#why would you ever think i would draw lesbians
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
shinechermont · 1 year ago
Text
Mom: *looking at book cover with illustration of a vampire woman* Is she gay?
Me:...no
7 notes · View notes
kiwiihead · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
high maintance... sorry i had to draw the enemies as lovers :^(
43 notes · View notes
moonsaver · 2 months ago
Text
Almost a kiss, Always a breath
How close life is unto death. Almost a kiss, but always a breath.
With only about a month left to live – your previous guardian angel, Robin, has been replaced, as The Family decide to assign you one that's more "suitable" to your need. Guardian Angel!Sunday x gn!reader CW/TW: reader is chronically ill, and there's descriptions of how painful it is (a little gruesome) but the actual illness is left vague for self insert purposes. Mentions + implications of childhood abuse, death (reader), lesbians because i just wanted it A/n: As much as I'd have loved to make it Seraphin x reader, Sunday is just a guardian angel who has a more biblically accurate appearance. also it's about just a bit over 11k words. sorry for the delays! ______
"You can stay out here."
You turn halfway to face Sunday, the pair of wings over his eyes firmly shut, the other two pairs slightly bristling at your words.
“I have been assigned to you for a reason.”
You glance at the bright entryway of the boutique in front of you. People would definitely notice something was off. No one can ignore someone like him. At least, they’d sense something would be off.
You turn back to face him. Your hesitant silence seems to spur him to continue,
“I shan't interfere.”
He smiles. You don't think it's genuine. You look up at the various eyes embedded across his halo and wings like jewels. They stare back.
Have they ever blinked?
You shake your head,
“No. Stay out here. You'll scare people.”
You stand your ground firmly, your body facing him entirely now. He hums, his smile vanishing from his face.
“Is that so?”
“It is so.”
You reply, and it's followed by silence.
The corners of his mouth perk up slightly, before it's met with lesser and lesser resistance, eventually letting out a wholehearted chuckle.
“I can promise, truly, I won't interfere, nor draw attention. Nothing like the scene at the hospital.”
You sigh.
“Sweet mother of..”
You keep Xipe's name out of your mouth, sitting up on your hospital bed as fast as you can, ignoring the jolt of pain in your body from the sudden movement, as your eyes train on the figure in front of you.
The man is clad in white – a suit, to be specific – and seems to have started his day much earlier than you.
“I thought Robin was..”
“The Family has decided otherwise.”
You stare at his covered eyes, only to glance over at the plethora of his.. other eyes blink at you; wide and all-seeing, surrounded by clusters of feathers. A pair of them bristle as you continue to stare, and he clears his throat, drawing your attention back to his (wing-covered) eyes. His halo is golden - just like Robin’s, except.. Bigger. And sharper.
“I'm– I think my intentions were very specific, so why on Earth do I have a Seraphim looking after me?”
“The Family decided the timely course of your fate required an assistance of much.. higher capability.”
You scoff, the covers crumpled under your hands as they clench.
“Robin was adequate– no, more than adequate.”
“I would be aware. I expect nothing less of my sister.”
“Your–?!”
This day couldn't get any more confusing in the mere 15 minutes of it's starting, really. A Seraphim. Sent to be your guardian angel. And he has a sister by some biological miracle.
As if he senses the question you are about to ask, he says,
“Let's focus on a more dire topic.”
He neatly sets down his cup of finished tea on a surface – you don't care enough to check; too busy glaring daggers at the man – a few of his other eyes peeking over at the cup in your stead.
“ugh, great.”
 You groan and plop onto the bed on your back with an ‘umpf', then cringe as the pain shoots up from a plethora of nerve endings on your back.
Sunday continues, regardless of your pained expression, an artificial smile plastered on his too human-like features,
“Roughly 2 weeks. That is all.”
He gets up, and walks with measured steps to the side of your hospital bed, his eyes (in multitudes) staring down at your not-so intimidating glare.
You click your tongue, your eyes zoning out for a moment before they settle back on the teacup he'd just placed down.
“Since when did Seraphims like..?”
“Coffee. It helps, I've found.”
“Found?”
He opens his hand towards you. You awkwardly look at his gloved palm before he speaks to clear your hesitance again,
“Let us continue to whichever place you wish to visit.”
You look at his hand again, now with a dull glaze over your eyes, a plethora of thoughts glooming over your mind before another one of his (unsettling, you may add) eyes catch your attention, breaking you out of your saddened trance.
You breathe out, taking his hand,
“Fine.”
—–
And so, that led you here.
You pick out a dress, then shuffle through the stacked hangers to find your size, as Sunday patiently stands beside you, his obnoxiously white suit out of your vision by your request as to “not blind you.” But you can't necessarily explain about that to someone who covers their eyes for.. 90% of the time, you assume. Regardless, he obliges.
You turn to hand him a few of your clothes to hold, but watch as he stares at a distant baby. Their face is red and swollen, presumably from having cried for a while. The tears in their eyes confirm the suspicion. You look back at him, curious as to what he could possibly find fascinating about a red-faced baby.
..what the fuck?
You observed his eyes �� the conglomerate of them making a weird sensation bubble under your skin as you watch all of them blink in succession.
You sigh, for the umpteenth time, making him turn to you. You look at Sunday with a strangely confused expression, as Sunday’s cautious hands pry the clothes from yours. You shift your eyes to see the baby look at you two once again with a face as confused and perturbed as yours.
“You’re lucky not many can see you.”
“Yes, it is fortunate.”
You continue browsing through the selection of clothes, politely waving off any staff member that seem to force themselves to help you regardless of the strange aura they felt around you.
“I’m trying these on. You stay right..”
You reposition him, hands on the sides of his arms as he complies.
“Here.”
He stands, in all his glory, in front of a kids’ indoor playground.
“The changing room is too far from here.” Inquisitively, that seems to be the only trouble Sunday faces, and not the curious glances from a few children making weird faces at his eyes on his back.
“It isn’t. It’s just a few picks, I’ll be back soon.”
He seems to stay silent, although his (unsettling) smile is no longer on his face, which reads him as more intimidating instead.
You shake your head, and then turn to walk over to the changing room.
——
A scream.
It rips through the chill, calm atmosphere of the store, warranting concern from a few employees situated around the changing room,
“I-Is everything okay-?”
“Yes-! Sorry, sorry, Im just–”
You hurry, and shuffle the floating eye into your bag, your hands fumbling with the buckles and buttons.
Why was there an eye in your bag in the first place?
Turns out Sunday sent one to stand right dab in front of your stall to ensure your safety in, probably only his opinion – a minimal way. You screamed the moment you opened your door and found a floating eyeball in front of your stall, before realising only that Seraphim was capable of doing such a thing.
You internally let out a beautiful, colourful string of curses, presumably to beat some sense into him, as you wrestle with the bag that's flailing in your bag like an animal caught in a potato sack.
“Stop, stop, Xipe damn it-!”
You bring the bag up to your face, glaring down as the singular eye looks up at you with an unreadable glint from the soft fabrics of your bag,
“If we get caught I swear I will–”
“Uh.. is everything okay?”
You jolt watching the door slightly move ajar as one of the employees gently signal their presence,
Shit, you forgot to lock it!
It wasn't your fault - you were about to step out when you were delightfully greeted by an eyeball, and in your hurry you must have forgotten to lock it.
You throw a sheepish smile towards the door, hiding your bag behind you. You're aware it looks like you've stolen something, so you take a deep breath and pat your bag, careful around the bulge of the eye inside.
“I'm okay, I- I just uh.. saw a cockroach.”
“A cockroach-?!”
The employee gasps, immediate words of apology on the tip of their tongue, but you stop them before they can continue. You swing open the door, having only grabbed a single item as you rush past the employee sputtering on their words, politely dismissing yourself as you beeline to Sunday.
––
You did, thankfully, find Sunday where you left him.
You stood a bit of distance away as he came into your vision, making sure to count the number of his eyes, blinking a few times and recounting to really make sure – who knew staring at his eyes for so long would make you dizzy?
By then, the eye in your bag only nudged a few times, but nothing more than that. On the way you realised there might have been no need for the commotion, considering people can barely see Sunday as is, let alone (one of) his eyes. You sigh tiredly at the thought, but brush it off.
You walked over to the small barricade surrounding the children's indoor playground and observed.
Sunday is crouched down, watching intently as two young girls clack their (very distressed) barbies together, making up drama on a whim. Sunday seems deep in thought, occasionally piping up to add his own additions.
Ookay. You need to stop this.
You sigh, running your hand over your face before calling out,
“Sunday!”
His head turns to look at you, then gets up, unassumingly as though he'd not been getting in on local gossip from girls.
—–
You sigh, pushing off the shoes from your feet as you sit back down on your familiar hospital bed, the door of your room clicking as Sunday ensures your privacy.
“Do you plan on going somewhere?”
“Tomorrow, actually. Since we have enough time, I'll take it easy.”
He hums, merely in acceptance, as he sets down the small bag your recent purchase was in.
“Oh, also, c'mere.”
You motion him to come closer.
“Closer.”
He steps closer, your knee almost grazing against his thigh,
“Closer.”
“Any closer and I-”
You grab his tie and yank him down eye level,
“Do you know what happened in the dressing room-?!”
You sputter out, the embarrassment returning to you as you recall the flustered employee's voice,
“I.. cannot say I do.”
You grab your bag, and out comes bursting an eye.
Ah. He felt something was amiss.
“I was fine on my own! Seriously, if you wanted to check in you could have just walked over! Which guardian angel just casually sends an eyeball of theirs-?!”
“Ah, but I did not want to overbear—”
“I would have preferred that, instead of your eye hanging in front of my stall like a Christmas tree decor!”
“Noted.”
You sigh, watching the eye float and join the conglomerate of his, wink at you, making you blink, unimpressed.
——
“I wanna be buried…”
You hum, looking over the green, slightly bumpy landscape, and point to under a tree.
“There. That's perfect.”
Mei seems to take your words in stride, despite the depravity of your humor. She chuckles softly, and turns to you,
“I'm sure it's possible.”
“D'you think I can get one of those colored, glass tombstones?”
“Hm, slightly difficult..”
“Oh please.”
You nudge her shoulder, making her softly chuckle again. Both of you gaze over to the distance, the plot of land sparsely filled with tombstones of other strangers you've yet to know about from Mei.
If the purple haired woman knew anything about you – it was that you adored stories. She never considered herself the best storyteller, but you'd convinced her enough to tell you anyway. Occasionally her companion would join in, greatly elevating the storytelling atmosphere, but for the most part, it was just you two.
Mei, who would tell you of each person she'd buried. Carol, 98, a lovely grandmother. She'd always smell of pie and something herbal – always sure to drop off tea wherever she went, the dull packets that rattled whenever she'd placed them down with her shaky fingers. Only her daughter's side of the family visited. 
Nico, 17. His father comes every weekend to clean his tombstone. He had a green thumb. His gravestone had the most beautiful flowers around him.
Razalina, a mysterious woman who you'd been waiting to hear about from Mei, before Robin was shortly replaced. Your health got worse and Mei urged you to take a break. You miss the flavour of the tea Mei would serve for you two. You wonder how it would feel to drink it for the rest of your life until you'd grow to be 98.
There was a morbid comfort in having a friend as Mei. Acheron – the term suited her. A gentle, sorrowful, but greatly respectful and polite woman who took care of the dead. A mortician you'd gotten familiar with on a whim when you'd bumped into her somewhere. She was going to bury you, and you'd let her with delight. You imagine there was a sort of trust and intimacy in that. She would clean your organs, and lay you to sleep on the naked Earth. There was certainly intimacy in that.
“A wardrobe change, hm?”
She quirks an eyebrow, her words still slightly hushed in caution to not even possibly offend you.
“Thought I'd try something new.”
You kicked a stray rock, looking down at your newly bought clothes, then back up at Mei.
“Went shopping with someone yesterday.”
“Finally let you out of your enclosure?”
“Ugh, for once, thankfully.”
She hums, walking alongside you with a leisurely pace, her gaze drifting over the cloudy sky,
“I'd expected Robin to come with you. I don't think I was able to continue onto the next story with her.”
“Yeah, I did too..”
You look back at Sunday – still following you two a few ways behind, waving as you and Mei observe him for a second.
“quite a character.”
You nod, simply, continuing to look at him as Mei's steady eyes train on you for a moment.
“Scared?”
“No. Never have been.”
“Good.”
Mei's assurance was quiet, almost relieved. She turned ahead and continued, and you followed her.
——
The cloudy weather only seemed to thicken with humidity and the threat of rain as the sky dimmed with time, and Mei was kind enough to end the story on a reasonable cliffhanger, making you giggle in your seat.
“There's never enough time, really..”
You say, between your soft chuckling. It always felt like time passed by unfairly fast when you sat with Mei as you used to.
She hums, smiling, her finger circling the rim of her cup,
“Tomorrow will come, so have faith.”
Have faith in a tomorrow. It would have left you breathless had you not heard it from Robin before. You glance back at the Seraphim behind you as if to confirm Robin really wasn't looking after you anymore.
You bit your lip for a moment at the agitation as the thought bubbled in you, before looking back up at Mei and returning her gentle smile.
“Alright. I'll get going. Take care, Mei.”
She nods, getting up with you, as you gather your items and walk up ahead a bit.
Mei turns to Sunday, and mutters something out of earshot.
——
You're tired of this.
You get up once again, in pain. It shoots through you, and pulses in your body. It continues to ebb and intensify with passing moments.
You stifle a groan, biting down on your chapped lips and swallow thickly, a bead of sweat forming over your eyebrow as you clutch yourself in pain. 
No one else is awake.
You zone out in pain, the only sound in your ears of the heart rate monitor beside you picking up slightly. The pain renders you almost still. 
This pain. This all too familiar ache. You despise it, and yet you don't. How many events have you had to skip or leave because of it? How many times have you turned down hanging out with your friends over it? It angers you. It's as though inhabiting a scrawny animal who claws at your insides for nothing. How many hobbies, pastimes, hell even careers, have you missed out on because of this? The all to familiar sight of your friends’ slightly pitiful gazes burns your mind, almost making the pain in your body worse as you squeeze your eyes shut–
A hand.
Your eyes open, suddenly aware of the cold sweat forming on your back as you turn your head to look at the hand on your shoulder.
Sunday. He doesn't seem to be donning any gloves this time.
His hands are pretty. The thought floats through the top of your mind like oil on water, the pain pulsing in you barely letting you cling to the present.
“Are you in pain?”
You lick your lips, shallow breathing carrying the response you wish to say. He hums, the noise almost soothing.
His hand moves and rests on your back, the warmth of his palm more comforting than the sweat making your skin shiver. He doesn't seem to mind the fluid sticking to his own skin.
For a moment, you feel the warmth increase, before it dims. Everything dims. The pain ebbs away, making you breathe out shakily, your tense muscles eventually relaxing. His hand slides to your wrist as you lay back down, fatigued from the midnight bout of pain.
“Better?”
You blink a few times, a futile attempt to appear more alert and less affected from the episode. There's a bit of water in your eyes – you didn't notice, but it's nothing you're concerned about.
You turn your head slightly to him, your eyes looking up at him as you ask with a hoarse voice
“How did you do that?”
Sunday hums, his fingers moving from your wrist to your palm, drawing soothing circles in the middle of it as a comforting gesture.
“We are equipped to absolve a bit of your pain. This is our duty. This is how we become pure.”
“Pure?”
His head isn't turned to you, instead a bit low, as he leans back in his seat. He breathes out.
“Purification happens through only a few means. Absolving you of your pain is a major way to do it.”
“But it hurts.”
“It hurts.”
His hand gently squeezes your hand.
“But you are feeling better.”
“It's not fair.”
His head turns slightly to see you. Your watery eyes only become more teary. Frustration, hurt, sadness, anger. There's a scripture in your face as he scans the furrow of your brows, the tears in your eyes and the chapped, dry blood on your lips.
And the silence settles between you two. A tender sort of hurt in the night air as he folds his fingers around your hand. Your eyes trail to his plethora of wings. Pairs of 3. They're beautiful. You watch the conglomerate of his eyes closing and gently blinking, almost lulled to sleep. His golden halo hangs a little lower than usual – sharp, yet elegantly prudent. The ones on his wings covering his actual eyes stare back at you.
You're beautiful. The words stay choked on your tongue like a regretful prayer. Your eyebrows relax, and your jaw unclenches.
Sunday smiles, watching your tear filled eyes close with sleep.
–—
Your shoes click as you circle around the fountain, watching the carved figure in the middle pour out water from various sources. 
Your padded shoes come to a slow halt, followed by Sunday's polished shoes right behind.
“Do you believe in wishes?’
“Hm..”
You shuffle through your bag, picking out something silvery. A coin.
“Yeah. Like.. a wishbone. A shooting star. An eyelash.”
You hold up the delicate coin, but Sunday's attention is trained on your face.
“We find wishes and stories everywhere. If you could.. what would you wish for?”
You gently grab one of his hands, and press a coin in the middle of his palm. He seems to have forgone his gloves once again.
“I am incapable of–”
“It's hypothetical. Come on.”
He hums, glancing at the coin, and then at the fountain.
“I'd like more coffee. One that is flavorful, deep and complex.”
You chuckle and shake your head,
“Be a little more creative. Just coffee?”
You pick out your own coin.
You suppose you were a bit unfair to him. What would you explain about walking to a whale in it's depths? About flying to a mammal accustomed to it's faithful footing? About crawling to feathery or scaled wings?
You throw your coin.
I wish for freedom.
Sunday hums again, pondering deeply.
“Ah, but if I say it out loud, it won't come true.”
“Aww..”
He chuckles, pocketing the coin.
“Let us proceed.”
He holds out his hand to you, and you eagerly accept, intertwining your fingers around his as you walk alongside and make small talk
“They've been struggling to walk and do basic tasks. Look after them.”
Mei's voice rung out in his head for a while, like a record playing over and over in an empty ballroom.
“You can see me.” He says matter-of-factly, instead of a question, after a moment of contemplative silence.
“I'm intimately familiar with death.”
He stares at her distant look for a moment.
“..I have my duties.”
“Sure. Take care of them. Please.”
–—
“Sunday, it's okay–”
A small gasp escapes you as he yanks you a bit closer,
“Watch out for the pothole.”
“The cover?” You look up at him almost in disbelief. 
What on Earth has gotten into him?
“Careful.”
He pulls you aside again, ‘assisting’ you to dodge a very obvious, very blaringly red fire hydrant.
“Ugh, okay, wait.”
You halt, Sunday stopping in his tracks ahead of you as your limp hand refuses to move with his in grasp.
“you don't have to babysit me. I'm not going to keel over if I step on a rock or something.”
“Nonsense, I'm simply fulfilling my duty.”
He turns to you completely, your hand still firmly grasped in his, as he looks down at your troubled face.
“You weren't this.. protective.”
“Hm, something must have messed with your memories. Here, let me–”
You gently swat away his hand that reaches out to you,
“Sunday, relax.”
You both stay silent for a moment. You breathe out,
“Okay, here,”
You step closer, and shake your hand out of his firm grasp, but loop your arm around his, and gently pat his bicep with your other hand.
“Better?”
He stays silent for a moment,possibly surprised for a moment.
“Better.”
He smiles at you, and you return it, both of you continuing forward.
——
“I want a garden. As big as possible.”
“Is that so?”
You kick around a small pebble, stepping on a slightly raised stone platform before looking up to gawk once again at the priceless view – the field of tulips making you stop for a moment.
“Mhm. I want to grow as big of a garden as I can. I've always wanted to.”
He chuckles softly, following your gaze out into the vast tulip field, before returning back to you.
You almost belonged here.
The entire gorgeous tapestry of you. Blending into the delicate backdrop like a painting. He's seen a few portraits in museums that could at least come close to the vision.
“I want to paint.”
You turn and look at him, Inquisitively, as he says so, almost surprising you.
“Really?”
He fully turns to you, and holds out a flower for you to see.
A carnation.
“What do you want to paint?”
You glance back up at his covered face. He steps a bit closer, and places the flower in your hair, moving a few stray strands from your face as he does so.
“A garden.”
You giggle, and the sound blooms in his heart.
“What kind?”
“A big one. With as many flowers as there can be.”
“Sounds pretty.”
He hums. You are, He thinks.
——
Sunday hates the rain.
There are many things he hates.
Overrun schedules, late appointments, rushed deaths, overbearing contracts, unruly protectees, a bad cup of coffee, bright lights.
And the rain.
Both of you pant and huff – you especially – running to hunt for any cover, the pattering of your feet almost matching the rain's rhythm.
Sunday's hand is tightly grasped around yours as he leads you to a small cover; a small awning, the grip so firm you notice the middle of your palm is still dry when he lets go to check you over.
“Are you alright?”
Sunday scans you over, stepping to the side to examine you more, a supportive hand on your back as you continue to catch your breath. You can predict the next bout of pain is gonna be worse. But you shove that thought aside as you nod, turning to face him, wiping away some of the rainwater dripping from his chin.
“You're soaked.”
He hums, disregarding the obvious nature of your remark, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he counters,
“You'll get sick.”
He raises his head slightly to glance over you, gauging something.
“We're closeby, let's just run–”
“No.”
Sunday shuts you down firmly. His tone doesn't allow more room for argument.
He sighs, running a hand through his own wet hair as he contemplates on what to do. You try to scrunch up a bit of your clothing to squeeze out the water, and do the same with your hair as you wait for him to continue.
“I'll be fine–”
You try to softly negotiate, but Sunday takes off his blazer, swiftly putting it over your shivering shoulders, before wrapping his arms around you and–
“Ah- Sunday-?”
You breathed out, almost a gasp, as he pulls you in. His shirt is thinner from the water still soaking it, but the warmth of his body (of which you become too aware about) relaxes you almost immediately. You hesitate for a moment, until Sunday quietly sighs into your shoulder. Your arms hesitantly wrap around his waist, tucking your face into his neck as well. Your bodies exchange warmth, and the water seems to help hold the heat better than before.
“I despise the rain.”
Sunday's muffled voice resounds into your clothes and skin, and you giggle at the ticklish sensation of his lips.
“Really?”
He nods
“Why?”
“Alters too many things in the schedule.”
“Ah. I see..”
He sighs again; a puff of breath warming– almost burning your shoulder.
You stay that way for a few moments longer, before you speak again;
“Sunday?”
“Yes?”
“I want to do something.”
He stays silent, as though waiting for your initiative. You loosen your grip, and he pulls away at the indication. You take a moment as you scan his appearance – nothing resembling the once pristine, well kept man you'd seen the first day in your hospital room. Bits of his blue hair stuck to his skin like waves latching onto the shore, the feathers of his wings adorned with raindrops, the blurred effect of his halo under the rain. Your eyes travel a bit lower; his tie is slightly crooked, and his shirt is see through and..
You clear your throat, blinking and turning your gaze away to the pattering rain.
“I've wanted to.. um..”
Sunday's fingers brush against the side of your face, turning your attention back to him.
He brushes away a few strands sticking to your wet skin. His fingers are cold.
Your hands gently grasp his, encasing it, your thumb rubbing over his knuckles.
You slowly turn, and walk backwards, his hand still encased in yours as you step into the rain, watching his hesitant steps follow you.
You both stand under the rain, the water cradling your skin and washing away your previous efforts to dry off. Your hand intertwines with his, and your other hand rests on his shoulder. He places his other hand on your waist.
You smile, but he still seems hesitant. For a moment, you both stand, simply looking at each other. 
As if to reassure himself, Sunday leans down, and gently presses his forehead to yours.
Your smile falters for a moment, your expression replaced by that of surprise, but when Sunday grins, your confusion floats away. His hand squeezes yours as both of you sway and dance in the rain.
–––
“Is everything okay?”
Or at least – that's what the curious look on your face might say.
Sunday retracts his hand from the water of the fountain, gently flicks it, before wiping it with a handkerchief, drying it off. He sits half turned to you on the fountain's edge.
You stand with an umbrella and a (familiar) floating eye in tow, changed into warmer clothes and dried hair, washed of the rain's scent. 
Sunday had temporarily stepped away while you were showering to visit a smaller fountain closer to where you stayed. He was acutely aware the coin you'd tossed wouldn't be here. 
Always standing. Never approaching. That was how he'd describe Gopher Wood.
Right where you are.
Dressed in black like a curse that followed him – ravens in corners of buildings and lurking from above muddied puddles. Always in the distance, fog following him like a haunting widow, the backdrop of the mist etching him further into Sunday's mind. A hollow that spasms like a missing organ.
“These are necessary measures” he'd say. “Are you afraid?” He took delight.
He took delight in it.
“Sunday?”
Your voice, soft and grounding, snapped him out of the small trance he was in.
“My apologies.”
He says, picking up his folded blazer as he stands and walks to you,
“I have to check your temperature and–”
“Stop, stop, stop. Hold on.”
You hand over the umbrella to him, and shuffled through your bag to pull out a warm and fuzzy towel.
Sunday simply observes you for a moment as you hold the towel in your hand. He tries to reach out to take it with his other, but you pull away. He looks at you hesitant and confused, as you motion for him to lean down.
Carefully, your hands bring the towel to his head, and cautious of his wings, you gently dry his damp, blue hair. He hums, his wings shifting and bristling from the contact at first, before relaxing. 
“You could have told me.”
“You wouldn't let me.”
“I wouldn't?”
You huff,
“You talk too much.”
“You're the one who cuts me off quite often.”
“Touchè.”
Your hands stop for a moment, looking over at his ruffled hair half dried by the towel. One of your hands brushes away some of the hair that sticks up onto his face.
You wish he'd let you see his eyes.
“What colour are your eyes?”
His throat tightened a bit. He'd hate to deny you if you asked to see them.
“..gold.”
“Sounds beautiful.”
You stayed quiet, simply looking at the soft feathers of his wings, your hand moving from his face to hover around the pairs behind his ear, you look at him, and he nods, giving you silent permission.
Your hand gently cards through one of the wings’ feathers, careful to not poke any of the eyes, wiping away any wet edges of his feathers.
“..You're pretty.”
“Sorry?”
“Nothing.”
You back away, your hand retracting and pulling away the towel but Sunday is a bit faster, his hand grabbing your wrist and immediately stilling you. You both stand for a moment, breathless, and silent.
“I.. I'll wash the towel.”
“Ah, it's okay..”
He insists, silently, although his originally urgent grip on your wrist loosens a bit.
You end up obliging, letting him take the towel.
He could feel your pulse. Do humans have normally quick heartbeats?
–—
“Brother!”
Robin grins, ear to ear, proud of her handiwork as she holds up her fingers, sticky from the dampness of the water and the sweat of her small, clammy hands. The water dips into the chubby curve of her elbow, threatening to go up further but dripping down into the water instead, rejoining the gentle flow. 
“Robin, that could be dangerous! We don't know what those plants are..”
Sunday cautions his sister, voice untethered but soft with naivety and youth. His feet remain hesitantly restless on the muddy edge of the small river bank.
She only offers him a closed eye grin, before trudging her short, stubby legs in the water, walking back to the soil where she descended from, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she was cautious not to slip.
“It's for you!”
“M-Me?”
Robin's wet hand reaches out to Sunday's, gently prying his soft palm open and placing a soaked flower, making the water drip from his rounded knuckles. Some of the water seeps into the edges of his sleeves, but not more than a few centimetres.
“It's the flower! From the book!”
“But it's not real..”
“It is! That's why it's white!”
Sunday looks down at the flower again. It looked dreadful, in a way. Like a drowned rat – if he knew he could describe it that way. But from the rambunctious effort of Robin's chubby little fingers having wrestled it out of the water, it looked..
perfect.
It was beautiful in a sense. The white petals were (almost) unmarred, the stamens gently swayed with the soft draft that carried with cloudy weather, and the stem was still slightly rigid.
Robin's handiwork was pretty.
“You mustn't run off like that.”
Robin flinches, and clings to Sunday's back, as he turns to the source of the voice.
His eyes first see shoes. Black, polished, unmarred. Never touched by filth. Then crisply ironed pant legs. Then up, up, and up, until his little neck strained.
Father.
Or what was left of him.
Gold rimmed glasses. A rosemary always adorning his neck.
Sunday's original thoughts, back then, had been none of these incriminating feelings. They'd been quiet. So silent and afraid, as though his father would hear if he thought too loudly.
“What do we have here?”
The man leans down, but it does less to make him non-imposing. He might prefer it, that way. Sunday notices the gentle tinker of his rosemary as it moves forward with his father.
Robin's clammy hands now clenched the soft fabrics draped over Sunday's small back, cowering behind him. His loud, messy sister. His determined, bright sister. Dimmed by the clouds and fear his father brought.
If only he reached out to choke his father with his rosemary right then and there.
—–
“I wish u could have made it ://”
You stare at an old text – probably even forgotten by the sender. The tears make the digital screen a bit hard to read momentarily as it fills up your vision, but it gets easier after they settle on your waterline. 
It's these quiet nights you realise how much company you're missing. Like an artist painting the negative spaces in blotches to carve out the image – texts and hidden whispers like these carved out the loneliness you'd fester in yourself.
Something stirred you awake. Maybe it was the constant lingering pain that threatened to push it's usual threshold. Maybe the constant beeping of the heartbeat monitor.
Or that Sunday wasn't here.
Not even his eye. As unsettling as it was – you missed it a little. You sigh, pushing yourself up and sitting on the edge of your familiar hospital bed, careful to not agitate the pain more by accident. You push off the bed, and walk a bit hunched, pulling a shawl over yourself and deciding to go out and search for him for whatever reason.
At least, it's a better way to pass your restlessness than going through old texts. Walking at night didn't seem as bad of an idea – at least within hospital grounds.
––
Sunday remembers the world.
Or what he wishes to remember it as.
Cold, stony alleyways. Unforgiving nights. Merciless fog. A sun that never shines.
Not upon those like him anyway.
His Father – always standing. Never approaching. The fog surrounding him was the same. Always at a standstill.
Until something broke that.
There it was. Blood, seeping through cracks in the broken pavement of the ground. Almost inky from the murkiness and filt that seeped into it.
That was the first time he saw his Father's shoes marred.
“This is necessary, child.”
The Raven perched on his shoulder would bristle a bit, but not more.
No, it wasn't.
“This is our duty.”
It isn't.
“You will have to do what it takes.”
Sunday felt impossibly small that day. Like a fawn's leg caught in a bear trap. As if his surroundings grew a size too big and left him behind like a borrowed sweater. He was always more frailer than the other kids.
He wonders if that's why his father broke him so easily.
His little, golden eyes peered down, lost in thought and terror. He learnt how to ground himself at a tender age.
There was grime under his shoes.
Grime in the cracks of the pavement.
Grime in his father's affections.
He was never pure.
——
You couldn't find Sunday.
Forget that – you couldn't even walk.
Pain shot through you the moment you stood up, making you gasp and breathlessly sit back down onto your bed. Your throat constricted – you couldn't tell if it was from the pain or the frustration.
The frustration that had been ebbing and chipping away at you; second by second, hour by hour.
“I can't make it”, “I'm not feeling well”, “The doctor said..”, “I probably won't.”,..
“It hurts.”
Your lungs tremble, before sucking in a breath. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you hunch forward, glaring through the blur of your festering emotions at the sterile tiles of your hospital room.
The tapered off conversations, friendships fizzled out, disappointed looks.
You weren't blessed. By some being, or some cruel fate, or so on and so forth; it felt like if anything, you were created to be tortured. Like flimsy, rotting meat on a metal rod. Pain was more familiar to you than the crevices of your hand, weak with the trembling in your bones from all the feelings you couldn't even name.
“I wish you could have made it.”
That pulls a sob out of you like a hooked wire piercing and pulling through a fish's throat, making you double over as more continue to bubble past.
You were meant to be tortured; you choke on your spit, and sob past the coughing.
Why? God, just why? Fall to your side and curl up,
Why couldn't you be blessed? What did everyone else have that you didn't? Why weren't you blessed? Why couldn't you be free? What godforsaken sin had your soul committed? What did your fate have in store? What did you do?
Why you?
Burying your screams into the pillow, the ugliness of your reality was softened by it like an interrupted fall from a height.
You cry until your vessel is empty.
Until you feel you've carved a hole out of yourself from the middle.
What it would take to be blessed, you wonder. Your hands clench to your chest, and your heart throbs to live despite.
Sunday returns late.
And he returns quietly.
You look up, puffy and tired eyes meeting the wings where his are supposed to be.
He stands idly at the opened door. Blood stains his visage. 
You breathe out, your face warm from your previous bout of sobbing, and don't utter a word. Sunday walks– limps to your side, almost paddling his way, before slumping down into the chair beside you. Some of the eyes besotted on his halo look tiredly at you.
You sniffle. He stays still. You presume he's looking down at the tiled floor.
Your hand comes up to rub away at your sticky face, and soon Sunday's own hand comes up to cup your face when yours retracts.
You lean into his gloved hand, disregarding the grime and the strong, metallic scent. He leans forward, and presses his forehead against yours.
His hair are soft against your forehead. You peer into the deft feathers of the wings that firmly shut over his eyes. Your own hands gently cup his face, closing your eyes. After a moment, he shifts, his face moving to bury itself into your neck, his arms moving to wrap around you, a bit too tightly. He stays tense for a minute, then relaxes into your hold.
You both stay like that for a while.
—–
You woke up feeling under the weather the next day. Which was ironic, because the Dawn has never looked as beautiful as it did that morning.
In fact, you don’t even remember how you managed to sleep. 
You look down emptily at your hand – as though you awoke from a coma induced dream, reminiscent of the warmth that was under it just a night ago.
Just then, your door creaks open. Sunday enters with a small box, and stills for a moment before his face breaks into a gentle smile.
“Ah, you're already awake.”
He says, softly, careful to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere the morning sunlight had casted in your room with you two. He walks over and sets the box on your bedside table.
“What is that..?”
“Paint.”
“Oh. Wait, what?”
He leaves, and a few moments later, you hear a soft grunt in the distance, followed by some wood creaking. Finally, Sunday seems to be able to maneuver whatever he'd been handling and it comes into view as he brings it in;
An easel, and a canvas already set on it.
You smile, at his struggled and awkward movements as he carefully handles the easel inside.
“You wanted to paint.” You recall, propping up your pillows and lazily leaning back onto them.
“I did.” He says, his smile returning to his face after the slightly troubling task. He pulls a chair and sits in front of the canvas, adjusting and pondering over the position of it until he was satisfied.
“What are you going to paint?”
“You.”
“Something more original please.”
“With lots of care.”
“Hm? What?”
You chuckle a bit, Sunday puffing a smile at your seemingly lightened mood.
“You should rest for today. We have a few necessary tasks to look into, aswell.”
You yawn, turning your head to look at the morning sunlight brightening up your room.
“Sure. What are they?”
You hear a clack – the lid of the box having been pried open with a bit of difficulty, as Sunday rustles with the paintbrushes and paints.
“A few things regarding your previous experiences with The Family, reviews, feedback and complaints..”
Ugh. They wanted you to drop a review?
You sigh, stifling a groan as a hand runs down your face. Sunday chuckles, softly,
“I'll take care of the writing part, just answer the questions.”
——
“Hm, how curious.”
The lavender-haired woman stirs her tea with dainty, carefree rhythm, the spoon clicking against the ceramic of the cup as she peers down at the cards on the table.
Mei sighs, her hands folded on her lap as she stares at the golden liquid, occasional vibrations making it ebb the slightest bit.
“He doesn't seem.. angelic, does he?”
Black Swan ponders out loud, her hand picking up and flicking a few tarot cards,
“There's something about him. It feels off.”
“Relative to his sister, even I'd think so.”
The woman smiles lazily, her dawn colored eyes looking up at the purple haired woman in front of her.
“You're quite worried.”
“..I suppose, it's obvious.”
Mei's eyes flit up as she hears movement, followed by a lazy sigh from the woman across her.
Thin, manicured nails faintly brush against her skin as Black Swan holds her hand, her lithe fingers feeling the ridges of her engagement ring,
“And here I’d have thought you’d been more excited to see me back.”
Mei puffs out a prudent chuckle, her hands manoeuvring to hold her lover’s.
“Alright. Care to give me a reading?”
The dawn-eyed woman flicks up a card.
The Hanged Man.
Acheron’s eyes follow the swift movement.
“Let’s see what’s in store.”
——
Sunday thinks he's cursed.
Dirtied, marred. Absolution is in store for the sinners, and exorcism for the cursed like him.
Who dirties the divine? Who damns the dirtied? Whose hands marr purity?
Gopher Wood was not a man of purity. Grime-stricken hands that crawled up from the depths of hell to pull fragile minds into an abyss.
He inlaid a curse upon Sunday – that must have been it.
Why else would he not be able to look at him?
Head down, child.
Sunday's little feet would shuffle together, sweat would stick to the small flicks of his short hair on the back of his neck, eyes fixated on the grimy, cobblestone path under his polished shoes.
Follow my lead. Do not go astray.
His hand would tightly grasp onto a few fingers, barely gripping onto the firmness of the man's hand with his little, clammy ones.
Do not look.
Sunday stops. His heart beats a bit too fast for his tiny body.
Do not ask.
A bead of sweat tickles his skin as it rushes down the side of his temple.
Do not speak.
Tears would bubble at the corners of his eyes, hands red and swollen from being hit for every verse he got wrong. For every word he could not muster out from his throat that was raw from childish blubbering through cries.
He would not speak of him.
“Sunday?”
He holds his breath.
You scrutinize at the pamphlet in your hands, before aiming it towards him and pointing at a word on it.
His hand remains stiffly held in the air, the tip of the brush barely grazing against the painted canvas.
“What does this mean?”
His chair creaks as he leans aside the canvas to take a look at the word you pointed at.
“Ah. Exorbitant. Something unreasonably pricey.”
You make a small ‘o’ shape with your mouth, looking over the sentence again in better understanding.
“How's the painting coming along?”
“It's..”
Sunday takes a moment to glance over the painting.
The sky is barely painted in – it’s embarrassing how much detail he's put into your figure standing among the flowery field, however. The looser ends of your outfit billow among the sunlit garden, a wide smile etched upon your face, flowers adorning your arms in bunches as you try to hold the huge bundle.
“It'll take some more time.”
“Can I see?”
He hesitates. You smile.
“You.. can, however.. I'd like to keep it a surprise.”
You nod, softly,
“Okay. I'll see it when it's done.”
Sunday returns your smile. You continue reading the pamphlet. Sunday takes the time to admire the curve of your lips against the backdrop of sunlight through the window.
–——
You suppose you should have seen this fever coming.
You curl up further on your side, tapping away at a laptop on your hospital bed, putting on a show and huddling further into your additional blankets provided by the hospital. It helps provide background noise in case you want to zone out.
“Hm.. fever of.. 38°C.”
Sunday plucks out the thermometer from your mouth, before placing it on your bedside. His methodical hands mess with various sachets of medicine before neatly presenting a few of them on his open palm.
“You'll need these.”
He hands them over to you, along with a bottle of water. You eat your pills and settle back into your bed with a forlorn, disappointed sigh. Sunday only fixes your covers and tucks you more into bed.
Your eyes trail over to the canvas behind him, covered by a cloth, as Sunday dabs your sweaty forehead with his handkerchief.
“When can I see it?”
He hums, a bit in thought, as his hands continue to gently dab away the sweat on your skin.
“In a bit. I have to add a few details.”
“Okay.”
You close your eyes, your weakened body pulling you into sleep as you feel the sensation of Sunday's lips press on the corner of your brow.
And that was the last you'd seen from Sunday.
Not that you're upset – of course not. He's a Seraphim. He surely has much better things to be doing, really. You can't imagine it must have been easy gaining such a status in the first place. And then having to look after a sickly human in the last days of their life? Work must be drab to him.
That being said, you do wish he'd at least tell you where he is.
Your eyes drift over to the overcast weather outside your window.
You hope he took an umbrella with him.
——
“Sunday.”
“Mr. Wood.”
Sunday's voice is sharp – he doesn't bother coveting the offensive edge.
“You've been astray for too long.”
Silence.
His gloves creak in protest as his fingers dig into his palm, curled fists at his side.
His smile remains stiffly on his face as one of his gloved hands pushes up his glasses.
“Surely, do you think such blasphemy is tolerable within the Family?”
“I–”
“Im asking, child.”
Sunday breathes out, strained.
“I didn't mean to–”
“Such excuses do not work–”
“Stop cutting me off.”
Sunday's voice wavers at the end. He feels his heart pushing into his throat. The raven on the man's shoulder only bristles, the smile on his face unwavering under the shadow of his black umbrella.
“..You haven't changed, little sparrow.”
Sunday's jaw clenches more. But before he can speak, thunder cracks in the background. His head snaps to look at the distant skies covered by heavy clouds.
It smells like rain.
––
“Take responsibility. Take responsibility for all you have done!”
Sunday's voice cracks through the strain on it. 
To respond is to acknowledge. He knows that filth won't respond. But he tries anyway.
He and his sister – they weren't sinful. They were children. They weren't filthy, they were confused. They weren't sinners, they were hurt.
They were children.
Through countless tortures and rotting, had Sunday realised his training was nothing but an escapist projection of his Father's own fears.
The fears his Father could not absolve in himself – he would, through the raw, blistered hands of a child that did not know better.
Or perhaps it was enjoyment. Or to fulfill his ego. To bolster his position as the shoe that grinded on dirt like him.
Perhaps all of those reasons.
Children with clammy hands, who plucked flowers and grabbed too tightly onto the swing, with scraped knees and a face that basked in the innocence of an eternal Sun.
Children, who were perfect to hurt, for monsters like him. Monsters like him who revelled in the pain of the innocent in lieu of unproven salvation. 
By the time Sunday yells his throat raw, thunder bellows in the background in equal magnitude, the rushing rain doing little to calm his heated face and drowning out the pattering of your feet as you rush to find him in front of the fountain where you both had made a wish.
“Sunday!”
Your voice calls out in the distance, his head snapping to you.
You shouldn't be out here.
He turns to embrace your approaching figure in the distance, his feet thrumming and moving to meet you in the middle, but before he takes a step–
“Do not move.”
The words still his bones. He breathes out, watching your slowing figure, swaying from the fever. Water sloshes lazily along his polished shoes that leaks out from the overfilled fountain. You'd wished for freedom here.
“Do not defy.”
He bites his lip, his teeth gnawing the flesh and drawing blood. He kept his wish in his pocket.
“I have commanded you, child.”
He will always be a sinner.
A sinner who is undeserving of a salvation as beautiful as yours.
“Your thrall is fizzling out.”
He smiles, and Sunday wishes he could rip his teeth out.
You sway, stopping to catch your breath, feeling yourself almost lose balance before steady arms wrap around your body.
“You're soaked!”
You whisper, feeling the dampness of his suit as he pulls you into a hug.
“We need to leave.”
Sunday leads you back, ignoring the weakening tether of his divinity.
Sunday looks back for the final time – a lonely, black umbrella in front of the fountain, it's owner seemingly vanished.
——
You heave, as Sunday helps you back onto the bed. Somewhere along the way, your body only grew weaker. You feared something worse when you could barely feel your pulse, but the way your legs seemed to almost stop working by the time you reached your room, it was already true.
Your figures shuffle as Sunday paces around the room, trying to find extra blankets and covers provided by the hospital, cursing under his breath as he knocks over a few items, some getting caught in his leg. You try not to pay attention to your failing body, but its hard to ignore how much deja vu you're getting right about now. Only this time – the pain is worse. The chill running up your spine at your spike in fever is nothing compared to the cold that's slowly chipping away at your fingers, and the pain in your body is reaching an all time high, making your breaths come out in labored gasps. It feels like a scrawny animal trying to rip out of your body.
He hurries over to you, swaddling you in blankets and sheets in layers, furiously rubbing your arms as he tries to warm up your body from the biting cold of the rain. Thunder strikes through outside your window, and in your fever haze, you catch a glimpse of the painting Sunday had meticulously made. He must have accidentally pulled the cover while pacing around.
Sunday calls out to you, snapping you momentarily out of your haze, but not completely. You were losing consciousness, and fast. His voice is shaking, despite how much he tries to appear calm. 
He knows.
But you can't bring yourself to pay attention. Things float over your mind like an ephemeral dream, your eyes only focused on the golden sunlight of the painting.
There's Sunday. And you. The garden is beautiful, and the sun illuminates your hands, reaching out to each other.
The gold is beautiful.
“Hey..”
You call out, making his panicked actions stop abruptly. His hand cups the side of your face, so gently, as if you're porcelain under his hand.
“What is it?”
“Sunday..”
Your hands tremble, moving up to hold his face, your fingers brushing away stray droplets from the edges of the wings over his face. The pain ebbs in you, and you recognize the familiar action as you sense it dimming, coupled with the sweat forming above Sunday's scrunched up eyebrows. He's trying to salvage this pain.
“Can I see your eyes?”
Sunday breathes out, leaning more into your hands. His hands move from supporting your back to your shoulders, gently pushing you back onto the bed, but his forehead presses against yours. 
You can feel his trembling, cool breath fan the lower half of your face, his own hands clasping over yours. The pain starts decreasing terrifyingly fast, making you afraid of just how much Sunday is trying to take it from you and into himself.
“Sun..”
Your voice whispers out,
“You don't have to–”
“I love you.”
The words hang between you two. You hear the faint sound of him swallow. There's dried blood on his lips.
“I love you too. The painting is beautiful.”
Sunday sucks in a breath, his wings bristling at your words. You feel your hands slowly lose strength.
His wings move. You see his eyes.
And they hold the most beautiful, striking golden Sun.
You're caught breathless for a moment.
Sunday's hands are still clasped over yours as they loosen and threaten to fall away from his face. You sense the trembling in them as he fosters your pain.
“I'm scared.”
His eyes close, eyebrows scrunched in worry and uncertainty.
“I'm here. I always have been.”
“I don't want to die.”
Sunday shifts, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead,
“Wherever you go, I'll follow you. There is nowhere you will go that I won't reach you.”
You close your eyes, tears roll down the sides, and Sunday kisses them away, continuing to whisper against your skin,
“I promise. I'll find you. In every universe you are painted into.”
You smile, laughing bitterly through your tears, your voice cracking a bit,
“You didn't make a wish, you know..”
Sunday presses his forehead to yours, his hand fishing out the coin he'd kept from his pocket in a hasty manner. He holds your hand, and gently places the coin in the centre of your palm.
“Because this will be a promise. I will follow you unto the borders of fate. Wherever you will lead I shall look to.”
You smile, through your tears,
“It's not fair. It's not your wish.”
“It's mine. And I am yours.”
He kisses you. His lips are soft against yours. You can taste his blood.
“I will always be yours. In death, if not in life.”
His hands encase yours. You feel the ridges of the coin press against the inside of your closed hands. 
You die in love.
He is a curse; a man rotten by the grime of his humanity, and thus he turns to you for the salvation of his divinity. But how insignificant such a thing is to him  – He cannot bless you, so he curses you. You who were never blessed now face the miracle of an angel like him. A miracle crafted by the defiling hands of a sinner that cursed you for love.
And he shall follow you unto death like one.
——
Acheron thrums her fingers against the cool counter of her desk, her eyes trained on the register in front of her.
She doesn't know how to tell a story.
Not yours, anyway.
Black Swan hums in the background, fixing the frame over the wall,
“You doubt yourself too much.”
Mei stays silent for a moment, then sighs. Her office chair creaks as she leans back in it. A few moments of silence, followed by a soft peck on the bridge of her nose. She opens her eyes to see her wife's, the woman slightly leaned over her.
“I'll be home late. I promise I'll spend more time with you soon. I just..”
Black Swan hushes her, her fingers lazily tangling themselves in the woman's violet hair. 
“I know. You have a long day ahead, isn't it?”
Acheron sighs again, closing her eyes, remembering your body in the morgue. Just about a few hours ago, when the rain was hitting it's hardest, she and her wife had taken a relaxed break. Black Swan had drawn some predictions for her, and the sounds of thunder had soothed her troubled mind back to a still pond. 
She opens her eyes again, and watches the precipitation on the window, the gentle sunlight peeking through the breaking clouds, the sound of rain coming to a slow halt. She watched a raindrop sliding off of the leaf of a plant right outside her window. Black Swan has already returned to her own devices behind her.
In just a few hours, you'd been alive. By the time the clouds broke apart and the rain stopped, so had your heart.
And here you were – back with a story of your own, instead. Acheron wishes she was better at storytelling. She hopes her wife can do it justice.
She turns halfway in her seat, looking back at her wife.
“..do you mind.. lending me a hand?”
The lavender haired woman only hums in response, the clicking of her heels as she approaches her again. She places three cards on Mei's desk.
“Which one calls to you?”
Mei takes a minute, analysing the duplicate designs of each card's back. She taps on the one on the left. Black swan picks it up.
“that's good.” She hums, closing her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking back at Mei,
“But I mean, you. Which one really calls to you?”
Acheron hesitates once again, before tapping the middle one.
“Perfect.”
——
“You were right.”
Mei says, before gently blowing on the hot liquid in her teacup,
Black swan hums, lighter at the end, questioning what Mei was mentioning.
“That painting looks better in the centre.”
At this, the lavender-haired woman's mouth makes an ‘o’ shape, before curling into a smile. She flicks a few cards before gathering and tapping the bundle on the table to even them out.
“It does. Aren't you pleased I'm looking after your office decor?”
Mei only hums in response, looking over to the said painting hanging above her office chair, her face hidden by the sunlight of early morning.
“Someone ought to have helped with such a..”
Black Swan trails off, perturbed by the sterile, clean look of Acheron's office where she has yet to make changes.
Mei only laughs under her breath at her words.
“You're right.”
Black Swan's gaze joins her lover's, as she looks to the painting aswell.
The golden sunlight peers through the tender reach of your hands with a certain, blue-haired angel. The same angel who was buried beside you.
“Ah, look.”
Mei looks down at the table, following her wife's fingers, as they tapped on the table.
“What do these cards mean?”
“Take a guess. Tell me what you feel from these.”
Her hand lands on Mei's – slightly coarse from her line of work. Her lithe fingers trace the band of her engagement ring.
“Something.. new. A fresh start.”
She smiles. Her dawn-colored eyes trail to the sidewalk just outside, watching a pair of lovers walk hand in hand under the newly uncovered Sun after the night's rain.
——
“Morning.”
You whisper, leaning down and gently kissing the corner of your husband's brow. He sighs, and shifts, burying his face further into the pillows. It's soon followed by arms that move under the covers to wrap around your waist, forcing you to stay seated beside him. You simply chuckle.
“Goodmorning.”
He replies, his voice soft with sleep. You ruffle the soft tufts of his blue hair.
“Sleep well?”
“Mm. I..”
He opens his eyes, half lidded and blurry with sleep, looking up at you. You both stay silent for a moment.
“I had a long dream.”
“Wanna tell me about it?”
He sighs, before slowly sitting up, and burying his face into your neck, and then leaning his body weight onto yours, making you lay down on the bed.
Hm. So this is how it's going to be.
You know your husband too well to know this is going to turn into a drawn out cuddling session. Your hand raises and brushes through the soft, blue locks. You're giving in anyway, because who are you to deny your lover?
He only holds you impossibly closer at that.
“I made coffee. It'll get cold.”
He hums at that.
“It's 10 in the morning, you dork.”
“Ah, didn't notice.”
You roll your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the top of his head. He presses a kiss to your neck in return.
“You haven't shown me your painting yet.”
He stays silent. But then, he shifts, his arms hesitantly letting go of you.
That seems to have gotten him going.
He gets up, and shuffles out of the room. A few moments later, he returns with a small canvas wrapped in a cloth. He hands it to you, then returns to sit beside you, burying his face into your neck once again.
“Wrapped too, hm?”
“It's your birthday.”
You smile. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your brow.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
“You haven't even seen it yet.”
You unwrap the cloth from the canvas. Your smile only widens at the painting.
There you two are. Your house is behind you two, and there's your garden that you've painstakingly taken care of.
You chuckle, pointing to a few, scattered reds across the greenery,
“You included my carnations.”
His hand comes up to wrap around yours, before bringing it up to his lips, and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“Of course I did.”
You set the painting aside, before getting up and stretching, popping a few joints.
“Come on, I'll make you some fresh coffee.”
You reach your hand out, and he takes it, getting up on his feet as he lets you lead to the kitchen.
———
There's a strange shop that you've recently discovered.
It pops up just about whenever, wherever. A strangely elusive personality culminated by the repeated disappearance and the mysterious purpose of the shop tends to pull you in.
You had visited the shop before – but the memory is fuzzy. You don't remember having anything you'd like to buy. Photo Albums, mirrors, tarot cards, polaroid cameras, antique equipment and trinkets, and strange candles. It was when you were on your way home from work that you decided to take such a detour. Perhaps.. that must've been what it was. Regardless, you decided you'd want to visit the shop again with your husband.
The opportunity was pretty perfect; your schedules aligned, the weather was considerably not so miserable, and you managed to find the shop in time.
It's a bit of a chance opportunity, considering how your husband has taken a liking to a bird that recently ended up in your backyard – the poor thing was scuffled. It's wings were broken and it barely survived through the night you two found him.
Ever since, he'd been collecting photos and capturing the little thing's recovery, bit by bit. 
You smiled to yourself, humming in contentment as your arm was looped around his snugly, basking in the warm glow of the early Sun, walking in a leisurely pace as your husband continued to flick through photos on his phone.
The weather was especially nice today – the rains had stopped a while ago and the time window was perfectly in between cold breezes and a warm atmosphere. You eyed the gentle swaying of newly sprouted weeds and grasses, a thicket of flowers and so on, at the edge of the sidewalk connecting to the wall of a barrier.
The wall would end a few ways ahead, replaced by (slightly worn) fences, as the rest of the land came into view the more you two walked ahead. Your husband would occasionally fill in the silence with little facts he would remember of, while you scanned the vast scenery of the green land behind the fence.
It was a cemetery. The tombstones were warmed by the Sun – or you at least think so, the way a cat seems to be lazily draped over one. There's a hugely amassed tree a few ways up the tombstones, and there lay two solitary ones, just enough distance from the tree for the light to reach under and illuminate them. 
You wonder if they're warm. You wonder if the grass is soft, and the dirt is coldly comforting. You wonder who they were – lovers, spouses, friends. Perhaps they were holding hands through their graves. Another cat sprung from behind one of the tombstones, gracefully approaching the one asleep sunbathing, stomping around the little flowers growing beside the specific tombstone.
You see them greet each other. You see the cat lovingly bathe the sun-kissed one. It's tail lazily draped over the tombstone flicks, drawing your attention to the name. Nico. Below it, reads, Have faith in a tomorrow.
The fence cut the sight a little short as you two walked ahead. 
You think for a moment, almost disregarding the smallness of the thought amongst other things in your head.
“Ah, I don't think I've shown you this one.”
Your husband speaks, leaning over to show you a spontaneous photo of you on one of your dates. You both had taken a detour and rested near the fountain. That must have been when, as you smiled, looking at the photo.
But the thought still lingered quietly in your head.
To be woven so delicately and strongly into someone else's tapestry, until the strings frayed long after your deaths.
What it would take, you wonder.
———
Akin to your habits of detours, and keenly aware of your likings, your husband politely guides you to a cafe you two had visited once (he, thankfully, does not mention the audible growling of your stomach. Coffee is not a good, neither a fulling breakfast.)
You two spend a handful of hours there, simply relishing the downtime you two have together. Hushed, soft conversations, hands held over the wooden table that stayed linked as you two finally made your ways to the strange shop.
It was small, but the arrangement of the trinkets (and perhaps the placement of the lighting) made it look more spacious inside. You two talked at the front where, you presume, the owner of the shop was. A lavender haired woman who spoke in a hushed, sweet tone. Nothing else was off about her except her hypnotizing gaze and the knowing look in her eyes. You two would take your time sorting through the shop, and eventually your husband would pick a photo album.
The woman offered to print a few select photos, and you hesitantly agreed. Although technically this was a strange shop in itself, something about it prickled your skin the wrong way.
So, you waited outside for him as he discussed the details, choosing to admire the carefree and relaxed atmosphere of the day outside.
After a moment, your phone buzzed, and that was your signal. You headed inside, and found your husband listening carefully to the lavender-haired woman instructing on how to take care of the album. As soon as you catch her eye, she smiles at you, and waves. You wave back.
“Good to go?” You ask, looking at your lover in blue.
“Sure is. Feel free to drop by anytime you need some more help.” The woman chimes in, smiling lazily at you, her chin cradled on her hands, her elbows propped up on the counter as your husband fiddles around with the album a bit more.
“Alright.” He says, after a moment, satisfied with his inspection. “We can leave.”
You smile at the woman again as a thanks, she simply waves you two off as you leave. The chiming of the little bell over the door resounds for only a moment as she watches you two with a fixed gaze leave and walk away.
“Hm..”
She hums, her fingers grazing over the plethora of cards sprawled in the pop up desk below. Her finger lands on a card.
The Hanged Man.
“Mei was right.” She smiles.
———
323 notes · View notes
hoodedjelly · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
my Jenny, Tuck, Brad, Shelden, and Vega older designs ^__^
i'm watching mlaatr, still not done, i think i got like 10 more eps (and if i'm being transparent i skipped around eps... i just wanted to see vega...). And i'm absolutely loving the show!!!! i love these characters a lot, didn't like Shelden at first i'm going to be honest, #1 Shelden hater for a bit there. but he chilled out in season two and i started to ship breldon with that too so now i just love him so much.
more about my personal headcanons:
Jenny: - I am under the belief that she is transgender. Jenny was made genderless, so her deciding to be a girl was strictly her choice and i believe that makes her trans. (She's also a lesbian) - she did grow a bit, im not gonna explain how idc really i just liked her being a taller lady :-) - she has A LOT of different cute outfits and hair styles, honestly too much to draw. she never transforms back into her base show outfit when crime fighting, she just fights in her cute summer dress she don't care. - her and vega are dating grrgrgrrrr - when vega is in rule she makes it so there is complete free access between earth and cluster prime for citizens in both places. - I say that cause i think when jenny is older she moves in with vega, technically living in cluster prime but visits earth like everyday. And brad/shelby/tucker/wakeman visit cluster prime - Jenny also hangs out with the nicktoons unite gang, but i deffo feel like its just that secondary friend group that you don't talk to with for months. when you talk again its the same goofiness as before - i think danny calls for her help when he needs it (also manny) Tuck: - he is still a little shit but we love him - adhd boy - questioning cis (he/him) - he got into robotics/stem and builds little silly things - with that, he gets help from Shelby - pretty much just a silly teen, he's on the internet a lot and has "cringe" interests - but idk he's having fun and being silly and finding himself (those interests is stuff like sonic and among us) Shelden(Shelby) - honestly kinda nervous about ppl thoughts on my Shelden, idk it makes so much sense in my brain - hits you with the transfem beam (she/they) Pansexual (she just wants anyone type of vibe) - I think when jenny is visiting vega often that leaves Shelby and Brad hanging out alone a lot. which they don't mind honestly, they are actually good friends! - but during that they just get closer and start catching feelings. Shelby eventually lets go of her feelings about jenny and realizes they were a real jerk and weirdo to her. brad helps them through that and eventually her realizing she's trans. blah blah they in love and kiss at some point. - Shelby is also a furry lmaooo her fursona is a cat.
Brad: - bisexual cis man (he/him) - Still his old brad self if i'm being honest. - totally forgot to say i think all 3 of them go off to college together (even though jenny doesn't have to i feel like she would prob want to just for the experience, but tell me if you think differently i'm still unsure) - i really don't know what else to say sorry brad! he's literally just as silly as ever man. he's just also gay - i will say here i feel it takes a lot longer for shelby and brad to start dating then jenny and vega. they got that slow burn kinda shit going on, since a lot of that is shelby being confused about her feelings. and jenny and vega just hit it off right away if im being honest, very high school sweethearts. - (also i think shelby makes brad make a fursona to match hers, so brad got a dog fursona)
Vega: - Lesbian cis (she/her) - That ending of her just ruling cluster prime was just so crazy to me cause like, aint she like 16? - i think she has a lot of stressed nights and fearing she's not doing the right thing for her people, and jenny tries to help as much she can - that is why jenny visits so much, she wants to help her. - very much got those nights were she accidently falls asleep at her desk, jenny finding her and giving her a blanket and a kiss goodnight - it's not like she's unhappy, she is actually very very passionate about her work and wants to NOT be like her mom - and yeah she deffo goes to robo therapy for the stuff with her mom. - i think it's a conflict where vega is scared her mom is gonna come back and jenny has to reassure her that if she does they'll get rid of her for good.
imma be honest a lot of my hcs are pretty half-baked and random things, im sure im going to think of more stuff in the future but that will be in different posts.
724 notes · View notes
katiekatdragon27 · 12 days ago
Text
Hey. Hey, guys. You'll never guess what I've been drawing.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Glisten: ...??
Glisten and his lame ass boyfriends!!!!!! Cheers to art dumps <3
[CW: SUGGESTIVE JOKE] More doodles below cut:
So! I know most of you come for the shinyshrimp stuff (WHICH WE WILL GET TO) but let me yap about Glisten and Razzle for a bit.
I LOVE YOU GLITTERMASK THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU GLITTERMASK-
Glisten and Razzle got together like 3 months after Glisten and Boxten broke up. Razzle never really looked to Glisten that much outside of acquaintances (cuz he was kinda sorta lowkey jealous of Glisten's charisma and stage-presence). In fact, they were much more focused on Vee and maybe possibly had a crush on her, which is really funny in hindsight with Dazzle lol. However, after learning that Vee was a lesbian/being very rudely rejected by her, Razzle found comfort in Glisten and fell head-over-heels almost immediately.
The only problem is, Razzle has -10000 aura. His ass cannot be flirty or cool-charismatic at all.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Glisten: What do you do when you aren't distracting? Razzle: (Glisten likes mysterious people) I sell drugs!! Glisten: ... Excuse me? Razzle: (But Glisten also likes kind people) But ONLY to kids in need! Dazzle: (STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP-) *defeated whimper*
Razzle thinks he's that guy (they're not, they're pathetic honestly lol)
Also like, Razzle is suuuper dense when it comes to everyone except Dazzle. They struggle with self-reflection and other-people reflection, so he is completely convinced he is doing all the right things, when in actuality, they are very very very cringe.
Tumblr media
Razzle: No see Dazzie, this is why they call me Rizzle. Dazzle: (No one has EVER called you that.)
Denseness is one hell of a drug, aye, fellas?
Dazzle is being pulled through the wringer trying to preserve whatever was left of her (and Razzle's) pride. It's not working. Girl is fighting for their life every time she is dragged over by Razzle in order to say a horrible pick-up line to Glisten.
(This is all pre-relationship btw. After they get together it becomes an inside joke and Glisten retorts with his own awful (although not nearly as bad) pick-up lines)
Now the moment you've been waiting forrrr 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁
✨ Shinyshrimp ✨
Tumblr media
I love them chat, I love them sm. They have so much drama and love and interesting things going on, they're so cool and fun n stuff and AUGHHHHH💥💥💥
Shrimpo being that one guy who craves affection but would literally bite anyone who gives it to him is so real to me. Homie wants a hug but ends up suplexing whoever hugged him outta reflex. Glisten, on the other hand, is one of the most affectionate people ever. He's not affectionate to everyone, but when you catch his interest (both platonic and romantic), he is very verbally and physically affectionate. He'll buy you things, he'll give you hugs, he'll let you invade his personal space, all stuff he would never let normies do.
Shrimpo loves this, however, homie has no idea how to deal with any kind of affection in a positive way. Cat-coded ahh guy. Glisten does find this amusing tho, so he's more inclined to be affectionate with Shrimpo to help him "get over it" in a way.
Tumblr media
This is just for shits and giggles. I feel like everyone should draw this meme with their ships. It's a canon event at this point.
What can I say? He was hungry.
Tumblr media
Can't forget my fankids. I love my fankids. I miss my fankids. I need to draw my fankids more istg I need to revamp their ask blog soon (especially with some new editions coming soon).
Also Hamlet looks smaller because most of his internal structure is made of ribbon and stuffing, so he shrinks into a ball when happy. He also loafs like a cat, what a guy.
Also also also what the skibidi sigma happened to my prep-jock ship?? Why is it backwards???
Tumblr media
I drew these because I had a vision of the little doodle below and only thought it would work if they were swaped... sooooo... here we are.
Scapmi is a preppy goth-ish shrimp with an eye for fashion and artistry. With a smart mouth and a massive ego, he often comes off as an annoyance to others. He loves to be front and center in everything but often has to fight with his internalized idea that everything is a competition that he needs to win no matter what. It causes him a lot of stress and self-doubt, but he'd never let anyone see his weaknesses.
Gash is a shrap-toned violent mirror who speaks more with his fists than his voice. He hates everything that is not himself (and sweets) and makes sure people know that. He used to be a perfectionist, but after an accident permanently cracked his face, he dropped his "perfect" persona in favor of a messy, more hateful one. He wants connection but doesn't know how to express his needs in an understandable way, and that frustrates him immensely.
As you can see, match made in heaven.
Tumblr media
Gash: DUDE, WHAT THE F*CK!? Scampi: There's a smudge on you- Gash: I DON'T CARE! LET GO!! Scampi: Not 'til I'm done. (Your natural blush is gorgeous; shame it's on you tho)
So yeah, swap shinyshrimp lore drop yippee.
Have a good one chat, til I reappear again✌️✌️
178 notes · View notes
elliespassagerprincess · 1 year ago
Note
Can we please get some milf Abby or Ellie the lesbians who like older women are in a drought
💘
Headcannons: milf!abby anderson x reader
Tumblr media
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
☆ Milf Abby who was divorced and who had full custody of her 4-year-old daughter.
☆ Milf Abby who worked as a lawyer and got her daughter into the best schools.
☆ Milf Abby who went to a parent teacher meeting, to meet her daughters’ new teacher.
☆ Milf Abby who met you for the first time and thought you were the prettiest thing she’d ever seen.
☆ Milf Abby who stood behind everyone else because you made her shy.
☆ Milf Abby whose palms felt sweaty when you walked close to the direction where she was standing.
☆ Milf Abby whose heart rate increased when you asked the parents “any questions?” with a smile.
☆ Milf Abby who went home that night and stared at the ceiling because she just saw an angel.
☆ Milf Abby who asks her daughter about you the next morning.
“What’s she like?” Abby asked as she placed the plate of scrambled eggs in front of Aubrey.
“she’s nice” the little girl started. “she always likes my drawings, and she tells funny stories!”
A small smile appeared on Abby’s face.
Pretty and funny, huh?
“she’s pretty too” Aubrey said with her mouth full off eggs. Abby chuckled at that.
“Your right baby, she is”
☆ Milf Abby who almost shit herself when Aubrey told you that she finds you pretty.
“You did what?” Abby said frantically.
“I told my teacher that you said she was pretty”
Abby groaned, her large hand coming to rub her temples.
“Baby you aren’t supposed to tell that to people, it was a secret”
“Yeah, it was red ones”
“But Heathers dad brought her flowers, and that’s not a secret”
“what?”
“roses?”
“I think so” she spoke
☆ Milf Abby who gets jealous even though she barley knows anything about you.
☆ Milf Abby who watches Heathers dad bring you snacks almost daily when she picks up Aubrey.
☆ Milf Abby who wants to vomit every time you smile at him.
☆ Milf Abby who realizes she had to make a move.
☆ Milf Abby who was nervous because it’s been a while since she’s asked someone on a date.
☆ Milf Abby who writes you a letter and sends it with her daughter.
“My mommy sent you this” Aubrey ran to you with a white envelope. You thanked her, as you opened the letter, eyes widening at what it had to say:
“Hi, are you Tennessee because you’re the only ten I see.
I’m sorry I know that was inappropriate I didn’t know what to say.
Would you like to go on a date with me? I promise no cheesy pickup lines”
☆ Milf Abby who almost jumps out of her car when she sees you walking towards her.
☆ Milf Abby who rolls down the window and tries to act cool.
“Sup” she said, but soon cringed.
You giggled “I’d love to go on a date with you Miss Anderson”
“Call me Abby”
“Abby… I’d love to go out with you”
A grin spread onto the blondes face.
“Friday?”
“Friday”
☆ Milf Abby who fist bumps the air because she’s just that excited.
☆ Milf Abby who almost cancelled because she was so nervous.
☆ Milf Abby who asks her 4-year-old outfit advice.
“What about this?”
“No”
“Aubrey you can’t keep saying no”
“But I don’t like it”
☆ Milf Abby who kisses her daughter goodbye as she bought you a bigger bouquet of roses.
☆ Milf Abby who takes you to a fancy restaurant to impress you.
☆ Milf Abby who finds out you were 20 years younger than her.
Abby blinked a couple of times at the information.
“26?”
“yeah… do I not look my age you?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.
“You really don’t”
☆ Milf Abby who enjoys the date more than she intended to.
☆ Milf Abby who almost combusts when you gave her a kiss on the cheek.
☆ Milf Abby who goes home that night in denial that she liked someone so young.
Age is nothing but a number, but you were years younger. What were you doing with someone like her? Why her? Why not someone your age? What happens if Abby grows so old that you become bored?
☆ Milf Abby who ghosts you for 5 months.
☆ Milf Abby who avoids looking at you when she gets her daughter from school.
☆ Milf Abby who ignores your texts because she thought you deserve someone better.
☆ Milf Abby’s daughter who gave her an awaking.
“Can you stop crying at night mommy? It makes noise”
Abby looked up from the stove.
“you hear that?”
“Yes”
A few seconds of silence passed before Aubrey spoke again. “You made my teacher sad”
“she’s sad?”
“yes and she asked me about you”
“and what did you say?”
“Nothing, you said it was a secret” Abby groaned at Aubrey’s response
“you need to stop pushing people away because you’re insecure”
Abby looked at Aubrey with wide eyes.
She was right, because Abby was so insecure she’s losing a perfect girl because she was scared. How sure was she that you would leave her? How sure was she that you were only using her? Maybe you were the one.
“Where did you hear those words?”
“from grandpa” she said with a shoulder shrug.
“He said that to Nora”
Your back was facing the door as you were writing something on the board.
“of course he did”
☆ Milf Abby who goes to your classroom the next day with flowers.
“I’m sorry” she spoke. She watched you flinched as you turned around.
“what?”
“I’m sorry for just disappearing and not saying anything”
“ok” was all you said as you turned back around to continue writing.
Abby walked towards you with long strides.
“no- no don’t say ok please- give me a chance”
she watched you sigh as you turned around:
“look Miss Anderson-“
“Abby”
“Miss Anderson” you said through gritted teeth.
“It’s ok, this should have not happened”
“Don’t say that”
“Let’s move on, I’ll pretend this never happened” you said with a fake smile on your face.
“god you’re so-“  before Abby could even finish her sentence she grabbed your face, and caught your lips in a kiss.
☆ Milf Abby who was surprised when you kissed her back.
☆ Milf Abby who whimpered when you pulled away.
“What can I do to fix this?” she spoke as she held your face.
“take me out on a date again”
a smile spread on the blondes face: “yeah I’ll do that”
☆ Milf Abby who realizes you won’t make it easy for her.
☆ Milf Abby who was willing to work for this relationship because you were worth it.
2K notes · View notes
an-au-blog · 3 months ago
Text
Au where Nami and Zoro pretend to date because Nami is sick of men hitting on her and saying she's "too pretty to be a lesbian" and Zoro owns her too much money to say no, plus it's a low effort way to pay her off. Most of the time he's just "scary dog privilege", but on the occasion he has to fight someone off, it's nice training. He also cares about her as a friend but wouldn't be caught dead admitting it.
They meet Sanji and he's extremely jealous that dumb buffoons like Zoro get all the beautiful and witty ladies. He hates Zoro and keeps throwing sarcastic remarks towards him, which translates to him flirting with the man.
One day he tells Nami that he's so jealous that it makes him angry. Following it up with "I'm not saying I want you to break-up, please forgive me for suggesting I'd ever wish anything but happiness for you, Nami dear!" Not specifying who he was jealous of made Nami think that Sanji was one of those snappy gays with no filter. I mean... how could he not be? He's discussed his twenty step skincare routine with her, he's always dresst to the t, he smells of expensive perfume all the time - naming brands and gossip about the company owners like it's his full time job, he speaks french in cursive and moves like a ribbon in the wind. And all her doubts that he didn't like men flew out the window the moment Zoro was in the room. Not only was he sizing him up, not only did he use any excuse to poke his biceps or chest or forehead, not only did she catch the two talking out back, Sanji blowing smoke in Zoro's face (out of spite but they both thought it was flirting), but as the cherry on top, Sanji would always, ALWAYS draw a little heart on Zoro's coffee.
Nami never got coffee for herself, she preferred tea, or most of the time she'd just get a protein shake. But Sanji always assumed the muscle head would want the protein shake.
Of course, Nami manages to force Zoro into bribing her, making his debt bigger as she told him that after this she'd be left without a guard dog so it needed to be extra expensive. She told him Sanji liked him back and that he told her himself. So the next time Zoro met Sanji, he kissed him. Granted, it was without a warning so the slap wasn't unexpected, but then Sanji got angry at him because "HOW DARE YOU CHEAT ON NAMI-SAN LIKE THAT!" And he went on a tangent, fighting him (one of the best sparring sessions Zoro had in a while) and it all just made Zoro like Sanji even more. He cared so much, he was so strong and loyal... Finally, he managed to explain the situation, to which Sanji sighed "yeah, she's too good to be with a man... I should have guessed..." and then confusedly asking why the kiss.
254 notes · View notes
marcyvamp1re-blog · 2 months ago
Text
𖦹 ࣪˖ ◂ To The Future⊹ ˖ ࣪✦
WHAT IF!! | Diana Prince, The Wonder Woman, and her wife had a baby? But the problem is...how?
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Synopsis; Diana loved you, and in her love, there was everything you needed: an infinite calm in her arms, a refuge in her words, and a future full of promises they didn’t yet know how to write. Together, without haste, without fear, only with the whisper of a love that grew day by day, building a home that needed no words, just shared glances and fleeting smiles.
Pairing ── Diana Prince x Wife! Reader.
Content. MDNI ── Fluff, Mentions of pregnancy, babys, elements of experimentation, mild angst, themes of family, and emotional vulnerability.
A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish— A flood of posts is coming. Honestly, I've always wanted to write about Wonder Woman x reader (my inner lesbian speaking U.U) — she's my true "Hear me out" moment.
Tumblr media
There always comes that inevitable point in relationships when the conversation turns to family. But in your case, we’re not talking about just any relationship. No, you’ve been happily married for three years to none other than Wonder Woman herself. The impossible dream of any average mortal, and here you are, sharing your morning coffee with the Amazon princess while debating whether the coffee should have sugar or not.
Then, one day, you notice it. At first, it’s small, subtle gestures. Maybe she takes you to the park on any random Saturday, and suddenly her eyes shine a little too brightly when a couple with a stroller walks by. “Isn’t it adorable?” she says, pointing to the baby who’s sleeping like it’s dreaming of cotton clouds. Or maybe, while shopping at some store, she stops in front of a mannequin wearing a tiny Wonder Woman costume, complete with a miniature tiara. “Look at this,” she says, holding it up with a smile. “Don’t you think someone in our family would look perfect in this someday?”
And then there’s the direct talk, as only Diana could do it. Straightforward, but with that sweetness that disarms you. “I’ve been thinking,” she says one night while you both watch the stars from the terrace, her hair gently waving in the breeze. “You and I… we could be wonderful parents.” And even though she says it seriously, there’s a playful gleam in her eyes.
But of course, this is Diana, Wonder Woman. For every serious conversation, there’s an avalanche of charmingly chaotic moments. Like that time she taught you how to hold a baby using a sack of rice because, according to her, “a warrior must be prepared for any situation.” Or that other time, during dinner with Clark and Lois, she launched into a philosophical debate about whether their baby should have an Amazonian, human, or Kryptonian name “just in case”—leaving you with your face completely red.
The problem came later, when you both looked at each other one afternoon in the Batcave, in front of a whiteboard full of equations, diagrams, and something that looked like a drawing of a baby with a cape, made by you in a burst of nerves. Yes, that was the tricky part: how.
The conversation with Batman was, in short, awkward.
“Let me see if I understand,” Bruce said, massaging the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You want me to use my resources, technology, and—oh, I don’t know—my few hours of sleep, to figure out how an Amazonian and a human can have a biological child.”
“Exactly,” Diana replied, crossing her arms with the naturalness of someone who had already defeated gods. “Why are you making that face? You’ve done more complicated things.”
“Not with babies involved.”
Meanwhile, you tried not to make eye contact. After all, how do you explain to a man who spent his life as a dark knight that you now needed him for something so… personal?
Despite his reluctance, Bruce agreed to help. But not without conditions. “This doesn’t leave the circle. Not a word to Clark or Barry. Ever.” His look was so severe that even Diana raised an eyebrow, amused.
J’onn J’onzz, on the other hand, was a little more kind when consulted. “It’s a fascinating topic from a scientific perspective,” he said with that alien calm that seemed to come from centuries of Martian patience. “Though I must warn you, interdimensional hybrids aren’t a widely explored field.”
“Thanks for the optimism, J’onn,” you replied, glancing sideways at how Bruce and Diana argued about whether Amazonian genes could overpower normal humans.
The following weeks were a whirlwind of experiments, consultations, and technology that seemed straight out of a science fiction movie. J’onn led the genetic analysis, while Bruce applied his methodical obsession to create a viable procedure. Every night, Diana came home with a detailed report and summarized it for you with a mix of enthusiasm and seriousness.
“Bruce says we might need a Kryptonian catalyst,” she said one day, as if she were talking about what to have for dinner. “Do you think Clark will mind if we ask him for a hair sample?”
By the time everything was ready, you were already used to the strangest conversations of your life. But when the time came, when Diana held your hand while J’onn and Bruce confirmed that their plan would work, you couldn’t help but smile. They had achieved the impossible.
And so, with the help of a grumpy dark knight and a Martian with infinite patience, your dream of starting a family with Diana began to take shape. Because, in the end, if there’s one thing that heroes understand better than anyone, it’s that no challenge is too great when it comes to love.
The months flew by, and with each one, the Batcave became a second home for you and Diana. Every week, you would enter the dark, cold sanctuary of Gotham, where Batman, or more specifically Bruce, waited with an air of seriousness and a look that made you feel like you were participating in a high-risk operation. And in a way, you were.
Diana, although more than capable of facing the universe’s greatest threats, couldn’t help but show a completely human vulnerability when it came to her baby. At first, she tried to hide it, but every time Bruce, J'onn, or worse, Tim, began to review the baby’s growth with that scientific look, her face would tense. Tim, the Robin at that time, was so meticulous that he seemed to enjoy measuring every aspect of the baby’s development more than anyone else, as if he were calculating the exact moment a future superhero might crawl out of the crib and start kicking butt.
“Everything seems to be in order,” Tim said, again and again, checking the monitors as if it were a game. Diana smiled, but you could see her fingers interlacing with Bruce’s, looking for some sign of support. Bruce, meanwhile, kept observing in silence, calculating every possible scenario with a sharp mind, but also a little bit of affection hidden between his words.
“If Tim tells you it’s fine, it probably is,” he said with his voice tone that left no room for doubt, but that, to you, sounded strangely reassuring. He wasn’t used to showing many emotions, but when Diana couldn’t help but bite her lip, he noticed.
Every time Bruce and Tim gathered to review the baby’s growth, she would remain still, as if waiting for a verdict. “Is everything okay? Is this all we hoped for?” she would ask from time to time, even though the answers were already quite clear.
And then, the day came.
It all happened in the blink of an eye: a quick trip to the Batcave, followed by a torrent of emotions that no one could have anticipated. Diana, calmer than you expected, held the baby with a softness that only she could have. And there it was, the little being that had been the center of so many scientific consultations, now wrapped in the warmth of the woman who had carried it in her womb.
“It’s a girl,” Bruce murmured, his deep voice but with a rare warmth. “Welcome to the world.”
Diana’s smile was as bright as the sun. Her eyes, always so firm, were now filled with infinite sweetness as she looked at her daughter, who slept peacefully in her arms.
If it was a girl, things were simple. She could grow up on Themyscira, surrounded by the peace of the island, with the ancient warriors and her grandmother, Hippolyta, to guide her. The aunts would also be there, and they could teach her the secrets of her lineage, as well as her mother’s story. Diana could freely take her to the island and watch her grow in an environment of love and power.
But if it was a boy… the rules were different. Although Diana’s love, yours, and her grandmother’s would be endless, they couldn’t take the little one to Themyscira for now. The island, a place of ancient traditions and mystical protections, wasn’t the best place for a human child at the moment. There were too many dangers and secrets still to be understood, and Diana knew the boy would need a larger, more complicated world before he could be part of that sacred refuge.
When J'onn confirmed the gender, Diana's relief was palpable, and although the joy of holding her daughter was absolute, there was also a slight shadow of concern at the thought of what might have been if it had been a boy.
But as the hours passed and the little being with bright eyes and a peaceful smile woke up, Diana leaned over her, whispering with unconditional love, “Everything will be fine. The world will be ours to give her.”
And as the little girl snuggled against her mother, both knew that no matter what the future held, their family had already begun to take shape. With Diana’s love, yours, and the support of all the heroes around them, the little being would grow up in a world full of protection, love, and adventures that would undoubtedly surpass any challenge.
Tumblr media
A/N ── Since I was little, when I lived in a messed-up country, Wonder Woman has always been one of my favorite heroes. I have other heroes I love too, but with Diana, I kneel and pray, no kidding! She’s so gorgeous, especially in those fanarts of Buff! Wonder Woman… God, she drives me crazy, I adore her to the core. It’s like my heart is a suit of armor about to crumble because of her!
Tumblr media
175 notes · View notes
hotvintagepoll · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Propaganda
Greta Garbo (Camille, Anna Karenina, Queen Christina)—Enigmatic and alluring and made me bisexual. The perfect example of the eroticism in silent films that literally transcends text. Could literally not change anything about her expression but you knew by looking at her eyes what she was thinking. She’s so gorgeous.
Audrey Hepburn (My Fair Lady, Sabrina, Roman Holiday)—Growing up, Audrey Hepburn desperately wanting to be a professional ballerina, but she was starved during WWII and couldn't pursue her dream due to the effects of malnourishment. After she was cast in Roman Holiday, she skyrocketed to fame, and appeared in classics like My Fair Lady and Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's gorgeous, and mixes humor and class in all of her performances. After the majority of her acting career came to close, she became a UNICEF ambassador.
This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Garbo:
Tumblr media
A cold-ass Swedish WLW Sphinx. Had plans to murder Hitler that she never got around to. "She will remain always a child of vikings, moved about by a snowy dream."
Tumblr media
First of all, she's on the money; that's how much of a treasure she is. She's beautiful in such a distinct way you need very few lines to draw her. (Drawing by Einar Nerman) She managed to be mesmerizing in both silent and sound films. She kissed a woman in Queen Christina (and probably several more in real life). She was super dry and really funny in Ninotchka. She got the hell out of Hollywood and stayed out, living for almost 50 years after her retirement.
Tumblr media
Garbo is one of the many reasons why I'm gay. If you haven't seen Queen Christina please do, She is so gender in that film. Also her accent makes it sound like she's always talking in cursive and it's so hypnotic (or at least I think so).
She's a gay introvert, like all of us here on Tumblr.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Probably a lesbian, absolutely a mood when she retired
Mysterious and aloof, charismatic and enigmatic, with beautiful androgynous characteristics, Garbo is undoubtedly the most eccentric and unique Hollywood vintage star. Her aversion to fame and stardom makes her even more desirable to the audience, and her insane chemistry with the camera, an actress one of a kind! Her particularity and her oddity is what discerns her strongly from her hollywood co workers at the time, noone was like her and would never be like her. I think, to the utmost extent, that she deserves the title of the hottest vintage star, even though that would be an understatement of what she is!
Tumblr media
SO gorgeous, her thick Swedish accent makes will turn your brain into pudding
Tumblr media
Audrey Hepburn:
Tumblr media
"She may be a wispy, thin little thing, but when you see that girl, you know you're really in the presence of something. In that league there's only ever been Garbo, and the other Hepburn, and maybe Bergman. It's a rare quality, but boy, do you know when you've found it." - Billy Wilder
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Raised money for the resistance in nazi occupied Hungary. Became a humanitarian after retiring. Two very sexy things to do!
Tumblr media
where to begin......... i wont her so bad. i literally dont know what to say.
Tumblr media
My dude. The big doe eyes, the cheekbones, the voice. The flawless way she carried herself. She was never in a movie where she wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Oh, also the fact she raised funds against the Nazis doing BALLET and she won the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her humanitarian work.
Tumblr media
"It’s as if she dropped out of the sky into the ’50s, half wood-nymph, half princess, and then disappeared in her golden coach, wearing her glass slippers and leaving no footprints." - Molly Haskell
"All I want for Christmas is to make another movie with Audrey Hepburn." - Cary Grant
Tumblr media
I know people nowadays are probably sick of seeing her with all the beauty and fashion merch around that depicts her and/or Marilyn Monroe but she is considered a classic Hollywood beauty for a reason. Ironically in her day she was more of the alternative beauty when compared to many of her contemporaries. She always came off with such elegance and grace, and she was so charming. Apparently she was a delight to work with considering how many of her co-stars had wonderful things to say about her. Outside of her beauty and acting ability she was immensely kind. She helped raise funds for the Dutch resistance during WWII by putting on underground dance performances as well as volunteering at hospitals and other small things to help the resistance. During her Hollywood career and later years she worked with UNICEF a lot. Just an all around beautiful person both inside and out.
youtube
No one could wear clothes in this era like she could. She was every major designer's favorite star and as such her films are time capsules of high fashion at the time. But beyond that, she had such an elegance in her screen presence that belied a broad range of ability. From a naive princess, to a confused widow, to a loving and mischievous daughter, she could play it all.
Tumblr media
Look at that woman's neck. Don't you want to bite it?
Tumblr media
714 notes · View notes
rootspiral · 2 months ago
Text
Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 7
(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])
(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])
Tumblr media
more Oz references! fury of the elements, one very pissed ex, same thing.
Tumblr media
god but how much I love rio going feral?! it's so stupid I'm giggling and kicking my feet about it. you'd think a very old, very wise being would react like a grown ass adult after a breakup, especially because it was such a long time coming. but does rio go home to process things quietly? noooooooo she summons a whole storm and sits on a roof waiting for agatha to come out of her basement, so she can be an ass about it. if they were humans rio would be slashing agatha's tires and smashing windows and throwing rotten eggs at her house drunk at three in the morning, and you know what? good for her!!! she's been fucking trying to work things out in a mature responsible way, and it was never going to work, agatha was never going to grow up. so fuck it. agatha wants to be immature? we'll show her immature! I support my girl going full petty and unhinged, let her cry and scream and eat a whole ice cream tub and then throw it all up, let her piss all over agathas' rhododendrons, my girl has earned it.
Tumblr media
AND she's brought her favorite soul-reaping orchid with her! she's like, I'm gonna do it! this time I'm gonna getcha! I will drag your ungrateful ass to our son kicking and screaming if I have to!!!!
...girl. we both know you ain't. like agatha is literally about to die and you still won't reap that soul without her consent. absolute loser behavior.
Tumblr media
and agatha... well, agatha never backed off from an immaturity showdown. oooh she's gonna out-toddler you for sure.
but it's so interesting that the Road didn't give her her powers back. tbh I don't think she ever lost her powers at all, seeing as she's first and foremost a succubus and that power works just fine, if alice's fate is any indication. it's more like, three years under the spell completely drained her battery and she desperately needs to feed.
and agatha wasn't planning on joining the Road at all, as far as she was concerned it didn't even exist. like with lilia, jen and alice the Road gave her not what she asked, but what she needed all along: her prize was that moment of closure with nicky
Tumblr media
so rio cannot kill people, she can only make them wish they were dead, and I just realized, her special talent is also being fucking annoying, just like agatha
Tumblr media
by the way, rewatching wandavision I realized that his name is JOHN, not herb! I'm so sorry I've been calling you the wrong name this whole time, my guy. ALSO MOVE OUT OF THAT NEIGHBORHOOD DEAR LORD
Tumblr media
same goes for you two. harold you have a daughter!
(omg a literal harold, they're lesbians.)
Tumblr media
agatha sees the fire moon and it reminds her of alice. she draws a circle for the expelle hoc malum protection spell she's learned from her. she had a coven only for a day and look how much they've gotten under her skin.
Tumblr media
rio gives an incredulous sigh. are you calling me "evil"? it's like, we've been over this!
I know that baby and I love you, but also you're very much sitting on a rooftop cackling like a maniac. how can these two be both so tragic and so so fucking ridiculous at the same time.
Tumblr media
it's like, she's absolutely right, she's no villain and she's no demon, agatha should stop treating her like one and punishing her for it. but also... stop begging her to, for fuck's sake. rio, my love, have some dignity. stop chasing. you did a dramatic exit half an hour ago, WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE
Tumblr media
agatha trying to exorcise her ex wife with a spell: clownass behavior.
rio blowing the circle away with a kiss: also clownass behavior.
Tumblr media
but is she wrong????
Tumblr media
lilia's turn to come in handy!
I'm sorry but... a whole sink? she threw a whole sink at her head?? this scene is so fucking hilarious, like I know some people found rio ooc but to me it makes perfect sense. I'm just sorry she didn't throw a toilet.
Tumblr media
GO HOME, RIO. it's okay, we're gonna put up a picture of agatha in your living room and throw poop at it until you feel better or smth, it's gonna be okay, you let it all out.
Tumblr media
^^literally rio
Tumblr media
jen's moment: vulnus ab aqua curare.
I don't think it's going to help you much though, babe. remember when agatha kept poking wanda with a stick and got her ass kicked to oblivion in return? she's been poking DEATH for two hundred years. what did she expect???!?!
Tumblr media
THAT IS THE HOTTEST SOMEONE HAS EVER LOOKED, DEAR LORD
and considering that rio chooses an outfit for each soul she reaps: this is what she chose for agatha??? girl, be for real!!!
Tumblr media
aaaand she gets kicked into a wall a moment later. after her devastating sexy ass walk with the high slit dress and all. complete loser behavior.
(also hilarious: agatha's laundry hanging there the whole time)
Tumblr media
billy came back to save agatha (awww) but not before conjuring a cool wiccan costume and doing a very dramatic entrance (awwwwwwww). literally her son.
Tumblr media
I agree tbh
Tumblr media
agatha's face when she realizes billy is choosing to give her magic: this is the first time someone does it willingly. and sure he is super powerful (she drained poor alice in a second), but I keep imagining a world were agatha is an important, cherished member of a community, maybe playing the vital role of teacher and knowledge keeper, and the community willingly donates magic in return, all together and on a regular basis, like people donate blood, so that no one dies and she doesn't starve.
Tumblr media
look at how the beam changes color, and just how happy she is to finally eat. it's just the way she was born, you know? I hate that evanora turned it into something horrible when it didn't need to.
Tumblr media
oh god, that stupid outfit again. that is agatha's "I'm such a scary merciless bitch and I don't care about your feelings" outfit. as if.
Tumblr media
and then she realizes she's killing billy. look at her face, a moment ago she even said how good all this power feels. she could easily take it all. but of course for billy she has to stop.
so, can agatha actually control her powers? well, it's complicated, isn't it? she definitely couldn't when she was very young. possibly she never sought to learn how to as time went on.
(thank you for your patience, everyone, I'll update more regularly from now on. and you all know what happens next entry.)
go to episode 8 part 8
133 notes · View notes
rogueddie · 1 year ago
Text
A Spot in My Life T | 953 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is keeping a spare sweater or blanket in the car because they always get cold
Steve Harrington is a bitch.
It's something that Eddie knew, all through high school, but he had thought that Steve had somehow became a new person- thanks to the Upside Down and constantly almost seeing the world end.
Steve isn't a bad guy, he can admit. He's still trying to keep an eye on everyone, make sure they're ok, even checking in with Eddie in his own way.
But he's very sly about it, hiding it being playful jabs, eye rolls and cocked hips.
It rubs him the wrong way. And it's only made worse by how much Eddie still likes him. It's as if the bitchiness only draws him in more, even as it makes his chest burn with irritation.
He tries to avoid Steve for as long as he can. He knows that finally befriending him like they both want will only end badly, but he knows he can't resist the temptation.
He enjoys the time before as much as he can, reveling in how often Steve will try to corner him so they can hang out, how much he whines and pleads and pushes. He enjoys the illusion that Steve could feel anything for him like he does for Steve.
And, when they finally do hang out, his fears are confirmed.
Steve is amazing. He's funnier than he comes across as at first too. He pays attention to what Eddie says and tries to get him anything he wants.
He's the type of friend that anyone would fight for, Eddie is sure. It explains how he ended up so popular in high school too.
If Eddie had known what Steve is truly like, he'd have been lining up for a scrap of his attention like everyone else.
"They're assholes," Steve explains, when Eddie finally asks about his old lackeys. "Tommy always took shit a step too far. I didn't need them. Probably shouldn't have befriended them in the first place."
"They were your friends," Eddie reminds him.
Steve sighs, leaning back. "Yeah, I guess. Just wish I'd realised sooner, how they were getting."
He never complains about the kids, not genuinely. In the quiet moments, when Steve is honest with an almost painful degree of vulnerability, he talks about how amazing the kids are. He talks about how honored he is to be friends with Dustin.
It only makes Eddies feelings inch ever closer to 'the L word'.
"You should talk to him," Robin suggests. "He really is amazing."
"I know, but... guys that are ok with lesbians still get weird about gay men, you know?"
"Yeah, but Steve isn't like that. Did he ever tell you the full story of how I came out to him?"
"It was after the Russian torture drugs, right?"
"We were in the bathroom, near the cinema. I thought we might have puked it all up, so we decided to test it, ask each other questions. So, I asked him if he was ever in love..."
"Oh... oh no."
"Oh yes. He liked me, told me so, and that's when I came out to him."
"Holy shit, Robin."
"But that's my point. He was a little surprised, sure, but he started making jokes, like, immediately. Didn't phase him at all. He got with it immediately. We're just friends, and that's not a problem for him."
Eddie groans, throwing his head back so it thumps into the wall behind him. "But that just makes him more hot!"
The story plagues his mind, to the point that it's the only thing he can think about when he picks Steve up for their next hang out.
In the dead of winter, Steve feels the cold worse than anyone else that Eddie knows. He runs hot, and the sudden temperature drops brings out the worse in him.
He's shivering when he climbs into Eddie's car.
"Fuck, why isn't your heating on?" He whines.
"It's broke," Eddie reminds him. "It's fine, don't worry."
"Don't worry? I'm gonna get hypothermia, Eddie! I don't want to turn into an ice sc- what is that?"
He takes the blanket that Eddie had reached back to grab, staring at it.
"It's a blanket."
"No shit, I mean... it's yellow."
"Yeah? You like yellow."
"You got this for me?"
"You see anyone else shivering in my van?"
"No, it..." Steve pauses, glancing at Eddie before slowly wrapping the blanket around himself. "Sorry, uh... thank you. This is, um, nice."
"it's nothing."
"It's not. Just- take the thanks, Ed."
"Alright, alright."
They're silent for the rest of the drive. It's so unusual for them that it has Eddie nervous, glancing at Steve every other moment.
When they finally pull to a stop, Eddie turns to Steve, who stays where he is. He stares out the front window for a moment, before turning to face Eddie.
"Are you alright?" Eddie asks.
"Yeah, I am. Enjoying the warmth."
"That all?"
"... yeah."
Eddie rolls his eyes. "You're a terrible liar."
"Wh- hey, I'm a good liar!" He tries to glare, but quickly backs down with a huff. "Alright, fine, but it's really sappy! Don't say I didn't warn you!"
"Oh, no, the horror."
"Shut up. I was just thinking about how, like... there's so many little things in your life that are for me. My tapes in your room, spare clothes in your closet, this blanket... I really appreciate it, man. You've made space for me in your life. It means a lot to me."
"Oh, right. That's... yeah. Of course, Steve. You're always welcome. I love- uh... spending time with you."
"Good. I love spending time with you too."
"Good."
"Great."
Steve's smile is wide and goofy. He's sure that his own is just as cheesy.
714 notes · View notes
cotl-flower-crown · 3 months ago
Text
Wip showcase
I most likely won't be finishing any of these WIPs, but I figured that I might as well show them off already
This might be a bit long
Obligatory Bishop doodle
Tumblr media
They turned out a bit boring tho. I wanted to redraw them properly, both with their bishop forms and follower forms, but I don't think that's happening any time soon.
The Lamb before the execution, aka Kora
Tumblr media
That is Angel, before they became the Leader. They were born in the Lands of the Old Faith right before the Sheep Genocide begun. Them and their parents were fated to live a life on the run. It wasn't always bad, but it wasn't easy. Their parents sacrificed a lot to raise them. As you can see one of the sketches is unfinished.
Cotltober "You are what you eat" prompt
Tumblr media
Gave up halfway into this drawing, but I think it would be a waste not to show it off. Like to think that the Lamb actually devours the hearts of the bishops to get upgrades
Cotl Red District (gang au) oc
Tumblr media
A red panda that Grinder used to know very well in his high school years
Angel's harem
Tumblr media
Yes, Angel was supposed to have a harem. Funnily enough, most of them are women. Even funnier, only one of them is not jealous of the other spouses. I wouldn't be surprised if Angel thought for the longest of times that they were a lesbian. First one is Nana, the first follower of the Lamb, second is Ruri, third Sylvia (my OC) and at the last is Narinder, the latest addition to the team. The wives tend to exclude him though, due to the clear favorism from Lamb's side. Well, mostly Nana does, the other two understand Lamb's infatuation.
I wanted to make more doodles of them interracting with each other and a relationship chart, but I've been putting it off for a long time already and I doubt I'll ever get to it
And lastly there is a series of VERY rough sketches for Red District AU lore Those were supposed be Lambert's Isaac's (yes, I changed his name) family photos to depict the family dynamic in his life before he met Grinder
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
The first one is a wedding photo of his parents. They married young, Isaac's father is beaming, while his mother has more of a toned kind of happiness on her face. She's posing, which is going to be a pattern in these photos.
Second depicts the parents holding their first son, Isaac's older brother. They both look very happy, as they pose for the picture in embrace. A nice heartfelt photo.
Third one is where the tone shifts. It was taken some time after Isaac was born. His father, looking noticably more tired, holds newborn Isaac, while the mother happily clings to her first born son. Shouldn't it be the other way around though? Notably, there is also a bit of a space between the parents, they no longer as much as touch each other.
Fourth one is taken after the birth of Isaac's younger sister. There's notable variety of expressions here. Most of them are clearly forcing themselves to strike a nice pose for the photo. Couldn't hide father's judging look as he observes his wife holding a child that looks vastly more different than any of them, nor could it hide the mother feeling said look like sins crawling on her back. It kinda looks like the parents just finished an argument. Why did they decide to keep it?
Fifth picture is a graduation day for Isaac's brother. The mother is leaning on her unimpressed first son proudly, while holding her daughter closely. Meanwhile Isaac and his dad stand around as if they're not supposed to be there, tired, but still smiling for the picture. Isaac is notably thinner and than anyone else in the photo.
Sixth sketch is about Isaac's graduation. The older brother is not in the picture anymore, off in the college, arguably couldn't bother. Isaac is flusterred by the attention he's getting from his dad, who's clearly doing his best to make up for the lack of attention from his mother. She's just there to strike a pose and look pretty, holding her lovely daughter as if trying to shield her from Isaac.
Seventh picture is of Isaac's sister and her graduation. For one reason or the other, Isaac and his older brother are not in the view. Her mother haven't been this happy since the birthday of her first son, while the sister herself looks more like she's trying her best not to cry. At that point the young girl looks vastly more different than how she looked when she was a child, and clearly she's not happy. Meanwhile the father looks too tired to even acknowledge her hidden despair.
Eighth picture is a complete family photo with the parents and their grown up children. The eldest doesn't seem to care at all, the youngest looks clearly uncomfortable with the presence of either of her older brothers, and Isaac is trying his best to ignore his mother's killer stare with a cute pose. She's clearly not happy with his presence there. The father tries to pleadingly look at his wife, but she doesn't even acknowledge him.
Nineth picture... Welp It is chaos. While Isaac is strangling his mother on the dinner table, the sister is cowering in the corner as their father is rushing in to help in panic. The eldest brother, who's haven't been off his phone the entire time is taking the photo among many.
The dialogue in the 10th picture goes as follow, in case my writing is too hard to read. It was written before I decided to change Isaac's name: Grinder: "Lambert, this is a proof of crime. I think you should get rid of it." Lambert/Isaac: "Aww, that's my favourite one tho!"
Thanks for reading!
115 notes · View notes
anonymouscheeses · 1 year ago
Text
Obvious shit I noticed part 3 (spoilers for welcome to heaven)
Tumblr media
Look at her! "Teehee"
Also she's nervous! Foreshadowing omg 🤯
Tumblr media
STICKERS! Two pride stickers and a cute donut. Gives me an idea to draw Chaggie at a donut shop while everything is burning down <3 (I'll probably do it but if any artist wants to as well go ahead!)
Tumblr media
*CHOKES ON COFFEE* I LOVE THEM. I'M SORRY I GET SO GIDDY WHEN THEY HAVE EVEN THE SMALLEST INTERACTION BUT UGHHH I NEED MORE, IT WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH 🙏🙏
Tumblr media
KISSY! MWA! *SCREAMS INTO THE VOID*
Vivzie give me more, moar now. MOAR
Tumblr media
DAMN. SHE CAN THROW- or maybe it just exaggerates the perspective in this frame but still- ZAMNNN
Tumblr media
Cherri x Sir Pentious fans RISE UP.
I wasn't ever really a fan of it myself but I always thought it was CUTE. Like 3 seconds before this part I was already begging for them to kiss 😭
Tumblr media
More foreshadowing!
Tumblr media
AAAAAA CREEPY BIRD THINGS!!!
Tumblr media
Oh wait- Sera's hot and Emily's already adorable
Tumblr media
If heaven don't look like what this is in the show, I DONT WANT IT! (THATS A JOKE PLEASE DON'T SMITE ME)
Tumblr media
JEALOUS GIRLFRIEND VAGGIE!! Can I just say how much I love Vaggie's face expressions? Not just here but like all the time. She's just made to be so exaggerated, out of all of them I thought it would be Charlie who would have the most dramatic faces but Vaggie wins it for me. I JUST GIGGLE SO HARD WHEN SHE LOOKS LIKE THIS BAHAHAH
Tumblr media
Okay yeah. It's very obvious now. Vaggie is definitely an ex-exterminator. They don't close in on Charlie here so it's made to subtly nudge the attention to Vaggie. HOW DID THEY IMMEDIATELY NOTICE IT WAS HER THO??
Tumblr media
Hot-
That's it.
SHARE THAT MOTHUSSY GIRL-
Tumblr media
YOU'RE TELLING ME SHE GREW OUT ALL OF THAT HAIR?!? YEAH ITS BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE THEN BUT STILL AJJSJD.
But overall the design is pretty meh. I always loved the idea of short hair Vaggie and even have seen art of it but it's just yknow, alright. Reminds me of Cassandra from Tangled: the series. IM LISTENING TO ONE OF THE SONGS RIGHT NOW HELPPP
Tumblr media
THIS SCENE HERE! WOOOOO! SO GLAD WE KNOW WHEN AND WHERE THEY FIRST MET!! Wish we got it extended tho. And also probably push it to next episode so it would have a better impact(atleast I think thats when they'll have the duet). BUT WHATEVER SOMETHING IS BETTER THAN NOTHING! or uh whatever
Vaggie must've been a bit terrified at first. The only sinner she ever sent mercy to was a child. Then to see someone who to her is an adult sinner who just looks really human, that must be crazy. BUT THEN IF SHE WAS TOLD THAT CHARLIE WAS ACTUALLY THE PRINCESS OF HELL? HOOOO, LOCK IN AND STEAL HER. THAT'S SOME WATTPAD SHIT. Also, I wonder how long Charlie thought of redeeming sinners. It would make sense to be after meeting Vaggie, since it could have been a wake up call to the fact not all sinners are bad people. Even though Vaggie isn't a sinner technically, Charlie didn't know that at the time. But maybe Charlie was always like this but just needed to meet someone who could start her dream with her. Long rant uhhh
Haha penis 🫵
Tumblr media
SCRAP WHATEVER I SAID IN THE FIRST PART. THEY PROBABLY DO FUCK- OR DONT?? I DONT KNOW- ANYWAY LESBIAN SEX (BOTTOM TEXT). WHY DO I CARE SO MUCH??? SOMEONE PULL THE TRIGGER.
Lute looks like a basic asf anime gorl. Adam doesn't ever take his helmet off, or maybe he just can't. OH HE'S DOING THE GAY SIGN 💅💅 Very appropriate for what he's saying
Tumblr media
Mentor, apprentice. I love that Husk is just trying to help Angel grow but isn't going to force him into it if he doesn't want to.
Im not a fan of huskerdust and think they'd be better friends as I can't imagine a relationship with them at all. But it's still nice and they are supportive of eachother so that's like- yknow. Basic rules. Or something like that. (HELP. I ruined it all at the last part)
Tumblr media
I- girl- WHY IS SHE GROWLING?? GRR GRR RR (INSERT TWILIGHT SAGA HERE)
VAGGIE'S FACE. SENDS ME. WHO GAVE HER THESE OVERDRAMATIC EXPRESSIONS, I APPLAUD YOU RGAGAGA
Tumblr media
Ooo... I didnt like this part at all... Instead of making the choice she just runs off. Then because the plot demands it, Adam says nothing. Kinda whish she atleast avoided the question, maybe in some way that would require actual thinking? For a character like Vaggie, she could choose either way and it feel like it's still her. If she chose to protect Charlie's dream, she would still be perfectly loyal to her but in the act of so would reveal a secret that could harm their relationship(which does happen at the end but that's because the plot wanted it like that). If she chose to side with Adam, she'd be hurting Charlie emotionally, sure, but it would keep a secret that could make Charlie see Vaggie less than who she is to her already(atleast what Vaggie might think would happen). Imo it should've been her deciding to protect Charlie, since it would mean she's devoted to her at all times.
ANOTHER THING! IF SHE COULDN'T MAKE THE CHOICE, THAT IS SOMETHING INTERESTING TO GO INTO. Maybe it could go deeper into how Vaggie doesn't know who she is without Charlie. So when she has a choice to make, like here, she can't do it without feeling the need to ask Charlie. BUT NOOO, YA HAD TO GO WITH THIS!! Wow. That was a long ass rant. Wtf 😭
Maybe I'm a dumbass. Maybe they'll talk about that next episode, but still, atleast touch on it a bit to not seem rushed?
Tumblr media
Angel looking out for his kids like a mom. We always did need the motherly figure, the one closest to that being Charlie but girl needs a mother in her life too(damn, wait, I did her so dirty).
Tumblr media
Huh, so why does it work here then? 🤨🤨 if it was said in the contract that Valentino can do whatever he wants only in the studio, then why is this the exception? 🤨🤨
Yes I'm stupid. Why do you ask? (No genuinely what's happening here)
Tumblr media
OH ITS THE IMAGE! I really like Sera so far, hope we get more of her soon or in season 2.
Now that we know the context of this, yeah, that's fucking insane. And badass. WOMEN.
Tumblr media
HMM. THATS STRANGE. DID YOU NOT FOR ONCE THINK THERE COULD BE A POSSIBILITY SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN AN ANGEL? Okay I probably wouldn't either but I have an excuse, I'm an idiot. Some girl with a standing out outfit, with one eye, looks unusually human, right after/during the extermination... that's pretty solid ass proof. But I'm dumb so don't take anything i say seriously :D
Tumblr media
Imagine this. No- shit. Just-
JUST LOOK! THEY ARE SO CUTE! EVEN THOUGH CRAZY SHIT IS HAPPENING.
Tumblr media
*SWEATS*
Tumblr media
Vaggie is DESPERATE. PLEADING. That's obvious yeah, but don't mind me I had nothing to say for the last 3 images I just thought they were cool
Tumblr media
I mean. Slay I guess. 😍💅
Do all the exterminators look similar or is it just Lute and Vaggie? 🤨
Tumblr media
Even though Vaggie and Charlie may be going through this horrible thing with a hard punch in the gut, but Vaggie is always going to comfort her and I just think that's so adorable.
Also Adam looks like a chicken hah.
Tumblr media
Everyone fears to be like Lucifer. If they don't do bad things they believe are for the greater good and make sacrifices that put them higher than those in hell, they could themselves be fallen. It's really interesting but I don't know if it's going to be fleshed out enough with the amount of episodes left. Which also worries me about everything else that still hasn't be concluded. There's gonna be loose strings I just know it. Hopefully though they rather do that then rush everything out y'know?
I want the next episode to be mostly focused on Vaggie and Charlie's relationship and the healing of what happened. Not for the entire episode of course, it would feel drawn out if it did, but atleast address the problem for the first like I would say 10 minutes? Then the rest would focus on one or two loose threads while also having Vaggie and Charlie acting upon moving on. That's just my idea but yeah-
503 notes · View notes
radykalny-feminizm · 10 months ago
Text
I had the dubious pleasure of learning about the most insane and disgusting person I've heard about in a long time, and I don't want to be alone with this knowledge, so.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
This is Christian Weston Chandler (aka Christine aka Chris Chan)
He's an internet personality who was once popular in certain online circles because of his absolutely unhinged behavior and susceptibility to being trolled.
A handful of facts:
He's an extreme incel who, for most of his life, desperately tried to find a partner while claiming that he only needs a woman for sex
At one point he paid a woman so he could rape her
He created and published sexually explicit drawings of female bodies on the internet, including those of women he knew in real life who, of course, did not consent to such things
In addition to being a misogynist, he's also a racist and homophobe. In his own words: if I could have it my way, I'd make it illegal and forbidden to have homo men; women are safe
Surprise, one day he started identifying as a woman and an ally of the LGBT community. He assumed a new identity solely because he thought it would give him sexual access to lesbians. But hey, TRAs keep saying that such things don't happen, so we're good
He thought he was able to magically grow a vagina and showed off his infected taint gash as his new vagina
If you think that's already pretty bad, the worst was yet to come. In 2021 he was arrested for raping his 79-year-old dementia-ridden mother. That's right. If you've ever wondered about the embodiment of evil and degeneration, here it fucking is. The justice system didn't buy into his bullshit identity and treated him as a male. Unfortunately, he was released from jail in March 2023, and in August the same year his incest charge was dismissed as a result of his lawyer having filed for an autism disorder deferred disposition. Which is fucking outrageous and bullshit because hello?? Autism doesn't make you want to rape your own elderly mother??
I don't even have a proper conclusion to all of this. No words in any language can express my absolute contempt and disgust for this moid.
And for TRAs who don't understand why women don't want "trans women" in their spaces - this is why.
279 notes · View notes
fadingdaggerr · 4 months ago
Note
Hey, I have just read heaven’s gate ( Larissa weems x reader ) and absolutely loved it! Is there any chance for a part two? Thank you x
pearlescent (18+ minors, dni)
pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader
summary: part two of heaven’s gate | 4.5k
includes: lesbians too in love for their own good, fluff
warnings: kissing/making out, sexual innuendo, afab reader (no breasts described for r), smut (fingering (L/r), oral (L), thigh riding (L)) can u tell i like eating pussy
note: first non-melissa post in over a year to bring me back from hiatus. thank u for ur patience. i feel like those wattpad writers that are like “just got out of a coma here’s a fic”
Tumblr media
The smooth paving of the highway becomes bumpy and uneven as you pass the final gas station between here and your destination. Every pothole the car jumps over is like a shot of espresso through your aching joints. After the last stop, you promised yourself to drive straight through. Another stop would mean another chance to acknowledge the numbing of your ass after five hours in the car, and with one hour left, you’re not risking it. You really weren’t kidding when you said that teleportation would be much more useful.
Cell service is quickly obsolete as you continue through the woods, scanning the road for any squirrels that may decide that today was the day. Drumming against the steering wheel, you let your mind wander. Maybe coming without telling her is a bad idea, but it also has the potential not to be. She had begged you to drive to her just two days after she left, and you would have, if only your client hadn’t walked in the door. Dueling busy schedules made two months pass like molasses, longing to drop everything and hitchhike if you had to. Would the lack of alerting her put her off? Gods, you hope not.
A sudden shift of turbulent driving to a slight jostle of cobblestone removes you from the swirling doubt in your mind, peeking towards the sign you’re approaching. Green and rusting, white lettering reads: Welcome to Jericho! The Salem of Vermont. You find yourself glad someone took the time to graffiti over the last bit.
Ignoring the anxiety climbing your spine, you keep going, and going, and going, and going, until you finally break through the treeline. Out of nowhere sits the cutest town you think you’ve ever seen, with little brick shops with murals and a gazebo with the remains of New Year’s decor still hanging on. It makes sense why people would want to come here, why she would choose to stay.
In an attempt to not draw more attention than an outsider already gets, let alone an outcast one, you don’t linger on viewing the quaint town of Jericho. There’s better views awaiting you later, at the very castle-like building you can see on the high hill. Looming in a shadow, one that doesn’t extend over the rest of the town, sits Nevermore in all its glory. The corners of your lips turn up into a small smile, the view is nostalgic, bringing back the memories of your time at Byron’s.
The memory brings a reminder to the forefront of your mind, and with cell service restored, now is the best time. Carefully, and without taking your eyes off the road, you navigate to your favorite contacts.
“Hello, my angel!”
You chuckle, “it’s just me.”
“Fuck, nevermind then,” Parker grumbles, “so you’re not there yet?”
“I’m pulling up in a second, just wanted to let you know now before I can’t.”
A characteristic cackle comes from the other end, “gonna jump her bones immediately, I see, I see. Can’t say I blame you, she makes me question things about myself.”
“This is exactly why I called you before getting here,” you chuckle, pulling through the front gates, “but I gotta go now.”
“Yes, yes, go get slutted out, harlot. Just please call me sometime, so I can talk with the love of our lives,” Parker begs.
“I’m telling Max you said that,” you deadpan, hanging up just as you hear a rushed wait!
—☽—
For a town so small minded, from what you’ve been told, you’re more than surprised to find that you are able to walk into Nevermore unnoticed. Some students stand around, talking amongst themselves, but none seem to pay you any mind, likely thinking you’re just another teacher. Using the anonymity to your advantage, you slow your pace, listening in carefully. A gorgon walks by you, the only student at this time that seems to be carrying any school supplies.
You mentally scold yourself for stereotyping her studious behavior before you focus in on her mind. Your consciousness runs through hers, searching through test anxieties and hockey tryout concerns, until you find what you need. The literature wing, I could’ve guessed that. Coming back into your own mind, you’re already speeding up the stairs before your pupils return to their normal size.
Passing another student two stories up, you pray the siren knows which office you need, yet they don’t. Neither do the werewolves or the seer. Do you guys even go to classes? You’re about to give up on the full surprise, headache seeping in from all the mindreading of anxious teenagers. Just before you exit the hallway entirely, you actually look up from your feet, and you mentally smack yourself upside the head for not just reading the plaques on the doors.
With a renewed pep in your step, you keep just shy of running as you read every door. Finally, you reach a door that has a newer plaque compared to neighboring ones, serif font unscathed by age. Professor L. Weems, Department of Literature. Your heart skips a beat at the mere sight of her name. Noticing the door being cracked open, you push it open slightly more, hoping your search ends here.
Hunched over an antique desk, red-framed glasses perched on her nose with a pen spinning between her fingers, she doesn’t seem to notice the attention on her. It’s hard to pry yourself away from watching her, when holding her is seemingly moments away. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you knock on the doorway with shaking knuckles.
A huff passes scarlet lips as Larissa peers up, a brief, disinterested gaze passing over her features. The pen in her hand stills, falling to the desk with a small clatter. Blue eyes widen as she stares unwaveringly at you. Fidgeting under her gaze, you smile nervously, “was- uh- was looking for professor Weems? Know her, by any chance?”
In no less than a blink, Larissa is rounding her desk at top speeds, crashing into your body as her arms wrap around your neck. Nearly falling into the hall, you just barely keep the two of you up, leaning into her to walk her backwards. One hand grips her waist as the other blindly reaches for the door to shut it, quickly coming back to bury into her hair. Your face tucks into her neck, brushing your nose against her skin, breathing her in.
“You’re here,” Larissa says quietly, disbelieving.
“I’m here,” you mumble against her warm skin, “couldn’t wait any longer.”
A sigh of relief passes plush lips, “and you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Surprise, it’s a noun,” you joke, pressing a soft kiss to the expanse of her neck, relishing in the way she shudders at the contact. There’s no reply except for her arms tightening around you, wordlessly telling you that this surprise is one she likes.
Pulling back from you suddenly, Larissa just stares at you, blue eyes taking in every feature, lingering on your lips before flicking back to your eyes. Your hand moves from her waist to cup her cheek, stroking soft skin that you’d been longing to touch. She takes the invitation, leaning forward to press delicate lips against your own, slow and savoring. Your tongue traces her lips, tasting earl grey and lipstick as she lets you in. No struggle or search for dominance, simply a familiar dance you’d both dearly missed. The hand in her hair stays in place, keeping her close as the other traces her cheekbone and jaw, memorizing the feeling of her skin. Every piece of you missed her, and all of those pieces felt healed the moment her lips touched yours.
Pulling away slowly, both of you keep your eyes closed, simply existing in this moment. It takes a while for either of you to move away, but you feel giddy seeing Larissa’s pink cheeks and smudged lipstick. Your thumb drifts to her lips, wiping away the mess you’ve made, ignoring that you are likely equally covered. Soft lips press into the pad of your thumb, gentle and sweet.
“I cannot believe you’re here,” she whispers into the small space between you, “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you,” you reply at the same volume.
It takes two hours for the halls of Nevermore to empty, students retreating to their rooms or to the quad, finally allowing a chance for the two of you to leave Larissa’s office. Silence seems to come over the school, however frightening it may be when dealing with teenagers, though neither of you mind as you simply exist in the spacious office. After weeks of phone calls that lasted most of the night, quiet amazingly comes easy.
Only a soft hum from the blonde breaks the silence, twisting her wrist to check her watch. Turning towards you slightly, she keeps a soft volume as she speaks, “how would you like a tour?”
“That sounds perfect, I only got to see the foyer and this hall,” you answer, nudging into her shoulder softly. “Was on a mission, I didn’t really get a chance to explore.”
“Sorry about that, but we’re not supposed to have visitors here,” she explains, “the campus has essentially been on lockdown since the nineties.”
You chuckle, reaching a hand out to draw her in. Her fingers slide across your palm before gripping, letting you tug her closer, “in that case, security might be too lax. I got in no problem.”
“You what?” Larissa stiffens, looking at you bewildered.
“I drove right through the gate, walked right in, no one even noticed me,” you chuckle, “just walked on up.”
Her lips purse as she tries to hide the laugh building in her chest, leaning in more, “you read a child’s mind to find me, didn’t you?”
It’s impossible to hide the wry grin on your face, “potentially.”
“Potentially,” she mimics, amused.
—☽—
Nevermore has officially put Byron’s Home to shame.
Every hallway is covered in paintings, Latin engravings littering every shelf, moon phases in different corners. It makes you wish you never set foot in that brick schoolhouse all those years ago. The conservatory alone almost made you weep; crawling vines and shining moonflowers, the feasting venus flytraps, and, your favorite, bleeding hearts. Larissa stands back and watches as your fingers ghost over petals, pressing lightly against the flytraps full belly, all with a deep fascination behind your eyes.
“I can’t believe you have this,” your voice echoes quietly in the room, “it- it’s incredible.”
Her silence throws you, immediately turning. The lost look in her eyes makes you falter, and where your typical instinct is to read, you instead step closer.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, reaching to run your fingers over her knuckles that stay clutching her shirt.
There have been many times where Larissa wished for different abilities, or no abilities at all. Right now, however, she wished for nothing more than your ability. She wished she could reach into your mind and see how you saw the world, how you see the flowers, how you see her. Seeing you now, how you watch her with more reverence than you grant what, in her mind, is a greater beauty, she knows she has a window into the limitless path your consciousness takes.
“Nothing at all. I just have one more place in mind,” she answers, hand lifting to stroke your cheek, lingering against your oddly cool skin. You nod wordlessly, letting your fingers intertwine with hers.
Hand held in Larissa’s, you let her lead you through the halls. She pauses to peak around every corner, terrified the two of you would be caught. Leading forward, more like tugging, she brings you towards a spiraling staircase. Letting her go first, she enters into a massive room, cool but comfortable, dark enough to rely on distanced golden lamps.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves line everywall, the familiar Latin etched into stone and wood alike. Ancient Greek, Cyrillic, and Tamil, first and second editions of texts you thought you’d only ever see inaccurate translations of. Sections of different outcast abilities, poetry from around the world, fables of the inception of different classes. Most have an unfortunate layer of dust over them, long ignored in interest of the clearly loved young adult section.
“You’re really trying to make me jealous,” you say breathily, “this place is incredible.”
“These are my favorite sections,” Larissa admits shyly, “I spend hours of my day here and never see another soul. It’s peaceful.”
“All by your lonesome?” There’s a slight mockery in your tone, “not alone now, are you though?”
Red lips curve into a smile as you step closer to her, fingers grazing up her side, slipping around her back to tug her closer. Hands rise to cup your face, eyes hooded as she takes you in. Pupils blown and lip between your teeth, she doesn’t want to deny herself the view nor the pleasure. Leaning into your space, her nose brushes yours, lips just barely ghosting.
You know she’s teasing, even with closed eyes, you can sense her smile. Tilting, you capture her lips, sighing at the contact. The moment your tongue brushes her bottom lip, a switch in Larissa flips, pushing you back into the shelving behind you. Sliding from your face, her hands grip your waist, clutching with an unnecessary urgency. Meeting her pace, your fingers weave into her updo, pulling hairs loose as you try to keep her closer than she physically can manage.
The muffled boom of a door on the other side of the shelf forces you to jump apart, wide eyes looking at each other like deer in headlights. Cheeks puff as you try not to laugh, Larissa immediately pulls you out of the library, forcing you into a jog as you run towards a different end of the building.
—☽—
Carefully, she guides you upstairs, praying that no other teachers or students are around to see her sneaking someone in. Both of you struggle to keep your giggling in, the juvenile nature of it all making you fluttery.
Coming up to a white door, you see another plaque reading Dormitory Parent. Unlocking the door with a strong wiggle, Larissa motions for you to walk in first, quickly shutting the door behind her and latching it. Leaning against it, she lets out a sigh.
Larissa doesn’t get a chance to move closer before your lips press against hers once more. This time, neither of you waste a second, no longer nerved up by the chance of someone walking in again. Timid brushing of lips is forgone as her tongue bullies its way into your mouth, stroking yours with a gentle dominance that has your knees weak.
Wanting hands grip at her waist as she pushes her backwards, leading you further into her quarters until you’re backed into a wall. Lips move from yours and trail down your chin to your neck, teeth passing over your pulse. A groan leaves your lips, hands scrambling to pull Larissa back to your lips, missing them greatly in the seconds they’ve been apart from yours. Feeling her smile against you makes your heart clench, needing more, anything she’s willing to give.
Pulling back from her lips only enough to speak, you ask, “bedroom?”
There’s no reply, only you being tugged from the wall and walked backwards further into the room. You’re so lost in her, her lips, her hands, her tongue, everything. The feeling of dropping onto the mattress is what brings you back in, eyes cracking open to see a lightly panting Larissa above you, lips parted and kiss-swollen. Lapis eyes flick over your face, expression similar to the one she wore when she first saw you, right on the cusp of relief and disbelief. She’s not unlike a goddess viewing her devotee.
Taking her moment of distraction as a tool for your benefit, you flip the two of you, happily taking in the new view of her beneath you. Hair of white gold splaying over the pillows, eyes wide, skin flushed, and entirely beautiful, Larissa Weems is a gift for your eyes only. The hand on her hip slides up, pushing the fabric of her dress with them as they climb. It’s a silent question, or more of a silent begging, hands impatient to feel her.
Larissa’s head rises off the pillow, lips pushing into yours, her hands going to yours to push them even higher, dress inching up more and more. As she wishes, you lift her dress, hands finding solace on plush thighs, laying your body between her legs. The familiarity of it makes you moan into her mouth, pure want running through your veins.
Hands close in on the lace covering her, lips moving to her neck for a chance to breathe, “can I take this off?”
“Yes,” she answers in a whiny tone, lifting herself off the mattress slightly.
You carefully, thought quickly, lower the zipper. Larissa strips the dress off her torso, letting your wanting hands take care of the rest. The world stops for a moment as you look down at her, skin luminescent against dark sheets, constellations of freckles dotted across her chest.
The blush crawling up her neck brings you back in, and you haphazardly shrug off your jacket and tear off your own shirt. Leaning back down, you forgo her lips to kiss down her neck, reveling in her skin beneath yours. Larissa moans softly as her hands wander down your back, around your torso, tugging at your belt, and you're quick to head her command. Greedy hands pull you back down on the bed, gripping at warm skin as your lips take purchase on her neck again.
Laying her back, you continue your path down, fingers taking her bra straps down with you. Eyes peek up to hers, silently asking permission. Larissa arches into you in response, and your lips wrap around a rosey nipple. Nails dig into your back as she moans beneath you, hips bucking against your. Satisfying her desire, you place a thigh between her legs as you continue to lavish her chest with affection.
An already soaked white thong becomes absolutely ruined as Larissa grinds steadily against your thigh, moaning huskily into open air. Continuing down, your thigh moves away as you near her heat. Fingers curling around the band of her panties, you pause, “may I?”
“Please, darling,” Larissa replies breathily, mouth hanging open as you toss the fabric across the room.
Mouthing at her thighs, you suck harder as you get closer, red marks painted across a white canvas. Reaching her slick pussy, your mouth nearly waters at the sight, descending on her immediately. Her hips rock just as quickly, trying to ride your face as your tongue swipes through her folds. Savory wetness covers your chin, nose just barely rubbing against her clit.
Tilting up, you allow your lips to wrap around her button, sucking gently. The gasps Larissa emits above you only egg you on further, hand moving from her thigh to her entrance. Your middle finger slowly pushes into her, pumping carefully before adding your index. Her walls grip your fingers snugly, trying to keep you there. Her hips never still, and you force them down with your free hand as you focus your attention on her.
Alternating between sucking and licking her clit, combined with your fingers increasing pace inside her, has Larissa’s voice growing horse, moans turning to pitchy whines. Long legs wrap around your body, holding you snugly against.
Heavy whimpers fall from her lips. “Please,” she begs, “more, baby, please.”
Denying her when she’s asking so nicely, so prettily? You could never. Your ring finger lines with the others, pressing into her quickly. The stretch makes Larissa cry out above you, heels digging deeper into your back as your tongue swirled around her sex. It takes little time for her breathing to grow hoarse, mouth hanging open as her eyes squeeze shut.
Her breath hitches and hips still, essence coating your fingers as you watch her chest rise and fall rapidly, eyes finally reopening. Slowing your fingers, you retract from her, but in no way are you done just yet. Letting go of her clit with a small pop, you drag your tongue down to languidly traverse her folds, taking in her full taste.
Probing inside her, you relish in the breathy whine that comes from her throat. Pulling back, you flatten your tongue, swiping across her cunt. Trailing up, passing her navel, the dip in her ribs, you take a quick pass over her nipple, swirling softly. Grabby hands pull at you, tugging you back to her lips. Moaning at her own taste, Larissa’s body arches into you, heat brushing over your thigh once again.
Hand trailing up from her thigh, you pull back from her lips, offering your fingers in place of your tongue. Fading red lips wrap around your digits, her own tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. You can feel your eyes glazing over as you watch her greedily taste herself, gently and unknowingly grinding on your thigh.
Letting go, Larissa takes your stupor to flip you over. Staring down with cool blue eyes with a mysterious fire. Wandering lower and lower, they trace over your own underwear, slick from pleasing her. The whimper you let out only eggs her on, rubbing you over the fabric.
“Riss…” you manage out, already breathless from her touch, “baby…”
A low hum leaves her throat, hand sliding under to make contact with you. Long fingers slide through wetness as lips attach themselves to your neck. Two fingers slide into you, slowly, her thumb makes tight, firm circles over your clit, making you keen into her. The pressure building in your core, that had been steadily growing since the library, feels so overwhelming with her all over you now.
Feeling you trying to ride her slow hand, she speeds up, taking over for you as your moans quickly become airy. Under her lips, she feels your heart beating wildly. For her. All for her.
Her scent, her taste, her hands, her tongue, all of her was all over you. Her teeth scrape against your skin as her fingers curl, making you groan. The hand not in her hair splays across her back, desperate to keep her close. Feeling the want dripping from you, her fingers speed up, almost bullying gummy walls that cling to her.
Tugging her by her hair, you bring her to your lips. Open mouth and messy, you’re barely kissing, just moaning into her mouth as she presses harder to your button, bucking into her hand. You can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about how quickly she got you here, how quickly you’ve become putty beneath her.
Deciding she needs to taste her hard work sooner rather than later, her fingers just barely spread inside you, stretching you. The motion makes you erupt in a silent scream, clinging more to her as you feel the coil in your stomach begin to snap.
“C’mon darling,” she husks against your throat, “give it to me. I know you want to.”
Her words are your undoing, the sheer need in her voice and the feeling of her inside you was enough to snap the band. The whines from you turn into breathy pants, hands on Larissa still holding her close as her fingers slow. As she tries to remove them, you close your legs around her wrist, locking her in place. Her lips drag up your neck, capturing your own, sighing into your mouth as your fingers scratch gently at her scalp.
Lazy kisses last until the post-orgasm warmth leaves your body, shivering slightly at the cool air that you can finally feel tickling your skin. Legs unclamp her hand, allowing her to draw back. You nearly cum on the spot watching her suck your release off, moaning softly against her own fingers.
“Keep doing that and you’re not leaving this bed for a week,” you mumble beneath her.
She chuckles, rolling off to lay on the bed beside you, “I can’t say I’d be opposed.”
Just facing her, watching her chest rise and fall, rosy cheeks slowly returning to their normal color, you’re in awe. Freshly fucked and still perfect, Larissa Weems is a miracle. Laying on your side, you trace your fingers up and down her side, following the path of silver stretch marks and faint freckles. You push yourself forward, pressing yourself into her warm body, adoring how her arms immediately wrap around you.
“I missed you,” she whispers, as if she’s not sure you’d share her sentiment.
You press a kiss to her collarbone, “I missed you more.”
There’s a few minutes of silence before you feel Larissa chuckle beneath you. You hum in question. She squeezes you briefly, “would you like dinner?”
Another pause. You both giggle as you try to walk out of the room with a small waver in your steps.
—☽—
When your eyes open, you think it’s the sun cracking through the curtain that pulls you from the depths of slumber. A piercing ring breaks through the tiredness, bringing your attention to your phone. Your groan is met in tandem by Larissa’s, who shoves her head into her pillow further, arm tightening around your waist. Stretching in her grasp, you mentally prepare for what you know is coming. The little shit has a radar.
“No,” you say the moment you bring the phone to your ear.
“Oh sweet angel, I miss how nice you are,” Parker sing-songs, “did I wake you from your slutty slumber?”
“Yes, both of us. Dick,” you grumble, “you have zero consideration.”
“Give my real friend the phone, I’m done with you,” he says, though you know he’ll never leave you alone. Even when you eventually die.
“Baby, it’s for you,” you say as you pull the phone away from your ear. Larissa peeks one eye at you, clearly irritated. Parker, you mouth. You wish it wasn’t so endearing how quickly she perked up. Sitting up, she nods, motioning for you to put her on speaker.
“Hello, Parker,” she utters through a yawn.
“My love! How are you? Achy? Tired? In need of a better lover?”
“I’m great,” Larissa chuckles, “and yes, yes, and no, most definitely not.” Her eyes stay on you as she answers, peeking down at your lovingly annoyed expression.
The rest of the call is simply Parker talking at Larissa, rather than to her, while you shake your head at his antics. Curling back into her side, you let them talk as you watch her face. She seems at ease, a stark contrast from the stressed Larissa you’d seen when you first looked in her office. She’s less imposing, loose hair and smudged makeup, a smile playing on her lips as she listens to Parker’s plans for a surprise two month anniversary gift for Max.
In the walls of her bedroom. In bed with you. Breathing the same air. Perfection lies beside you.
note: if i could rewrite the entirety of part one i would. but i guess that shows growth in writing or whatever
feedback appreciated as always
97 notes · View notes
starnana7 · 8 months ago
Text
every time I remember that the hit show supernatural made God, the literal God from the Bible, canonically bisexual but couldn’t do the same with a random guy who hunts monsters it actually makes me feel physically ill.. like blasphemy is okay but we draw the line at making the main character a little bit queer because it would “upset the heterosexuals men”? okay ig… and it’s so funny to me that they tried SO bad to make dean like really really straight and macho and a manly womanizer (I mean dude has literal porn brain and is obsessed with cars and is a film nerd) And still is the number 1 bissexual boy.. I mean no one that into cowboys is 100% straight 🙄 and if they actually wanted him to be that much of a cishet guy WHY would they make him have a codependent homosexual friendship with his best friend for more than a decade ?? and we have so much subtext to corroborates it that it’s actually insane.
and it’s also rlly funny to me that sam would be the most obvious choice for a queer storyline. like i’m not sure this is true but i heard somewhere that he actually was supposed to like be lgbt and that it’s implied in the show he’s pan bc he basically have sex w/ everyone and doesn’t care (like monsters and stuff). i wholeheartedly disagree bc sure he hited a demon and a werewolf and a kitsune and God knows what more But it still were just women and for me he’s still just straight 💀 we do have gabriel however and i would say that’s a valid argument but i don’t actually like them together because of the whole torturing-sam-every-tuesday-over-and-over-again but it’s still a good take ig. again this is just my opinion But anyways doesn’t matter my point Is that sam always felt like a freak and wanted to be normal and like was more open minded and “less-macho-toxic-behavior” than dean. he was a theater kid and talked about his feelings and all. STILL THO dean went and become The bissexual icon (Not Sam, Dean!!). and the fact that he was more manly actually only emphasized to his sexuality (and him being closeted) and sam being the straight one, and bare with me here. as sam winchester once wisely said “well you are kind of butch they probably think you're compinsating.” (to dean asking why people always assumed they were gay) and like this is so true, sam always felt comfortable in himself and like his nerdier and less cool strong man personality. But dean, oh, dean, no, no, no. and it could all be linked to john. we know how much dean wanted to gain his father approval and respect, all he ever wanted was for john to be proud of him. so he’d listen to the same music as john, same clothes… and so on. but when we really see a glance of him, we realize he’s actually much more “““girly””” (sorry for the term i lacked a better one) than he shows, Especially when compared to sam—who’s supposed to be the more girly one (again sorry for the term lol) or whatever. dean canonically likes taylor swift, chick flick films, actually liked when a woman made him wear underwear, the bailarinas shoe were “speaking to him” in that one ep of cursed objects, and so on. and every time he makes fun of sam for doing something not-manly-enough (like drinking lemon water or drinking from tiny coups) he eventually goes and do the same thing 😭 and i’m 100% sure that the writers just thought “haha funny scene this really straight deadly man does something not so convencional/more feminine(?) haha comedy relief time!!” but it actually just made him have a whole perfect queer background developed in the series. specially with the fact that He Does Overcompensate. why is he always flirting with women, why is he so butch and scary, always talking about straight sex and so on? because he’s really just deep in the closet. and it makes so much sense with john being his father, with him having to hunt two lesbians nuns in his 17 bday, always having to be strong and macho and cool and perfect—and therefore straight. even without cas, dean really does immaculate the bissexual experience and i’m so sorry but this is just true.
and now pointing to the subtext that i mentioned in the first paragraph (lol i can’t believe i’m making a whole rant as to why dean winchester is a confirmed bisexual), that whole confession to that priest where he says he wants experience new feelings, new people, FOR THE FIRST TIME. that always that the show mentioned a gay couple it ALWAYS focused on dean—not sam, DEAN. the gay hunters, the gay couple on the bar that the cupid “made”, the two cosplayers partners… the fact that every time that dean liked something it was borderline fangirl (gay) obsessive (the dr. sexy episode, that wrestler fighter). he Had a gay thing—and was all flustered about it. he flirted with a guy throughout charlie. THE MALE SIREN. the male siren like after that ep i was 100% convinced that man was not straight. he had a hot demon sumer with crowley?!!! and it’s so funny to me that not one of these things involves castiel, so if they really wanted to make dean be that straight why would they do that?? and only to dean, not even once to sam. Like. and not to mention all the homoeretic tension with benny??? sam never had a male best friend like that.. all of that and i didn’t even entered on destiel. Because this then really just confirms that he is Not straight. even if he wasn’t In Love with cas, they had something going on and the fact that if cas was a girl it would 100% be canon and filmed and Everyone would ship—and I really mean everyone—it just makes me go fucking insane. they could’ve had it all. the fanfic episodes, the parallels between dean and cas and “real couples”, ruby and cas duality and the fact that sam indeed had a relationship w/ her. Anyway i’m a # bi dean truth believer and i know this bc same boy # happy pride month to my fav bissexual boy in the whole world
also to anyone that says that “destiel” was unrequited love yes it kinda of was but only bc dean was so deep in the closet, he did love cas. he was indeed a bissexual man. i’ll die on that hill.
160 notes · View notes