship, you can still make fanart just dont tag me.

*Dont initiate RP that is meant to be long and reblogged in the asks, i dont do that. Well, occasionally with friends only, and most likely not in tumblr

*Note i block accounts that had been deemed enough to be hot listed

*I prefer not to be tagged in a post where someone is requesting to draw my characters, solo or in group. I had this notorious troll who was very rude and theyre adamant in requesting many people to draw my characters which i honestly dont want them to since they have zero respect for my characters at all and theyre also notorious in changing acc names as well as creating new ones, their usual intro is "hi, im new here" when they're actually not. I just don't want to be in the same post as they are so i request to not be tagged in such situation.

*dont start with "hi i love your art/your oc, can you draw <request>", it's registered in my brain negatively, leads me to think you're only complimenting me/my art/my characters because you want something from me. My brain will hotlist you, even if you were of good intention

*know that AVJ is unpredictable and the way our head functions varies from moment to moment. We're working on our part and it would be a nice if you also take part on yours

A mini guide on how to get around AVJ, brought to you by 10:12,07/01/22 AVJ and et al

[newta]

THIS!!! I HAD LOTS OF MEDS AND PROFESSIONALS FOR YEARS AND I DIDN'T THINK I WOULD EVER BE BETTER! BUT I'M BETTER NOW!

I started with watching cooking videos and trying it out. Just easy cheap meals. At first even those weren't good but I keep trying! I became a vegetarian and discovered that you just need to know how to prepare vegetables and now I like nearly all of them! Also try making smoothies with frozen food & honey (bonus: add some frozen spinach in your smoothies. You won't taste it!)

I take walks listening to music or podcasts! Sometimes i call my friend or mom to talk while I walk. I try to look around and discover precious little things! I saw swans nest the last time I went out.

Also. I always told myself I was a night owl/more productive at night. Thats not true. Go to bed at a set time EVERY night. And don't try to sleep till late afternoon! I usually try to wake up at 10 am and go to bed at midnight!

I take a self care bath once a week but shower during the week! It makes me feel better!

If your body hurts or you feel tired after waking up. I recommend 10-20 min yoga tutorial you can do in the morning to wake up! Your body will stop hurting.

I also discovered going on runs. I'm not good at them and at first I felt like dying but I kept going and now I started to enjoy them!

Try to find things you can do in your city. Go on a walk discovering & learning about herbs. Go to a museum. Do some pottery painting. Ask your friends to go with you! They also want to do things!

If you are home, don't just scroll. I try to find hobbies i can do with my hands! Stitching, crocheing, sewing, drawing, painting, writing etc. You can find a lot of things for those at dollar stores. They wont be high quality but you can try them out and see if you like them! If you're not sure how to start, there are a ton of youtube tutorials for free!

Start telling your friends & family you love them. At first it will feel awkward. But they appreciate it & will start saying it back!

Don't be discouraged if something doesnt work out at first! (I hurt my feet running in bad shoes when i started going on runs. It hurt. They healed and I restarted after I did research. I wasn't very good at crocheing but I kept going and now I don't need patterns anymore! Etc.)

It gets better. Even if you don't want to live rn or you don't think anyone will miss you. They will! You will find friends and love and joy! It will get better :)

me when going to bed at a normal time, eating fruits, having less caffeine, not socially isolating and taking silly little walks actually improves my mental health, knowing that i avoided it for years because i didn’t think it would do anything

[midnxght-sweet-time]

Can i request (naib x doll f.reader?)

(Actually i has going to request wu chang x doll f.reader but wu chang is not there in lists 🥲)

So like reader is hunter. who know hunter nickname is "broken doll" she die by suicidal or someone killed her bc they are jealous bc of her. her skill is like she can summon the mini doll version of survivor whenever some survivor is close to her the mini survivor doll will be puff of out of nowhere and if she hit the mini survivor they will have a damage of it. And the problem is f.reader is so easy to kite bc of her skill every time when she use her skill the mini survivor doll will be gone bc survivor. some of them are really fast and some of them drow pallets at her and f.reader can't speak bc you know someone killed her or suicidal.. after that some survivor will going to bully her every match. And there is nain who going to save/protect f.reader whenever someone is bullying her. And if you don't mind in ending where reader will going to revamp that she can finally sing or talk.😅

𝙰 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚢

❥︎ Paring: ♤Naib Subedar x F!Hunter!Reader

⚠︎ TW: Hurt to comfort. Naib also being a little ooc, but I pretty much soften his personality, Ganji being ooc cuz idk how he acts usually but i know he no like richy ppl n i based reader off a noble singer so ye-. Edgar being a prick. Survivors bullying hunter reader. Mentions of reader's death like poisoning.

᯽ A/N: Im not really fond of the usual damsel in distress reader especially when its a hunter but i aint here to complain.

This was pretty long as i had a whole scenario in my head n took a 5 min break doodle along wif it-

I rather draw y/n that has some hair n eyes than them being bald n almost faceless lmao.

Reader died by poisoning cuz i need a reasonable explanation how she cant speak n not she just died. Almost every hunter died n only Mary seemed to have vocal issues cuz of her chopped head n jojo having asthma cuz he probs smokes-

The sound of wood colliding on the hard cold edge is always a discouraging sound that smashes into your eardrums as the rough material scratches the side of your delicate face. The pain burns on your cheek like a familiar fire that you have gotten used to that hot tears streamed down your face on cue. 

Every match was the same; a pallet to the face, the pathway kept clean, and emotionally tiring hours that brings you to a state of depression. You watched with a blurred vision as the doll on your hands slowly disappeared and footsteps of your prey got further and further away. You could never get a win. It's either a tie or a loss. Even the ties are just lucky shots being paired with the weak kiters, or the few friendly survivors that would spare you some pity.

Of all the hunters, you were the weakest, making you an easy win. You wished you'd never ended up here. If only you had been more careful in your past life, maybe you wouldn't have drunk the sweet nectar that was spiked with poison from the one you have so foolishly trusted at first sight. 

Blaring alarms pierced through your ears like needles. Your eyes caught the small figures of the survivors rushing towards the door to make their escape. Their tiny bodies from a few distance away sway with the wind, scaring the crows that rested there and relishing in their victory with small bits of laughter your abnormal ears can catch; you know for sure their cheerfulness dripped with venom for you. 

Defeat overwhelmed and pulled you to the ground. Your knees scraping on the blades of grass that are more merciful than most survivors that torments you for your lack of experience or disadvantages. You watch as they celebrate like it's a holiday party and continuously making mocking gestures by the open doors. A lump drops to the bottom of your stomach. The feeling of failure felt like a harsh grip; suffocating you like the poison that deprives you of any oxygen and burns your throat til your voice becomes shallow and hoarse. You remembered how you were unable to call for help as your humane life left your body and your corpse left as an artifact of who you once were. Tears blurred your vision as an attempt to shield you away from the disheartening sight and attempt to cool the burning sensation on your cheek, only to make it sting more.

A quick electric sensation courses through your veins, three times in a pattern; the game's psychic signal to you that some survivors have escaped. The daunting feeling  stacked on your back like falling bricks that's building a tower in tetris. Silence filled the air now. The breeze of Lakeside attempted to comfort you with its cooling touches, brushing your hair away from your face. The empty sight however, only reminded you of your despair. It has become oddly peaceful now that the survivors are gone, even if your heart feels heavy with guilt. 

That's when you noticed— you're not being sent back to the manor.

A honking noise caught your attention, followed by the consent squawks of the crows that alerted you of their location. Your head shot up at the sudden alarm; someone hasn't escaped yet.

But why?

Out of instinct, your body rushed to where that survivor might be. The crows are your aid, running their beaks, mocking the poor survivor and leading you straight to them. Your feet flew with the wind, carrying you to the upstairs of the giant ship. The red light you emit strangely from your eyes acts as a flashlight in the dark fog. The crows disappear upon your arrival.

It's almost unnoticeable, but the glowing heartbeat gave away the green hooded man that's curled up on the floor behind a batch of barrels in front of a cipher. His body was shaking, his head low to the ground and his hands were by where his ears were supposed to be. It seems like he barricaded himself in the barrels, scared of whatever monster that lurked in his imagination.

What was the mercenary still doing here? 

You awkwardly stood around for a few minutes, trying to understand the position he was in. It's like he's hiding from something. Seeing him in that small space, scared and alone reminds you of a stray kitten that was abandoned in a bush. You approached closer, as slow and quiet as you can, like approaching a child. The creeks of the old worn floor made him shot up. His eyes looked at you, startled, before his brows furrowed and his growling at you like a hostile animal– wary and distrustful, but within those same eyes that glared at you, you can see a hint of what seemed like fear. 

You backed up, hoping the mercenary won't attack you right then and there. Your fingers slipped loose, forgetting you ever had your weapon and it dropped, making a thud that caught him off guard. Confusion replaced his hostility once he noticed you werent here to kill him. He looked around before bringing eye contact to you. "Is- is the match over?" His body slowly loosened up the tension when he saw you nod your head. You pointed towards the open gate below the ship, in a way telling him his teammates are gone. 

He became silent. The mercenary was about to walk over to you until he realized his position; trapped between barrels stacked sideways. His face displayed pure innocent confusion you never thought you'd see from him. 

This was just very awkward.

The moment he places his hands on the barrels to push aside, he immediately recoils his body in pain. A loud groan erupted from his throat, making you step forward in concern. Your hands involuntarily grabbed onto a barrel and helped him push it off to the side. Shock now covered his face as he backed up to a wall when you were kneeling in front of him, your form towering above him. You were about to grab onto his hand to take a look at his injuries, but realizing you may scare him off, you just stood there with your hands out. 

Even you were surprised at how upfront you can be.

He clicked his tongue when he finally realized what you wanted from him. "I'm fine, thank you. I don't need any help from a hunter." His head turned away from you, averting his eyes and shoving his injured hand behind his lap to avoid your sight on it. 

You didn't move. Your eyes focused on him and the signature red light shone on him like police headlights. You're very close to him, making him feel slightly uncomfortable at your unnerving presence.  

You and the mercenary don't really encounter each other a lot so it's reasonable why. 

That's when you remembered; You're close enough to manifest a doll of him.

Strings of different colors appeared from thin air as the hand you had out for the mercenary created a cute little doll of him. The mercenary felt a strange sensation on his body, like the feeling of thinning into a string and being tied into a knot. Like when the white guard would siphon his soul– only the pull of his soul seems to be attaching himself with the doll as he feels compelled to it. He can feel his heart stopping, as in he doesnt know how to react , standing still in time and watching helplessly..

The big button eyes of the doll stares at you with the same bright blue as his eyes. You noticed his doll version has a slight torn opening, little specks of cotton threatening to spill out from that crack.

That must be his injury. 

"Woah, what are you doing?" His tone was skeptical and you responded by lifting up the doll and pointing to its mimicked wounds. Your head tilted at him to ask how he got that. He seemed to catch on quickly and looked at his own injury. 

"Honestly– I don't know…" 

You looked around, seeing any signs of sharp objects until you caught sight of the familiar crimson color on the edge of the cipher nearest to you. The cipher's light gives you a clarification of its dull color which tells you the blood has dried. You pointed at the dried up blood, wondering if that's where he had hurt himself. He looked at where you pointed at and for a moment his eyes widened and his pupils shifted from the edge of the cipher to the cipher itself. 

He was speechless, he didn't say anything until you snapped your fingers in front of him, crashing his train of thoughts. "Oh- I must've been careless." Scratching the back of his neck. You can see a single sweat rolling down his head. 

Your focus is back on the doll. A needle suddenly appeared in your other hand, making the mercenary even more tense. Lining up the sharp tip, you pierced through the delicate fabric of the doll, causing the man in front of you to suddenly twitch up in response, feeling the poking sensation on his skin. "H-hey- what are you doing?!"

You ignored his yelping. Stitching away at the small slit, securing back the cotton to its rightful place and closing the gaps. By the time you snapped the excess string to proclaim your completion, the thread that was stitched into the hand slowly morphed with the fabric, disappearing without a trace and making it look as good as new.

The mercenary watched you before looking back at his hand. Sure enough, just like the doll counterpart of him, his wound is gone. Like his injury never happened.

"T-Thanks." The hooded man nodded as a small mimic of bowing. The confusion never left his face. He was in pure shock but also sparkles of curiosity mixed in those same eyes. 

His head lifts up once again, catching the gentle expression on his face. Your hair flowing with the wind as the moonlight showered you in its heavenly glow. He spotted the scratch on your cheek and reached out to touch it, but the moment he touched your skin, not only you moved away, he also retracted his hand in surprise.

"What the fuck-?" He muttered before touching your face again, making you recoil again. "What the fuck?!" The confusion was beyond you at this point, making your head swirl, thinking what you did wrong. Was it because you moved away from his advances?

"You're fucking wood!"

Ah nevermind, that's why.

You slowly nodded your head at him. Your eyebrows furrowed with deep concern, opening your mouth and pointing at the thin line by your chin that shows you are a wooden puppet. How is being wood even remotely more astonishing than the other hunters you're sure he has seen before, like the octopus god, the Feaster or the literal lady made of wax on Phillip's shoulder?

"Do you ever talk?" He grumbles at your lack of speech. You stayed silent, your eyes narrowed at him as to give an obvious answer he already knows. A sigh escaped his mouth as he slowly reached. out to the scratch on your cheek, this time you stood still and his fingers hovered ever so slightly above your hard flesh. 

"Does it hurt?"

You shook your head. It doesn't hurt anymore with minutes to recover. The scratch would recover once you returned to the manor.

"Do you… have a name?" 

Your ear twitches at his words. Your name? Do you even remember ever since appearing here? You stared at him with wide soulless eyes, deep in thought. Searching the darkest and deepest parts of your mind in search of anything that represents your identity. 

Nothing. 

Your head feels numb.

You can't remember.

Why can't you remember?

You remember your death but now who you are?

Who are you?

Why are you even here?

"Hello?!"

You focus on two hands put together in front of your face. The clap that followed with it took a little bit more time to process. What were you thinking about again? You shook your head to clear your mind, but it seems like the mercenary took it as a sign of no. 

"Well- uh. This is awkward…"

Silence filled the air, an awkwardness accompanying the both of you. The right index finger slowly raises up and points to him. The mercenary didn't seem to understand and even pointed at himself to mimic you. "Yes, me?" Your mouth creeks open as the wooden edges scrap each other. The mercenary stared at you for a moment as you stood still with your mouth still agape, wondering what you were trying to ask for. "Are you… hungry?" He queries, head tilted as to wonder if you hunters even need to eat. 

Your expressions showed signs of struggle as your head twitched back and forth, leaving the poor man in front of you with even more concern. To him you look like a cat trying to hack up a hairball and with the sudden hoarse moans you just emitted, he was very much worried for you— as weird as that sounds to him. 

"Y–our. Na–m–e." 

His eyes widen at you, not because you suddenly spoke but the fact your voice sounded worse than an obnoxious squawk of a duck. Does being a puppet mean you have horrible vocal cords? Or did something happen when you died that damaged your ability to speak?

"Naib. Im- Naib." He subconsciously voiced out, not realizing he revealed his name to a hunter until he snapped out of his own disbelief. "Nya–eb-" "Stop. Just– don't speak. You're hurting yourself." He puts his hand out as a gesture of concern much to your disappointment. It's not just because your voice is ear wrenching, but more because he can tell you're struggling to even pronounce a single letter; and he can't help but cringe at your attempt. 

You hang your head low, your eyes hiding behind your fringe and struggle to maintain eye contact. The mercenary, who you now acquainted to be Naib, let out a heavy exhale as if he'd been holding his breath for too long. You flinched when he stood up from his spot and stretched his limbs. The sound of his bones cracking made your eye twitch. Naib stood in silence for a brief moment, looking over the open door that called out to him to escape. His eyes then shifts to you, your head still looking down and your thin index finger drawing imaginary shapes on the dusty wooden floor, feeling fiddly with embarrassment creeping up your back; hoping the mercenary would leave and end the match entirely.

"Hey."

You shot your head up. His hand right in front of you, an offer to lift you up from the same hand he refused to give you to check on his wound. You stared back at him with wide eyes, wondering if his action was sincere. In embarrassment, he looked away with his eyes furrowed and lips in a sharp frown. 

He normally wouldnt do this, especially not to a hunter. But with you he knows you are more docile than most. Perhaps it wouldnt be so bad to trust you, right?

-

Another match that had you sentence to misery. 4 ciphers has already been done over the course of this match. You have grown tired and eventually decided to avoid any coming survivors and decided to roam free in the map you're held captive in. The crooked circus music invaded your ears as the carousel horse slowly guided you into a never ending loop. 

You were in blissful peace. Following along to the distorted tune with your raspy voice. Ever since you're meeting with the mecernary, you have been exercising your vocal cords. Mary has also encouraged you to do so. Saying if you keep exerting your voice and cough once in a while, you will be able to speak normally soon. So that's what you're doing.

The last cipher popped in the near distance and the blaring alarms of the exit doors lit up either sides of the map like a beacon. The loud noise stings your ears like a loud cry of a child, warning you to leave the area and wait for the survivors to escape. Slowly letting yourself fall from the metal saddle on the back of the horse. Your inhumane legs carried you from the middle to the bridge, your footsteps echoed as your heels made constant contact to the stone floor of the bridge. As you went in to the main building, shifting passed the large curtains thats a makeshift door, your eyes caught something specific.

A lone canvas with it's stand supporting it in the middle of the stage. Oddly reminds you of yourself whenever you sat quietly on the comfy chair of the waiting room. The colors on the white material were vibrant and eye catching, hypnotizing you with its glorious image. You went closer and noticed— it was a painting of you. A painting of what you looked like without your wooden doll features. 

What you once were. 

Your mouth hung agap and your hands once again dropped your weapon to the floor. Something about this painting mesmerized you. Was it because it was a picture of you in a certain way? Or was it because of the radiant colors that blend together perfectly?

A sense of collusion crashed onto the back of your head, causing you to stumble on your feet and crash onto the painting you were jusg admiring. 

"You insolent fool! My creation is now ruined!" 

You lifted your face up, your dress and face tainted with specks of paint that was still left to dry. You wince at the slight pain that came with the fall. Another harsh bump on your head. If you were ever human, it could leave a bruise.

"Oh shut it with your fine art. We got bigger fish to fry."

Laughter filled your ears, and not the good kind. You look up to see both the Painter and the Batter in front of you. The painter with his arms cross and sneering above you with a snobby look while the Batter had a more smug look. 

"Look at this one. How can they call her a hunter when she acts more like a mouse." 

The painter's words seared through your wooden skin. His shadowed eyes piercing through your weak form like predator in the dark. Meanwhile the Batter juggled a ball in his hand, he was more focused on the noble dress you wore that was now tarnished. A snicker slipped passed his mouth, a twisted satisfaction was clearly expressed on his face.

You watched helplessly, you were about to grab your weapon until it was knocked away by the feet of thr painter. His other feet stomping on your hand that tried to attempt your escape. "Dont even think about it. How are your little dolls now?" A ball was dropped onto your head before rolling back to the Batter as a taunting game. "Can we leave now? I dont see any reason to continue this." The taller male was now the one to cross his arms. 

Bang!

The sound of a well known flare gun fired. The Painter was quickly interrupted by a sudden blast to the face, making him stumble and fall off the stage. Both you and the Batter seemed shocked. You were too scared to look behind you after what you just witness as whoever shot that flare made his presence known with the slow steps that held so much animosity with their approached. You closed your eyes, internally grateful for whoever shot that flare gun but still too much in shock to move. 

A small breeze flows passed you, your savior dashed in front of you. Their voice sends you into a sense of warmth when they finally spoke.

"Stop fucking around. Lets go." 

It was Naib. 

You looked up in surprise seeing the mercenary holding the Batter by his collar pushing him forward to the exit before walking over to the Painter by the floor still writhing from the aftermath. "If you dont want another hit to your pretty little face, I suggest you leave." His grip is now on The Painter's collar. You can see from a small angle, the anger om his face. His eyes fold so tightly with his lips raised up high til his nose scrunched up and teeth revealed. 

Yeah that man's pissed.

The shorter male in his grasps looks at him with the same angered look, challenging his death stare but didnt dare to talk back. He only gave Naib the click of his tongue as a spitful agreement before shoving the mecernary off of him. Standing there for a good few seconds before running out of the building. 

Naib looked out at the exit for a few moments. His face still filled with fury before closing his eyes to take a quick breather. Turning back to you he picked you up by the shoulder. Slowly bringing you to the stairs and letting you take a seat there.

"Fuck your not alright." 

You were slightly taken aback at his straightforwardness. Yet his keen observation was much appreciated. You nodded sheepishly, dusting any remaining dirt off your dress. Naib sighed and scratched the back of his neck, looking at the stage where the left behind balls and the empty flare gun accompanied the broken canvas stand and the tarnished painting; all laid on the middle of the stage like a wreaked performance just happened. He growled, catching you off guard before calming himself down. 

Another whiff of silence flew passed you two before Naib reached his hand out to caressed the side of your cheek, making you perk up. When he noticed his irrational action, he quickly pulled away and held onto your shoulder instead, correcting his action. 

"You go back and take care okay? I want you to report those two to Miss Nightingale. She will ban them from matches for a month for that."

You nodded your head, a warm feeling crept up your chest. He nods back at you before turning his back, about to leave you. You quickly stood up, jumping down from a step of the stairs you sat on with your voice croaked out to him. He stopped and looked back, his head tilts to your attention. As the distance sound of the gate opening and the tingling sensations buzzing in your mind. The cool breeze that had always been there for you, encouraged you; giving you to confidence to finally speak like a chirp of a bird.

"Thank you."

[norteigr-if]

Hmmmm

Are the ROs sought after by many people (or a few times) 🤔 if so how do they feel about it?

well, vargi is, for his status. i mean who wouldn't try to win the heart of a future jarl who is to inherit power and riches? plus he's a berserkir so he would have strong children, which is always a thing to consider in an unforgiving environment. those who pursue him are quite shallow though. as to his opinion about, he's just exasperated and tired. having people lounge near him and interrupting training really grinds his gears and that's why he just opts to ignore them altogether.

broki has people swooning for him all the time, he has that charm that has people infatuated. it's not for marriage, definitely not, but his entire being radiates fun and intrigue, so it's an experience many want to have at least once. those who aim to keep him are sorely disappointed though. he loves the attention, and knows he's quite a heartbreaker but does he care? no. it's all about having fun.

everyone knows svala is off-limits, but there's still some who hold buried adoration for her, and would pursue her if she wasn't bound to gods as she is. some have even tried to get her to run away with them, but that's a hard no on her part and that person usually gets ostracized by the town of they find out. svala herself tries to gently discourage such affections when she can.

and barely anyone seeks to court randveig. not because she's undesirable, but because people are quite simply afraid of her. when someone tries to get her interest, or show interest in her, they get discouraged by her attitude which is rather cold. the mystique and rumors do draw people to her, but she's just not interested. she gives zero reaction, and that usually drives people away before they even get to know her.

[after-witch]

Title: A Gift [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Title: A Gift [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Synopsis: Your demon lord captor presents you with an unusual and unexpected gift.

Word Count: 2200ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped,  blood/violence

Your captor seems unusually on edge--he has been since this morning, when he soundlessly bid the group to pack up camp and began trekking further into the forest much swifter than usual. You don't know why. He wouldn't tell you, even if you dared to ask. So you didn't ask, and merely helped Rin roll up your supplies in a pack, ignoring the way the growing tension in the air made your skin prickle.

You don't know much of anything lately, except the feeling of the ground under your feet as you relentlessly walk from place to place, bound to go where he goes. Being carried on the strange demon beast is no longer a terrifying prospect but a welcome reprieve from the endless marching. You’d walked more in the past months than you ever had in your entire life; you’d lived in a small village, never roaming very far out of fear of animals and bandits and other unknown dangers. 

One of those dangers, as it turned out, had been the demon lord Sesshoumaru.

You don't know why you were taken. You don't know why he refuses to let you leave, why he demanded that you join his group, his company, whatever it can be called.  

You do know that you fight in what little ways that you can. Which, you admit, aren't many. You pack up deliberately slow, hoping to earn the rare annoyed look that breaks his normally impassive visage. You used to deliberately slow down when you knew he was in a hurry, dragging your legs or feigning a limp. Though once he caught on to your trick, he'd quietly suggested that he simply carry you from then on, and you'd dropped the act.

There is one concession you will never make, no matter what he says. Your biggest weapon against him. You refuse to call him my lord, as he commanded. As Jaken routinely harps on about. As even Rin, in a light, easy way, wonders why you won't. (But there is so much the child doesn't know, and doesn't understand, about your situation.)

Today, you are almost tempted to address him--no lord, of course--to ask if something is wrong. The tension is eating at you, and if the nervous glances of Jaken are anything to go by, you're not the only one who notices it. Perhaps there's something or someone that you can't see, another demon, detectable only by scent. Perhaps he's thinking about his brother, a subject you've only learned about in snatches of conversation, though you learned enough to know that you should never bring him up.

You're tempted to ask, but you don't. Instead you try to take in the scenery around you, walking quietly and pretending for a moment that you're alone. You're walking in the middle of the group, as you usually do; Sesshoumaru ahead of you, Jaken, Rin and the beast behind. This is probably to discourage you from running--not that you've tried to run in a long time. Getting recaptured, losing the thrill of hope in your heart when you think you just might make it this time, is incredibly tiring.

Your feet are often tired, too, but you truthfully you have enjoyed seeing more of the world, more than you would have ever seen near your village. If only it was under different circumstances. You've learned over the months that happiness needs to be taken wherever it can, or else you would simply give in to despair. 

A flower species you've never seen, a stunning ray of sunshine through the leaves of the trees, a glimpse of an animal not native to your village. You catalog these things in your mind and think about them at night, counting off the times your heart has been made lighter by them.

So you look around in the hopes of adding new memories to your catalog. Only there isn't much new to add. If anything, you've seen all of these things before. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. Your gaze lingers on a particular bush dotted with bright pink flowers, just like the ones you used to pick, and you half-close your eyes, pretending that you're taking a break from former daily errands; your mother often scolded you when you returned home with a basket full of flowers, but she never hesitated to tie them into your hair or lay them on her  table as delicately as a treasure.

The daydream is made easier by the fact that these space is full of old things, old things you once knew. Even that patch of trees is remarkably similar to the ones you knew all your life, trees where you would sometimes be sent to collect bark; and that large rock, it even has the same markings, the same drawings carved in by children in some older generation. A small pond up ahead has the same pebble path, painstakingly laid by the elders for easy fishing grounds.

Oh.

Your legs feel heavy as lead and you stop, suddenly. Jaken yells something behind you about your sudden halt, but you can't make out the exact words. They don't matter, anyway.

That's why he's so on edge. That's why you've been so on edge.

The old things are not just familiar: they're exact. You're near your old village. You know these plants, these trees, the grass beneath your feet. No wonder he's tense, no wonder he's been keeping a breakneck pace since the morning. He wants to get away from this place--does he think you'll try to run back? You're not that stupid, he could kill your entire village in moments if he wanted to. And he might, if you tried to seek shelter there.

The realization weighs you down, even as Rin runs up to you and lightly takes your hand. She tugs you along, and you're gently jerked from your heavy realization until your legs continue to move, barely from their own free will. You glance forward and see that Sesshoumaru is watching, his head tilted back--to see what you would do, you think.

Rin lets go of your hand and runs on ahead, practically skipping past Sesshoumaru in a sudden sprint of childish speed, gaily ignoring Jaken's squawk of protest. Jaken knows better than to break the implied status quo--keep you in the middle--so he grumbles and maintains his slower pace.

But Rin doesn't get all that far ahead of Sesshoumaru before she, too, stops in her tracks.

"Look," she says, lifting her arm and pointing down past the trees, towards what you know will be a view of your village.

You resist the urge to sprint after her, to bridge the gap between you and catch a hill's-eye view of your village that you used to take in almost daily during your errands. You force your feet to remain steady, one-two, one-two--when Sesshoumaru suddenly pivots, and turns towards an opposite path, away from the village and away from the view.

"This way," he says.

"But. Lord Sesshoumaru--" Rin doesn't get a chance to finish when Sesshoumaru begins walking. She merely looks back towards the village with an odd expression, before running to catch up with him.

But you weren't going to be turned away so easily. You deserved a look at your village, didn't you? Just a glance at your former home? He stole your freedom, your life, he couldn't possibly begrudge you a look. 

So you keep your feet walking, quiet and nonchalant, intent on getting as far as the clearing where you know you'll be able to see the familiar buildings, the public square where festivals were held,  your own home, small and unassuming as it is. Glancing at them again might give you an image to hold onto, something you can think about before bed.

"Come on!" Jaken has pressed on ahead of you, and he's waving at you with the horrid staff he always carries. "Don't be so slow!" He swoops his staff towards Rin and Sesshoumaru, who is now standing still, staring at you. It's unusual. The entire day has been unusual. He doesn't normally bother with something as mundane as waiting--it's up to you, to Rin, to Jaken, to follow and catch up if need be. But he's waiting for you. As if he does begrudge you so much as a look.

"I just--" you start to say, inhaling a deep breath to gather your nerves.

It's then, with this deep breath, that you smell the smoke. It's then that you look up and see it, grey and thick, wafting above the trees, a detail you'd missed in your anxious haste to catch a even glimpse of your former home.

It's then that you push past Jaken, ignoring his protest, and reach the spot where Rin had stopped in her tracks.

Your village--what is left of it--is on fire. Hot, smoking buildings, crumbling and destroyed. You can see dark, red pools of blood--bodies. It was a fresh attack.

In an instant, you take off, barreling down familiar paths that you still know like the back of your hand. You hear your captor say your name, you hear the sound of twigs breaking as he moves to follow you, but you can think of nothing but your home, your family, and what might be left of them. 

You reach the village in precious little time, and it feels like walking into a nightmare. Hot air seems to simmer around you from the flames lingering inside buildings, the granary, even the market. The stench of death--blood and fire--makes you gag, and you cover your mouth with your hands. An unidentifiable body, burnt beyond humanity, is curled up against what used to be a home.

The sight propels you through the ruined streets, stepping over blood and remnants of belongings and bodies, until you reach your family’s home. Or what remains. The doorway is open, missing its door, and you cautiously peer inside the humble home that used to be all you knew.

You drop to your knees at the sight of your parents and your little brother, dead on the ground. You crawl towards them and your knees become wet with their blood. You reach out and feel the soft cheek of your mother, a cheek you'd kissed so many times as a child. It's still warm. 

You feel the weighty presence of Sesshoumaru behind you and turn around, getting shakily off your knees. He’s standing in the doorway, watching you.

You feel dizzy. You feel sick. From the smoke, from the sights, from the realization that your entire family--your entire world--has been lost.

It's then that you remember his sword. That you remember the story Rin gleefully told you around the fire, about how he'd saved her from death with it. About what it could do, if it was wielded.

You hesitantly step towards him, mind reeling. "They're dead,” you say, as if he can't tell from their lifeless, bloody bodies. "Can you... are they still..." Your voice is hoarse and hurting.

His face is impassive, but he doesn't tell you to leave. He continues to stand in the doorway, staring. You look at him, and then at his sword.

Without hesitation, you get back down on your knees and bow low, ignoring the smell of blood beneath you.

"Please," you say. "Please, my lord Sesshoumaru. Can you save them?"

You don't look up--you can't, out of fear that he'll reject you, your former pride no longer a concern with your families lifeless bodies within arm's reach--but you hear a short, quiet intake of breath in response. You keep yourself still, thoughts racing with memories and empty, fervent prayers without words.

"Go." His voice is low and commanding. "Jaken and Rin are waiting in the clearing."

Your legs seem to obey his command without question, pushing you off the floor and out of your ruined home as you make your way back through the village. You pick up your pace, wanting to wipe away the memory of seeing villagers you knew--villagers who carried you on their backs when you were a child, children you played with, the market women who gave you extra treats--dead on the ground. You don't stop running until you see Rin and Jaken up ahead, Rin looking at you with concern and Jaken--well, you already know you'll hear about your transgression for miles and miles.

When you reach the top of the hill, you spin around and stare at the far-away, ruined building that was your home.

Ages seem to pass before you suddenly see Sesshoumaru emerge from the opened doorway. He walks with no hesitation away from the village, not even glancing at the bodies or ruined buildings around him. He'll be here soon enough. But... was it too late? Did he save them? Did he leave them where they lay? You can feel your family's blood drying on your clothes.

And then, in the ruined doorway--your mother, your father, and your brother peering out cautiously after the demon who'd just saved them. You clap your hand over your mouth to avoid crying out, to avoid calling out. Mercy, mercy, mercy. It's a mercy that you know could never be given twice. They're alive.  They'll start over somewhere else and make a new life, somewhere safe, no doubt. Tears flow freely and for the first time in ages, they are not bitter, painful tears, but tears of relief. 

You stare at the small figures of your family, watch them disappear back into your home and emerge with cloth sacks strapped to their backs, until they walk down the ruined streets and are blocked from your view. As if on cue, Sesshoumaru walks into view of the clearing. Rin waves, cheerfully; Jaken splutters out ignored questions about what he was doing down there, anyway. 

You watch him with tear-filled eyes, eyes that for once are not glaring or hate-filled. He gives you half a glance--did he nod at you? or did you imagine it?--and then looks away, continuing wordlessly down the path he'd taken before you saw your village.

"We're leaving," he says. And you follow.

[cozycryptidcorner]

Avery the Fae/Reader, Lemon

You don’t dress up for Halloween.

Not your fault, though, really, because your professors show no mercy for holidays, especially not ones that don’t land them a day off. Classes go on as usual, and so you wake up the latest you can without risking a tardy and go off in the comfortable clothes you slept in. Except for some cat ears and one superman, everything is perfectly normal, and the day passes like almost every other, save for a ‘spooky drink’ coupon at the local cafe.

I probably don’t even need a costume, anyways, you think as you catch your reflection when passing those special mirror-like windows on one of the campus’ buildings. Frankly, you look like you crawled out of hell itself. Dark circles under your eyes from lack of sleep, hair all askew and uncooperative, mouth in a permanent stressed line.

A zombie, probably, you decide, taking a sip of that hot caffeinated mess you ordered from the cafe. A hot zombie, for sure, but a zombie no less. A part of you wants to skip your next class and take a nap, but you’ve already used up your one absence, and you aren’t in a position to risk your grade for sleep. No rest for the wicked, right? Right. Everything else goes as smoothly as can be expected for being sleep deprived, and the night class seems to drag on for a fully stretched eternity, but you are finally free to go home and do your five hours of homework. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can squeeze in two or three hours of sleep.

It’s because you’re tired, you think, stopping for a hot minute when you realize that you’re lost. You hadn’t been paying attention to campus’ many twists and turns in its paths, and so you must have wandered away from the buildings and onto the forest trail that hugs the dorms, except there’s no cement beneath your feet. Not even a dirt trail marks a way out, and you take a full moment to come to terms with being lost, on your own damn campus, no less. You aren’t any kind of simpering pansy, so you turn around and begin to retrace your steps. Which doesn’t work, unfortunately, because after a couple of minutes of walking, there’s nothing to suggest that you’re only a couple of paces from civilization.

Except a drum beat, behind you. It’s faint, probably a half-mile away, but it’s the closest thing you have to a way back, especially since your phone can’t seem to pick up any signal. Maybe one of the school’s many bands are practicing? Right, you’re just going to stumble out into the football field, twigs in your hair, looking very much like you’ve gotten into a fist-fight with the entire forest…

And… Not a band, you realize, stepping into a clearing, but a party.

A costume party, too, by the looks of it, with everyone in soft, flittery clothing and fitted masks. Interesting how everyone seems to be on the same page with the dress code, there’s usually that one dick who shows up in a hotdog suit, regardless of any previous agreements. Elegant is the word you’re looking for, you decide, running into something tall and solider, correction: running into someone tall and solid.

“Oh, hey, sorry,” you apologize, shifting your weight on either foot, “I’m a little lost.”

“I think that you are right where you want to be,” your stranger says, mouth turning up into a strange, fanged smile. His black mask is trimmed with gold, and it doesn’t seem like he’s costuming as anything specific; rather, it appears to be just for anonymity.

“I think I really want to be in bed,” you say, trying to share a mutual we’re in college and want to die of exhaustion moment, but he doesn’t respond with the same energy.

“Perhaps a drink of wine before you go?” He offers, holding out an actual goblet of some kind. Maybe the metal-working students pitched in? Or accepted a particular commissioned order? It looks like genuine gold, which adds to the whole aesthetic of the party.

“Uh,” don’t accept drinks you haven’t seen made, “I’m good for now, really. Just trying to get back home to study.”

“Hm,” he says, taking a good swig from the goblet he had just offered, “good question. Through the trees from whence you came, most likely.”

Of fucking course, he’s drunk and doesn’t know left from right. Great. What an excellent position you’ve put yourself in. Frustrated and confident he wouldn’t roofie himself, you snatch the goblet from his hand and down several large gulps of shockingly sweet wine, maybe a sangria? Or something sugared up to be palatable?

Swirling the goblet around, to seem sophisticated, you ask, “so is this some kind of rich person party? Like an Illuminati meeting or something?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you speak of.”

“Right.” You draw out the single syllable, landing hard on the t. LARPers, probably, but not unattractive ones. Those masks don’t hide everything, and the shape of his jaw is not something to balk at, and those lips? Not to be forward in your own brain or anything, but they’re certainly decent to look at. This has to be some kind of weird-ass club, or like a rich dumbass ritual or something, definitely not your average frat party with a variety of random drugs mixed into the mystery punch. “Do you go to school here?”

He looks down at your university sweatshirt, cocking his head slightly. “A place of learning, is it? No, I’m afraid I have not attended such an institution, but I must admit that I have been tempted.”

“Well,” you take another sip of wine, “it’s not bad, as far as universities go. With decent financial aid, too.”

“Best not to drink too much of that,” your stranger says, “it’s much stronger than it tastes, and it’s best you stay clear-headed for the evening’s festivities.”

“One cup can’t hurt,” you say, and then realize that he’s just volunteered you to join in on the fun. Which is kind of weird, you guess, but then again, you aren’t going to complain. This is a way more interesting place to spend your evening, but might as well prop your backpack underneath one of the tables, hiding it beneath the skirt of the pale white cloth. You eye the unmarked bottle that one of the party-goers holds, but set your goblet down by the expensive-looking chinaware, flexing your fingers as they begin to tingle with the warmness that comes with alcohol. “What’s the party’s theme?”

He cocks his head, as though confused.

“Like a…” you try to think of a different way to phrase it. “A topic you pick, and everyone has to adhere to it. The people here all look like they’re, like, what Victorian thought the fairies looked like or something. I think it’s the clothes.”

“We are Faeries, though,” he says, the sides of his mouth curving upwards.

“Hm,” you say, “of course you are.”

“Join me for this dance?” Your stranger asks instead of any rebuttals, holding out a hand.

You look over at the band that plays, masks of distinct animal-like features flickering in the light of the bonfire roaring in the center of the clearing, all instruments vaguely familiar, yet not. Some of them you think you’ve seen before, at maybe renaissance-themed festivals, but the others must be from some kind of distinctly obscure genre of music.

The heat from the fire seems to lick out at your fingers, or maybe it’s the alcohol, already making its way through your system, but you stare, transfixed, at the way the lyre player plucks at the strings of their instrument. The quick movement plays too much with your eyes, you barely see anything more than the blurs of fingers, and you suddenly realize that you are swaying in place.

“I don’t know how,” you say, snapping out of whatever trance you had been in.

“It’s rather simple, come here,” he takes one of your hands, shockingly not unwelcome. Perhaps the warmth of his skin against yours brings you a kind of peace that you need during this period of your life. “I will teach you.”

Your stranger is correct; the dance is fairly simple to learn, mostly because there are very few rules. Sway your hips. Let your feet bounce against the soft forest floor. Let him spin you around and around until your head almost feels light. You’ll be honest, he’s the one doing all the work, guiding you, adding more flair to your steps, one hand resting on your waist, the other weaving its fingers with yours. Now, you may not be one to go out and ballroom dance on the fly, but you would be alright admitting that this is kind of fun.

So you dance. And you dance. And you continue dancing, letting the music remove you from time and space, everything else fades away except for the thrumming drumbeat, the wind in the trees, and your partner. You don’t feel the need to gasp for air, nor do your legs give out and collapse, but you aren’t even aware of how much time has passed. You dance out your pain, your stress, and any alcohol that lingers in your system, a layer of sweat keeping your body cool in the autumn night’s air. An eternity, perhaps, a small piece of infinity shared between you and this stranger, or the briefest of moments that still yield the most intimate bit of time that two people can share.

The song ends- or perhaps, the band finally runs out of music to play. You don’t know what time it is, but you aren’t finished with the party, not yet. The stranger sets his hands on both your hips, eyes as red as the fires of hell, and offers you a promising smile, his shirt loosely clinging to his body, having lost the fancily embroidered vest at some point while dancing.

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask, making a snap decision not to let the night go to waste.

His smile widens.

The trees are your only audience when he brings you away from the rest of the party, the moon staring over the tops of the red and yellow leaves. The chill of the night might have discouraged anyone else, but you are broiling with energy and ready to continue moving wildly to keep warm. Despite barely being out of sight, you’re already working on his clothes, trying to find velcro or snaps of a cheap costume and failing rather miserably. He seems amused with your attempts, guiding your hands to find a variation of ties and buttons. Soon enough, you have his shirt off, his pale skin gleaming in the moonlight, revealing a chest etched in dozens of tattoos, red like blood against his pale skin, though it’s too dark to make out precisely what they are.

He seems to have a destination in mind, even though you steal most of his attention with kisses and touches. Even though you are in a place you’re sure no one would bother finding you in, he still seems determined to herd your desperate body further away from the camp, until the both of you get to a clearing, free of roots strangling the ground. Jupiter and Saturn stare blankly down from their perches in the sky, the stars surrounding them twinkling, as though applauding your conquest.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you gasp after a breathless kiss.

He pauses, almost put off by the request, like he’s startled you would even ask. Before you can even regain the ability to feel nervous, he says, “Avery.”

“Avery,” you repeat, running your fingers through his hair. “That’s a nice name.”

“And what may I call you?”

Like a fool, you give up your first name without much thought, but you are too excited about where the night is going to remember what you said even a second later. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because his mouth is against yours, and your back is on the cold, dewy grass before you even register that he pulled your legs off balance. He’s a good kisser, you think hazily, his lips traveling down from your mouth to your collarbone. His mouth is nice and hot against your skin, already sending pleasant little shivers down your spine as he works, and you find yourself grasping at the cold, dying grass of the earth in order to pull your spirit back to reality.

The insides of your belly melt as he lifts your shirt up over your breasts, and you’re quick to discard the garment as he sucks at the skin just above the hemline of your pants. He needs help with the button and the zipper, his lithe fingers struggling to figure out the mechanics, so you undo everything for him. After letting out a thankful grunt, he leans forward, pressing his lips right on your stomach, sucking hard enough to leave a red mark that may bruise in the morning.

Then he kisses the skin just above where your underwear ends, a jolting shiver pulsing through your core at the contact. When you glance down at him, the barest light emanating from the roaring bonfire only a few meters away, he seems so… focused, you think, at his task of slowly stripping the last bit of fabric away from your body. Methodically, he tugs, fingers threading through the straps at the side, his eyes glimmering in the light bleeding out from the moon herself.

Slowly, steadily, he presses his mouth where your leg and torso meet, nibbling at a bit of flesh before moving ever so slightly downwards, opening your legs and seemingly liking what he finds down there. Carefully avoiding any of your puckered, wet skin, he instead moves his lips just to the side, clearly enjoying the act of driving you to the brink of insanity. You can feel the smile he wears as he teases you further, switching over to your other thigh.

Almost impatiently, you wrap one of your legs around his shoulder, arching your back when he finally lashes his tongue out to trace the outline of your flower. A heated spark ignites through your nerves, a charge of fiery need flooding your body and into your core. He seems to enjoy the breathless whine you offered in response because he does it again, inching closer and closer to your clit.

Roughly, you tangle your fingers into his long, flowing hair, pulling him closer and begging with no words for him to stop teasing and finally give you the pleasure you need. Avery finally complies, pressing his tongue right up against your clit and tracing little circles on and around it. The heat of his breath only helps further stir the coals in your womb, your back arching against the gentle curve of the world as you cry out.

He seems to deeply enjoy your keening, popping off your puckered flesh in the brief moment it takes for him to smile up at you, like a beast satisfied with the tortured screams of its prey. The way his tongue moves up, around, and down your clit makes you want to die, dirt clinging underneath your fingernails, bits of grass tearing as you claw at the ground. Still, he takes your keening reaction to double his efforts, using his fingers when his mouth is busy elsewhere, rubbing gentle little patterns in the opening of your slit.

There, you can feel your orgasm approaching as he begins to explore your core with his thumb, pushing and rubbing against the throbbing folds with some level of curiosity in his eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, a passing observation.

You’re so beyond the point of return that you could barely even draw in the words to thank him before you’re overcome with shaking trembles emanating from your very core, your insides quick to bend and break at his beckoning. It doesn’t take much more teasing from Avery before you’re crying out for him, voice cracking with pleasure and desperation, your fingers threading through his hair so tightly you don’t know where you end, and he begins.

When you are nothing more than a heaping, teary-eyed mass of trembling flesh on the ground, he crawls up from between your legs, kisses your stomach, your ribs, your breasts, your collarbone, all the way up to your mouth once more. You can taste yourself on his tongue and lips, warmer than the wine and almost twice as intoxicating, and by the wild stare in his eyes, he’s drunk with your nectar. And, quite frankly, ready to devour you, his kisses all teeth and heat, mouth dexterous against the curves, rises, and plateaus of your body, like he knows so very intimately every square centimeter of you.

There’s a hard rock length against your stomach, one that you can feel, almost tragically against your skin as he lavishes your lips and chest with his blessed attention. Even though you walked into this situation expecting a one-night stand, you don’t know, this feels light it could rocket through your life and end up becoming

“More,” you rasp, surprised that your voice is even working, ” more.”

He understands that rough and demanding command, stroking your hair with one of his free hands, mouth offering up a myriad of kisses to your neck and collarbone, an odd, overcoming need to please you emanating off of him, one like you’ve never dealt with before. Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see the familiar masks of those at the party earlier, but Avery turns your wandering gaze back to him with his insistent, feral kiss, his chest trembling with heated need.

“Do you want my cock inside you?” He asks, wanting to hear you say it.

“Please,” you almost snarl, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Hmm,” he almost manages to fool you that he could care less, but by the way his body grinds and presses against yours, he’s so, so close to traveling the radius of the earth itself to comply. You can hear the rustle of fabric as he strips away what’s left of his ensemble, moving away from your body and leaving you almost horrifically cold.

It doesn’t take a lot for him to angle your legs properly, your thigh rubbing up against his throbbing member. He’s at least gentle with how he impales you, his entrance slow and gradual, kaleidoscope eyes staring so intently into your very being that you wonder if you’ll survive the next time pleasure crashes down around you. And he feels so good, the crisp, autumn grass against your back the only thing keeping you from becoming so lost beneath his trembling body.

He must share your thoughts because even though he’s only eased in, his forehead pressed against yours, his breathing is short and shallow like he could hardly believe the pleasure your body gives him. Once he’s fully sheathed, he swears, voice quiet, yet filled to the brim with lust. You wrap your legs around his waist, hoping to feel him further, your voice and your body begging him to continue, to move, but he’s almost in a trance.

You’re impatient for movement, for that slick friction between your thighs, so you quickly take matters into your own hands. With no finesse, fueled only by spite and determination, you shift, switching positions using your legs and arms. Avery simply rolls with it, a ghostly smile on his mouth as you pin his hands to the ground, chest heaving from the effort, a layer of sweat misting your skin despite the chill of the night.

That seems to break whatever space he had retreated to, eyes lit like a roaring forest fire as he beholds your body from beneath your legs. His voice is raspy, but the demand is calm, collected, like he’s waited for thousands of years for this, for you. “Use me.”

You let out a breath, steadying yourself on his body to comply, and grind. His eyes roll back as you do, starting slowly, his back arching off the ground, his chest heaving with pleasure at the loss of control. Careful to control the pace, you let yourself be taken by the pleasure, the joining slick and hot, your core roaring with approval and greed. More, more, more.

Everything is suddenly vibrantly alive, the forest rustling with a wind you don’t feel, crickets singing hymns in the open field, the moon herself licking at your bodies with her soft, precious light. You think you hear chanting in the distance, your brain muddled with his delicious praises and lust that you don’t try to investigate, too focused on feeling his length pulse and move through your folds. Tears prick at your eyes, not from sadness, no, and you couldn’t possibly know their purpose because this feels so good, like his body was made for you.

This climax almost hurts, you felt it approaching and you knew it would be a lot, so you brace yourself, both hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline. You look into his eyes, and you see… more, than just fundamental attraction, more than pure, unadulterated lust, but you’re so far gone you can’t pinpoint what it is, exactly, before you’re overcome.

Everything in your body is aflame, your core quaking enough to make you think, for just a brief moment, that the earth itself is tearing apart, you cry, you whine, you scream for him, and he’s there, holding onto you for dear life. Telling you that you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, that you’ll never want another man so long as your legs are wrapped around him so tightly like this. You think you believe him, gasping for air, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, though he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It takes a lot of concentration to bring yourself back into your body, your soul and spirit so besotted with desire, but you manage it, feeling his hands grip your thighs so tightly his fingers may leave bruise marks. You bend forward, letting him take the reins as you try to stay present enough in the moment to kiss and nip at his neck, teeth tugging at his skin, the aftershocks still moving through your nerves like waves on a storming night. Still, though, you want him to feel what you did, to become undone by your hand.

And he does, his thrusts becoming so uneven that you begin to grind, ghosts of your orgasm weaving through your flesh and womb. A crescendo of noise seems to overtake the clearing, the air becoming like static, the hairs on your arms standing on end. Overcome, he curses and snarls in a language you don’t understand, his voice hard and soft at the same time, his hips jerking as something warm and wet pulses out of his member, filling you up and spilling out onto his pelvis.

Avery sits up, still joined within you, shaken, but startlingly and brilliantly alive, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. He presses his mouth against yours in a myriad of kisses, soft, possessive, tender, needy. There is still some amount of desire on his lips, but without the same uncontrollable yearning broiling just beneath his fevered skin like before.

Then he says your name, and a shiver goes down your spine, your very being somehow attentive to whatever he says next, as though your entire universe suddenly floods down and descends on this one, single person. He says it again, rolling it over his tongue like a wine taster, trying out each of the letters as though they offer a different kind of sweetness, his eyes just as wild as they had been when you held him pinned to the grass. A sliver of fear pierces your chest, making you want to push him onto the ground and take him again, but he has other plans.

“I’ll walk you back, dove,” he says, pressing his mouth against your collarbone, though he doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. “The sun will soon be up.”