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kirchefuchs · 1 year

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(Luxie I am so sorry for psychoanalyzing you it's just,, you're so,,, psychoanalyse-able, yk? I just gotta psychoanalyse you...

..sPeaking of psychoanalyzing–)

Ceres

my dear friend

I have thought of the greatest Lovebug headcanon (it's actually my first Lovebug headcanon actually lmao ☠️)

BUT IMAGINE THIS

Imagine this.

(also let's assume that this concept is before the Stannarrator ship sailed in your AU :D)

Imagine the Lovebug Virus only going away once it is "satisfied." Like, a certain switch has to be flicked; a certain figurative button has to be pushed. Imagine the virus slowly showing hints to what the other person — in this case, it'll be Stanley — needs to do for it to go away.

Imagine that the only way to satisfy it is to kiss Luxie.

But Stanley can't do that! Luxie is only acting this way because of the virus! Kissing him would just be taking advantage of him, wouldn't it?

But here's the thing; Lovebug!Pollux is extremely affectionate. He's been hugging Stanley out of the blue a lot, holding his hand a bunch, kissing his cheek/s anytime he can, and everything similar. LB!Pollux does all of this, not expecting anything else in return.

Imagine Stanley deciding to return the affection one day.

And, it turns out, the virus can be satisfied that way; but it takes way longer than it would be to just kiss him.

But Stanley doesn't know how to kiss so he just decides to continue returning the affectionate gestures

And this goes on for several months. It started off as LB!Luxie doing the gestures first, then Stanley returnung them with little to no questions asked. Then it moved to LB!Luxie just moving closer to Stanley, and Stanley deciding to take the initiative to do the gestures. And then, it moved to both Stanley and LB!Luxie flat-out hugging and cuddling and holding hands and etc etc anytime they could.

And by the time the Lovebug Virus is gone, all the affectionate gestures turn into unconscious habits.

But Luxie — the actual Luxie — isn't used to that.

So everytime Stanley hugs him and holds him and takes his hand and etc etc, Luxie doesn't even know how to react without the Lovebug Virus controlling his every reaction. He's basically left a blushing and flustered mess because of Stanley.

In short: At first, LB!Luxie showed Stanley a bunch of love and affection. Stanley slowly got used to it and even started to return the gestures. By the time the Lovebug Virus is gone, Stanley is already used to showing so much affection, but Luxie isn't, and is now having to go through what Stanley did during his time with LB!Luxie :D

I forgot how this was meant to play out but I wanted to share this with you mwahahahaha

(Also, I feel like psychoanalyzing a random ending, soooooo do tell me any ending at all [including Bucket variants] so that I can watch playthroughs of the chosen ending and proceed to rant about what I found interesting hehe >:])

I hope I wasted your time in the best way possible!! <3 /p

toooooodlllllllllles :D

— 🅰️non || 05/10/2023

First off, this is hilarious and I love it so much. One reason is cuz I already headcanoned the lovebug taking place before they got together lmao. It just cracks me up think how awkward they would be afterwards, realizing how they acted while under the influence. It's so funny.

Also this is just such a fun lovebug concept. I just love the idea of Stanley being like "Well obviously I can't just kiss him. Guess we gotta do this the long way!" Both of them are so stupid (affectionate).

Anyways, this was an absolute delight to read, it would probably make a really good fic even. Here's a little doodle, I couldn't help myself, I just wanted to draw a flustered Stanley after reading this lol.

As for a random ending for you to analyze..... hmmmm...... how about the Infinite Hole? Lmao. I just love playing that ending, it's so funny.

(Also I finally got around to making a tag for your asks btw)

#fanart #the stanley parable #tspud #tsp #tsp narrator #tspud narrator #ask #traditional art #🅰️non #lovebug au #lovebug

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lmelodie · 2 months

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Oop, told you another one was not far away. There's a lot of FEELINGS in this one, and it's also kinda dense, so let's go!

Chimera x Bernard is still very strange to me even though I keep drawing it lol. Idk they're just a really interesting dichogamy and I think they could be cute! Sue me!!

Killian however is less than pleased about it lol.

K: You bring this Christmas FILTH into my presence? Mera your better than that 😒

C: As if you're the one to talk about partner choices 🙄

K: THATS BESIDES THE POINT!!

I've drawn frozen hair and thawed hair, but not the in-between. Behind closed doors, he is only a simple pile of slush, and I love that for him.

Frozen Jacquie! Doodled this when more original art of her showed up recently, stupid little angry cutie (affectionate)

TWO Killian headshots made at different times. Every time he smiles, I just think: Man, I just want him to feel ONE good emotion every so often, why has the creator forsaken him like this?! (it's me, I'm the creator, I have only myself to blame).

YES, HE DID GIRL!! You take and CHERISH THAT FLOWER! It's a poinsettia from Bman, and she loves it.

Another thing they probably bond over is hair care! They have different types of curls but share tips and tricks for its upkeep.

It was such an accident that they ended up so voxman coded, completely unintentional and it hurts me in my core.

Jack by the way, is NOT listening to a word he's saying. Comprehension and retention skills at the moment are utter ZERO'S, he is too distracted.

#artists on tumblr #digital art #the santa clause #the santa clause 3 #blackice #oc #doodle dump #bernard the elf #a lot of OC content for this one #and a lot of oc x canon as well #it simply brings my sanity back to normal levels 😌

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rawrroarart · 2 years

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Hi everyone, semi-important update regarding this blog and why I don't post as often. I say semi because if you're just a casual looker of my blog, you can disregard this because nothing in my blog will change and I'll still be here.

But for the rest of you interested in reading more, I do have a lil potential treat at the end of this post, but it's a little long-winded to get to that point since I'm going to vent a little about my art. Though whether you read my ramble or not, you are free to claim the treat at the end (it's only a potential treat because it's based on if you even like it LOL). I'll be posting in the LWA tag, as I pretty much am a LWA blog, but I do apologize for clogging the place with something a bit unrelated, and this should be the last time I do it

Anyway if you're still reading let's get to it:

So obviously I've been dead in my blog and I hardly, if ever, post art. Now I guess it's normal to see something like this for blogs, as life gets in the way for most people and things just start to faze out. Circle of life or whatever. But truth to be told, I am still very much interested in drawing often, and as of late my life isn't even currently "in the way" that would prevent me from doing so. So why aren't I posting more frequently or even drawing at all if even on my own?

Drawing isn't fun.

That's really misleading, but let me clarify: I have too high of an expectation for myself, and with so many people watching, I get overwhelmed and even nauseous really about not churning out my absolute best All the Time. My situation obviously isn't unique or special or anything, and is of absolute no fault to you or anyone else following me. And I know, of course, no one is telling me to always churn out 100%, but it's the fear inside me to not disappoint even one of you, and I try to be a perfectionist and people-please all at once. Trying to draw like this isn't fun.

Aside from that, I also have huge issues regarding "spamming" people with my posts. This is a honestly stupid issue because no one is forced to follow me, and I know people are here because they want to be here, but I just can't help but feel bad when I post too frequently, especially combined with content that's subpar. Even this post alone I feel guilty about, since no one really "signed up" for a whole rant about inadequacy, but I figured it would be good for me especially for what treat I mentioned earlier.

These two issues together make up part of the whole sha-bang of my standstill. I get stressed if my content isn't up to standard and I get stressed if I post too often. So I just do nothing. And the more I do nothing the more stressed I get about having to be even better than the last time I've drawn, because it's obviously been so long that I must have improved on my own! (I haven't)

Anyway what does that bring us to? What is my attempt of a solution? Something obviously needs to happen to fix this, and I just want to have fun creating content again. So here's the "treat" that I mentioned earlier: I have a new art blog or should I say a doodle/scrap blog, and you are free to join me on my new journey.

How is this different from my current art blog, you ask? Well for one thing, it's going to be mainly for doodles, blurbs, anything I want really. The real kicker is that I also won't be tagging my posts (maybe occasionally if it's funny enough), so they shouldn't reach a bigger audience and spam the designated tags they would be in (like LWA). I can also more appropriately convince myself that, if you followed me, you especially are consenting to a bunch of posts (if I even post that much ha), and I'll also hold a soft spot for you LOL

You also don't have to follow me, as I'm sure a lot of my doodles will make their way to my art blog here, but in the form of one singular post labeled "doodle dump" or something. So no ones really "missing out" on anything. Following the new blog just gives you first access to whatevers going on with me

Note: I will still be posting art I put a lot of effort into on this blog!!

Of course this is all experimental, and it could all just go to shit, but I want to try to do something to get out of my slump. And before you ask "why can't you just draw without posting," it's because I thrive on validation also which is also why I get put in a standstill LOL. So yes please follow me if you'd like, I would be happy.

On another note, I'm also planning to purchase an ipad to actually have a better way of drawing, as my current digital art set up is really janky, laggy, and off-putting that it makes me not want to try either. But apple's art app looks so nice and seems perfect for me. I've set up my kofi to accept donations with a milestone if you wanted to lend a helping hand. It should be linked in my bio!

Anyway yea thanks for reading this far and supporting me. I'll do my best to keep producing content and improve my skills.

Tl;dr If you're here for the "treat," I have a new doodle blog but you consent to no thoughts head empty if you follow it. I'm also looking to buy an ipad sometime.

#lwa #i speak #yea long post but if you wanted to know next stages in my art learning process give it a read #lol i said i was gonna post in the lwa tag but i dont think it even shows up oh well #oh it did

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greypetrel · 1 year

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Taking way too long in the shower for Aisling/Cullen c:

Hello, thanks for asking! 💜

So, something new for today, I hope you’ll like it!

Since I already delved into canon hair routines (here’s the last one, we have horrified Cullen fighting poor haircare and a girlfriend who doesn’t give two cents over it)… I’ll indulge myself a little in a Modern AU.

You remember this drawing of the DadWolf with the twinsies on a leash? Well, Aisling and Dorian are under the joint custody of Solas and Varric, Varric is a novelist and Solas teaches Theoretical Magic (aka Physics) at university. It’s years later, twinsies are grown to be less destructive but still rebellious teens (Varric: “I thought you liked rebels, Chuckles. Should I remind you what you were up to, at 18?), Cullen has been the kindergarden friend they grew up together with. We’ll return into good old ship dynamic totally oblivious + internally screaming. And a thank to @ndostairlyrium for giving me ideas and bainstorming with me.

(I haven't decided on the nature of the relationship between Varric and Solas, you're free to speculate, that one comic panel wasn't that clear so why should I.)

Bonus doodle at the end! Tis the prompt list.

Either way, it ends (.)

They were getting late, and Aisling was still closed in the bathroom. And judging by the noise of running water and of her humming not so quietly a song from the wall behind him, she still was well in her shower. She had said it would have been quick, she would have been in and out before anyone realised. In truth, Cullen was slouched on her bed, head propped against the poster-covered wall, a full collage of metal bands with unreadable names and polaroid pictures she took in the years with one of her dads’ old machine, portraying a wide set of subjects from family, friends, places she visited, people she knew caught in weird and funny faces or positions, and a set of totally random subjects -apparently, he knew very well that if he asked, she would have come out with a perfectly reasonable, if out of the box, explanation for them. Legs spread wide in front of him and calves dwindling down the side. He grew almost too tall for that position, long gone were the days when they sat like that and just listened to music, switching between her and his preferred songs.

High school was over, they were bound to go to a big party that Hawke organised for the whole class to celebrate the well-earned summer rest. He didn’t want to go, he hated parties and frankly speaking he still wasn’t sure, after years, whether Hawke liked him or hated him. But Aisling has insisted, asked him nicely if he wanted to come with her.

“Come on Cul, you know my dad and his stupid rules, he won’t let me go if you and Dorian aren’t there! It will be fun, I promise, the minute you get bored we’ll go!” She had told him, pouting just a little, and he had said yes and she had beamed and hugged him with a thank you, in a well-reharsed routine of theirs.

In the years, he had become the “responsible, reliable friends” in their rag-tag family, the one that meant the siblings would have got back home all in one piece… Or not, but in that case it would have been all their own doing. They had become a well-established trio, from back at kindergarden when Aisling suddenly took an interest in his books and, after informing him very solemnly that now they were friends, started to defend him from bullies, up to every single stage of school and growth. She and Dorian were now part of his family, welcomed and expected to meals whenever their dads were together outside town or busy, and he was welcomed there in tow, even unannounced, they always made space for him too, and made him feel welcome. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t have only the 3 siblings that shared his blood, but two more, gained through years and years, and now painfully long waiting for the elf to get out of the shower.

Except, he didn’t want to be her brother, he hadn’t wanted to be her brother too since… Well, since years, now. He still hadn’t told her, but she never seemed interested in anything more, didn’t treat him any differently than Dorian, and well… He wasn’t going to stay there for much longer, so what was the point? Not that he told her that as well…

So, right now, looking at the hour on his cellphone yet again, he sighed and slouched a little more, not caring if his shirt got wrinkled. Mia and his mother would have scolded him to no end, but he couldn’t care less. He didn’t care about Hawke’s party or being pretty, and sure as sunrise, Aisling never cared much about looks alone.

“Still inside?” Came with a knock on the door. Cullen opened his eyes, not bothering to rise up. It was long since he gained the level of confidence to slouch freely in that house - even if Solas still put him in awe, no matter how much the professor treated him amicably. Dorian peeked in the door, half-ready himself and looking at him with a knowing look.

“Yeah. We’re gonna be late even if she comes out now.”

“Got it, Romeo, I’ll fix it.”

“Ro-? What?”

“Come on, Cullen. She could tell you she wants to dig people up from the cemetery to try to play Frankenstein and you would answer by picking the spade up.” He sighed, staring at him. “It’s ok with me, you’d be cute together. You picked the less handsome sibling, but tastes are tastes.” He teased, rushing away with a laugh as Cullen playfully tossed him a pillow.

Ten seconds later, there was Dorian slamming over the bathroom door, yelling at Aisling to just quit it and leave the bathroom, or he would have told Solas she was planning on more tattoos.

… More? What did it mean more?

It wasn’t long, thankfully, since he knew. Aisling, long hair still damp swinging against her back and grumpy, marched in her room rolled in a towel and… And her whole left arm red and angry under and totally covered from shoulder to elbow in twirly vines and ivy leaves and a couple of bees, all in teal lines and shading. It wasn’t there yesterday, so…? The tattoo was thankfully a good excuse for her to not mind terribly much that he was definitely gaping at her for the wrong reasons – but she had a towel and nothing on, even if she was covered from chest to knees.

“Oh, hi! Thought you were with Dorian, sorry.”

“I- Ah, n-no, I… I waited for you here.” He fumbled, fixing his eyes on her arm and not on… Well, anywhere else.

She just shrugged and padded behind the wooden screen right beside her wardrobe, avoiding to step on random books and notes and scattered clothes that littered her floor. She never learnt to be tidy, but could find anything in her chaos incredibly easily.

“Do you have the car? I can’t drive today.” Noise of drawers being opened and closed.

“Yes, I borrowed mom’s… What happened?” He was thankful for the change of topic, and cleared his throat, blushing as he saw her tossing the towel on top of the screen, trying to focus on not imagining her naked by turning his head towards the door.

“I solved the Vallaslin crisis, but Solas wasn’t appreciative. I’m technically grounded from tomorrow morning, and just because Dorian complained that it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t go to the party without me, as per his stupid rule.” She grumbled, with a sigh.

The “Vallaslin crisis” happened all but last week: she had decided to get a Vallaslin. She never knew her biological parents or remember much, but knew they were Dalish… And had decided she wanted to honour her roots by getting a Vallaslin. She had plans, contacted a Keeper that provided the service, spoke with her and had her ok, they agreed on a design for her -Cullen had seen it, it wasn’t as intrusive on her face as some were. But still, when she told her dad about it, he got incredibly angry. As she communicated him right away, writing her anger in caps lock. He thought of the tattoo and chuckled.

“You got a tattoo that isn’t a Vallaslin?” He asked, knowing the answer.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, peeking from the screen with a big smile on her face, expression all lit up as every time she was happy about something. “Do you like it? I wanted to do the whole sleeve, but we ran out of time and money…”

She explained, the left arm peeking out from the screen as she rolled it around, proudly, for him to look. It really was pretty and it suited her, the teal always looked good on her, even if her skin was angry and red.

“So, that’s why it took you so painfully long in the shower?” He asked, teasing.

“As if you didn’t take half an hour just for your hair!”

“My hair needs half an hour and a lot of products to look decent, you are just a klutz.”

“I am not a klutz! But it hurt like hell under hot water, I had to take more care!”

“So, you had a huge tattoo without knowing any better about its aftercare and needed to figure out things on your own?” He snorted. “Sounds like a klutz, klutz.”

In all reply, there was a tube flying in a parable from behind the screen towards Cullen, which he caught mid-air, snorting a laughter. Bepanthol cream, it said. He turned it around in his hands, with no better to do than fidgeting a little.

“You’re just envious that I am in a rebellious phase that listening to so much Ed Sheeran tuned totally down from you, mr Perfect.” She rebuked. Never one to leave the last word to another person, she was, and he smiled at it.

“Sure, I’m very envious that your rebellious phase forces you to ask me to drive you around, and almost electrocuted you in an experiment the other-”

“Fuck, SSSHT!” She peeked from the screen again, a finger on her lips and eyes wide, nodding towards the open door. “If Solas knew that, he’d lock me in this room until First Day.” She whispered, emphatically.

“It would be a better excuse than being late because you did a reckless thing and hurt yourself in the shower, still.”

“Well, at least now you have to wait for me sitting all comfy, and not helping me climb out the window and down the back porch. You’re very welcome.”

They bantered, again in an old-formed habit without a hint of animosity between them, until she finally stepped out of the screen in a green tartan print dress, a square-cut skirt barely reaching her knees at the shortest and puffing up a little around her waist, thin straps holding a straight bodice up to her shoulders, and left close by her hand clamping on the back opening.

“Can you help me, please? I can't get the zip up…”

Cullen swallowed, as she turned towards him and deftly swept her hair over her shoulder, revealing too much back than he was comfortable with, included the hooks of her bra. They grew up together, she was very touchy, it would have been impossible not to had physical contact with her, and he saw her in her highest and lowest, saw her puking her guts out the first time they all three got drunk and did turns for the bathroom in a -futile- hope their parents won’t have caught on them. And yet…

“S-sure.”

He kicked back up, sitting straight on the edge of the bed, hands shaking a little with nerves as he took hold of the fabric to keep it down with a hand, the other bringing the zipper up, maybe a little slower than it would be necessary. But so close, her hair smelled like peaches and her skin was soft and smooth and warm, where his knuckle brushed against her spine. As he had imagined it would be. He prayed it didn’t feel as awkward to her as he felt it was, fumbling in the new sense of intimacy of the gesture, and that her utter obliviousness whenever anyone flirted with her saved him yet again. He grunted, when he was done, and patted her shoulder, awkwardly.

“Well, don-”

“OUCH!” She hissed in pain, and Cullen realised he was so up in his head that he had, mistakenly, patted her left. Freshly tattooed.

Aisling retreated one step, right hand coming to clutch hard at her left arm and hissing in pain yet again as she did it.

“FUCK!” She exclaimed, before groaning.

“Language, young miss!” Came yelling from below, in a tired voice.

Cullen chuckled, turning to retrieve the tube of pomade she had tossed to him before and gesturing to her to come closer. He had to tell her. He really did. But she would have been sad, and he wanted to drag this a little further. Just another evening of their normality, bantering just because about taking too much time in the shower, about music tastes, about food, about experiments or what to do Saturday night until words were exhausted and they could rest and not speak together for a while. Just one evening more, drag the softness of childhood again for some more time, let problems be easy for still a little more.

And indeed she sat beside him, offering her left arm with a huff, as if it was the most normal things to do. He uncapped the tube, and started spreading a film of cream over her upper arm, delicately as he could. He realised he had used too much of it, but she didn’t seem to mind the contact, and if she felt like this was more intimate than their usual, she was apparently better then him at hiding.

Dorian reached them after a minute, groaning because Aisling still was not ready, and causing a whole new banter that now involved all three of them. Again, it was normal, it was trivial and something that surprised no one -certainly not Solas that hopped up the stairs and peeked inside to check what they were up to, still at home, reminding them they were running late with a chorus of “It’s Aisling’s fault!” from the two boys, and an outraged protest from the elf.

They finally made their way down and out, with a last recommendation from Solas to be careful, always stick together and for the love of Noam Chomsky, do him a small favour for once and remember that the curfew was at 1am and they were all expected back by then by both him and the Rutherfords.

The party was nice, as far as party went. Aisling’s new tattoo was enough to make everyone forget that they were 45 minutes late, and caused lots of cheers -and a very envious Raina Hawke yelling she wanted one as well. And it went as parties always went for them. Aisling dividing herself in dancing and keeping Cullen -the wallflower who didn’t like to dance- some company, sitting with him.

She was very pretty this evening, even with half an arm covered in plastic foil and glistening from cream. They toasted to the end of prisony -aka high school- and to the future ahead. Toasted again to pray for universities to reply with positive answers. Not that for Aisling and Dorian there were ever many doubts, both being on top of their classes and related to a renowned professor, but still they really did care to enter to the Physics program for merit and not connections, and entering together as they always did things.

Cullen changed the topic when she asked which university and program he applied to, if he in the end decided to apply for History as he sometimes hinted the rare times he spoke about his plans.

He didn’t tell her that he applied and received a scholarship for the Royal Military Academy. That he applied and was accepted for officer training, and was bound to leave come September. No. He would have told her, of course, but… He didn’t want to spend these last weeks with her sad because seeing each other would be difficult in the autumn, as he knew she would be. Let them be filled with friendly banter, with going to a last Ed Sheeran concert he already bought tickets for, even if she hated it - but loved having pizza afterwards and chatting about music. He would have followed in exchange to some club where an unknown metal band that didn't sing but screamed played, just them three and the other 5 people that actually knew who played. He loved having pizza afterwards as well.

As for his feelings, making his heart beat faster and plastering a smile on his face as she was sitting there and talking loudly to be heard over the music, gesticulating with a bottle of beer in her hand… Well. Those he could keep for himself.

#dragon age #cullavellan #dadwolf au #dorian pavus #aisling lavellan #modern AU #writing petrel #dragon age fic #IT'S IMPROVISED I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

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monochromemedic · 3 years

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I had been stuck in the Dark World for who knows how long. The days didn’t seem to matter down here. No sun, no moon, just the vibrant green grid that coated the sky that would twitch and surge with occasional frequency. When I first got here, I fought hard to get back to the surface, to fight for any sense of normalcy, for home but after a while the dream began to fade. The options began to run dry when compared to the dangers that surrounded me. And so I settled. I survived. I searched for food, begged for shelter from kind Darkners. I did what I had to to live. The Queen was not an option. Whispers from Darkners told me how I was just what she was looking for, that would help her expand her reign to the Light World. As much as that would probably help me, I didn’t want to ruin the lives of others for the chance to see my family, as much as I missed them with every passing minute. The sound of bustling cars and the blinding lights of neon signs stung my senses, my palms pressing into my eyes to drown out what I could. Damn it this place never slept did it? There was always something, some sort of noise. Whatever bags I had under my eyes were probably made cartoonishly drastic with the lack of pure rest I was getting. ‘Supose it was better then being dead... My body felt heavy, and I knew I’d have to find a place to rest or I’d fall asleep mid crossing of a road and get run over by one of those goofy cars I’d seen. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad... I recalled the time one of the car’s rear bumped into a fire hydrant (or at least I thought it was) and made a squeaking sound. The darkness of a certain alley called to me, the silence a sweet lullaby to the roaring around me. Was it dangerous? Oh yeah. Was it stupid? No shit. Was I going to do it? The shadows the engulfed me were perfect and if it wasn’t for the underlying stench of garbage it’d probably be ideal. Still beggars couldn’t be choosers and if tonight was good enough I would have to consider having this as my permanent sleeping spot. My back slid against the cool wall across from the dumpster, eyes half lidded as they read the advertisements littering above. Why the hell did the Queen have ads anyway, if she wanted she could monopolize any products she wanted... Despite the quiet I couldn’t shake the feeling that creeped down my spine. The presence of something other then myself around me. I tried to close my eyes, I was in the city after all. It’d be concerning if I didn’t feel like people were one second from crawling up my ass. Though I had to admit I didn’t expect to actually feel something begin to touch me. My eyes snapped open, elbow prodding into a blurry shape that yelped and tumbled backward, it’s grasp my on shoulder tearing a hole in my already worn shirt in the struggle. “Hey! What the hell?!” I barked, standing over the perpetrator. My shoulders slumped when I saw what looked to be a doll staring up at me with wide eyes, an over exaggerated smile permanently spread across it’s face. The creature’s jaw opened wider with a clack, it’s small body shooting upwards to stand on it’s small pointed feet. “WOAH WOAH WOAHAH- [Live worms]!” The darkner’s voice was deafeningly loud, a shrill tone that cut the air like newly sharpened blades. “ I THOUGHT YOU WERE [Roadkill]. NICE TO KNOW I WON’T BE [Sleeping with the fishes] T0NIGHT!!” Well he had a certain way of speaking that was obvious. What the hell was going on with him, he talked like he was constantly being cut of random clips of other people speaking. He talked like a youtube poop or any other shitpost that would randomly shove memes into them for a quick laugh. “You thought I was dead? I was just... I was... uh.” I looked around me, eyeing the dirt and debris. “I was... going to sleep... here.” Dammit, telling people I had to sleep in such ratty places were always a blow to the ego but I suppose it was better then saying ‘Oh I was just sitting down here to die’ The puppet shook his head and waltzed over to the dumpster, his small hand smacking the side with a sense of pride. “ [Finders keepers, losers weepers] HUMAN, YOU PICKED A GOOD SPOT. TOO BAD [so sadd] I GOT HERE FIRST. THOUGH FOR A DEAL I SUPPOSE I COULD [Share the love~]” “Got here first... what are you talking about?” The Darkner let out a laugh, distorted echoes filling the air as he leapt inside, a solitary hand popping out to beg me to come closer. This was a terrible idea, but despite my best judgement I followed, and witnessed what I could only describe to be a makeshift bed inside. The puppet laid on top of musty mats and raggedy rugs, a single stained pillow resting just beneath his head. My god was he living in here? The creature continued his laugh, lurching only a few inches away from my face. “ [Sweet deal] ISN’T IT? J3ALOUS, [baby]?” I shirked back, cheeks reddening at the tone of his last word. I was most defiantly not jealous, in fact I was filled with remorse, something his pride did not help with. “It’s... uh something. I guess this means I’ll have to find another alleyway um, sorry for bothering you-” “SPAMTON.” “What?” His hand shot out towards my chest, fingers wiggling for a handshake. “SP-SPA MTON G SPAMTON, [Number 1 rated salesmen 1997]” He announced, an extra flair of bravado laced his titled. His hand was surprisingly warm for what it was made of but nothing that would be described as body temperature. “Jenna. Also 1997.” “WHAT A YEAR. LISTEN LIGHT nER, I AM DEALSMAN [yes/no?]” “Um... y-yes? I don’t-” “THEN LET ME MAKE A DEAL YEAH? FOR ONLY [many] KROMER, YOU MAY STAY IN MY [Privately owned] ALLEY. IT’S A REAL [steal] YOU’RE ROBBING ME [deaf] HERE!” My brows furrowed as I searched his face for any context clues for what the hell he was trying to say. Kromer? What the fuck was ‘kromer’? The only thing I knew of currency down here was dark dollars not kromer... even if he did ask for dark dollars he didn’t name a price, he just said many. And the amount of dark dollars I had was zero. “Uh I don’t have kromer. I don’t even have dark dollars I’m kinda broke Spamton, in case you couldn’t tell from uh...” I trailed off realizing saying that sleeping in an alley wasn’t a very smart thing to say to someone who slept in an alley. He seemed surprised by my words, beginning to tug on my coat, flipping my pockets to see if I was really lying. I had to push his mitts off me a couple of times, to which he eventually got the idea the way his hands began to rub at his extended jaw. “NO KROMER... WHAT CAN YOU DO?” “What do you mean?” He seemed to sense my change in tone, his grin beginning to wobble nervously “[Whoopsie daisy!] LET ME START AGAIN. DO YOU HAVE A [trade]? A [skill] TO [Exchange for goods and services]?” he croaked. I eyed the ground, rubbing the back of my neck. What the hell was I good at again? “I mean, I can draw, I suppose...” “ARTIST? WOW OWOW!” Spamton’s face lit up before digging in the dumpster, pulling out a few napkins and a ball point pen and shoving them into my hands. “WHAT A [trade] TELL YOU WHAT. YOU DRAW A [one-of-a-kind masterpiece] AND YOU CAN STAY THE NIGHT!” “You’ll let me stay... if I draw something for you on this napkin. Am I getting that right?” The doll nodded feverishly, basically hovering over my shoulder as I played with the pen. This was certainly the weirdest way to pay someone that I could imagine... well no but one that was in the realm of reality. I had to ask Spamton to give me some space a few time, the feeling of his breath on my neck making me more then nervous as I drew. God he was like those kids in school that would ask for drawings but ten times worse with the amount of personal space he’d give you. Besides I needed something to draw and with nothing on the mind why not draw the most interesting thing in front of me. I held the finished doodle out to Spamton only to have it snatched out of my fingers so fast I swore we could have started a fire. “WOAH...” The puppet sank inside of the dumpster, his face softening as for once in what seemed like forever the alley way grew silent. “THIS IS... ME?” “Yeah. Sorry I didn’t know what to draw, you kind of put me on the spot. Besides everyone likes drawings of themselves right?” I shrugged, being pulled away from my thoughts by an overdramatic sniffle. Was he... crying? Not quite, just damn well close. Spamton’s shoulders quaked as a warm smile returned to his cheeks, slipping the napkin into his pocket with glee. “SO GOOD... THANK YOU.” “It’s really nothing, honestly that was a pretty shitty drawing.” “WHAT? YOU’RE [&#!^]ING ME! THAT WAS [BIG SHOT]” He was screaming again, hands gesturing wildly about. “It wasn’t but thank you. I wish I was better to be honest. I’m not very happy with my art, not at all.” I turned away from his gaze, unsure of why I was overcome by a choking sensation building my throat. Why the hell was I telling this stranger this sort of stuff anyway? I mean I could hazard a guess it was the fact that this was the longest conversation I had had with anyone since I had gotten down here but with how things were it could be some magic power the doll possessed to tell him my deepest darkest secrets. “YOU DON’T THINK THIS IS [Big?]” “No.” “WHY NOT?” “I don’t know. I just... I think it doesn’t look the way I want it to. Doesn’t look good to me, and I don’t know how to fix it. Which I guess is a little funny considering how long I’ve been drawing. Just keep... drawing and drawing and never improving, least not how I’d like. It’s just garbage to me.” Spamton’s face seemed to fall, his glasses fading to a dark inky black. “YOU FEEL? NO GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO? YOUR [passion]?” “Yeah.” A laugh ripped from his chest, his head lolling back with each chuckle. I felt my soul began to crack, a shame flooding my body with how hard he seemed to laugh. Did he find this funny? Humorous? I felt tears prick my eyes as I snapped my head back to glare at him, his head glitching back to stare back at me. “YOU’RE JUST LIKE ME, JENNA. A [slime] A REAL [slime]!” With a quick motion the puppet jumped to the ground, his hand resting against my arm as he spoke. “YOU’RE A REAL [BIG SHOT] YOU KNOW THAT? STAY AS LONG AS YOUR [Greasy little heart] DESIRES!” Well... that was unexpected. He’d really let me stay here as long as I want cause I was pathetic? Or did he just feel sorry for me? What was going on? And why was he calling me a slime... or us a slime? “Oh... uh thanks? I didn’t think I was being much of a big shot whatever that is but I apricate it. Really.” His head clacked with every little nod, leading me to a pile of cardboard boxes and patting them with the grace of a car salesman. “BEST [Seat in the house] ALL FOR YOU. [Night night forever]!” Spamton beamed, awkwardly swaying side to side before stumbling back to the dumpster a few inches away and crawling inside of it, much like a wild animal. I couldn’t help but laugh a little. This guy was weird. Kinda creepy but also kind of funny. I honestly couldn’t pinpoint a feeling on him but at least he didn’t want to hurt me just make weird ass deals and make me ‘big’. Did that mean famous? Was this guy so into my art he wanted to be some sort of manager? I rubbed my eyes and let out a yawn, the excitement of the day finally beginning to fade. God I forgot how tired I was, that little guy made me feel like I was gonna go into fight or flight. “Hey Spamton?” “YES?” his voice echoed from inside the metal container. “...Thank you.”

#self insert #spamton #vent #idk im just thinking #just wanted something to do

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startanewdream · 3 years

Note

Hiya, Mah! Please, if you feel like it, could you write something with: "9. “I’m too sober for this.” “You don’t even drink.” “Maybe I should start.”? For whichever ship you want to :)

Hi! 💓

For you I wrote a missing moment with my all-time favourite Sixth Year Pining Harry. Hope you enjoy this moment and thank you so much for joining this silly game :)

__________

Harry registers the heavy scent of flowers even before he notices it’s Ginny who sat next to him on the couch. He flinches, not wanting her to be so near him, though it’s all for the wrong reasons.

It’s really hard to pretend he isn’t crazy about her when she is so close, wonderful perfume in the air, so near that he wonders how it would be to turn towards her and see her eyes sparkling with a surprise for a second as he would lean even closer, and then Harry would close his eyes and…

She has a boyfriend, stop it. She is not interested.

That thought never makes his dreams go away, though.

‘Ugh,’ Ginny complains, pressing her temples and Harry almost offers to replace her hands. He could massage her, that would be a friendly thing, right? Not really, he admits. ‘I’m too sober for this.’

She frees one hand to indicate everything around her. Fred and George are sitting together at another couch, face troubled after being reprimanded by their father; Mrs Weasley is crying in the kitchen, her husband holding her; Bill and Fleur are close by the Christmas tree, and Harry thinks Fleur is being very accomplished in easing Bill’s worries, so he turns his eyes away quickly.

Harry isn’t sure what’s upsetting Ginny more, but he knows he is the reason Christmas spirit is so low.

‘You don’t even drink,’ he notices grimly.

‘Maybe I should start.’ She opens one eye. ‘Do you think Mum would notice if I went to the liquor cabinet?’

‘Do you have one?’

‘No, probably not. Or else Fred and George would have discovered it already.’

‘They are of age. I’m sure they can provide you with some firewhiskey.’

‘Harry, Harry.’ Now she opens both eyes, looking more relaxed as she watches him with something close to amusement. ‘Shouldn’t you be talking me out of my underage drinking?’

He can’t help his smile. ‘I know that the easiest way to convince you to do anything is to forbid you.’

Ginny laughs. It’s not her brightest laugh, not with the mood still sober in the house—the Minister’s visit weighted them all—, but it’s nice all the same and it warms Harry more than the eggnog he drank.

‘You know me too well, Harry.’

He looks away carefully now. He noticed her, all right, but he doesn’t want her to see how much. It’s certainly more than reasonable for friends.

‘Better than most,’ she adds, somewhat heavier now, and Harry watches her again. Ginny is looking at the lights of the Christmas tree thoughtfully, seeming to even ignore her brother snogging her fiance next to it.

‘Got a problem?’

She blinks, snapping out of something. ‘Problem? No, I—’ she shakes her head. ‘Never mind, today was just a mess.’

‘I know. I’m really sorry.’

Ginny frowns. ‘Sorry for what?’

Harry sighs, glancing guiltily in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Well, Percy and the Minister—’

‘No one forced Percy to be a git, Harry,’ she says, somewhat more like herself suddenly. ‘He came here as the Minister’s lapdog because he wanted to.’

‘If it weren’t for me, he would still—’

‘Still be blissfully ignorant that You-Know-Who returned?’ she asks forcefully. ‘Find another stupid reason to betray his family?’

‘Yes,’ he agrees, sad. ‘But it wouldn’t be me.’

She shakes her head. ‘Stop it. Really. It’s his choices, and you’re not responsible for them.’

Harry doesn’t answer, stealing another glance to the kitchen. He can hear a sniffle coming from there.

‘No one blames you, Harry, especially not Mum.’

He looks back at her, almost smiling. ‘Sometimes it's like you are reading my mind.'

And then he wonders if it wouldn't just be easy if that was the case; if Ginny could just see how he feels about her, how she is so bright and how much... How much she visits his dreams.

Maybe it's good she can't read him that well.

'I know you too,' she answers calmly. 'If you are not blaming yourself for something, you call it a bad day.'

'I can not blame myself… some days.'

She raises her fist, holding an imaginary cup.

'To only blaming yourself for things that are under your control,' Ginny declares, and Harry toasts playfully with her.

Ginny blinks, taking a deep breath, then she picks up a book that was standing on the coffee table in front of them, flipping through it. Harry notices all pages are blank.

'It's a sketchbook,' she says, knowing he is looking. 'Dean gave me for Christmas.'

'Oh.' A weight drops in his stomach, unpleasant. 'Nice.'

'Yeah, I told him I wished I could draw like him and he thought I could begin…'

She looks a little troubled at the book and Harry suddenly knows what's on her mind.

'It's just a sketchbook. Nothing else.'

'I… I know.' Ginny sighs. 'Blame ourselves only for what we can control, right?'

'Right.' He smiles. As jealous as he feels about Dean giving her a Christmas gift, he decides that making her feel better is more important. 'What are you going to draw?'

Ginny grins as if unable to resist his joyfulness. 'Oh, I don't know. Nothing probably. When I said I wished I could draw like him it was more wishful thinking, not that I really wanted to do it. I am no artist.'

Harry indicates the room, so bright with the paper decoration she had spent hours doing. 'I don't know, decoration is stylish here.'

'Thanks,' she laughs, not really taking him seriously. 'Well, I can't draw still. I have no patience for it.'

'Then let's not draw.' He looks around until he finds a quill and ink. 'Doodle. Write a short story.'

'I could write a poem,' she says, just a really teasing, a blush coming to her cheeks.

Heat creeps upon his neck too.

'You are good with rhymes,' he whispers.

There is a moment of silence, and Harry feels Ginny's eyes over him as if she is trying to assess if he is messing with her or, somehow, really complimenting her for her valentine's card from years ago.

Again, he almost wishes she could read her mind.

Then she lets out a sigh, placing the quill over the first page of the sketchbook and drawing a grid. She draws a cross at the middle of it, watching the ink dry before offering him the quill.

'Your turn.'

Their hands brush when he goes to pick the quill and for a moment, three very short and very long seconds, their eyes meet. Maybe she can read his mind after all, because her eyes are sparkling, a blazing look on them, and she has to know how he feels about her because he is sure he is matching her gaze. The same longing, the same emotions, the same urge to just lean in and…

They blink at the same time. Harry draws the nought anywhere, not really paying attention, but Ginny ends up allowing a draw.

At the end of the game, she looks at their art, that silly game of noughts and crosses that is the only thing in the sketchbook, a satisfied smile on her lips as if that's the kind of thing she wants to fill those pages with.

Harry wonders if she wants to fill pages with him too.

'Another match?'

Harry can't refuse her.

__________

Please join me in this birthday special (asking for a prompt! Let me see your work too! 😍)

#hinny #harry and ginny #missing moment #harry feels really romantic when he is pining #pining harry #i wrote like that because i cant draw either #t: fanfiction #birthday prompts

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imjeralee · 3 years

Note

i request that you drink plenty of water and take care of yourself !!! ·o·b after thats done, came i pretty please get headcanons with link, Kaeya and maybe Childe about an s/o who draws them one day as a confession and gives it to them? :) (maybe they already knew and saw them drawing them before ? who knows) thank you in advance!!

Thank you anon! *looks at cup of green tea beside laptop* yep I think i’m doing well in keeping myself hydrated recently hehe but thank you :3

Anyway please see below for the ask! (it’s pretty long)

Link

He was grooming one of the ponies when he saw you standing behind a tent peeking at him curiously and when he turned round properly, you quickly scampered away and he got worried so he followed you to the room you share to see you sitting on the bed with a wine red book propped up in your lap but upon his return, you immediately hid it behind your back, smiling widely at him

He wonders what it was but decides not to pry, but he later discovers it was actually a sketchbook when he’s packing up for tomorrow and you’re taking a bath and the sketchbook drops out of your pack and onto the floor, opening at a random page

He picks it up with the intention to return it to your bag but then he sees the various drawings of him in his Ancient Armour set, Hylian and Snowquill set. They’re fully coloured and it looks like you’ve spent hours on them. He didn’t know you were this artistic and wondered why you hid this from him

The date you wrote on the bottom of the page indicates that you drew all this in one day! He’s super impressed

Then he sees the note you wrote below: “To my Dearest Link, I hope you like my drawings of you. All I can think about is how lucky I am to be able to be by your side, you’ve changed my life for the better and-”

Obv half complete so now he knows why you didn’t want to show him and he respects your privacy, so he puts the sketchbook away

Outside, he sees Beedle and goes over to see what’s new for sale. Beedle has some cool art stuff (well, it’s more like stuff that can be used for dye but can also be used as paint) so he buys some for you as a present which he will give to you later.

Next day, you get chased by a group of Bokogoblins and the book and all your drawing supplies drops out from your bag.

You didn’t see it drop and returned to the stable, ransacking your bag like crazy only to find your stuff missing

When you realise everything must have dropped out when you got chased, you quickly leave the stable to go back to the area but it’s thunder and lightning so Link chases after you

“Link, what are you doing? Go back, the weather’s awful.” You tell him but he shakes his head, unable to leave you alone in the rain like this

He helps you with your search and you end up locating your book and your supplies which are lying in the mud

The book has been trampled over and some of the pages have been torn out. The remaining pages are soaked with dirt and grime. Your pencils are snapped in half and your paints have been left to bleed all over the grass. All of your drawings are ruined, too. This is your worst nightmare.

Link observes you silently as tears begins to form in your eyes and you look at him, sniffling slightly.

You’re experiencing a mixture of devastation, frustration, anger and exasperation - from your carelessness to the stupid bokogoblins - and this incident infuriates you so much you throw the book to the ground angrily

Before you can march away, Link grabs your wrist

Turning round, your gazes meet and he looks at you softly, intently.

‘What’s wrong?’ he is saying.

“I was going to use those to confess to you!” you end up roaring out by accident.

Link looks at you, a little stunned

“N-Never mind! Everything’s ruined!!!!”

You’re about to storm off again when Link suddenly pulls you into his chest and gives you a hug

“!” you’re so shocked you can’t speak

He pulls away though, and leads you to the hollow of a nearby tree trunk where he gestures for you to sit down to shelter from the rain whilst he glances around, then sprints back over to where the ruined sketchbook is

He picks it up and holds it against his chest as if it’s dear to him. That’s not all, you watch as he begins to pick up the remaining pages that were torn out and once he’s collected them all he returns to you, clutching the pages tightly

"Link...” you murmur breathlessly as he he kneels down in front of you before he fishes around in his pockets to reveal a random bunch of paint pots in his hand.

You’re a little confused, but realise he has some spares which he must have bought from a merchant

it’s not much but...

he nudges it to you for your offering

You gawp at him for a few moments before you smile and chuckle and upon seeing you back to your usual self again, Link smiles and helps you back onto your own feet to stand

You thank him as you cradle the paints to yourself. You will need to restart from scratch from somehow it feels ok and something tells you you don’t need to hide it from him anymore

And you return to the stable, sheltering from the rain by sharing a large leaf together

Kaeya

Let’s begin with the fact that alongside you, there is a maid who also likes Kaeya as much as you do and she’s a bit of a sneaky bugger and you don’t show your drawings to anyone or watermark your artwork until they’re complete. You can probably see where this is going

One day, Kaeya finds out you are drawing a picture of him when he comes to your office to inform you that there’s a group of abyss mages outside Mondstadt so you hurry off to dispatch it and leaving Kaeya in your office

He accidentally comes across your drawing when he sees his face on a piece of parchment and his interest is piqued so he heads over to check it out

It’s a really good sketch!!! the amount of detail is insane! he had no idea you possessed such skill and who knew that you could create such beautiful art like this? He also finds some rough doodles and sketches you made earlier on some scrap paper you had also written on so he knows it’s you

Anyway, he puts everything back to join you in battle, but not before passing a maid along the way who is heading to your room to clean up

She comes across your drawing and she’s always fancied Kaeya herself, so for some reason other than just thinking she might be able to get away with it if she’s sneaky enough, she takes your drawing and sets off with it

Meanwhile, you return to your room after the battle, take off your coat and sit comfortably in your chair, reaching for your quill

“Ah, time to get back to my drawing of Kaeya.” you say with a smile, looking at your desk.

Wait a minute.

Something is wrong.

Very wrong.

It’s GONE!

After checking the rest of your office (and its clearly not there), you rush outside, wondering what happened to it when you see Kaeya and a maid talking in the corridor

they didn’t see you, so you quickly hide

“Please accept this, captain Kaeya!” gushes the maid, presenting your drawing to him. “I drew this picture of you to show how much you mean to me.”

What in the Samachurl shit is this?

You’re about to storm over when Kaeya takes the drawing with a delicate brow raised, studies it intently and goes, “Oh? But I’m not so sure about that.”

“W-what do you mean, Captain Kaeya?”

“There’s no watermark on it,” he points out, “....one could’ve taken anyone’s artwork and claim that it’s theirs.”

“T-That’s - ! Ah, Captain Kaeya, h-how could you think so lowly of me?”

“I’m only just stating some simple facts, that’s all. You won’t hold that against me, will you? And I’m certainly not accusing you of anything...unless you...?”

“Oh....uh....I...I-I’m so sorry, Captain Kaeya, you’re right! I-I....please excuse me!”

The maid’s too embarrassed to proceed any further and leaves, running away.

Indeed, what in the samachurl hell had just happened?

It goes quiet and you wonder if he’s still there; you step out of your hiding place only to go nose-to-chest with Kaeya.

He greets you with a smirk. “if it isn’t the little kitten, what are you doing here?”

“Um...uh, I....that....that drawing - “

What he said is right, there’s no watermark. How can you prove it’s yours? Would he believe you if you told him?

“Hm? Ah, yes, this drawing. I was going to keep it for myself.”

“No, wait! I mean...er...it’s not finished yet-”

“So you drew this then?”

“Yes, I did. it was me.” Though you wonder if he would believe you after everything you had just heard.

“Why?”

You lamely tell him you really like him and wanted to use it to confess to him.

He watches you for a few seconds, then hands the drawing to you. “I’ll wait until you’ve finished then.”

“Huh?” You gasp. He gave it back to you so easily despite what he said to the maid! “You...you’re not-”

“I knew it was you who drew it. I recognised your style.”

“Then why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“If I said so earlier, how else would I get you to confess to me?”

“KAEYA!!!”

(from then on he’ll want you to draw him more often)

Childe

Saw you sitting on the grassy hill near Qingxu Pool drawing earlier and because he is good at sneaking up on people, you didn’t hear him as he casually leaned over to peek over your shoulder and said, “Hey girlie, what’re you up to?”

You’re like “UWAGH!” and quickly close your sketchbook before turning round to see Childe.

“N-nothing!” you exclaim, before you get up and run down the hill, leaving a very amused Childe on his own

Later, when you’ve finished your masterpiece, you nervously approach Childe and tell him, “Um....this is for you, let me know what you think.” before rushing off in a blushing mess and Childe will open the sketchbook to see that you’ve drawn a very nice portrait of him in a battle stance, wielding his bow, surrounded by his hydro blades

Childe stands, staring at the picture

Then he sees the words ‘do you like me?’ scribbled at the very bottom

Childe staring hard now

He’s used to giving people gifts but now that he’s received something so thoughtful, he’s a bit overwhelmed. he can tell you put so much effort and hardwork into this. Ah, what is this feeling?

He closes the book without further ado and scrubs a hand over his face

he actually wasn’t expecting you to do this. he knew you were drawing him but the result is really....something else

You don’t hear him from Childe in a few days and you are so nervous and worried.

Is this a rejection? Maybe he didn’t like your picture after all...

You’re walking in the streets and sigh and sit on the stone steps of Liyue, staring at the sea, upset and dejected

But then you hear a whistle from behind and throw a glance over your shoulder to see Childe standing on a higher step, a hand in his pocket

“Hey girlie, heads up,” he tosses a paper plane into the air which makes this little loop before you stand to catch it

Looking up, Childe has gone

You unfold the paper plane to its proper size to reveal that Childe’s drawn a little sketch of you in return and he has written: ‘Yes I do’.

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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

Text

Ruathym, part Three

Rating: NSFW Length: 2272 Pairing: Male Drider x GN Reader

The finale for the romance for @kim-monsterlings!

xxx

Much to your surprise, Ruathym gives you space. There are fewer summons and the spies make themselves ever scarcer, until you could swear there were long stretches of time in which you were truly alone. Even more surprising, you found yourself becoming restless and ill-tempered in these moments, losing your patience with even Tinki. (Of course, you make it up to the little, well-meaning creature; spiders, you learn, are surprisingly good at puppy-dog eyes.)

“You’ve been snapping at the staff left and right,” Ruathym says with no small amount of amusement some days later, braiding your hair down your scalp. It’s gotten longer, you realise, and you contemplate cutting it before your captor speaks. “Have I displeased you in some way?”

Yes, you wish to say, but you’re sure that the King has done nothing wrong. Not truly. “No,” you say instead, though it sounds unconvincing to your own ears.

“Hm,” hums Ruathym, tugging gently at your hair in admonishment. “With the way you’ve been acting, one might get the impression that you dislike being far from my side.” You twitch and he laughs, triumphant. “Is that it, my little bug? Have you come to crave the pull of my silk?”

“I wish you wouldn’t mock me,” you grouse, sighing heavily. “It reminds me why I prefer my own company.”

Ruathym chuckles, fingertips skating along the skin of your back before he picks you up and cradles you against him in his four arms. “I thought humans needed time to mourn their losses,” he says, searching your face with something sharper in his eyes than his usual derision. “I’m no reader of minds, my sweet. You must tell me if you have want of me.”

You scoff. You can’t help it. When has being vulnerable ever served you well? You almost bite his fingers when he turns your face to look into your eyes, sighing once again in your defeat. “And if I do?” you challenge, lifting your proud chin. “What of it?”

“Then you shall become my consort,” says Ruathym, with a simple frankness that flabbergasts you.

“Your—what?” you gasp, distantly aware that your lips are flapping like a fish on the docks.

“Do try not to make me repeat myself,” Ruathym replies in exasperation, pinching your chin. “My consort. My lover. Whatever you humans call those of our stations in courtship.”

“But I’m human!” you splutter, struggling to sit up straighter in his arms.

“I’m aware,” drawls Ruathym, helping you get your bearings—at least physically. “Did you think I was sleeping with you because you disgusted me?”

“I…” You don’t have the words. You don’t know what you thought, but it definitely wasn’t this. “You think I’m attractive?”

“What did I just say about making me repeat myself?”

You huff, scowling up into his handsome, angular face. “You wouldn’t be. I want answers, not riddles.”

Ruathym snorts indelicately, one of his few habits that doesn’t come with some modicum of damnable grace. “Yes, I find you attractive. No one else has the audacity to speak to me the way that you do. I find it thrilling.”

“You mean you like it when I’m cruel.” You frown. “That’s not what I’m after. I don’t want to be cruel to my lover. If you want to court me, you do it right.”

Ruathym carefully sets you down on the bed, curling his legs up under himself and draping his humanoid torso across plump, velvety pillows. “Teach me what humans do ‘right’, then,” he commands, gesturing for you to speak.

You flounder for a moment; this was not how you expected your evening to go. “We… We court,” you say dumbly, gesticulating helplessly. “We exchange gifts of trinkets and flowers, we write one another letters, we—well, usually there’s pining involved, I suppose.”

“How dull,” sighs the King, watching you beneath his thick, silvery lashes. “Driders kill for their lovers.”

The weight of his words isn’t lost on you. You think of your brother and his knights—of the entirety of the kingdom laid to waste at your feet. You feel lightheaded, blood creeping up your neck and up into your face. You have to resist the urge to hide from the slow, smug smirk of satisfaction that melts onto the Drider King’s face. Damn the man. Had he been courting you in his own way this entire time? Damn him!

“What about the Queen?” you ask, hedging around the obvious revelation and latching onto one of your more prominent doubts.

Ruathym blinks hard, clearly startled. “What about her?”

“You’re married,” you say, “and she hates me. Won’t she want me dead once she realises her lover’s attention has strayed?”

The King laughs, hard and loud, throwing his head back with his mirth and revealing his fangs. “She’s never loved me a day in her life,” he manages to gurgle after several seconds of laughter, “and the feeling is mutual. We married for politics and to spawn strong children. That’s all. If she so much as schemes to harm a hair on your head, I will kill her or die trying.”

“Ruathym!”

“What? Does it shock you? I protect what is mine, little bug, and you are what I wish to possess in your entirety.”

You bristle at this, though you curse your stupid heart for fluttering in your chest like a tizzied moth. “I’m not a thing, Ruathym. You can’t possess me. Either you love me, or our arrangement remains the same.”

Ruathym shrugs an elegant shoulder, expression shifting into something bordering on thoughtful. “What is love to a human may not be love to a drider, little one. I want you, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Is that not love? I would kill you before I allowed you to court another. Is that not love? I would lay down my life to protect you. Is that not love, this powerful, ugly thing?”

You don’t know what to say to this. You want to object, but your heart is pounding too loudly, your thoughts are too muddled. Never has someone felt so strongly about you, and while your feelings are conflicted, you can’t deny that there’s something intoxicating about the King and his firm command of you in and out of the bedchambers.

Courtship with Ruathym is… interesting. He sends you poisonous flowers at first for their beauty, unaware that their very touch could kill you. When you correct him, he expresses his disdain for human frailty, but then he sends for roses and takes the care to have their thorns removed so as to avoid any chance of injury. It’s excessive and obnoxious, but it’s endearing in its own way, even if you’ve never been particularly fond of roses. Still, each bouquet is a different colour paired with different complimentary flowers, and you begin to look forward to your weekly deliveries with something like anticipation.

Then there are the letters.

As expected, Ruathym’s lettering is swooping and elegant, more reminiscent of ornamental calligraphy than what one would use for writing to a lover. Still, each letter holds within it a terribly sweet awkwardness that lets you know that he’s never written a letter out of love in the whole of his life. He’s strangely formal at first, addressing you by all of your names in the greetings of his first few letters, but it isn’t long before he’s dropping them all in favour of addressing you as he does in person. It makes your heart flutter oddly in your chest to see ‘little bug’ written in such beautiful, glittering script, shimmering silver on charcoal grey parchment.

Soon, they become less letters and more little notes delivered on scraps here and there. Tiny doodles of advisors dying terrible deaths done in the throes of boredom, or tidbits of trivia from the kingdom at large. Did you know we had 5,363 cattle in the region of the L’Surba Caverns? Neither did I know nor care, one says, and you snort into your tea at the thought of the King sitting proudly while some poor sod with an abacus counted out their livestock from the sum of several reports. While you missed the weight of your crown, you did not exactly miss all of the bureaucracy attached to it.

He takes you on little outings, here and there. At first it’s a simple stroll through the gardens, sharing meals and speaking about your days. Then, as you both grow bolder, outings to meet—or, in his case, intimidate—the people. Finally, with glamours and enchantments, you take to the countryside for days at a time, disguised as a couple or adventurers on a quest. It’s during these outings that you get to know him best, away from the bustle of the castle, where his impetuous charm and rakish smiles lure you to him like a moth to flame, and you crash and burn in his heated embrace.

One evening many months later, you are summoned to a part of the palace that you rarely frequent, for it is usually crawling with servants and vassals of every kind. Now, however, the halls are quiet and still, and the servant who leads you to the chamber where Ruathym awaits disappears like a whisper in the dark. There, in the centre of the room, is a set of robes unlike any you’ve ever seen, woven in shimmering silk dyed the colour of rubies. You approach as if in a dream, running your fingers along embroidery in the shape of tiny silver spiderlings along the shoulders and hems—you nearly jump out of your skin when the King drapes himself across your back.

“What is this?” you whisper, looking over your shoulder at his soft, searching face.

“Your wedding attire,” he says, and he seems unperturbed when you draw away, stunned.

“My what? Your wife!”

“Is dead,” Ruathym simply replies, shaking his head at your unasked question. “We had a clutch of eggs. She went the natural way. The children feed on her yet.”

You grimace at this, though you can’t deny the relief you feel at her passing. “You’re a father now?”

“I am. You will also be their parent, when we wed.”

“‘When’? You’re assuming I’ll accept!”

“Would you deny me?” he asks sharply, eyes narrowing into gleaming slits.

Your stomach flips. “Well,” you say, flustered and at a loss. “This is all so sudden, Ruathym!”

“Is it really?” he asks, reeling you in against him again. “We’ve posed as newlyweds before. Why is it so different now?”

“Because it’s real now! We wouldn’t be pretending!”

“Who says that I was pretending before?” he demands, trapping you between his body and the robe on the mannequin. “It was practise.”

You feel your face burning, and you’re sure you might blend into the robe at your back if given just a little more provocation. “You despicable little—“

“Yes, yes, call me names,” he says, waving away your insults. “Later. Give me your answer now.”

“You know my answer,” you grumble, pushing ineffectively at his chest.

“I know it,” he confirms, smugness in every syllable. “I wish to hear it.”

You kiss him instead, drawing him into a passionate embrace and climbing up into his arms when he lifts you off your feet. You hadn’t seen the bed in the corner of the room, but that’s where he takes you a moment later, tossing your “irritating human clothing” over the edge of it and onto the floor. You expect him to bend you over the pillows. You expect him to claw at your skin, to bite at your shoulders, to whisper filth into your ears.

He kisses you instead.

He kisses you like neither of you have ever borne a crown—as if he could find the answers in the hazing of your eyes when he steals your breath with his tongue, hands in your hair and burning along your spine. He teases you open with his fingers until you’re reduced to begging for release, and then he presses into you with soft, shuddering breaths spilling from his lips, eyes on your face as you toss your head back into the sheets and writhe.

He sighs your name like a psalm when you come around him, and then he pushes into you again and again, his cool fingers threading between yours and holding you firmly against the bed as you shake apart beneath him. You feel something in your chest unbreak when he bites you without fang, staying present for every moment that his lips brush against yours and your name falls into the pool of heat between you.

This time, when he comes, he shatters like a shower of glass and sparks, cresting against you like a wave and pushing you over the edge all over again, throat trapped desperately—willingly—between his teeth. When your eyes focus again, you find him looking down at you with a tenderness you’d never thought him capable of, and it makes you want to hide. “What?” you whisper up at him, trying and failing to tug a bit of the sheets over your body.

“I love you, little bug,” Ruathym whispers back, tracing your lips with his thumb. “I have done and will do so until this heart in my chest stops beating.”

“That’s so dark,” you say, “for a declaration of love.”

“It is my declaration, and I am not a man of light. Would you deny me?”

“No,” you breathe, shyly reaching up to touch his face. “I love you, too.”

Ruathym smiles, and despite his words, it lights up the room. “I know.”

You snort. “Bastard.”

“I know that, too.”

#exophilia #exophilia fic #monster romance #monster lemon #monster boyfriend #drider boyfriend #drider #monster x reader #gn reader #Ruathym #POSTED THIS TO THE WRONG BLOG AT FIRST LMAOOOO #My work

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bestillmyslashyheart · 3 years

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happy belated birthday @christchex!!! It’s a little short and a like a week late but I hope you had a wonderful birthday

“Hey,” Alex answered the phone with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” Michael replied warmly. “You busy?”

Alex looked around himself at the three active monitors on his desk and the piles of papers he was working on on a Sunday because he’d spent most of two days the past week skipping work to visit Gregory. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“Can you come meet me?” Alex shifted papers off his lap and started shutting down his computer. Michael rattled off an address just off Main St.

“I’m on my way,” Alex promised before hanging up.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Alex was pulling in next to Michael’s truck. He turned the car off and stared at the sign over the door proudly proclaiming the storefront as a tattoo parlor. The door opened and Michael popped his head out. The rest of him followed when he saw that Alex was there. “Hey!” He raised a hand in greeting. Alex slipped out of his car. “That was fast.”

“You asked me to come,” Alex reminded him. They were still working out the boundaries of their relationship now that they were both single and Alex was both wary of overstepping and eager to move forward. “You’re getting a tattoo?” Other than the symbol he shared with Max and now Isobel, Michael had never shown any interest in tattoos.

Michael huffed a little self deprecatingly. “Yeah. I- I saw it and I wanted it.” He shrugged.

Alex looked at him but didn’t see any nerves or doubt, just a little shyness. “Okay.” He looked back at the door. “So why am I here?”

Michael cleared his throat. “I got the first one by myself but I didn’t want to do this one alone. Maybe it’s stupid but-”

“It’s not stupid,” Alex assured him. “If you want me to hold your hand, all you have to do is ask.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“I want you to hold my hand, Alex.”

Alex reached out and took his hand. “Done.” Michael stared down at their linked hands and Alex marveled as a faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “Anything else?”

“...yeah,” Michael replied slowly, dragging his eyes up from their hands to Alex’s face. He stuck his free hand in his back pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and held it out to Alex. Alex took it. He tried to open it one handed before reluctantly letting go of Michael to open it properly. When the paper was mostly flat, Alex could do nothing but stare down at it. Michael gave him a moment before- “Is it okay? The artist changed it a bit but-”

But it was Alex’s drawing. It was Alex’s stupid little doodle of a bee he’d drawn when he was having trouble writing his latest song. Oh, the artist had changed it a bit, yes, had touched it up and made it a little more artistic and less realistic, but it was still obviously Alex’s drawing.

And Michael wanted to get it tattooed on his body.

“Alex?”

Alex cleared his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Michael replied without hesitation. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“No.”

“No?” Michael’s face fell a little.

Alex shook his head. “No, I mean, I want you to,” Alex considered how that sounded, “or I mean I don’t mind if this is something you want.”

“I want it.”

“Ok then,” Alex cleared his throat. “Then you should get it.”

Michael held out his hand. Alex took it without thinking. “And you’ll hold my hand?”

Alex squeezed gently. “Always.”

#malex fic #rnm #my fic

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yannfredericks · 3 years

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Thought I’d share some of my Karl Jenkins headcanons/backstory I’ve developed for my version of him over the past few years if anyone is interested! He is very, very special and personal to me and I’ve put so much of myself into my version of him <3

-his full name is Karl Thomas Jenkins and he has ADHD, dyslexia and autism! His dad calls him Kage (which is like saying KJ out loud but not finishing pronouncing the J) which later gets picked up by the rest of the gang!

-lacks volume control, he is very loud and usually not aware of it, I hate to say it but he’s probably very annoying, we all love him anyway though bc he has such a good heart <3

-raised by his muggle father after his mum left them when he was 5 (she had severe untreated post natal depression and felt that it was the only way they could be happy :(( she does get treatment though and comes back into his life when he’s 16/17)

-as a result he’s got quite the fear of abandonment :( he never really had any friends growing up either bc he was so loud and annoying in class, kids laughed at him and he thought that was what it meant to be friends, so he took on the role of class clown without quite realising that people were laughing AT him, not with him

-he’s a major animal person, he finds them much easier to understand than people, and he always gives them very human names, his owl is called Agnes, he and his dad have a long haired dashound called George (who usually gets called Georgie Pie) and a Pygmy Puff who is is best friend that he takes everywhere called Darryl

-Darryl is a purple Pygmy puff that he and Craig found on the way to Hogsmede leading up to Christmas in first year, Craig is Darryl’s god father and he takes the role very seriously!

-Karl attempts to sneak Darryl into class every single day without fail, and every single day he is caught, he cannot figure out how, until eventually his favourite teachers start turning a blind eye and Karl thinks he’s finally gotten away with it

-it is also his dream to have a hippogriff called Gilbert!!

-major bisexual, he’s a hopeless romantic even if he doesn’t realise or want to admit it, and he has a major problem with telling the difference between romantic and platonic relationships/feelings, which means he’s had a crush on every single one of his friends at some point or another

-had a crush on James Sirius for most of Hogwarts, the first boy he realised he had feelings for and so is quite a formative person in his life

-aside from animals, his other passion in life is cooking! he and his dad are very close and they cook together all the time, which is a habit he brings with him to Hogwarts

-Karl spends a lot of time in the kitchens, he cooks or bakes whenever he’s stressed or whenever his friends are stressed, his favourite meal is a good old Mac and Cheese which he makes for the gang all the time

-his love language is hand writing recipes for his best friends of food he thinks they’ll like, and he draws little doodles in the margins!! the gang each have little makeshift cook book full of hand written recipes that Karl has given them over the years

-He is a chaser on the hufflepuff quidditch team and although he’s quite chill about the sport, he is secretly terrified of letting them down so he trains really hard, goes for jogs with Yann most mornings etc

-he and Polly have a very brother/sisterly relationship, and although it started off quite superficial due to them both having walls up, they ended up incredibly close, the sort of friendship where they’ll rip each other to shreds and get into stupid arguments all the time, but if anyone else says a word against the other they’ll destroy you

-the first time Polly called him her best friend he cried, it was a bit embarrassing but he’d never had a best friend or had anyone say that to him before, it was a very important moment for them both <3

-he met Craig in the train to Hogwarts in first year and they very quickly became a duo, they later joined Yann and Polly and became an inseparable group and it’s the happiest he’s ever been

-Craig helps him study most of the time, they’re super close and Karl was always very close to falling in love with him

-I have an AU in my head where if CBJ doesn’t die, they end up having an experimental friends with benefits relationship for a while where they get high together under the quidditch stands and hook up, it’s pretty chill and mostly to help them both figure out their sexualities, but it reaches a point where Karl realises he can’t keep it up bc he’s getting actual feeling for Craig, so they call it off and still remain best friends!

-he’s an incredibly tactile person and his love language is physical touch, he’s always kissing his friends on the cheek (or on the mouth if they’re drunk and up for it!) and hanging off them, holding their hands etc etc (I mean as a group anyway the gang are very tactile and usually all kissing each other, it’s about the platonic intimacy <3)

-in sixth year his Mum gets back in touch to let him know that she’d like to come back into his life if he’ll let her, and also that he has a half-sister called Adeline starting at Hogwarts that year, something he previously knew nothing about!! he’s conflicted bc he resents his mum for leaving without explanation, but he has also always wanted to be a big brother! he’s always envied Albus and James for that

-he ends up, almost entirely by accident, becoming the new Care of Magical Creatures professor a few years out of Hogwarts

-he and hagrid were always very close during his time at school, he’s the first non-wotter to get invited to tea, and he unironically loves it and always has an amazing time talking about creatures and helping Hagrid out with them, sneaking into the forest etc

-he’s the best student Hagrid’s ever had and yet is still taken off guard when he asks Karl if he wants to be his apprentice

-so Karl ends up becoming the youngest COMC professor Hogwarts has ever had, he absolutely loves it and gets very close with his Seventh Year class, he tells them a lot of stories that he thinks are appropriate until he remembers he was high at the time lmao

-he’ll get halfway through a story, realise he was high, falter and trail off, only for Nathaniel in the front row to raise his hand and go “sir, were you drunk?” and Karl’s like YES! I was…drunk…

-he has an on and off relationship with fellow Hufflepuff Matt Wood for literal years, but they eventually end up together

-his patronus is a meerkat!!!

There is still so much more I could say and feel like I’m missing but there you have it! I’ve been working on my Karl since I first saw CC in November of 2017 and he absolutely stole my heart so…here we are! Maybe I’ll add more, who knows!

#bit nervous about this one bc I have poured my heart and soul and four years of my life into mr karl jenkins #but I’m sharing it anyway!!!#pls let me know if u have any thoughts or questions!#this is just my version of him but it’s very personal to me #I have basically his entire life story mapped out in my head #I’ve tried writing it a few times but hm #he’s a hard character to capture!!#anyway I absolutely adore him and I am holding him very gently in my hands just above my heart <3 #karl jenkins #the gang #cursed child #Harry Potter and the cursed child #ccsquad #and to think this all started bc of tom m*ckley #amazing man and even better karl #and I just wanted to explore more of who that character was and why he was behaving the way that he was #bc I just didn’t believe he had a bad heart or bad intentions #so yeah I have entire explanations and justifications of all of his choices in cc #anyway I feel like I’ve shared HEAPS but also nothing so :) that’s fun!

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shiteatinggrin · 4 years

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Hi, so this is my contribution to my first jilytober, I wrote some canon fic, it is kinda sad so I guess you could call this angst? I don’t know, I’m not that good at categorizing fic. Anyways, here is a love letter to James Potter from Lily Evans because he just died under her eyes. Wrote this fast, so I can’t vouch for the quality of this. This is almost 3k of Lily being a sap, so enjoy! Find it here on Ao3.

Bastard with a shit eating grin

Do you remember our first kiss? I can still feel the cold air of winter seeping through the walls of Greenhouse Number Three and you and I laughing together. It was not an unusual thing anymore, but some people could have been surprised, because we had had some big feuds over the years, the Dormitories Dashing and Destroying Disagreement, the Inflating Inner Ear Incident, the Flying Fiona Fight and the Severus Snape Saga consisting of the big highlights. However frustrating it was, we always had fun together, didn’t we?

Now we were falling in love dutifully without realising we had always been meant for each other in some way. I was all colors: glorious red hair, pink cheeks, pale green eyes and horrendously yellow socks. You were all teeth: shining smiles, arrogant smirking, belly-laughing in a silent room or grinding them in concentration for the task you were committing to (hyper-focusing on) at the moment.

‘Oi, Evans, can I copy your homework?’ You would say that practically every day.

‘How about a please, Potter? Might do you some good.’ You watched me smear some soil on my neck when I scratched it and said nothing. I discovered it in Transfiguration two hours later. Crazy how we can only remember the smallest details years later and the big things just go right over our heads. I could only ever remember the small details with you, because whatever we said to each other was never important, only the talking to you part was.

‘Oh Lily, dearest flower to my heart that I worship beyond any rainbow, might I please please please see your diligently done homework so that I can rewrite it because, being the idiot that I am, I was off gallivanting with Sirius yesterday instead of being a good student.’ You added pouts and made doe eyes for good measure as if I wouldn’t already have grabbed the moon from the sky’s grubby hands every night if you had asked it.

I would stifle a smile and put some piece of parchment in your extended hand without even looking, sometimes it was the homework if I was feeling generous, if I were more in a creative mood I might give you a stupid doodle or some kind of letter that would say something like: ‘Dear Prongs, you are an asshat. Looking forward to our rounds tonight so I can kick your ass in Gobstones. Now listen to Sprout, will you? Lily’ with a stupid heart over the i that basically meant PS: I love you. Finally, I’d say something like:

‘I would have laughed, but your head might inflate so much you’d have neck pain for a week.’

You let yourself smile then and continued to jest me, hoping to wrench a smile out of the beast (you always did it literally two minutes later, it is funny how easy it is to win when you give yourself such small tasks).

But that day, amazingly, we broke out of our routine.

At night we would always hang out together in the common room with our friends and slowly the people would fizzle out, having gone up to their dormitories and I would stay on the couch with the urge to kiss you with some dumb excuse not to leave on the tip of my tongue. I painted my nails or read some book or talked to you extensively about something I’d learned recently and you would listen with concentrated eyes and a much too easy smile.

Then you would start talking and when you started some story it would never finish, even now you can’t even recall something as simple as Harry’s first smile without going on for five full minutes without stopping. In these nights I would try to look like I wasn’t paying too much attention to you, like I was detached from everything pertaining to your person, but being young and in love doesn’t exactly give you the best skills in subtlety and so you would ask me if I was paying attention and I would blush and you would make some quip about redheads and their skins and everything would go back to normal.

And out of the blue, when I was talking about getting some sugar quills next time we were in Hogsmeade and how difficult the Ancient Runes paper was, you kissed me. Your hands flew to my hair and mine to cup your face and you pressed your body hard against mine. I’d never seen you so hungry for anything before, it seemed like you had been starving for a thousand years before our lips found each other. I had kissed three boys before you, and none of them could compare to the feeling of ecstasy of your mouth against mine. No one will ever compare to James Potter, right? That’s what you used to say in fourth year when you made a particular lucky goal in Quidditch or when you caught the Snitch in mid-air even though you were a Chaser and we were in Potions classf. Is it weird that I miss that?

I don’t think there ever was a time when I didn’t love you, all electric hair and much too quick brain and hundred stupid nicknames that didn’t mean anything unless you explained them in excruciating detail and you would smile too much and talk too loud and walk too fast and I wouldn’t feel so out of place with you because I did the exact same things. Petunia was always prim and proper and I always tried to be like her and please everyone but you taught me how to be myself and how to blossom into my personality without even knowing it. With you I’ve never been too much, I was always just enough.

Everything always came so easy to you, and I’ve always hated you for it. Now I think that I can’t appreciate enough how you could always share that with everyone around you, that incredible luck that could get you out of the worst of predicaments. I guess it all caught up to us today, but I don’t mind now. I’ll love you forever, come what may.

My heart is full of wanted posters of you: dead or alive.

I can’t remember the first time I’ve really noticed you, because you were always in the periphery, doing stupid things and getting in trouble and beaming for no reason at all and the memory of your presence was impossible to shake, but I still remember the first time we really became friends. We were fifteen by the lake and my best friend betrayed me under the glistening sun, the following day I had the worst grade in Transfiguration I’d ever gotten. You found me crying by a window on the fifth floor and apologized a hundred times (which I couldn’t have cared less at the moment), but you still went and talked to McGonagall and she agreed to let me retake the test in the afternoon and offered me a biscuit.

In seventh year, a girl told me that she was so jealous of the fact that I was the only one that could make James Potter change and mature. As if your life revolved around me. I thought of your sick father and the fact that Sirius had appeared on your front door one day and never left your house and with a twinge in my heart thought of the war coming and I couldn’t believe my ears. With all this going on, and she still thought you’d only change for a girl?

I’m not proud of this, but I might have shouted at her and maybe, perhaps I was the one that sent a silencing charm her way, but who could really tell? Not her, because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

I wonder if I ever told you that. Probably, because you know everything interesting there is to know about me. You even know the most boring facts about me, because they amuse you just the same. You know I like peonies the best in spite of my name and that my first kiss was with Snape when I was eight, you know that I wiped my mouth right after and didn’t know yet what love was. You know that my favourite band is Hate Potion and that my guilty pleasure is Celestina Warbeck. You know that I wanted to name our son Harry because of a muggle TV show I used to watch with Petunia when I was seven on Saturday mornings and that when I fight my favorite charm is Expelliarmus. You were at my side when I killed my first (and last) Death Eater and that I cried for a week afterward. You comforted me for five hours when Marlene and her entire family were massacred in their own home, the same one where I had spent a good chunk of my summers to avoid Petunia. You know that I only ever paint my toenails blue and that my favorite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. You know all about my relationship with my sister and how she used to be my best friend and that we used to dance in bathing suits around the sprinkler and fake being witches to make potions out of mud and flowers and how she never forgave when this dream became true for me but not for her. You know all about my failed relationships, with Tuney, Sev and my ex-boyfriend who left me because he didn’t want to be associated with a muggleborn. You know I’m absolute shite at drawing and that I can’t dance to save my life and you laugh at me when I’m drunk and try to follow Peter’s choreography to some dumb song I don’t know. Last year, you helped paint flowers all over my bookcase because I wanted it to be unique and just mine.

When Harry was born, you refused to sleep for two days because he was so cute when he slept against your chest, but you finally fell asleep while cutting onions for dinner and I had to intervene.

One of my favourite things about you is that I have never seen anyone so full of life. You smile like nothing has ever gone wrong in your entire life and you are more loyal than any Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen, you would die for any of us in a heartbeat and we would do the same for you anytime. My love for you is so big I wonder how it even fits in our little house in Godric’s Hollow. You painted our walls burnt orange because you said it reminded you of my hair and I wonder if it is weird to fall in love with you even more over some colour choices. You complete me because as much as you are a complete idiot, you still recommend the best books and are smart enough to plan the best pranks, but too smug to make anyone else take the blame. You had always been my favourite person in the whole universe until Harry arrived, but he is so much like you that it is like meeting you at a much earlier age. He has the same laugh as you, you know?

I cannot believe how brave you are, because traditional courage requires you to go into battle and protect everyone you love like a lioness does her cubs, but you have found the energy to keep going even trapped in this house with an infant without being able to help your friends outside. You go everyday against your most basic instincts and you manage to have so much fun with us, but I see the tired bags under your eyes and the fact that you lose your train of thoughts sometimes and I know that you’re thinking about the war and the security of the boys, I know they are your family and it would kill you if one of them ever fell into battle, yet you never complain, yet you never lose hope. I love you so much my feeble heart can’t contain it all. My love for you is as inevitable as the blue of the sky, as the oxygen in our lungs, as the passage of time, I love you so much that when I see you it is like coming home, your wild hair and round glasses and mischievous eyes and soft voice and much too long limbs and wide chest and calloused hands and smile like an answer to all my problems.

No one has ever made me feel as secure as you and now I know I have to be strong for you, because you are the one that’s fallen, like a marionnette whose strings were cut. The coffee stain on the right arm of your shirt is the last thing I will see of you, or maybe it is a bit of your wild inky hair. I will never be able to look at the night sky the same.

I can hear him in the stairs, and all I can think about is you and Harry this morning, my two favourite people in the world, sat on the carpet and puffs of colour coming out of your wand, your laugh coming out of his mouth, one single tooth poking out, little chubby legs shaking from laughter, the wand you stupidly left on the carpet (the wand you didn’t care wasn’t in your hands because you didn’t care if you died, you just wanted us to live). Your last gift to me was the most precious of all: you gave me the time to say goodbye to Harry.

‘Mama loves you. Dada loves you, Harry.’ That is the only thing I find to say, because it is true and my heart is breaking, I can hear it thundering, collapsing like a dying star, you are dead, I will die, Harry has to live. I cannot withstand the thought.

I have never loved anyone better than the two of you. Apparently I never will, but at least I have known real love, the one that comes from daily life, that never dies because it is kept alive by stupid little things that make us who we are. Crazy how we only remember the little things and the big ones just go right over our heads.

I will remember the smallest things about you, like the little scar in your left eyebrow, the weird placement of your thumb on your wand, the feel of your skin against mine and the way it tanned in the summer while mine just became redder and redder, the sound of your laugh when Sirius said something funny and the way you always pushed your glasses up your nose with your middle finger, the way you sit in any chair like it’s a throne, the way you answered questions in class without raising your hand, the way you held a book open when you were reading it, your last day where you wanted to make pasta and I wanted steak, the way you would mess with your hair not because you thought it would make you look like you just stepped off your broom, but because you were nervous or restless. On your good days it would stand flatter on your head and I had to pass my hand through it because otherwise it just didn’t feel like you. You laughed too much when Sirius decided to read Crime and Punishment to Harry as a bedtime story and your son wouldn’t go to sleep. You would tell him stories of your childhood disguised as muggle magical adventures and I became a knight, Sirius a prince and Snape a dragon. You would call my cat Fiona the ginger cat, as if Fiona wasn’t enough and she needed an extra title. I guess she was royalty after all. You always tried to make me believe that she loved you more than me, even though I’d had her since I was eleven and you once made her fly across the common room just to annoy me.

Do you remember this morning? The last time you ever kissed me? You made me eggs and tea for breakfast and sang some Beatle song for me in the most off-key voice. You stole the bacon from my plate, laughing from across the dinner table. I was so happy because you were in a good mood today, you didn’t seem to feel so trapped and it was Halloween and you were trying to convince me to dress Harry up as a muggle magician, which I thought was the worst joke you’d ever made. You kissed me on the mouth and we settled on a pumpkin costume. Your lips tasted of stolen bacon and orange juice (you’ve never been much of a morning tea person).

I have never loved anyone better, and apparently I never will.

The house is so silent now that you are gone. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths. Harry seems to think this is some kind of game. He is all that we have left now. All that will ever be left of us. To love is to create, right? We have created the most beautiful person in the world, it should be the only thing that counts.

I love you. I could try to make this poetic, the love thing, but I think the most poetic way it can be is on its own. I don’t know any words more powerful than I love you. I love you and you are dead. I love you and I will die soon. I love our son and he will live. Life is as simple as that. I love you and soon we’ll be together again. Miss you already.

#jilytober 2020 #lily evans #james potter #jily fic #canon ending #sad #evey writes #james x lily fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hp #jily

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hanamakkiss · 4 years

Text

Pros and Cons

Matsukawa Issei x reader

summary: Being childhood friends with Oikawa and Iwaizumi had few perks, it's all worth it when one of those perks came in the form of one(1) Matsukawa Issei.

Where Matsukawa gets a nickname.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

a/n: yall rmb y/n talking about a hot vb boy? yea also makki is a lil shit but everyone loves him UPDATE: reuploaded sorry😓😓😓

You had made it a point to visit trainings whenever you were free now.

Always popping up whenever the coaches left, Matsukawa’s eyes were instinctively drawn to you when you entered, not that it was hard, considering how much ruckus you made.

After greeting everyone generally, you spent some time chatting with OIkawa when you head whips around to-

Kyoutani?

Oh right, this would be the first time you met him after anticipating it for so long. Matsukawa gestures to Makki about your actions and the two of them pause to watch the show.

Prancing over to the cropped blonde, excitement coming off in waves, "Kyouken! I've heard so much about you! I-"

"Stay away from me." he practically growled.

You froze in your tracks.

"Huh?" your head tilts, taking a step towards him.

"Why?"

Another step.

The growling intensifies, "Or else."

"Or else what? What are you going to do to me?"

Another step.

You're standing directly in front of him now, eye to eye. The sound of balls impacting a gym floor has ceased. Matsukawa tenses, holding his breath.

A second passes, then five.

Kyoutani turns and sprints out of the gymnasium.

Jolted by the sound of feet slamming against the floor, you turn around, head resting on your palm, "Oh dear, I don't think he likes me very much. What a pity," you basically spat the last word out. The contrast between your words and your sinister smile sends shivers down his spine.

Wow. He lets out a low whistle, that sure was something. For a second there, you had the same menacing aura Oikawa sometimes sported. He doesn't know if the stuttering of his heart was fear or attraction.

Somewhere nearby he hears Oikawa's laughter get cut off by a yelp and a stern warning. ("I told you to stop influencing her! Now look at how weird she is!")

Makki comments what he thought, “What, the fuck?”

“Amazing, isn’t she? I thought her that mysELF-“ Oikawa is cut off by a blow to the stomach.

“Shut up, stop looking so proud of yourself, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi scowls.

By this time you had made your way back to them, all smiles. “Sure hope I get to talk to him again someday,”

Makki snorts his water out.

The morning for the study session arrives.

As Matsukawa strolls to your house, he briefly wonders how the day might go. He figures it might become a little awkward if it was just the two of you, so he's thankful that Makki would be present.

Your house comes into view when the devil himself texts him.

He doesn't have to wait long before he got his answer. Just as he presses the doorbell, his phone chimes again.

Ah fuck. He doesn't even have time to curse him before the door is swinging open.

"Hi," you greet him, "welcome, to my humble abode," you usher him in with a flourish.

Ah shit, he takes off his shoes, here we fucking go.

Making his way to your bedroom he takes note of the frankly absurd number of houseplants that filled the place. Every free window, corner and crevice was stuffed with greenery. He vaguely remembers a flourishing garden in the front yard too.

Entering your room was no different, every available space on your desk and windowsill had small succulents and tiny flowering plants. He takes a moment to study while you set up the floor table.

“Doesn’t... having a lot of plants diminish your oxygen level at night...?” Your head whips around, scowl already in place.

“That’s just a myth. Plants don’t produce enough carbon dioxide at night to suffocate, otherwise how would forest animals survive?” The agitation with which you reply clues him in that you got this question too often.

“Also, if that works I would have already died,” you add on as an afterthought.

His eyebrows shoot upwards as he blinks slowly, “Um, alright, good to know?”

You grin in response, patting the floor next to you, “Sorry about the mess, I don’t have many friends who visit,”

“Judging by how much time you spend with us, I was starting to think you didn’t have any others,” he teases, eager to clear the awkward air.

“Eh, that’s true,” you shrug, “you guys are kind of my only friends in Seijoh,”

Oh shit, did he just overstep? He cringes inwardly when you interrupt.

“Why else would I spend so much time with a bunch of idiots?” the playfulness of your tone allows him to relax.

“Considering how well you mesh with us, doesn’t that make you an idiot too?”

Your smile drops, making a noise of indignation as your own joke is played against you. He just laughs as he avoids your smack, opening his textbook.

The previous conversation still weighing on his mind, he contemplates asking you about it.

“What is it.” You don’t even look up.

“What?”

“I can feel you staring at me, and your finger tapping is really loud,” looking up, you scrunch your face at him. “If you wanna say something, just say it.”

“Mmmhm alright then, if you don’t mind, are you on bad terms with your classmates?”

You stare back blankly, “Not...as far as I know?”

“Do you not hang out with any of them?” Are you not friends with them? You sense the unasked question.

“Well...” you trail off for a few moments, contemplative, before looking him in the eyes, grimacing.

“It’s... kind of due to Kawa?” at his confusion you rush to explain, “Not that he did anything! It’s more of... us being so close? Even platonically,” you scratch the back of your neck.

“They’re nice until they find out I’m close friends with Kawa and Iwawa. Then they either outright hate me, or get close to me in hopes of a better chance with him. Not all of them are like that though! But, at a certain point it’s easier to avoid that problem entirely rather than sifting through. Some girls look really nice, I just don’t know how to talk to them, I transferred in so late, after all.” you laugh sheepishly.

He hopes he isn’t letting his indignation show on his face.

“Does he know?”

“God no, that’s kind of a bastard thing to do, isn’t it? Hey, did you know I can’t have any girl friends cause they’re all crazy over you? That’s kind of fucked up yea? He can’t even do anything about it.” You wave a hand in the air, dismissing the idea.

“What about Iwaizumi,” he tries.

An incredulous look, “You think he would understand that? He barely even looks at girls! Actually, now that you mention it, a sizeable portion of the girls who befriended me had a crush on him. Guess it’s because he’s intimidating,” you nod along to your own words.

“So you’ve just been alone this time?” He can’t wrap his head around it.

“I haven’t been alone! I’ve got you guys, don’t I? I wouldn’t change that for anything,”

The look of happiness you pin him with causes his heart to flutter, but he’s not entirely convinced.

Sensing his unease you soften, “Besides, there’s only a few more months left, I can handle it,”

He exhales his frustration, letting the topic go. Nothing much he could help with anyway. The only thing he could do now was stay by your side, if you need him.

“Thank you for your concern,” You pat his hand comfortingly, the sides of your lips tug upwards, and you speak the next words gravely. “But,” breath bated, he waits for you to continue.

“sometimes, it really do be like that.”

He attempts to flip the table, causing you to scramble for cover, choking on your laughter as you do.

The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, asking each other questions here and there.

A few hours pass when both phones chime, breaking your concentrations, “Oh! Makkun’s at the convenience store now, whaddya want?”

He tells you his order and while you type it in, he observes your figure.

You’ve got a thing for nicknames, he’s always wondered about it.

“Hmm? What? Oh, yea, I guess I do, what about it?” Looking up, your gaze is pointed.

“Huh?” Shit, did he say that out loud?

“You said I got a thing for nicknames? What about it?” You leaned towards him, a teasing grin forming.

He feels himself begin to instinctively draw back before forcing himself to still. “Just like Oikawa, was what I meant.”

At this, your grin deepens, “Well, duh. Who do you think he got it from?”

Interesting. He nods in understanding.

“Well,” he drags the word out, mirroring your grin, “you don’t have a unique nickname for me, are we not close enough?”

Your smile turns into an O as you process his words. He’s right, you never really thought about it.

“Huh. I guess not. Do you want one?”

Stupid of him to admit, but he didn’t expect you to ask him that, and he takes a moment to decide. Did he want a special nickname from you? Is that asking too much? Moving too fast? Just as he’s about to reply, you make the choice for him.

“You know what? I’m gonna give you one anyway. Just give me some time to think.”

He just shrugs, accepting, and goes back to doing his work.

Some time passes and he sneaks a glance at you. A cute furrow nestled between your brows, you doodled in your notebook.

“I’ve got it!” You slam your hands on the table, shifting to place more weight on your knees, leaning far across the table now.

His pencil slips out of his hands from the sudden eye contact.

“How about,” you pause for effect, so close now he could count the light freckles on your cheeks, “Issei?”

The sound of his name coming out of your lips causes his brain to short-circuit. He never knew it could sound so sweet.

“Well?” You probe, “It’s kind of a cop out but I like how it sounds,” you sound it out a few more times with different intonations.

He thinks he might die.

“Hey, you okay? If you don’t like it you can let me know, yanno?”

“It’s fine,” he chokes out, “go ahead.”

“Great! Then-“

The doorbell rings.

“Oh! He’s here! Be right back!” You don’t wait for a reply before leaving.

Matsukawa has never been more thankful for Makki’s impeccable timing. Lucifer used to be an angel, he supposes.

He passes a hand over his face, willing his cheeks to cool down.

He composes himself just in time for Makki and you to enter.

Makki lets out a hum of appreciation, “Mad oxygen in here,”

He turns to you, “Say, isn’t it bad for you at night?”

“Oh my god, do the two of you share one braincell?”

#matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #matsukawa imagines

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alirhi · 3 years

Text

This got WAY longer than I intended, so for your sake, it's all behind this neat little cut:

There's this idea that I was raised with that if you love something, you have to do it all the time. All the time. It has to be your first thought when you wake up, and your last thought when you go to bed. You have to be excited to do this thing, whatever it is, 100% of the time. And get good at it. And commodify it.

I was raised on toxic hyperfixation, in a family that refuses to believe I'm autistic because I'm not non-verbal, even though I show a million other signs. Even though they thought I had ADD in high school and they tested me for it and that test said no. I remind them I have sensory processing disorder, and they nod and agree and say "that makes sense", and then I remind them that it's part of the autism spectrum, and they roll their eyes and ignore me.

I was told to fixate on the things I loved. I was shown that it was the only way to show love by my brother, who loved Star Wars and collected everything to do with it that he could get his hands on. Extended universe books (can we all agree that's just fanfiction that got popular?), special edition tapes and then DVDs, posters, toys, a signed original script from one of the movies... He's more than a decade older than I am, was avidly collecting these things well into adulthood, and then began mocking me for still putting music posters up on my walls at sixteen. He taught me, through constant example, that loving something means you must know every single last little minute detail about it, have everything associated with it, obsess over it... And then he tore me apart when I started to do that. As a child. This 30-year-old (roughly, at the time) man told a teenage girl to "grow up" and stop putting posters on her walls.

I told him to fuck himself and bought more posters. Because he wasn't my only example. Thank fuck. My sister's fixation was serial killers. My mother's was art. My father's was music and cars. Every single one of them had an obsession that they could talk about for hours without running out of random stupid factoids that no one else cared about. When I talk about actors and musicians, my sister indulges me for five minutes and then changes the subject. My mother rolls her eyes and says "not again."

My father would smile and ask me questions. He'd engage, and laugh with me, not at me. He sat through a two-hour rambling lecture about Dir en grey, and kept asking me questions until I ran out of steam. I talk really fast, so I got through a lot in that time lol. When others would ignore me, talk over me, or outright leave the room, my father smiled and showed interest. And my mother had the nerve to wonder why I wanted to go with him when she kicked him out when I was five.

My father died three years ago, and I lost my only unwavering ally. Even my best friends crack after a few minutes and go "okay, Ali. Calm down." That's on the rare occasion I bother opening my mouth. I don't talk much anymore, about anything. I haven't since years before I lost my dad forever. Because I wasn't raised around his gentle patience; I almost never saw him. I was raised in anger and resentment and the festering rot of unfulfilled dreams. I've spent my entire life bearing the burden of my brother's lack of motivation, my sister's fear, my mother's doubts.

My brother was good at drawing, and he did nothing with it. He hates that I'm better at it than he was, and I don't want to do more than doodle when I'm bored.

My sister is brilliant and wonderful and is the only reason I'm alive. She gave up the last half of her childhood to take care of me. I love and respect her and always will. She could have been so much more; she was a trained dancer before she gave up! She was afraid, so she found something she could hold onto, and just never let it go. She always wanted me to chase my dreams, because she was too scared to have any.

My mother flat-out told me that she saw my attempts to make it as a singer as me living her dreams. I started writing fantasy to get her attention because she was trying to become a fantasy author. She gave up, and started resenting me for sticking with my stories. Everything I have ever tried to pursue, she managed to twist and turn it around to be about her, and all the things she failed to do with her miserable little life.

Out in the world, when I talk about fandom, I'm silenced. When I talk about my dreams, I hit a wall of resentment. When I talk about anything, I'm either told to grow up, or do something useful with it. But these people raised me to be passionate, to fixate, to obsess... as long as they didn't have to deal with it.

So much anger, all the time. And it's taken me a long time to realize how much of it I've internalized and thrown back out at the people around me. I've caught myself mocking my friends for their fandoms, for their passions. There's one friend I can't even be around, can't have a face-to-face conversation with, without turning into my brother. She speaks, and I turn into a giant ball of rage... because she's me. She's all of my hyperfixation, all of my squeeing and silliness and boundless love, with none of my restraint born of decades of being tortured for being myself. And out comes the resentment, and it's dumped all over her, and I watch her light dim a little more and my god, that's my fault. I'm him.

I'm a self-aware neurodivergent, formed and broken over and over again by oblivious, angry neurodivergents. I don't even know what to do with that anymore. I just know I don't want to be them. More than anything in the world, I don't want to be him.

#life shit #ali's ranting again #we'll soon return to our regularly scheduled fangirling #just needed to vent

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