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#i know its a small doodle but i liked coloring this one
kisses4lao · 10 months
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Guess who's suffering from writers block!!! No but fr I wanna write SO BAD but I just can't 😭😭 so take some twst pp hcs until I decide to work on commissions again
Not proofread idc shank me
♧CW!!! Fem reader! twst dick hcs duh, every NRC student EXCLUDING ortho, might have some other hcs too
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Riddle:
Its... cute? Idk how to explain it
He is VERY sensitive
5.5 inches
Slight curve downward
The tip is a really deep red
Cum is watery, tastes like rosewater(this is a fantasy world i can make cum taste like anything i want)
Balls aren't all that heavy, very soft and squishy tho
Likes rimming. No further comments
Trey:
EEK MY BOY
I'm gonna try not to be biased
Hes BIG tho
I know you've seen him. Let's be honest, we all know he's PACKING
So I'm gonna say a solid 7-8 inches with a nice amount of girth
No curve, but very veiny
Heavy balls. Like, HEAVY. Bros got a whole bakery in there
Soft pink tip
Cum is the normal consistency, he takes care of himself
If you're sucking him off he'll change the flavor of his cock and his cum to whatever you want (thank god for doodle suit)
Cater:
Easy 7 inches
Not too sensitive, it takes a while for him to cum
His cum is pretty thick, its all the spicy ramen he eats
Curve upward, huge thick vein going from his balls to the tip
Cum tastes salty, but not overwhelming
Will have his clones fuck you silly
Deuce:
Another small boy
I'll say 6 inches, no curve
Hes sensitive too, but not as much as riddle
He really like getting his balls sucked more than his cock itself
Cum is watery too, but it tastes good
Like sweet in a way
Tip is a light blue dont ask why
Ace:
Another small boy 😭
He is CLUELESS
Poor man is a one pump chump
5.6 inches, curve to the left
SENSETIVE. pussy got this boy on his knees
Balls squishy, balls soft?
Yes to both
His rip is red, like a blush red
Azul:
A good 6ish inches with a curve downward
Not as sensitive as you may think
I think it would be funny if the bottom of his cock had like little suckers or some shit
Tip is dark purple and he has some veins, not many tho
Heavy balls, no squish :(
Cum is thick and black bc octopus
Tastes like what watered down hand sanitizer smells like
Jade:
😨
Its slimy.
No further comment on that
No but its like wet, a lot
So is floyds but we aren't there yet
Its like lube 🥺
Okay but he's LONG
8.5 AT LEAST
He also enjoys rimming
Tip is dark cyan
Cum is slimy too
Add some borax water and sell it on etsy
Floyd:
Basically the same as Jade
Hes smaller tho
Hes 6 inches but has SO much girth
His cum is more watery than slimy and the tip is a light blue
Lots of veins too
Kalim:
6 inches
So sensitive
He begs.
Loves blow jobs but would NEVER ask for them
Heavy soft balls
A dark brown tip and there's lil red swirlies
Cum is thick
Tastes like coconut toothpaste
Jamil:
mmmmmmmmMMMMMMM
BIG
So big
Destroy me PLEASE
7.8 inches and a big curve upwards
Likes fingers in his ass, just like Kanye west
Doesn't like blow jobs he cums too quick :(
Gets overstimulated easily and when he does hes highly submissive
Cum a lil thick (its all the curry he eats)
Its yummy tho
Tastes salty and a lil sweet
Like a pretzel
Tip is a redish-brownish
Vil:
Hes a very odd case
Hes big, dont get me wrong
But mans does NOT have sex 😭
He complains it ruins his makeup
7.4 inches with a few veins
Oh yeah hes unclipped too idk why but he is
Tip is a pinky purple color
Balls got some weight, they're not sensitive
Rook:
Hes an even weirder case
Hes very big but almost NEVER penetrates you
Hed much rather be in between your legs for hours on end
Making you cum on his face gives him so much pleasure
He doesn't touch himself either
When he's eating you out he has one hand thrusting fingers into your pussy, the other hand thrusting fingers into your ass(hes an ass man I know he is) while he sucks on your clit the whole time
He cums on the sheets whenever you do bc he knows how good you feel
Hes 8.5 inches with a curve down, large vein going upward
A creme colored tip
Cum normal consistency, you don't know what it tastes like because he never let's you suck him off :(
Epel:
Small boy
Whimpers
A lot
Hes 6 inches with a curve to the left
Light purple tip bc I said so
Light balls, but no squish :(
Cum is watery and tastes like lavender oil
Idia:
Oh god
Contrary to popular belief he has a lot of stamina
He doesn't have ANY experience tho
Played a lot of hentai games but thats the extent of his experience
I think it would be really funny if instead of whispering dirty talk or praise during sex he tells you the fnaf lore
Like he'll be blowing your back out and he'll just be like "so the crying child was actually william aftons son-" and then he cums
After hes done and doing aftercare he'll quiz you on the fnaf lore
If you get any of the questions wrong he'll fuck you until you can't walk as a punishment
If you get them all right he'll eat you out for hours until you also can't walk
Win win honestly
8 inches
TIP IS BLUUUEEEEEE
Cum is thick and salty, he doesn't take care of himself
Heavy, HEAVY balls. Very sensitive
He loves blow jobs too
Leona:
8.8 inches, but if we're being real to how ACTUAL lion anatomy is hes closer to 3 inches but yall aren't ready for that convo
Not sensitive at all, it takes so long for him to cum
But when he does hes so sweet, whispering praise after praise to you and lots of kisses
Cum is normal consistency, a lil on the thicker end
Its a bit bitter with a sweet aftertaste
Hes also unclipped and I will not elaborate
Idk if lions have them but if they do then he has a knot, not as big as jacks tho
Heavy balls, they're sensitive
Brown tip, like, dark brown tip
Ruggie:
7ish inches with a curve down
Also likes eating you out
Doesn't like having his balls touched
They're cute and squishy tho
Cum is also thick and doesn't taste like anything
Tip is a light brown and has a vein going through it
Jack:
8 inches.
Has a huge knot. Physically cannot pull out when it comes to it
Cum tastes like strawberries
Doesn't let you suck him off often bc he doesn't wanna knot in your mouth
Also gets pleasure from eating you out
Tip is grey and sensitive
Malleus:
Hes also like rook in the way he'd eat you out for hours if you'd let him
But he does penetrate you
Our big dragon boy loves the feeling of being inside your tight cunt
Will probably cum if you praise him
He has 2.
One on top one on the bottom
The one on top is longer, 9 inches while the one on the bottom is 7ish, the bottom one is a lot thicker tho
He'll be so slow easing them in and almost never goes fast when it comes to sex
He sees it as love making
They both have a black tip and the cum is normal consistency, tastes like... eggs? Hardboiled don't ask
Oh yeah his cum glows in the dark
Lilia:
Idc what you guys say this man is SO EXPERIENCED
He knows how to have sex properly and can make you cum in seconds if he feels like it
7 inches, his dick is where all his height went
Because he's so experienced he doesn't cum easily
PINK TIP PINK TIP
His cum is normal consistency, a little watery maybe
Tastes like citrus
Silver:
Loves when you ride him
Likes missionary too tho
7 inches too
His tip is grey
Very sensitive and gets overstimulated easily
Hes also just very submissive in general
Cum is watery and tastes like what a new car smells like
Sebek:
LOUD
SO LOUD
CANT TAKE THIS BITCH ANYWHERE
Cries during sex
Loves when you pull his hair
Does he have horns? If he does they're very sensitive
Cums if you touch them
Hes a crocodile right
Nah he has horns
8 inches no other comments
GREEN TIP
Cum is thick and bitter
We love him tho
Balls squishy
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A/n: im so fuckibg tired god help me
2K notes · View notes
cordeliawhohung · 3 months
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OMG i just saw your !MafiaGhost on how they met but can you do how !MafiaJohnPrice met with the reader? (if you haven't already and have the time of course. 😊💕.)
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mafia!John Price x fem!Reader
John Price has always walked a different path in life than people like you. And yet, despite your status, he learns that the two of you are more alike than he thought. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking.
mafia!141 masterlist
warnings: vague mentions of death and violence, infidelity, crude language, hurt/comfort, unhealthy relationship dynamics
wc: 4.3k
an: sorry this took me a bit to answer! as you can see i got carried away. also, as we're headed into the new year, i'd just like to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who's been supporting my works! i recently hit 1k followers, and i cannot thank you guys enough for your lovely comments <3 i hope you all enjoy :)
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“You see that girl right there? You stay away from her. She’s nothing but trouble.” 
Those were the first words John’s father ever said about you. He used one long, crooked finger to point you out in the crowd of other students who mingled about the room with their parents. Everyone had gathered in the school gymnasium for the science fair where all Year 8 students had projects and posters set up on rickety fold tables. Voices echoed endlessly off of the hard floor and walls that it was almost overwhelming.
Really, he didn’t agree with his father about you being trouble. You were plenty kind, and well liked by students and teachers alike due to your kindness and intellect. A proper student, one that everyone else in the school strived to be. There were times where your words bit harder than most would have liked, but John just saw that as you telling things the way they were. He liked that about you. Admired you, even. But then he saw the real reason why his father said those words. 
The man who accompanied you oozed authority and power, both in his stance and the way he walked. People regarded him like he was the King of England himself both in how they spoke to him and stepped around him like he could part a crowd with just a single glance. Most importantly, this man was your father, and he donned a uniform fit for only the chief of police himself. His father never liked police officers very much. They always made things difficult when it came to running the family business. 
It wasn’t until Year 11 that he actually talked to you. Or, more like you talked to him. By some terrible twist of fate, his maths teacher sat the two of you together in the small, double seated desks that laid in perfect lines around the entirety of the room. He learned that you liked to doodle in the corner of your paper during lectures, and had a tendency to tap your pencil against the desk while taking exams. He liked the way your eyebrows knitted together in concentration, and how soft your voice was when whispering answers to the table next to you. 
He didn’t have time to think about you often, not that he should have. John Price was unfortunate enough to come from a family that had a long line of brutal patriarchs that often conditioned equally as cruel heirs. Once he turned sixteen he was forced to go along with his father during his work escapades where he very quickly learned how to clean up bodies without dirtying himself. He often showed up at school with various cuts and bruises, and with heavy bags under his eyes. Balancing the life of a killer and a student was tiring work. 
“Red color corrector will hide the bruise on your eye.” 
It took John a moment to realize you were talking to him, and even then he still didn’t fully believe it until he looked over and saw you staring at him. You were leaned forward over your desk with your hand lazily propping up your head while you waited for him to answer. His pencil halted in its dance across his work as he brought his full attention your way. 
“Color corrector?” he repeated. 
“Yeah, you know. Green hides red marks from acne, orange hides dark circles, red for… very dark circles,” you said, tilting your head at him. “I’ve got some in my bag, if you’d like. Though, you’d have to find your own shade of foundation.” 
Your bluntness and slight humor towards the shiner on his eye had him chuckling, which only made the smile on your face grow into a smirk. 
“You sound like an expert,” he noticed. 
“I am,” you quipped before grinning. Carefully, you reached a hand up to the collar of your uniform and pulled down, exposing the side of your neck and some of your collar bone. There were several, small and faint hickies that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for you pointing them out. “A girl’s gotta have her fun.” 
John liked your humor. And maybe there was something a little comforting knowing that someone like you was getting into trouble, too. Albeit, significantly less violent trouble than him, but that was for the best anyway. Maybe it gave him hope that someone like you and someone like him could actually have something in common. That he could resemble something that was normal.
A few years passed, and John began to drift from you bit by bit. You ended up graduating at the top of the class which earned you several offers from the most prestigious schools across the country, and it was all anyone talked about. Great things awaited you with opportunities to see distant lands, meet new people, and live a good and honest life. 
As for John, his father died when he was twenty-three. Murdered, to be exact, and in a manner eerily similar to the way his mother had been. Cold, calculated, and ruthless, his fathers existence had been snuffed out by a single bullet where his blood stained the pillow that covered his face. 
The torch had been passed down, and its handle was still bloody. 
Over the years he grew rigid and battle hardened in the business of violence. He earned plenty of scars, and built upon his fathers empire until it was twice as big and infinitely more dangerous. It was the only thing his father had ever managed to teach him; how to be dangerous. Everyone who once thought the Price’s were people to fuck with learned very quickly that the new Don had nothing to lose but his own life; one that he didn’t care all too much about. 
The only thing he held close to him was the ghosts of his past, which was why he found himself standing in line at the florist’s shop. Even while running a quick errand, his phone vibrated in his pocket non-stop from merciless amounts of emails flooding his inbox. Mostly updates about certain events within the family that he attempted to lazily check as the woman in front of him spoke sweetly to the shopkeeper. Her voice was so soft, so comforting, so… familiar?
He didn’t realize it was you in front of him until you turned to leave with a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. Even after all those years he could recognize the features of your face like it was second nature. The shopkeeper spoke to him and asked him what she could do to help him, but her words didn’t even register in his mind. His feet moved on their own accord, and your name slipped out of his lips before he could do anything to stop it. 
Once you turned around to face him he found that the air had been knocked completely out of his lungs. It had been years since he had seen you, and you had changed so much; grown into your features, and turned into a beautiful woman that left him speechless. However, you didn’t regard him with the same dreamy gaze; instead, you stood there and stared at him as you awkwardly adjusted the flowers in your arms. 
“Yes?” you asked tensely. 
You didn’t recognize him. Of course, it made sense. He had grown significantly taller, his facial hair was full and thick, and for once he wasn’t sporting a shiner. His clothes were also significantly nicer, as he seemed to have grown fond of business casual as of late. If anything, your confusion was more humorous than anything else because he should have seen it coming. 
“John, John Price,” he said as if he was introducing himself for the first time. 
There was something about the way your eyes lit up at his name that had him feeling warmer than he had in a long while. A precious grin broke out on your lips as you took a step closer to him and laughed in the way someone does when they’ve figured out the answer to a riddle, and it was too contagious for John to not chuckle with you. 
“I didn’t recognize you!” you exclaimed, still giggling. “God, it’s been years! Staying out of trouble, I hope?” 
“Getting in just enough to keep things interesting,” he countered. 
It was like no time had passed at all. You were still that star pupil that you were all those years ago, and he could still hear your pencil tapping on your desk clear as day. It felt unreal. 
“What’s the occasion?” he then asked, gesturing to the flowers you held. 
“Oh,” you said, as if surprised. “Well, it’s, uhm, the anniversary of my dad’s passing.” 
The chief of police? Your father? That man who always held himself so powerfully had been shoved into the cold, unforgiving earth? When he was a kid that man had always seemed indestructible. Then again, so did every other adult when you’re at that age. 
“I’m sorry to hear that, I hadn’t heard,” he quickly apologized. 
Despite the terrible awkwardness of the conversation, you still smiled. “It’s alright. Was a while ago now, anyway. But, uh, what about you?” you asked, gesturing towards him and his empty arms. 
“Mum’s birthday,” he answered simply. 
His response made you smile something small and bittersweet. “How sweet of you. I bet she’ll love them.” 
“Yes, they’ll make for good decoration.” 
Something settled between the two of you; something that had never been there before. Not while you were children; not when you grew up together. Whatever it was, it was unfamiliar, and much too suffocating, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to welcome it or not. 
“Well, I ought to get going,” you excused politely. “Got a few more errands to run. But it was really good seeing you again, John.” 
This was the part where he should have said goodbye. Wished you farewell just for you to vanish and most likely never see him again. If he was a smart man, John would have done just that, and instead he found his hand diving into his pocket before he could stop it. He grabbed a pen and stole one of the shop's business cards off of the counter where he quickly scribbled down something in the negative space before holding it out for you to take. 
“Here. I’m certain you get this a lot, but if you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there,” he assured you. 
To his surprise, you took the card without hesitation where your eyes quickly scanned his rushed handwriting while you thanked him. As you held the card in front of you, something caught John’s attention. There was a metallic glint on your finger, one so bright that it nearly blinded him, and he realized you wore a large, gaudy ring. It was something given to you in poor taste, surely. Something that attempted to steal the spotlight of your beauty rather than compliment it. 
“Did you get married?” he asked in what he told himself was curiosity. 
You paused for a moment as you glanced at the ring on your finger. With such a large and obnoxious gem on a thin band, he was surprised it hadn’t snapped off. 
“Oh, not yet. Just engaged,” you said in an odd tone. As if you couldn’t stand to look at the ring any longer, you shoved the card into your pocket before smiling at him. “Thank you, again.” 
He tried to forget about you after that. Tried to forget about that ring on your finger and the way your voice changed when you mentioned your engagement. But it was so easy to worry about you; to care about you. Even after all those years you were still just as sweet and well spoken, but he was still John Price. Now the Don of the most lethal mafia in the country, he shouldn’t have been around anyone like you. You were the chief of police’s daughter, the girl who graduated top of his class in school and went to university; trouble. Nothing but trouble. 
So he kept to his own work. Ran his club on the south end of the city, washed the blood out of his shirt, and spent his nights sipping brandy that was too expensive and well crafted for a man like him. But then he thought about the dress that you’d wear, how you would do your hair, what song you’d want to have your first dance to… it was moments like that when he was glad that he had given you his number rather than the other way around. He was even more glad that you hadn’t made an effort to reach out to him. It was better that way.
“You alright, boss?” 
Those three words tore John right out of his thoughts and slammed him right back down to earth. Back to the thundering bass that shook the walls around him in the nightclub, back to real life and the man who sat at the desk in front of him, typing away on the computer. 
“Tired,” John replied simply. 
“You’re always tired,” the man countered. He paused his typing at the computer and ran a hand over his hair, which he had styled into a slightly grown out mohawk. “Even then you never space out this bad.” 
Whatever Soap, his electronics specialist, was trying to get at, John certainly wasn’t in the mood for it. Sighing, he leaned back further in his seat while he stared at the man with a tense expression. “Do you have the intel or not?” 
A small chuckle came from the corner of the office where another man sat, seemingly bored as he typed away on his phone. “Way to piss the man off.”
“Aye, I’ll turn that phone of yours into a fancy brick if you don’t watch your tone, Garrick.” 
The two men chuckled at each other’s teasing just in time for John’s own phone to go off. Not expecting a call, John ripped the device out of his pocket and stared at the unrecognized caller ID with his thumb hovering over the decline button. But he hesitated. It had been months since he had given you his number, and yet a small part of him worried you might have been on the other line. 
When he stood from his chair, it caught the other two men in the room off guard, but they stayed silent as they watched John accept the call and raise the phone to his ear. 
“Hello?” he answered. 
All he got in response was a sob. 
By the time John had found you, all of your tears had run dry and a brutal fury filled the empty space. It wasn’t terribly late at night, but it was plenty dark enough that the park you had run off to looked eerie and uninviting in the dim halogen lights. Knees bouncing with anxiety, you sat on a park bench and bit into your bottom lip as you watched John approach from the street. 
For as much effort as he put into looking calm on the outside, it did absolutely nothing to settle the nerves fraying within him. Hearing you cry, hearing you beg for him to come get you scared him more than he cared to admit. Really, he was rather proud of himself for keeping as level headed as he did, even after he saw the tear stains on your cheeks. 
It didn’t take long to coax what happened out of you, in fact, it nearly erupted out of you. That fiance of yours had proved to be less honest than he liked to paint himself as, and as the two of you sat on that park bench in the middle of the night you gave him every excruciating detail. How he had been acting strange for a few months, how he used to show you off and then suddenly wanted to keep you locked away. A part of you knew what was really happening, and yet you told yourself you were crazy until you had walked in on your fiance fucking his mistress in your shared bed. 
“Four fucking years, John,” you said, trying not to grit your teeth too hard that they cracked. “Four years of being with this man just for him to do that? He moved me into his flat, wanted me to quit my job because he said he wanted to take care of me. I have nothing. I don’t have my own place, I hardly have my own money, I was an idiot and gave up everything because he asked me to and I was stupid enough to believe him.” 
By that point in your rant your knees were bouncing so fast your entire body vibrated. Terrified you’d disintegrate in front of him, John reached a careful hand out and brushed it against your shoulder. Though you didn’t say anything about it, or even look at him differently, your muscles seemed to relax some. 
“I could’ve been great,” you continued as your voice began to break. “I was able to go to any school in this country, I got my degree, I could’ve kept at work and been… something. And I didn’t need to. Not really. There was never anything I was trying to prove to anyone. I could’ve had a few kids with that white picket fence and stayed home to care for them.  I would’ve been completely happy living that trophy wife life if it meant I was loved. But I wasn’t. I’m not, and that fucking hurts because I know I’m worth so much more than this.”
More tears fell from your eyes after that, and it didn’t take much prompting from John before you crumbled against his side. When was the last time someone had held you like that? Wrapped their arms around you and held you close? When was the last time someone comforted you and actually meant it and not just in some sort of twisted expectation of devotion? Something in you told you that you should have felt shame for blatantly sobbing on a man in such a public space at an hour like that. Another part of you didn’t really care. 
It took a lot of convincing to get you to stay at his place. Eyes refusing to look at him when you gave him excuse after excuse, it was obvious that you didn’t want to burden him anymore than you already had. So you told him you could stay with your mom, or even get a hotel if that wouldn’t work, but John simply wouldn’t hear it. 
Eventually you were in the living room of his house. An actual house. Not an apartment or flat in the city, but something kind and quaint in the higher end of town. He had a real lawn and backyard that was perfectly manicured, and everything on the inside of the house was much too perfect and clean. It was something straight out of the catalogs you’d see in magazines or on HGTV.
First order of business was a shower, and though it felt strange changing into John’s clothes, you would have done anything to wipe the stench of your cheating fiance off of you. And maybe it was because of the spite that boiled inside of you, but you found that you liked the way John’s clothes smelled significantly more than you ever liked your ex’s. Second was getting you food, and though you had told John you weren’t hungry, the scent of his buffalo chicken was too good to pass up. 
It was near midnight by the time you went to bed, and John had made sure everything was set up for you in the guest room before he meandered back down to the kitchen to clean up. There was still plenty of work that needed to be finished that night back with the boys. He took comfort in knowing that you’d be safe in his house, at least, and well out of reach of that terrible excuse of a man. 
When John finished cleaning things up in the kitchen, it took him a moment to notice the incessant buzzing sound that plagued the room. Like rattling glass, it made his ears quiver just listening to it, and he quickly scavenged the countertops until he found your phone resting on the island in the center of the room. Flashing lights illuminated the screen as your ex’s caller ID and photo popped up. He caught the tail end of the call, and the screen faded back to your lock screen where it claimed to have received 27 missed calls, as well as 84 unread text messages. 
Where the fuck are you?
Answer your fucking phone.
Baby please.
Answer me.
Stop being a fucking bitch.
Goddamn skank.
Come on, honey it means nothing.
Are you seriously making this a big deal?
Come home before I drag you home.
I’m not fucking around.
You’re pissing me off. 
Before leaving the house to head back to the nightclub, John swiped up your phone and hid it in his pocket, along with that god awful ring you didn’t care to wear anymore. 
In the morning you woke up in a bed that wasn’t yours with clothes that didn’t fit you, yet you had never felt so comfortable in your entire life. It had been a long while since you last felt like you belonged; since you felt comfortable in your own skin. Still, you couldn’t stay there forever and you forced yourself up off of the mattress as you snuck your way to the living room. You were greeted by several large boxes that sat stacked neatly in the furthest corner of the room, and once again John was in the kitchen making food. He still wore the same clothes he had the night before, and they looked terribly disheveled, yet he still continued on anyway. 
“Mornin’,” he greeted as he looked up from his pan where several eggs sizzled away. “Sleep alright?” 
Still groggy, you approached the island where you lazily leaned against it. “Yeah. Looks like you didn’t get any, though.” 
John chuckled, something tired yet still hearty at the same time. “Perceptive.” 
“Always have been.” 
John quickly finished up the eggs and began to dish out the food onto plates. While you waited, your fingers lazily ran over the counter top where they collided with your phone, and it took everything in you to hold back a sigh. Looking down at it, you pressed the home button where the screen lit up, expecting to see several messages from your ex, and yet there was nothing. You stood there perplexed and wondered if the man had really let you just run away from him, until you noticed something else missing. 
“Have you seen my ring?” you questioned as John slid a plate of food your way. 
“Your ex took it back,” John answered simply. He stood on the other side of the island for a moment before he turned around and started cleaning up the mess of ingredients and dishes that littered the counter. “I also managed to retrieve all your personal items. They’re stacked in the living room when you’re ready to look through them.” 
Mouth open in surprise, you glanced back into the living room and eyed the stack of boxes before looking back at John with a raised eyebrow. “How… how’d you manage all that?” 
Perhaps he should have hesitated before answering. Thought of something to say other than the truth. Instead, John didn’t miss a beat in answering you as he continued cleaning. 
“He sent you a few messages last night and I saw his name pop up on your phone. Didn’t realize you were engaged to the mayor’s son,” he explained. “I have some contacts who were able to get me an audience with him. I figured it would be easier for me to grab your items than you doing it yourself. Save you the trouble, at least. He shouldn’t be bugging you again.” 
For the longest time, you didn’t know what to say. There were a few glaringly obvious holes in his explanation, namely why there weren’t any notifications on your phone. If he had only glanced at it, they would have still been there, and yet they had been cleared. Then there was the fact your ex was too self centered to ever have an audience with anyone he didn’t actively seek out. Perhaps even stranger, you weren’t at all surprised. Maybe you were a little taken aback at everything he had done for you, but not at the methods he used to get it done. Because you had known John’s secret from the very beginning. After all, you had been the chief’s daughter. 
“John,” you said, voice soft and even. 
Drying his hands off on a small towel, he turned around to finally face you where he was surprised to find you smiling. And god, you were stunning, so much so that all he could do was stand there and wait for you to continue. 
“I’m glad I ran into you at the flower shop,” you finished. “Thank you. For everything.” 
It wasn’t what he expected you to say, and still he mimicked your smile, although it was much more tired than yours had been. Life was strange. Nothing had ever gone as planned in John’s life, and yet there was you. Through all the years and the shit and the struggles, you had found your way back into his life, and for some strange reason, he found himself hoping you’d stick around this time, no matter how much trouble you caused. 
“Any time, darling.” 
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don't let me in with no intention to keep me jesus christ, don't be kind to me honey, don't feed me, i will come back
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kararisa · 1 year
Text
between you, me, and these bookshelves
synopsis: just the little things that happen in a little bookstore.
— featuring: albedo, ayato, childe, scaramouche x gn!reader (separate)
— cw: modern au, swearing, yn is an avid reader, use of childe's real name, none of the books i mention here are real lol
— author's notes: first headcanon post with multiple characters~ very self indulgent so hope you guys enjoy <3
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Working at a bookstore isn't the most glamorous job in the world.
The pay is good for the amount of work you need to do, and most days nothing much happens.
But sometimes, there are just some events that happen between the bookstore's mahogany shelves that make your days just a bit more colorful.
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Albedo
The bookstore has a chalkboard stand outside that details new releases, promotions, or events that the store has. Displayed on it are elaborate illustrations or hand-lettering, all of it done by the same person.
And he comes by every other weekend to re-do its contents.
You sometimes watch him as he draws, his nimble hands becoming dusted with colored chalk as he sketches on the blackboard, his light blond hair tied back as he furrows his brow, deep in concentration.
He’s caught you staring a handful of times, to which you turn away in hopes that he doesn’t bring it up. Thankfully he never does.
This week you watch as he colors in his artwork, a dragon and a young man with wings at the center soaring over rolling plains and sharp cliffs.
As the boy gets started with the lettering, you ask him a question.
“Do you really just come up with all this on the spot?”
The boy looks at you with curiosity in his eyes, “So you do talk. And here I was wondering if you just didn’t like talking to me.”
“Well, I don’t exactly know what we can really talk about. You’re a freelancer right?”
He smiles as he returns his attention back to his illustration, “You can say that. Well to answer your first question, I usually have a final outcome in mind before I start sketching. Your boss sends me a gist of what he wants and I draw it. Simple as that.”
You converse with him until he finishes, sprinkling in some questions about his work in between. As he packs up to leave, you ask him one last question.
“I never got your name, chalk boy.”
A silent question, but one that he still understands.
“It’s Albedo.”
The two of you end up striking up an easy conversation every time he visits, with you always watching him draw
If you express interest in his other works, he’ll let you browse his sketchbook 
One day while flipping through his drawings, you begin to see some familiar sights: a vending machine outside a nearby convenience store, a food stall, and the outside of the bookstore. Some pages have small doodles in pencil and ink, and some in color. Others have full illustrations.
The next page that you flip to, though, nearly takes your breath away. 
You find a colorful illustration of the bookstore, a blend of paint and ink. Sunlight streams through the glass walls and envelops the scene in a warm light. Boxes lay strewn on the floor, all of them brimming with books. And among the boxes stands you, a stack of books in hand as a small smile graces your face.
You look up when Albedo spots the page you’re on, “Ah, I hope you don’t mind that I sketched you a handful of times. I tend to draw what I find interesting.
“So is it alright if… I sketched you more often?”
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Scaramouche
Scaramouche pisses you off most days.
He distracts you while you try to do your work, he steals the pen by the cash register whenever you need to use it, and worst of all, he always makes fun of whatever book you read.
No matter what genre it is, mystery, fantasy, or heaven forbid, romance, he'll always find something to tease you about.
But it’s odd. For someone who claims to hate every novel that you've taken interest in, you find yourself discussing with him each and every book you’ve read.
“Sure, Forest of Lies had a strong opening,” he starts, leaning back on his chair, “But did the princess seriously need to go through those arbitrary trials just to prove that she was determined to save her kingdom?”
“Fine, I thought it was stupid too,” you say, “But you have to admit, the characters are actually well-written and have interesting subplots. The knight having a backstory connected to the princess’ was a good twist.”
“But does anything really come from that twist? Or was it just there for shock value? When you get to the part where–”
You let out an exaggerated gasp, “Spoilers! I just got past the twist, asshole.”
“You should read faster then!” he says, going into the storage room to fetch some supplies, “Whatever, we’ll continue this when you finish the damn book.”
You’re about to continue reading when Scaramouche pops his head out and adds, “The next two novels in the series go downhill in quality from there. Trust me.”
“But this is a trilogy??”
“That’s the point!”
You realize that he had a point when you finally got to the second book.
Around halfway through reading the book, you catch him reading over your shoulder. You turn to look at him and he simply gives you a smug smile. You simply rolled your eyes and continued reading.
A couple of days go by after you finish the second book when he approaches you.
“What’s the occasion?” you say as Scaramouche hands you a book, a pen, a highlighter, and some book tabs.
It’s a novel on your wishlist, you notice; one that you had mentioned to him in passing. Small colored tabs stick out from the side of the book. Thumbing through the first few pages, you see that he underlined some passages, his neat writing occupying the margins, the blue highlighter bringing your attention to a handful of quotes. Just from reading the first sentence as well as Scaramouche’s comments, you could tell that you were going to enjoy reading this.
But you recall a casual remark he during one of your past conversations — he doesn’t typically annotate his books. Did he do this for you?
“Nothing. Just thought you should read a good book for once,” he answers, not quite looking at you.
“Excuse you, I read good books sometimes.”
“The last book you read, you kept ranting about how the writing wouldn’t just ‘let the characters fucking talk’. Your words, not mine.”
“And the last book you read, you literally couldn’t finish because you kept getting fed up with the protagonist doing nothing.”
He groans, “Are you gonna accept my gift or not?”
You give him an unimpressed look, setting the book and stationery aside, “This novel better be as good as you say it is.”
He was right. The book was actually good. You even ended up adding your own annotations alongside his — like having your own conversation amidst the pages of the book.
His comments, whether they be snarky, insightful, or analytical, definitely enhanced the experience. And thanks to that, you end up finishing the book in just two days.
Another one of your story discussions happens and, amidst the bickering, a book he mentions piques your interest.
After making fun of the ever-growing list of books he wants to read, to which he retorts by saying you’re not better off, an idea pops into your head and you search for the novel he’s looking for.
It’s in a genre you wouldn’t typically go reaching for, but this is the least you could do for him, right?
You spend the next week reading and annotating the book, using the highlighter and tabs Scaramouche had given you to highlight passages and give your comments.
The shocked look on his face when you gave him the copy of the book was definitely worth it.
“Just thought you should read a good book for once,” you say, sliding the book toward him.
“Huh. Don’t you hate this genre?”
“Surprisingly enough I actually liked the story; you have decent recommendations when you’re not being such a dick. So, are you gonna accept my gift or not?”
He rolls his eyes, snatching the book from the table, and mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’. 
You pretend not to see the blush that reaches his ears.
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Ayato
It starts off as most days do, with a delivery of new books.
You open the box to find the newest releases as well as some bestsellers. One of the covers catches your eye, the title Child of the Roses emblazoned in front of an illustration of two women laying in a field of red roses — one of the books you’ve always wanted to get your hands on ever since the author announced the plot.
Sure you could purchase the book right now, but your budget for the month didn’t have a lot of wiggle room. And if you did wait until next month, you couldn’t exactly guarantee the availability of the book since it always manages to sell fast.
While you’re restocking the shelves, the door to the store opens, and in come a man and woman with pale blue hair. 
The girl starts looking around while the man walks up to you.
“Does your store happen to sell the book Traingazing?” the man asks. There’s an elegance in the way he carries himself — well-dressed, handsome, and dignified in the way he speaks, “It’s alright if you don’t.” 
You confirm its availability and lead him to the nearby shelves, “You lucked out today, sir. This is our last copy.”
He laughs. Fuck, even his laugh sounds expensive, “Lucky indeed. My sister and I have gone to five stores today just looking for it.”
The girl, his sister, you presume, comes up to you two with a small stack of books in hand, “Did you find it?”
The man holds up the book, its silver-edged pages gleaming in the fluorescent lights of the store, “Got their last copy, too.”
She sighs in relief, “Good. You can finally stop nagging me about you never being able to grab a copy before they sell out.”
“Says the one who dragged me to eight stores looking for a book you ended up hating.”
The siblings leave shortly after purchasing their books. 
The rest of the day passes by as normal. Rush hour usually comes around early afternoon to late evening, when students get out of school and people usually get off work. 
Unfortunately, your shift just about lines up with the store’s more chaotic hours.
You spot a familiar blue-haired man again later that evening while you’re in the middle of helping another customer. He’s browsing the shelves when he spots you.
“Can you help me with something? I’m looking for a gift for my sister.”
“Oh, the girl you were with this afternoon, right? What kind of books does she like?”
He describes the types of books she favors along with a handful of her favorite authors. You lead him to some nearby shelves, picking out some books and giving him a brief synopsis of each one. He listens intently to each of your suggestions, his lilac eyes focused on you.
As you’re finishing up, he spots a book behind you and grabs it from the shelf. You spot the familiar title, Child of the Roses. As usual, whenever you restock it, it’s the last one in stock. “You thinking of buying that one? It’s our last copy.”
The man reads the synopsis as you summarize the plot, “Seems like quite the interesting book if it got you so excited.”
You laugh at his remark, “Well, I’ve been wanting to read that book for a while now, but I never manage to get a copy before they sell out.”
He considers the book before saying, “Is that so?”
Your co-worker calls for you before you can respond, saying that they need help with manning the cash register.
After almost an hour of helping with scanning barcodes and packing books, the blue-haired man stands in front of the counter.
He holds up Child of the Roses, “If it’s alright, I’d like to make this a separate purchase.”
Figures he’d buy the book if the reviews and your excited ramblings are anything to go off of. While you were sad that the chance to purchase the novel had once again slipped away, at least you could be reassured that it would be in good hands.
After giving him the book and the receipt, he simply hands them both back to you, “You were quite passionate when you described the book to me. I thought I should buy it for you before someone else gets it.”
This has to be a dream, “Are you sure you want to give this to me? I mean don’t get me wrong! I’m grateful, but don’t you want to read this, too?”
A smile graces his face, “Of course. You helped me find what I was looking for this afternoon, so this is the least I can do for you.”
When you finally get home and settle down for the evening, you open the book, intending to get through just one chapter.
That’s when you find a calling card in between the pages of the index and the first chapter, the name Kamisato Ayato in immaculate handwriting on one side along with his number.
On the back was a message: I’m actually currently reading Child of the Roses, so I have no need for another copy. But if you’d like, we could go out sometime and read it together. What do you say?
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Childe
Most days there's not really much to do aside from the usual talking to customers, restocking the shelves, and helping close up shop. 
So sometimes you read just to pass the time. 
You’re just finishing up a chapter when the door to the store opens.
Ajax, you learn his name, is a massive flirt. Instead of talking to you like a normal person, he instantly says the cheesiest pickup line you’ve ever heard.
“I don’t need glasses,” he says, leaning on the counter, “ ‘cause I can clearly see that we were meant to be.”
It’s way too early for this shit, “... sir are you going to buy a book or not?”
He tips his head back and laughs, “C’mon! You have to admit that one was good.”
And he’s come by the store every so often ever since.
He’s quite the chatterbox too, talking about anything he can think of whenever you scan his items at the counter.
You learn he’s an older brother when he asks you for book recommendations for his younger siblings. His attentiveness to his siblings’ taste in literature never fails to put a smile on your face.
You also learn that he’s very knowledgeable in literature.
He comments on one of the books you’re reading during one of his visits, talking about his favorite scenes as well as discussing the characters with you.
A week of nearly daily visits turns into a month, with you getting used to his corny pick-up lines and little conversations.
But then it suddenly stops. A week passes without Ajax’s visits.
You don’t think too much of it until that one week turned into three. 
He was under no obligation to come back every day, of course. He was a customer, at the end of the day, and there was never any guarantee that he wouldn’t suddenly stop visiting the bookstore nearly every day.
But you couldn’t help feeling dejected at the thought of just never seeing him again.
Then, on one unassuming Monday afternoon, a familiar face returns to the store.
“Hope you didn’t miss me too much,” Ajax winks at you, “Mind if you help me look for a book?”
You smile, doing your best to hide your surprise, “Good to see you’re still doing well.”
He gives a vague description of what he’s looking for: a sci-fi series that’s appropriate for his little brother Teucer, the third book to a series his sister Tonia is currently reading, and “whatever you think is good” for him.
Walking over to the shelves, you could feel his eyes on you as you started picking out the books for his siblings. A soft smile is on his face when you turn to face him, becoming wider when your eyes meet his.
“You were gone for a while,” you say, unsure of how to continue. His life is none of your business and like hell were you going to admit that you missed him.
He sighs, “Yeah. Work has been a lot these past few weeks, but now that it’s loosened up I can finally start seeing my favorite person more often.”
“Your favorite person huh?”
“Getting the chance to talk to you is the highlight of my visits. Of course you’d be my favorite person.”
He leans in close to you, “Y’know, I just realized that I’ve lost my number. So can I have yours?”
You roll your eyes, still smiling, “You could have just asked for my number like a normal person.”
Ajax laughs, and you find yourself wishing you could listen to it every day.
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punkitt-is-here · 8 months
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How can I cultivate the same, "just keeping making stuff all the time" kind of energy you have? It's very impressive and something I wish I could do!
well, theres a couple reasons i think! one is that i just found ways to be satisfied with small amounts of work. its in part because of my ADHD, but my parents were always trying new things (motorcycles, leatherwork, acrylic paint, collage art, photography, video editing) so that definitely rubbed off on me; i had a great example of people just wanting to try stuff. i keep making stuff all the time because i love trying out new things; you don't have to be an expert to try something new! you just have to have a desire for it! wanna make a zine? google it! wanna write a comic? give it a shot! wanna get into woodworking? buy a carving knife and find a stick or something! i think theres plenty of ways to find entry points into interesting stuff and you gotta let yourself be okay with making shit that sucks just because its fun. which leads me to my second point!!
im okay with being dogshit at stuff! i try new things, i kind of suck at them, and i think it's either 1. cool that i made it this far or 2. kinda funny that this is what its like at the moment. i know that sucking is never permanent, everything can be improved with time, and rarely does anyone ever magically get good at something first try. i think of myself as a talented artist, but its over the course of 2+ decades of drawing; im always improving, and no matter what im going to find things i want to get better at, so why fault myself now for not being perfect? a couple of months ago i really wanted to try woodcarving, so i made spoon with my dad. did it turn out great? not really! you cant even use it as a spoon! but im glad i tried it, it was fun, i had a great time with my dad, and now i know a little bit more going in next time. the idea that you have to be perfect or make tangible progress every single time you try something new is a recipe for burnout. i promise you, it doesnt matter if something doesn't come out like God's Gift to Humanity! Did you have fun? did you learn something? are you satisfied in some small part? good!
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(pictured: tha spoon)
last, im just really easy to please myself! I'll make a doodle or implement an idle animation in my game or color a piece and go "wow! thats so cool i did that :)" and it really is just a matter of realizing that its fucking COOL to create stuff, no matter how small! whatever you made didn't exist before you, especially in your own unique way, and now it does! doesn't that rule?! i'm obsessed with it! even if its just a stick figure, its a stick figure you made, and it wasn't there before. thats fucking awesome!!! art is so cool!!!! i think that being happy with small goals and victories is a great way of trying out new things and showing off cool stuff u made, no matter what skill level. :) this turned into a whole big thing, but i hope this helps! tl;dr is try things if they seem fun, be okay with not being good at them, and find stuff about it that makes you happy or satisfied!
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libbyfandom · 3 months
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Soft Modern!Mizu Headcanons
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Loves ASMR. Likes Japanese soft spoken ASMR. There’s a nice older woman ASMRtist on Youtube that reminds her of how her mom would speak when she was little.
Has a plague doctor plushie.
Very much into the cottagecore aesthetic. Loves the idea of having a quiet little stone cottage with ivy growing up the side, shutter windows, and a little garden behind.
Speaking of gardening, her adoptive father taught her how to garden when she was small. He’d raised her on the smell of wet soil and the feeling of digging her little hands through to pull up the vegetables. She doesn’t have room for a garden in her little college apartment, but she does have a windowsill planter where she grows basil and rosemary for cooking.
Curls up in fetal position when napping.
Uses scrunchies to tie her hair up. Blue and black are the most common colors.
Mizu follows hopecore stuff on every social media platform and saves her favorite quotes and videos to a folder in her phone.
Mizu’s first sleepover is in college with you and Akemi. Akemi got all of you matching pajamas but in different colors and ya’ll made cookies and watched childhood movies Mizu’s never seen like Barbie. And I mean the CLASSIC Barbie movies like "Rapunzel" and "Princess and the Pauper". She makes lighthearted, snarky comments the first half of the movies but by the end you see how her eyes are bright as she sits in front of the TV.
Ringo taught her about wishing on dandelions. If she doesn’t pick them to use herself when she sees them, she saves them for you or her friends.
She’ll doodle on your arm with pen when she’s bored in the one class you share together.
She’s not the baby of her friend group, she’s the second youngest, right before Akemi. But she’s the baby of the group. It’s just, no one outright tells her so she doesn’t get defensive. Akemi will braid her hair for her before kenjutsu practice, because she never learned how. Ringo will always keeps snacks in his bag for her, and pulls them out when he sees her holding her stomach with the slight pinching of her eyes hinting that she’s upset and pained. Taigen and her are, you know, but when he sees her in a four v one fight against upperclassman he jumps at one of the guys, swinging without hesitation.
Mikio never got her flowers. But when roses show up on her kitchen table with a note in your handwriting, she has a moment where her heart is fluttering. Her eyes close as she brings one close and inhales its floral perfume with a soft smile.
Mizu drinking a milkshake.
She hung fairy lights on the ceiling of her room.
One time for a college event Akemi absolutely doused her hair with silvery spray on glitter. Her raven hair ended up sparkling like the night sky and she got so many compliments she started getting flustered. She'd hide behind Ringo and Taigen when she would see groups of girls walking by that would gasp at how pretty her hair looked and come closer to either compliment her or ask her where she got the glitter.
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thetiredasthmatic · 1 year
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Welcome Home, Y/n.
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Synop: You were tired of your family life, tired of having only once time to enjoy yourself. So when the opportunity permits, you choose to go Home.
A/n: please take it easy on me..I lowkey think this sucks but I hope you like it 😭
Your mother never allowed you to have access to media, whether it be your own cell phone to have contact with your friends, or a T.V. to enjoy yourself.
Your brother(24) and sister(26) were only allowed to have that stuff as your mother would routinely tell you(19) that you didn’t deserve it. That it would rotten your brain and that she was the only thing you needed to listen to.
It was a culture shock each time you went over to your best friend's house, (the few times your mother allowed it.) She always showed you knew things, like her many game systems, her favorite t.v shows and her favorite websites to visit.
(F/n) felt bad for you, so she wanted to show you what all you missed out in your younger years.
Today was one of those days.
“Y/n! You like old cartoons, right??”
She asked excitedly, and the question made you tilt your head in confusion.
She held a devious grin on her face as she reached under her bed to pull out an old box.
"I found this while at my grandma's! She doesn't know I have it, but I did some research on it, and apparently, it's an old cartoon from the 70s!" She says happily before pulling out some of the old merchandise.
You could see from the worn-out name on the box that it was called Welcome Home, and from what you could tell, it was a puppet show similar to Sesame Street or the Muppets.
You reached your hand in the box to pull out what seemed to be like a concept book. When you opened the book, you were enamored with the colorful characters and the cute designs.
Your eyes immediately drifted to a blue pompadour having puppet, it's deep eyes looking back at you, almost like they were staring right at you.
Or through you…
"Wow…"
"Cool right? We can watch some episodes online actually!" You watched as your bestie set up her laptop.
"There's a restoration project going on and the first few episodes have been released!" (F/n) giggles in excitement as she moves things around in her room.
Your eyes were glued to the screen as the color puppets roared to life on the screen.
"Hello Neighbor~, Welcome back to the Neighborhood!" The blue haired one, that your friend called Wally Darling.
Apparently according to her ramblings he was the main puppet in the neighborhood. He liked painting, apples and you assumed eye contact. Or maybe that was just how he looked.
"Ooo~ You like Wally don't you Y/n?"
"F/n…shush. I just think he has a cool design."
F/n let out a gremlin like giggle as she explained the plot of each episode as you watched. Each time you felt like Wally's eyes were only on you.
Like everytime he was on screen, supposedly talking to another one of his neighbors, his eyes would be staring right back at your.
F/n explained it away as that just being his character, but you felt otherwise but decided to be quiet about it.
Either way you found a grin making its way on your face as the puppet talked on the screen. The kindness that they showed each other and the way they treated each other as family….
It made you a bit sad.
Damn even a puppet show had a better life than you did.
—---------
Despite you not wanting to make your parents upset. Your best friend made you take her laptop with you.
It was small and looked like a notebook. She knew how your home life was, and she wanted you to be able to have fun.
So here you were, back at home, up in your room, on the laptop she had given you.
You decided to do your own research on the puppet show and found a website attached to it!
You smiled brightly as you decided to search through, learning more and more about the characters, the show, and the whole restoration project.
You even found yourself doodling the characters, especially Wally.
It was just something about the main puppet that had you drawn to him. He was a charmer, a little mischievous and really adorable to you.
You could've sworn he was talking to your through the website.
Everytime you came across an image of Wally, it seems like his eyes would drift from the direction they were originally to look at you.
'You're looking for me?'
'You're so pretty neighbor'
'Won't you come home?..'
Were some of the messages you got as you browsed the website and you felt like eyes were boring into you. Even when you finally finished and closed your laptop for the day. You still felt the eyes on you.
But it was more comforting that the eyes of your family.
You were the youngest of three. It was seen as the failure of the family due to your anxiety and depression.
It often keeps you from doing tasks or having normal friendships, and instead of getting you help, your mother babies you and treats you like a child.
Preventing you from having friends or trying to better yourself. Always holding your siblings in a higher regard.
It's probably why you felt more comfort in a damn children's t.v. show than your own family.
"You're so much more welcoming than my home…" you muttered and sighed. You flopped back on your bed and stared up at your ceiling.
"I wish I could join the neighborhood…maybe then someone will treat me nicely.. "
You felt like someone was intensely staring at you as those words left your lips, though your room was completely dark.
You then heard the footsteps of your mother coming down the hall. You hurriedly pushed the laptop under your pillow and made it look like you were asleep.
You hated that you weren't allowed to do the things your siblings did.
You were infantilized, and all you wanted was freedom. Freedom to do as you pleased, freedom and a loving family that treated you as equal…
You wanted a place where you could truly be yourself, not hiding behind some facade you were forced to live behind.
You sighed as you felt yourself drifting off into sleep, a soft monotonous voice heard lulling you to sleep.
"Come home darling…"
"I'll be waiting for you…"
‐—---------------
You yawned as the sunlight beamed on your face. You rubbed your eyes before going to get out of bed only to fall out of it.
You expected to hit your hard floor but landed on a fluffy rug.
This made you shoot up in confusion before you realized you were not in your own home.
You heard footsteps coming towards the room you were in and you were frozen in your spot on the floor as you saw the door open.
"Neighbor…are you alright in here? I heard a thud?"
You stared in disbelief as your eyes locked with the dark ones of Wally Darling.
You blinked and rubbed your eyes again, even pinching yourself to see if you were dreaming. When you felt the sharp pain of your pinch, your eyes widened in realization.
Wally was standing in the doorway, staring down at you watching your every move.
"Are you alright, Neighbor?" Wally asked again and You quickly got up and went to hug Wally tightly.
The male froze and nearly went limp in your arms, not knowing what to do.
This is not what he expected at all! He was expecting someone who was scared, angry, and wanted to leave.
Instead He had you in his arms, thanking him and excitedly rambling on about what you were going to do.
To say he was confused was a severe understatement.
He had taken an interest in you as soon as he saw you beside F/n. He listened in to your conversations and learned as much as he could about you.
He knew your favorite color, he knew about your home life, he knew about your love for cartoons and colorful things.
Wally learned a lot in that short span of time.
So when your friend offered her laptop for you to take home. Wally took that as an opportunity to invite you home. He just wasn't expecting someone so eager to join him I'm the neighborhood.
He heard you ask to join the neighborhood, and Wally was practically beaming with joy.
He was so excited to finally have a neighbor who wanted to stay!
You let the male go, smiling and thanking him. Pulling him along excitedly to go and meet the other neighbors.
You were an enigma to him.
Hes had many neighbors come and go, many of them failing to see the greatness that he saw in this little humble town.
But you.
You were excited to make new friends, excited to start a new.
You were excited to finally have a chance to be you.
And Wally wanted to be by your side as it happened.
"Well, let us go meet the others, shall we?"
—----------
Im sorry if this is trash, i just wanted to try my hand at writing for Welcome Home 😭
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squerlly · 17 days
Text
flames of desire chapter 5: bonding exercise
Alastor x (f! bunny reader) -Fluff- chapter 1
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your POV:
through out my time here in hell I have grown accustomed to the musty hot atmosphere of the underworld and the loud mornings of screaming, gun shots, and road rage, its hell after all and there technically isn't any rules. me and angel hang out a lot more, behind his sex jokes and playful demeaner hes a great friend. husk and I are cool I suppose, according to him I'm more tolerable. Nifftys a bit crazy and energetic but I enjoy helping her clean sometimes, but one person that's been on my mind a lot is Alastor. hes always watching me, I catch him staring at me with that weird smile, I wonder if his face hurts from smiling all the time...none of my business what he does I just wish he wasn't so eerie. I was in the lobby this morning when Charlie called us over for a "bonding exercise", seeing everybody gathered in there seats I sit on the couch next to angel, "good morning everybody thank you for comingggg, I would like to have you all here for a little bonding time yayy!!!..." the silence was defiantly loud... "uhm- well I though we could all do something fun like drawing!" standing behind her vaggie comes out with paper, markers, and crayons "oooo colors" niffty giggles "what's does this look like kinder garden?" "angel please try and at least participate" letting out an annoyed grumble he agrees "fineee..." "great! were all going in partners and you will draw each other, that sound fun right!!?" oh no... "charlies with me, husks with angel, and Alastors with y/n, nifftys can uhm..." "oh oh can I be the judge!!!" "sure..." "you gotta be fucken kidding me..." "aww cmon whiskers I'm not that baddd~" walking to there partners I turn to see Alastor sitting on the arm chair looking at me with a wide grin on his face, "fuck me..." I grumble walking over to sit on the floor beside him "well my dear looks like its just me and you" "yeah... me and you" grabbing two pieces of papers and some crayons "I cant even draw..." "oh don't worry I'm sure you will do just fine!" "why am I doing this again..." "cheer up dear this is supposed to be fun after all, I cant be that hard to draw" "yeah your right just need two colors" scribbling on the paper I start at the base of his face, doodling his creepy smile and red hair, looking up I see him studying me curiously "what's the matter, am I hard to draw?" I say smugly "not at all dear your quite easy to draw" ouch, thanks...
Alastors POV:
I never really focused any time on things such as art, yes I can cook and maybe play the piano but drawings not one of my few good skills although ill give it a shot. I would have never guessed I would be sitting here doing one of charlies silly little projects, attempting to draw y/n I look at here for a while, this is the closest I have ever really been next to her, my she really is small it makes me want to squeez her tiny little body, her head could fit in my hand easily. I have noticed a few things while observing her, her ears twitch when she's focused on things like now, her pink bunny nose twitches when she's scared, and her fluffy tail wags when she's exited or annoyed what a strange individual...
your POV:
"ok guys once your done with your drawings you will show them off to your partners!!", as a few minutes pass by I have finished my drawing and well I'm quite disappointed in myself, man I should have taken art class in high school "I finished if your ready to show them" hell no... "I- I'm done but I don't think I wanna... "oh I'm sure its not that bad" giving the drawing one last glance I turn the page I show him the drawing facing away to hide what little dignity I had left. hearing a quiet static buzz noise I look back up seeing him looking at the drawing with a questionable face "I know its badd!!!" "w-well I wouldn't say that dear its just..." "just say its bad!" "its interesting" "well what does yours look like?" turning his page my jaw drops to the floor, what is this creepy deer man not good at "its not my best work but-" "are you kidding me Al this is good!" standing up I grab the drawing, it was in crayon but it looked just like me. pausing I try to tone down my excitement seeing alastor wide eyed from my reaction "I'm glad you like it dear" "what cant you do" "well I did say I was a man of many talents but drawing isn't one of them" "do you uhh mind if I keep this..." "not at all dear~" "you don't have to keep mine you can just throw it-" "nonsense its mine isn't it?" "yes.." "then I will keep it". for once he seemed to have a genuine smile on his face, not some creepy ass smile, its kind of nice...
Alastors POV:
I don't know why but I wanted to keep her silly little drawing, its...cute?. it looks nothing like me but its quite amusing seeing her all embarrassed. I was surprised to see she liked my drawing, her eyes lit up with a small smile on her face, it feels good to know my work is appreciated even in the... strangest things it gives me a sense of pride, I might hang it in my radio tower...
your POV:
looking at everybody else I saw Charlie bouncing on her heels looking at a little doodle vaggie made how cute~, husk made a sloppy doodle of angel and angel just drew himself. niffty was running around looking at others drawings, eventually she got around to ours, climbing on my shoulder she looks at Alastors drawing "ooooOooo you look so cute in the picture!!" I smile a bit "thanks niff" grabbing her off my shoulder I set her down "well that's the end of the exercise, how was it!" "ehh it wasn't to bad" "it was alright" "whatever...im going back to the bar" Charlie puts on a little smile "well do one again next week, maybe we could make cookies together or do all about ME's oh oh!! what about-" "ok hon slow down" "sorry". this was nice, hell isn't that bad, at least not here. better than home...
hey guys!!! I was supposed to release this earlier but I'm a little sick right now from the cold weather but I refuse to let you guys down! I made this chapter a little longer than usual so I hope you guys loved this cute chapter as much as I did, love you guys have a good day/night
-squerlly
for more content or chapter please click this masterlist
@pooplyface1423 @strippezzz
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squidpedia · 2 months
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Hey all! Small quick boundary check. I really appreciate the support I’ve been given for my work thus far, and I’m ok with people reposting my art to other sites (as long as you see my signiture somewhere on the image), I just ask that you please ask permission before doing so and of course always give proper credit. This is simply just to avoid giving me a heart attack when find my art somewhere I don’t remember putting it (but its also really important etiquette to follow with any other creator online as well - so please know to do this when interacting with anyone else’s work online too). Additionally, anyone is 100% allowed to make art based off my concepts/designs, still give credit as usual and I would literally beg you to @ me so I can see it. I’m also ok with my art being used for pfp’s, you don’t need to ask me permission for that so long as you include credit somewhere (but please do ask permission from any other artist until stated otherwise, its an important boundary for a lot of people!) I apologize for not stating that anywhere sooner, definitely should’ve done that. Thank you!
Anyways hi I’m Pedia, I mostly make comics but every now and then I crank out an impulse animatic that I made probably when I was supposed to be studying for a test because I lack any and all impulse control.
Please feel free to shoot anything you want into my askbox. As long as its not rude or innapropriate, I promise I don’t mind. No guarantees I’ll accept requests or even all questions, but I never mind getting them! Just know I’m really really slow when it comes to answering at times, so I’m sorry if you end up having to wait a few weeks, it might be because I’m hellbent on responding with art but am still trying to find the time to make one. Honestly if you just send your personal headcannons theres like a 70% chance its going to generate a mental image and I’m going to want to draw it
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UTDR/UTY COMICS MASTERPOST
Clover’s Memories (ongoing):
Part 1 /// Part 2 /// Part 3 /// Part 3.5 Coming Soon (status: coloring + backgrounds in progress, making small amounts of progress a day at a time! Trying to pace myself) // Part 4 // Interlude // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // An Ending
Clover’s Hat (post revive au)
Part 1 /// Part 2 /// Bonus
Kanako Integrity Duo (really short mini doodle comics)
Reconciliation // Introductions // Downtime // Ceroba // Chujin // Telepathy
Miscellaneous:
Kris and Clover Interaction // Clover’s Sacrifice // Frisk vs. Clover’s POV // Clover Tells Martlet a Secret // Who’s Your Friend? // Pipe Down // Family Visit // Unwell // Letter // Humor
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oh and by the way. If you like omori, toh, zelda, or splatoon I also have my sideblog @squidpedias-fanart for posting stuff for that. I can’t promise I’ll post there very often, this blog is still where I post the most frequently, but if you like that stuff, maybe go take a peak?
If you’re interested in any fantasy storys i also have these funny comics called @an-unconscious-effort-comic and @dragontry-comic that im still working on
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lovelybarnes · 9 months
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Ducks on Plaster- B. Barnes
pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: injuries, reader does not have artistic abilities, i haven’t written bucky in so long, i am so so sorry if this is awful about: request! (PF34) person a has a cast, and person b is doodling on it to cheer them up + (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc notes: projecting. i can indeed only draw ducks and they come out damn well
“Okay. You know I’m not a very good artist,” you say forewarningly, glancing up at him for emphasis, “so I do ask that you lower your expectations starting now.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, chin lifting to assess the damage, but you place your hand over your work; fat, wobbly lines peeking out from under your fingers like dark, plastically foreboding veins.
“I’m not done yet,” you protest.
“People usually warn how shaky the board is just before they tell you to walk the plank.”
You wrinkle your nose, going back to your drawing. Your lines are haloed with sharpie bleed, the tip of your marker dented with little plaster crumbs. You persevere, twirling it between your thumb and forefinger to make one wonky eye. “That’s not an expression I’ve heard before.”
“Doesn’t it get the point across, though?”
You contemplate it, trying to concentrate on ellipsing the circles. “I guess, yeah.”
“Because my analogies work.”
“Again, I guess,” you shrug. Carefully, because you’re overly focused on your loops.
“That’s what I told Sam. But he says they have to be relatable.” Bucky shakes his head and smacks his lips. “You don’t have to have searched for a needle in a haystack to know that it’s fuckin’ hard to find.”
You frown at your creation, lifting your sharpie off the plaster as if insulted and then dipping to the opposite end of the cast to draw a curvy flower with petals fat at their ends leading to a small source. The ink is fading and scratchy, but it’s objectively better than your first attempt at another edge, its start inky and confident, petals losing their roundness and symmetry until they gave away to a lousy lump trailing off.
Renewed, you finish your first masterpiece.
“That one looks good,” Bucky offers, referring to the flower. It’s groovy-style, practice showed. “No artist, my ass.”
“You’re not supposed to look yet,” you chide quietly, not looking up.
“It’s right in front of me,” he reasons, but he looks away and flops down onto the bed, lifting his head to observe the focus lining your features, the tip of your tongue peeking out at the corner of your lips.
“It’ll be worth it,” you insist passively.
“Sure.” Bucky knows this very well. Likewise, you know very well how impatient Bucky is. “But I want to see.”
You roll your eyes, a canine pinning your lip from curving into a smile. You pull back with satisfied drama, making a show of pushing the cap back on the marker. You twirl it between your fingers, missing the second twist and making it fly to your side. “Done.” You dip down and press a kiss right above your little cartoon. “You can look.”
Bucky sits up, leaning over his arm to get a good look. An eyebrow goes up, its sharpness rounded by the blue that meets your eyes. “It’s a duck.”
He’s correct. A huge beak erupts from a bowling pin, prickly stalks shooting out from the bottom. “It's a duck,” you repeat, a lot more enthused about it. Your index taps rapidly against it. “Isn’t it cute? It’s the only thing I can draw.” You trace the petaled headband it flaunts. “It has a flower hat,” you say excitedly, nose wrinkling with pride. You glance at it once more. “A flower hat. I didn’t have any colors, but I figure, it’s fun. You can fill it in when you’re bored.”
Bucky nods. “I like it.”
“Of course you like it,” you say axiomatically. “It’s a duck with a flower hat. Look, he’s so happy.”
Bucky complies, amused lines at the pinches of his eyes visible from your angle. There are no delighted wrinkles that indicate it, but somehow he can see you’re right. The duck is happy. “It’s great,” he says, chiseled with a happy authenticity unlike him. Somehow, you pull all sorts of things he doesn’t expect from him.
“I can do a variety of costumes,” you continue, your voice an echo of a saleswoman’s, but you’re tendered with dulcet excitement, the twitch of your pen at his cast proof of how gladly gratuitous your service is. “Bunny ears, complete with the cotton-ball-tail, maid, with the little cap and feather duster, I can even do you!”
“How about we do that another time?” he requests, sitting up to hold your shoulders. His eyes are twinkling when you meet them, mind hazy with the sparkly trail his fingers leave as they drop down to your waist. “‘Cus you’ve been down there for so long and I only took time off to have you…” He pulls you toward him, and you go like a rag doll over his chest, not expecting his strength, never expecting his strength no matter how many times he shows it to you. “A little closer.”
You’re delighted, nuzzling your face into his shoulder the moment you land on his chest. You’re careful to not touch his injured leg as he settles you beside him. Like instinct, your chin gravitates to the nearest part of him, tilting a little to kiss the underside of his jaw. A bite of purple catches your attention, a grape-sized oval already haloed green.
“You have a bruise under your chin,” you tell him after a moment, a gentle thumb raising to graze it. The contact should hurt no matter how tenderly you do it, but it doesn’t. Nothing hurts with you. “How’d that happen?”
“Who can keep track?”
“Well, I’d like to,” you muse. He feels your nail hovering just above his adam’s apple when you lean up and press your kiss to his injury. It blooms everything but pain. 
“Well, if that’s the way you’re doin’ it…”
You chuckle, another kiss laid at the corner of his lips. He’s sure you can taste the metal from a fresh cut, but if you do, you don’t mind, punctuating your point with another kiss now fully on his lips, your index turning his face toward you. He’s thrilled to oblige.
He refuses to let you pull away completely when you finally do, trailing after you to press another, softer kiss against you. It’s only to taste you one last time; as if he’d been too caught up in its nectar to prepare himself to say goodbye.
“Aren’t days off nice?” you beot.
“Can’t say no right now.”
You wrinkle your nose at him, bumping your nose against his cheekbone in retaliation. “Right now?”
He drags a thumb along a naked stretch of skin he finds under your sweater, grinning boyishly. “Especially right now,” he corrects.
You lean in closer, air pregnant with your implicit secrecy from the walls. He can feel your heart thrum from your proximity. “It was my duck, right?”
He can’t help but laugh, nodding earnestly into the crook of your neck. “I love you,” he tells you like he needs to. Totally unrelated but so sewn into everything that it’s a requirement to put into the world before he can do anything else. He nudges your nose with his, humoring you. ”Mhm. What else could it be?” 
You crack through your theatrics, face breaking into a smile as you kiss him, thumbing a light crescent moon right beneath his right eye. He can already feel it heal with your glittering touch.
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fjordline · 7 months
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ok i've been thinking about how to answer The Color Asks for so long now. Once I start talking about colors I never stop, it seems. This is just me attempting to explain my personal thought process and not any universal rules or anything like that.
None of this is going to look very realistic at all. You need to exaggerate a little. That being said, having fundamental knowledge on how shadows and ligh tsources work is very useful. Know the rules before breaking them and all that.
Boiled down to its basics, what I think of is: if a lightsource is cold toned, make the highlight bright blue. if a light source is warm, make the highlight bright orange. Then contrast the light with a complementary shadow color that does not compete for dominance with the light. Or alternatively make the light source more neutral with a complimentary tone for the shaded areas and then add a highly saturated color in the deepest shadows. Having both a highly saturated light source and a shadow color will compete with each other, instead choose one to be the dominant and one to be the um. submissive i suppose.
Just using a random doodle from my sketchbook for the purpose of throwing some color on:
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^^^ Here the midtones and the areas in the shade are predominantly of a low saturated cool blueish tone, while the highlight is stark and warm with orange and red light bouncing off. The orange and red hues you often see in skin that is lit by a strong light is called subsurface scattering (sss), one of the most important concepts in art IMO. It livens things up so much.
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^^^Opposite from image 1, here the shaded area is a saturated golden color while the light source is a dull blue with hints of more vivid blue throughout. the blue balances the strong yellows and browns. Since the shaded area is bigger than the highlighted area, the subject matter could look quite monochromatic without the blue hints.
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^^^Get wild with it. Lets say your highlight is blue toned: instead of just using a blue, introduce purple, teal, turquoise, ultramarine, cyan, etc around where the light is hitting. Add several light sources in different colors, make it not make sense, get crazy.
Though what is important above all else is that the image reads clearly. Unless you're doing abstract art then you'd probably want the audience to understand what they're looking at. That's where values come in, probably the number one cause of confusing pieces of art. If you can turn the painting black and white and still see the subject matter clearly then the values are good.
I find that i love using colors that most people find garish, especially when they're on their own, for small highlights and points of interest. When paired with other more neutral colors, a bright orange or a chartreuse etc can really brighten up a painting. And colors are never what they seem, the human eye will interpret colors differently depending on what color they are next to. Make full use of this.
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Hope this long ass post helps anyone who is struggling with color, I know I used to struggle severely myself xoxo
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yaekiss · 9 months
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#MailroomOpen! hi hi my darling qi this is the promised letter to my Special Little Guy!! letter delivery for yandere tartaglia with a nsfw reply back and also a meme reference for number 25 if it's alright? pet names are a-ok, encouraged even. ok here goes, thank you so much for doing this!!! i am cringe but i am free ♡
(The letter that arrives is black with gold borders and purple ink, with a purple lipstick kiss mark on the back of it. There are doodles of stars, moons, skulls, and hearts in the margins. The penmanship is neat and playful, every i and j dotted with either stars or hearts, depending on the subject matter. A small box of the same color as the letter comes with it, inside is an ocean-blue collar with a tag that says "My Ajax". It looks expensive.)
My lovely Ajax,
It's only been a few weeks since you left, but in my opinion, any time away from you is too long. I miss your presence, your conversation, your cooking, and some more...intimate things. I'm sure you feel the same. I really wish you didn't have to leave so often, sometimes I think you might care for your Tsaritsa more than me~ Hehe, I'm only joking, of course. I know you're very loyal, and love me very much... (There's a furious scribble over the next words, but you can just barely make out that it says "maybe more than you should") Anyway, moving on, this letter should arrive with a collar. I picked them out special just for you; blue like your eyes! There's a matching leash, but I kept it with me so we can use it when you get back, hehe ♡. Make sure to show me how pretty you look with it on, okay puppy~? ...And come back safe. I'll be patiently awaiting your return, hopefully soon.
~Your darling
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꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Tartaglia, no gendered terms for reader, Tartaglia calls you "dearest exalted", mentions of blood, unhealthy and obsessive relationship from Tartaglia, worshipping (reader receiving), collar and leash (used on Tartaglia), masochistic Tartaglia, mentions of mirror sex, Tartaglia calls himself puppy once, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: Weird, as soon as he handed his parcel to me, he started booking it to your address, like damn it's not a race?! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!
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A medium-sized parcel finds its way into your possession, placed in front of your doorstep. The box is made of smooth varnished timber and the intricate details are inlaid with gems and shards that match the stunning shade of your eyes. Judging by all the elaborate carvings and the overall quality of the trunk, it must have cost him a pretty penny, especially if it was commissioned just for you. 
Flipping the lid of the box open at its hinge, your eyes are greeted by the sight of the sheer amount of items he sent to you. Ajax is nothing but a generous lover and it's definitely evident with all the gifts he prepared for you this time. Starting out, there are a few neatly packed food containers imbued with a charm that helped to preserve their contents perfectly over the lengthy delivery trip. Each one is labelled with the name of the dish it holds and after looking through the various containers, you realise they’re all your favourite dishes, lovingly made from scratch by Ajax.
To a side, there’s a hefty drawstring pouch. Tugging the bag open, a large pile of mora shimmers back at you. You should’ve known he would spoil you like this even if he were away. Tucked underneath the bag of mora, is his letter.
The envelope is a version of the one typically used for fatui matters, except this one is a lot gaudier than usual. …It’s the kind used for letters addressed exclusively to Her Royal Highness, the Tsaritsa. Just the look of it is expensive: A frosted gold border lines the front of the envelope and his wax stamp seals the letter shut at the back, away from prying eyes. Surely using an envelope reserved for the Tsaritsa for you is more than a bit… blasphemous. Nonetheless, you try not to think too much about it and gingerly open the letter up to read his reply.
His handwriting is scrawling and slightly messy as always but you know that it’s just from the eagerness that he seems to constantly have while around you, like some sort of oversized puppy. Present is a tangible tenderness in all his words and you can just about picture the silly little smile he had on his face while he wrote this letter to you. Additionally, there are hearts blotchily drawn in a rusty red around in the margins to match your love letter sent to him. His response reads:
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“To my highest divinity, my owner,
It’s so so so good to hear from you, dearest exalted! Ah, I can’t believe you’d miss me, I’m swooning, at least now I know I’m not the only one left longing. I saw you mention that you missed my cooking so to remedy that, I prepared some of your favourite dishes, I didn’t quite know which one would be the best to send to you, so I just sent all of them, haha. Please let me know if they’re to your liking, dearest exalted. Regarding missing my presence… there’s only 1 solution for that which you’ll see soon enough!
I saw your scribbled-out words. ‘Maybe more than you should.’ My reverence for you must not be enough, and that’s why you still doubt me, doubt my love for you, right, dearest exalted? Although the Tsaritsa may be important to me, however, even the loyalty I have for her cannot hold a candle to the utmost adoration that I have for you. Far, far, far from it. What you see right now is but a mere glimpse of my endless devotion and love for you, dearest exalted. There is so much more that I would do for you. Just say the word, that’s all you’ll ever need to do, and I’ll carry out any of your orders till the end of my days. Even in death, I’d still be yours to command. Beyond the grave, that’s how much you deserved to be loved, dearest exalted. (His paragraph drips with festering lovesickness in the way the ink looks to be redder than the one in his inkwell.)
Ahem, moving on! Thank you for the collar, it sits wonderfully around my neck and fits like a glove. Really brings out my eyes too, was that intentional? And the tag… oh, the tag. I must confess, I’ve imagined what it would be like, to have you attach the leash to it and tug me in front of the mirror, making me watch through the reflection as you have your way with me. I would let out all the sounds you said you liked hearing from me, my moans or whines or screams, I’d give you anything you want. You could be as rough as you’d like to too, pulling harshly on the leash as you take your frustrations out on me, you know I love whatever you grace me with, dearest exalted.
I’ll end my letter here, my remaining words can be relayed when I’m back soonest, I promise! Remember to tell me if anyone has wronged you, I’ll gladly rid you of them, dearest exalted. Can’t wait to be under you again! 
Your most devoted puppy,
- Your Ajax -”
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That’s certainly… a reply worthy of your contemplation, to say the least. Inserting his reply back into the envelope, you wonder what else he could’ve left unsaid in a letter that’s already chock full of the rawest form of veneration towards you. Sitting in pensive silence, your mind reels. Fortunately for you (or perhaps it’s the contrary), your answer arrives frighteningly fast, disrupting the stillness. 
There’s a knock at your door, a familiar keening whine bleeding through the wood.
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Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡
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fox-guardian · 1 year
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[ID: Two drawings featuring Danny Stoker. The first is a traditional drawing colored digitally, showing Danny -- a tall, beefy Latino man with light brown skin, short brown hair, and a cut in his brow -- smiling and posing with his hands on his hips and one toe pointed. He is wearing small gold hoop earrings, a white button shirt down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a pink and yellow argyle sweater vest, yellow pants, and white dress shoes. The background is a pink blob and he has little yellow flowers floating around his head.
The second image is totally digital and in grayscale. It shows Danny and Jon -- a short, thin, Arab man with darker skin and short, dark, curly hair and patchy facial hair -- walking together. Danny is wearing small hoop earrings, a white polo shirt, cargo shorts, a black necktie, a headlamp, and a backpack with a front closure that's pinning his tie to his chest. Jon is also wearing a headlamp, as well as half-moon glasses on a beaded chain, a black turtleneck, and light colored pants. Danny is holding his backpack straps, smiling nervously and looking away, sweating, while Jon walks with his hands balled into fists, looking at him, annoyed.
Jon: Why are you wearing a tie? Danny: cuz it's a work thing, I figured, y'know, tie and all....
His words trail off into scribbles. end ID]
~~~~
more stoker swap au doodles, feat danny's outfit on his first day and jon and danny doing field work together and danny not knowing the proper Work Attire for going trespassing on private property <3
(also to be clear, jon isn't actually annoyed with danny, he just comes across like that. its the tone and resting bitch face (eyebrows) <3)
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pisupsala · 6 months
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I wish I could control my dreams because a 30 year old with colorful stationary with glittery gel pens sounds like way more fun lol
Ps- he was an ass but he had his moments. I will deny any attraction if asked lol
I can't control your dreams either, dear anon, but I can write you a small drabble~ enjoy ✨ [no warnings, only fluff and glitter gel pens] ***
You are the only person Bradley knows with a pen holder in their house—a filled, regularly used pen holder, no less. The container itself is nothing special, just one of those black metal mesh cups you’ll find at any office supply store, sitting on the corner of your desk. It’s deceptive in its simplicity. It’s filled to the brim with a colorful selection of pens of all different types, although Bradley never paid much mind to it. He generally has no need to write things down—he has his phone, doesn’t he?
The first time he notices is when he meets you for dinner one evening after work; you’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. Everything is fresh and new, and you’re still learning about each other. You are dressed in the regular muted colors you wear to the office—understated, elegant. Deceptive in its simplicity. As you lean into him, hand on your chin, the sparkle in your eye as you look at him lovingly isn’t the only thing that glitters. On the side of your hand, at the crease of your wrist, the soft light of the restaurant playfully reflects from a pink glittery smudge.
“What’s that?” Bradley inquires curiously as he gently pulls your hand toward him to inspect the smudge. The moment you notice what he’s looking at, you pull your hand back, nervously rubbing your fingers over the spot, which won’t budge.
“I must have bumped into something,” You mumble, mortified. 
Bradley decides not to push you on the issue that evening, but as time passes, more parts of your glittering personality shine through. The silliness of singing together in the car, to the soft sincerity of slow-dancing in the kitchen late at night. And he keeps seeing the pale, shimmering smudges on your hands and fingers after a long day—a small reminder of the person you're really under the serious exterior you put up for work. But it takes Bradley an embarrassingly long time to figure out where those smudges are coming from; his brain seems to end up at it, probably being makeup (despite you certainly not wearing any glitter to work).
You are working late—you’re still on the phone when you climb into Bradley’s car, an annoyed look on your face, tone clipped. Your relationship is much more serious now, the months past only making your feelings deeper.
The moment your eyes meet his, you wink playfully, face breaking out into a smile. Bradley smiles back—and you have to bite your lip not to have the breath get knocked out of you. Rather, you return to your phone call, the smile immediately melting off your face as Bradley steers the car out of the company parking lot.
Digging your notebook out of your bag—a sturdy, black hardcover, you leaf through it to the page that you need, reading off the points coldly to the person on the other end of the line. Bradley glances over curiously. The page in front of you is filled with notes in simple black ink, but the margins are overflowing with patterns and doodles with what Bradley finally recognizes. It’s something buried deep inside his mind, something he hasn’t seen since the awkward days of middle school.
And suddenly, it all clicks. The smudges, the errant glitter, and even the measure of mortification that came with it: you still write with glitter gel pens. Bradley can’t help but laugh quietly as you wrap your phone call.
“What’s so funny?” You grin at him, slipping your notebook back into your bag, before you stretch languidly. 
“You,” Bradley laughs. 
“Really?” Smile on your face, you flip the visor down, using the small mirror to unpin your hair. “What did I do this time?”
“You are the only person that I know that still uses a notebook,” He starts, carefully monitoring your reaction from the corner of his eye. “It’s cute.” He adds.
“I remember important things better when I write them down rather than typing them,” You reply, relaxed now, smiling as you run your fingers through your hair. “It’s my secret weapon.”
“Especially when you use glitter gel pens for page decoration?” Bradley teases. A beat passes before you burst out laughing. 
“It makes my day a bit more colorful,” You admit. “My work is drab enough as it is.” 
“Do you send your colleagues reminders written in pretty glittery colors instead of emails?” Bradley jokes, laughing along with no.
“Absolutely not.” You defend yourself, feigning offense but unable to keep the corners of your mouth quirking up. “That’s only for truly important messages.” 
“Such as?” 
You shrug. “I don’t know, I never had to write one yet.” 
It’s weeks later, when Bradley is away on a training mission, that he finds the small folded-up note safely tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Your neat looping script, in glittery pink, sending the most important message, meant only for him:
I love you.
***
Library
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blanketorghost · 5 months
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Its GloMasq time in the EN server you know what that means
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If you guessed more gay little outfits for Yuu then you are 100% correct :^)
Yuu gets gifted the 'Esmeralda' ensemble at first but since Yuu is part of the Rollo fight in my own version of events, I thought up of the idea of his initial fit being burnt up partially/smoke burnt so for the final masquerade he gets a different outfit that reflects Clopin better.
I also like the fact that the Esmeralda fit has very bright colors which is something Yuu doesnt like (and also makes him stand out like a sore thumb compared to the other NRC boys) which really reflects how little Rollo knows Yuu and how he only sees him as a pretty little doll that's 'uncorrupted' by magic. But since Yuu has more agency after the fight over what he wears, he chooses much more muted colors for his main and some bright accents here and there.
I may toy with the Clopin's colors a little bit more but I like this combo so far.
Old versions of the fits + extra doodles after cut!☝️
Also extra illust of a scene between Yuu and Azul that I wrote up for a fic :^)
I'm tempted to write Azul's perspective on just this small snippet alone because i am insane
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Omg old design jumpscare
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I ditched the half mask it didnt look good at all LMAOOO
Also i died every time i had to draw all those details in the old design
If you squint you can notice the new design is actually simplifed :^] (it is not)
I tried making one similar to grim's but i didnt like it :^(
Back to the drawing board i guess :,^(((((
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Another design pass for Yuu's lil Clopin outfit. I like the mask design since Yuu's fit is already full of sun/moon motifs but I dont know if it'd actually look good on a face LMAOOO I also wanted him tall ass boots with heels but I like how Yuu and Azul are alrwady v similar in height so I scrapped that
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farolero-posting · 4 months
Text
Spring Cleaning
Hey! Happy 7th anniversary to OneShot!
I wanted to make something special for this day, and I would say this is... a little messy, but I think it is fitting for this day. OneShot is a really cool game, and most importantly, a unique experience, and I wanted to capture a little of that.
Without further delay, enjoy!
Summary: Niko does some chores and gets distracted.
Words: 1,674
(Click below to see the full fic)
Today was seasonal cleaning day, and Niko… was getting a little exhausted by now.
The teenager picked up the folder with yellowed paper sticking out of it, located at the bottom of the messy pile in the room’s top shelf, huffing from the effort to get it out of the shelf. The folder was a bright orange color, and had a sticker of an owl on the cover, their favorite animal. The art had smooth round shapes, giving the animal a cartoony look. There was a messier version of the same drawing, made with black pencil, where some of the lines were drawn several times to ensure the graphite would stick, making small dents on the plastic.
Recognition flashed on the teen’s eyes. They had not looked at this folder for… quite some time, actually. There was a period where they had looked at its contents as many times as they could, using the contents to evoke the memories of that journey.
They opened the folder, and giggled at the first doodle that greeted them.
Why was a ram with “baa” in scary letters the one they put on top? Heheh, maybe their past self wanted to play a prank on them. The drawing had a date on it, like most others.
Exactly seven years ago, to be precise.
Niko’s eyes were wide open, and they had to resist the urge to jump out of their position, standing on their desk’s chair. They closed the folder, pressing it against their body, and crouched down at a slow but shaky pace, before sitting on the chair, with one leg pressed against their body, and the other stretched, reaching for the floor.
“I didn’t know this was all the way up there… It’s been so long!” was all they could mutter.
It felt like a lifetime ago… though, while that is true, they still have a long life ahead, don’t they? Seven years was indeed almost half of their life, but seven years is nothing compared to what they have ahead of them.
It was weird to think of it that way now.  Many things change over the years.
The first month, they had taken days to make a drawing for everything that was in their mind, scared of losing the memory. 
When they turned nine, they started telling their dreams to their mama, so they could both remember.
When they were ten they even wrote a little about their journey for a school project… trying not to mention the fact it was all based on a real story.
They were around twelve when they first felt… an empty dread, looking at these drawings. 
There was one page, at the bottom of the pile, that caught their attention. It was a drawing of the top room of the tower; it wasn’t lit up yet, however. They had gone out of their way to paint the borders in purple pencil, the page curling around the corners. 
At the time, they hadn’t known what to do. They were at the peak of the world, and yet they felt they were at the bottom, holding it all together.
And you were… well.
When they were young, you were everything. You were Niko’s one company through it all. They barely knew you, but they trusted you fully. 
The last time Niko looked at this particular drawing, a few years ago, their thoughts had been bitter. 
Maybe that’s why it had been so long since they looked at the folder.
You… They knew you were their guide, but you also made choices that felt unfair. 
Why did you present the choice? 
Why did you wait so long for that? 
What secrets did you keep from them? 
And why go through all of it, only to discover that you could undo it, later on?
Niko was grateful to be home, but… they didn’t understand you.
And you couldn’t answer them, either.
Because you’re not a god. 
And you’re not there anymore.
Back then, both you and Niko were told you had one chance on your mission. And so Niko had taken care of the lightbulb that represented the sun of this world, following your words. It was a long journey, but you listened to them, and kept them safe. However… even with their best efforts, there was no choice at the end that would save both Niko, and that decaying land.. 
So Niko placed that choice on you. If Niko had been older, maybe they would have questioned this more. They would have more ways to look at the situation, to weigh down their options, and maybe take longer to finally make a decision. Instead, in both more and less time than they expected, but certainly a wrong amount of time, you told them what path they had to take. And Niko, respecting the wishes of the world’s god, had done it.
Except you weren’t god. You were someone looking at them through a window, generating the world that had imprisoned them, but not belonging to it. When Niko was twelve, they had realized that whatever the first choice was, the impact on you would not have been as big as it was for them. 
They were angry back then… But now… 
Now they couldn’t hold it against you. They knew better… and funnily enough, they remember their youngest self knowing better, too.
Niko placed the drawing aside, and as they did that, another one slipped out of the folder. This one was a drawing of pancakes with syrup. They weren’t the hazelnut ones their mama made (and now Niko makes them for her, too!), but they remember they were delicious, with a hint of a flavor they couldn’t quite name. The teen wondered if it was a product of that world that only existed there. Now, their older self with a hobby for baking, wished they could know what it was.
They remembered going there, right before the tower. Niko had asked you if it was okay to make a stop for some food, and you had taken them to the cafe, where they had gotten those pancakes. They knew you listened to them, and not only that, that you wanted to comfort them too, in any limited way you could. 
The next drawing they got from the pile showed a view from the top of the Refuge, taken from one of the tallest buildings. Niko’s town was close to a river too, but it wasn’t as close as the ones flowing around the Refuge. It wasn’t glowing pink, either. Niko had been to a big city now too, but it wasn’t anything like the one in that world. The Refuge was a unique city, among thousands of them. 
They remember you said you lived in a city, and they could only imagine it was like the Refuge, for years. Now they recognized there were many more options for what a city or a town could look like.
The next drawings were of the friends Niko met. Though they wish their artistic skills did them more justice, they couldn’t help but look at them fondly for what they represented. What would be of those people now? Do Calamus and Alula still live in the ruins? Is the robot lady —the drawing says her name is Silver— still in the Barrens? Did the Mr. Lamplighter get to sleep more with the Sun back? They smiled, thinking of the possibilities. 
Niko stumbled upon a drawing of the computers that made up the World Machine, and took it out to hold it closer, the glow in their eyes slightly reflecting on the paper. They remember drawing the screens with a ruler, to make sure it looked as good as a blueprint (but they know now that blueprints are more complicated than that). They also drew the Author’s children and themself on that page, holding the sun. It was them who reminded Niko what all the effort not to forget was for. 
And Niko would not have known of them without your help. Because you…, though you weren’t a god, you wanted to do something to save both Niko and everyone else. You cared enough to try to be more than just a guide, but someone who believed in a second chance as well. Someone convinced they were all worth it.
The last drawing on the pile was a journal with a yellow clover on the cover, along with the amber necklace, a glowing feather, and a six sided die. Niko never met the creator of that world in person. They simply had his letters, words of others and objects to remember him by. 
They understood why their mama gave them a hat passed down by her parents. They understood why she kept all their silly drawings.
And why hazelnut pancakes would be their favorite food forever, over any other kind of pancake.
They breathed in when they felt themself run out of air, and the shivering of their body almost made them burst into tears. You were a guide, a ghost and… a friend. And all they had of you was the memories of your voice.
Niko wondered if you missed them, if you would be happy to see them today. Niko didn’t narrate their thoughts aloud anymore, their life was also more hectic and complicated. They sometimes thought their younger self was a little silly. They were far from the child you knew.
But it was good to be there. To look at those old drawings, and get that same joy out of them. To enjoy the chances that were given to them, and know that, in some distant place, you are still with them, getting your own chances. 
Niko took a blank page from a stack on their desk and a pencil from their first drawer, and put something on it that reminded them of you, placing it on the top of the ram doodle. 
They hoped it would be the first thing they saw the next time they opened the folder. 
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cceanvvaves · 6 months
Text
growing up; p.jh
(moved to isanggayfrog) warning: none
Jihyo and Y/N have been inseparable the moment they met. The latter arriving in Jihyo's town at the raw age of 4, it was no question as to how the two became so close easily, being the same age, give or take a few months. 
Two girls stood behind their fathers, small hands clutching the men's legs. The slightly shorter of the two stared with wide, curious eyes, wanting to make a new friend but too timid to approach first. Instead, she sent a shy smile, to which Y/n responded with a small one of her own. "Sorry about my daughter," Y/n's father laughed. "I assure you, she's very talkative at home. She's still young, so moving's probably different for her, though I hope she's too young to miss the old house much." Mr. Park looked at her amusedly, pushing Jihyo out from behind. "Go on, say hi."
***
"'M bored," complained Y/n, lazily scribbling a messy 'bear' on her paper. She glanced over at Jihyo's drawing, eyes widening impressed at the much neater flowers. "Look," said Jihyo excitedly, "this one is me" - she pointed at a stick figure in a triangular dress - "and this is you!" she tapped another 'girl' with wiggly lines for hair. The doodles could only be told apart by the dresses' colors, one pink and the other purple. She wrote a barely legible note that said 'Y/n n Jihyo 4evr' with a crossed out 'Jiho' and inverted r. "Really?" Y/n asked brightly, understanding the seemingly alien handwriting. Jihyo nodded. "You agree, right?" "Of course!"
***
"Dad?" Jihyo called up to her father. At 8 years of age, she proved to be a very curious and observant child. "Why do you kiss mommy?" Mr. Park looked into the innocent eyes of his daughter and chuckled. "Because I love her, very, very much." Equipped with this information, she skipped happily to her best friend, pulling her along to the privacy of the bedroom, away from parents' prying eyes. Jihyo suddenly became nervous, which didn't go unnoticed by Y/n.
"What's wrong?" the (still) slightly taller asked, taking her friend's left hand in her own, since the right was hidden behind her back. Slowly, the young Park produced a small, square box, topped with a purple bow. "I asked mommy to let me get it for you," she explained, head bowed. Y/n took it carefully into her hands, slowly lifting the lid and gasping at its contents. A beautiful key pendant shone back at her, its golden glow reflecting in her eyes.
"It's... beautiful," she breathed. "I- thank you- I can't- how can I-" She was cut off by a chaste kiss to the lips, given by none other than Jihyo, oblivious to society's views. "Dad said people kiss when they love each other," she mumbled. "And I love you," she finished matter-of-factly, with a bright smile, which Y/n returned after recovering from the surprise. "I love you, too!"
***
"Did you have fun with Jihyo today?" asked Y/n's mother during dinner. At the mention of her best friend's name, the 8 year old's eyes brightened. "Yes! She gave me a gift. I love her," she finished confidently, scooping some rice into her mouth. Her father frowned. "You love her?" Y/n nodded, "I love her! Like you love mama." Shaking their heads, the parents thought she was too young to know the different kinds of love, so they let it pass, taking it to mean that Y/n loved Jihyo as a sister.
***
A duo of 12 year old girls cuddled by the window, limbs tangled in the covers and staring at the same book. Both of them looked quite untidy, which wasn't really unusual since it was very early in the morning. Y/n and Jihyo had had a sleepover, presently reading Cinderella's story together. "You know, I always wanted to be a princess," Jihyo stated, turning a page. Y/n snorted. "You're already like Cinderella, you somehow manage to lose your shoes and I have to tie your shoelaces." The shorter scowled before retorting, "Well, you're like Elsa, so cold."
"I am not cold. You're like Belle! If books were people, you'd probably marry one." "Then I'll be Belle and you'll be Ariel, you're as clumsy as her, anyway," Jihyo decided. "Nah, I'll be your prince charming," Y/n teased. "Are you implying that I am the beauty and you are the beast?" Y/n feigned a look of hurt. "Rude! And I thought my future girlfriend was a lovely lady." Jihyo blushed.
***
But all the oblivious talk about love and being girlfriends, all the 'dates' and sneaked hugs ceased as they grew older. People started to raise eyebrows when they were a bit too close; it was no longer cooed at like it was when they were 'young and clueless'. With this, the best friends drifted apart, more focused on getting good grades, hanging out with other friend groups and living their youthful life. Their relationship only worsened when Y/n didn't lose her 'childhood feelings'. Jihyo, on the other hand, had gotten herself a boyfriend, no longer having enough time for all her friendships. It was probably because of this they had a fight.
Both sat around a glass bottle among friends, together in a mutual friend's house. The small group was in the middle of a Truth or Dare game. The last player, Nayeon, who'd just danced to the Macarena for 5 minutes, spun the bottle. It landed on Jihyo, who was asked by a mischievous Nayeon after picking Truth, "Was Daniel your first kiss?" Jihyo glanced at Y/n, who either didn't care or wasn't paying attention. "Yes," she said. Y/n stood abruptly and stalked off without a word, leaving the remaining girls confused.
***
"Why are you avoiding me?" Jihyo cornered Y/n at the girl's bathroom. "Why do you care?" she shot back, already having a bad day and not wishing to deal with anything at the moment. "What? Because I'm worried about you, idiot! Your grades dropped when you're usually a perfectionist, you seem to leave every time I enter the room, and you're always grumpy!" Y/n glared, rising up to her full height, trying to intimidate the shorter. "Why don't you hang out with your boyfriend instead, huh? I bet he keeps you busy." Jihyo gasped, offended. Pushing Y/n harshly by the shoulder, she said in a higher voice, "What are you implying, huh?! What's your problem?"
"You! You're my problem! Just because we're older, you left me! Sure, I understand you have limited time, you have to juggle it between studies and socializing, but every time I try to hang out with you, you have to decline for your other friends or boyfriend! Is seeing them everyday not enough? Do you even miss me?" she ranted, pushing her way out and slamming the door, leaving Jihyo bewildered.
***
"Jihyo's here to see you, dear!" Y/n's mother called from downstairs. "I'm busy!" she yelled back, but it was a complete lie. She was simply lying down on her bed and sobbing inside. "You shouldn't lie to my face like that," her visitor said with her arms crossed. Peeking at her from under her arm, Y/n scoffed. "Leave me alone." "That's not nice," Jihyo patted the covers smooth. "Do you remember what we used to do here? You said you'd be my prince charming." She smiled at the memory. "Well, you've found your true prince charming," the taller turned away. "No, actually. We broke up a few days ago. I suppose you didn't know because you've been avoiding me," Jihyo added shrewdly. "Why?"
"'Cause we agreed that we didn't like each other anymore."
"Okay," said Y/n, dropping her head back on the soft pillows and willing herself to fall asleep. But she was interrupted by Jihyo. "Do you remember what happened here when we were eight?"
A flash of memory went through her mind. Of course she remembers, it was the happiest day of her life. No, every moment with Jihyo was the happiest. Her hand subconsciously moved to wrap around the key necklace. The action was noticed by the giver.
"You still have it."
"Yeah,"
Silence.. and then-
"Can I kiss you?"
Y/n shot up in surprise, looking incredulously at her friend. "Sorry?"
"You heard me," Jihyo whispered, scooting closer. Y/n thought for a moment. Jihyo broke up with her boyfriend, so she wasn't ruining a relationship.. "Okay."
Jihyo pressed her lips on Y/n's quite roughly, not as gentle as it was when they were 8. Hands roamed each other's bodies, the atmosphere getting hotter by the second and both girls losing the ability to breathe-
Before it escalated further, Y/n pushed her away. "Was that enough for you?" she mumbled with swollen lips, stretching her collar in desperation to cool down.
"It only ever felt right with you. Will you be my girlfriend?"
Y/n grinned. "I'll be your prince charming."
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