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luvvyouforever · 4 months

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headcanons: marriage and domesticity with acotar characters ♡

↳ includes rhysand, feyre, azriel, cassian, morrigan, lucien, tamlin, and amren. unfortunately, those are the only characters i know well enough to write for but more will come in the future!

↳ fluff to the max and then more fluff. children, pregnancy, marriage, family, home dynamics.

rhysand:

-strives to have a very welcoming, comforting home. buys luxurious throw pillows from stories in velaris even though you scold him for each one he adds to his already huge collection. he just wants every surface to feel comfortable so he also buys the best mattresses and couches and will spend hours in a store picking them.

-loves to have an occasional meal cooked entirely by your family. he puts on a silly apron and dances around the kitchen, sprinkling spices willy-nilly. "accidentally" gets food on your cheek which he will happily kiss away.

-feels so proud to have his own family that loves each other unconditionally and would do anything to protect that. you and your kids are the most important thing to him and he could be a very scary person if he ever feels that you're being threatened. is much more careful in his day-to-day life because he knows that there are people who wait on him to come home.

feyre:

-if you were pregnant, feyre would be as caring as she could be. she'd wait on you hand and foot and massage anything that hurt. she'd find you the best calming and soothing lotions for your tummy. every so often, she'd lay on your tummy and tell your kid all the the great things they'll be born into.

-feyre's paintings all over the house :(( she has a little art studio which is constantly messy but you proudly hang everything she does in special little spots everywhere. she loooooves doing portraits of you and the two of you together.

-her life is already very grand so she loves nothing more than having a peaceful night indoors with you. she holds out for the weekends when you can sleep in, cuddle all day, and read together. she makes the best teas and surprises you with them on cozy sunday mornings!

azriel:

-his home is immaculate, cleaned spotless, and a little minimalist. if this isn't your style, he will gladly give you the ability to decorate the space as long as it's clean. azriel scrubbing the kitchen in bright latex gloves is not a rare sight. he just likes the comfort it brings him after the gory things he does for his job.

-he gets you the prettiest, most personalized engagement ring ever. he listens to you so closely and is so attentive that he knew exactly what you would like. he had it designed by a jeweler in velaris and it's probably engraved with something incredibly sentimental.

-he loves matching clothes in the privacy of his home! like matching silk pajama sets? yes please! listen, i've said it before and i'll say it again, azriel lives for the fancier things in life and he just wants to share that with you! he encourages you to wear the same soft and comfortable pajama pants that he is.

cassian:

-destroys the house with his kids! makes a big mess while playing with them. like pillow fights and paints and water and intense acting with toys. you continuously scold him for it and he always cleans up all nice but he can't help it! he just wants to give his kids the most fun childhood ever.

-would lose his SHIT if his kids had wings oh my god. wants to show them how to fly and take them on flights above beautiful landscapes. is probably the dad to push the kid into the water to get them used to it and this applies to flying. "it's just how illyrians learn, baby!" "he's not even a full illyrian!"

-his house is colorful and full of memories everywhere. pictures of the inner circle, of you, of the kids, anyone. keeps anything his kids make him. keeps any gift you give him. tapes notes and invitations to the fridge. he's just so sentimental like that!

morrigan:

-cried like a baby at your wedding. no matter if you walked down the aisle or if she did, she was crying instantly. rhys nudged her shoulder and cassian and azriel laughed at her afterward but you only smiled at her and helped her touch up her makeup!

-is a little hesitant to begin a family. it's more to do with her past and her family than anything else. she doesn't want to give anyone that power over her. if you are really excited about starting a family, she would certainly hear you out and if it did happen, she'd be the best mother ever.

-comes home to you with gifts every day. you keep telling her you don't need them but you gotta let her spoil you! one day it is a new ring that perfectly matches the stone in your engagement ring and that you should totally put on your right hand pointer finger because it would look best!

lucien:

-would totally thrive with a big family. like he would know everyone's interests, what they're up to, their friends, their food preferences, everything. gives them all equal attention and can wrangle them all together with expertise.

-i feel like he really loves showers and baths with you. like unless he was super stinky or unless you were gone, he would just not shower unless it was with you. he loves the intimacy and the closeness it brings!! and he loves washing your hair for you or brushing it or braiding it for you!

-one of his hobbies is mixology! i can't explain it but just imagine lucien having this home bar cart with all kinds of syrups and fancy alcohols and he cares about the dates on them and pairs the perfect wine with his meals! you can give him any three words that'll describe the drink you want and he'll mix it all up and it will taste amazing!

tamlin:

-GIRL DAD! imagine him taking her out to buy dresses for anything she needs, putting little flowers in her ear when they go on walks together, doing tea parties with her. tell me you don't see this. i dare you.

-usually gets up pretty early to go and do his high lord duties but he will come and check on you throughout the day, giving you kisses and treats and notes! he always wants to spend meals with you and will stop anything he's doing if alis tells him that you're ready to eat lunch! you've never seen a man set the table faster and pat the seat next to him.

-any room in the house that you want will be yours! if you want one of the guest bedrooms to be turned into a craft studio, done. if you want a section of the library dedicated to romance books, done! i'm serious when i say he'd give you anything you want to make sure his home is just as comfy for you as it is for him.

amren:

-values alone time just as much as she values time with you. she likes when the two of you can spend time inside doing your own thing but then can come back together at night and talk about your days! she's not ashamed to ask if she can spend the night in her bed because she's had a long day! but she's always reassuring you that it has nothing to do with you so you don't worry!

-probably isn't a very big kid enjoyer but wouldn't mind adopting someone older! or, even better, a cat! amren would spoil the hell out of a cat that you raise together. "am, i don't think she needs another sweater. she doesn't like wearing them anyway." "but this one says be paw-sitive!"

-people don't believe you when you talk about how soft and sweet amren is when you're at home! they don't think that she's capable of hugging you tight and covering you in kisses but she is! she's a private gal and you respect that entirely! but you also can't help telling mor about all of the sweet things she whispers to you as you're falling asleep.

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the-modern-typewriter · 1 month

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PLEASEEEEE POST THE F/F SNIPPET I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH. I loved the last one you posted so when you said there's MORE? HELLO?

“Nope.” Astra flicked the light switch on the wall again, once, twice. “It’s definitely dead.” She moved over to the window, drawing the sweeping curtain aside and peering down the rain-sodden street. “Looks like the power’s gone out for everyone.”

It was supposed to be her birthday. Who wanted to have a power-cut on their birthday? She couldn’t even cook the dinner she had planned. Of course, she hadn’t told anyone it was her birthday, it felt too much like a demand for gifts or attention, but she’d been looking forward to at least doing something special.

She turned.

Lucille hummed an acknowledgement, continuing to light candles, flitting from one to another. They made the room feel strangely more like a temple than before. Lucille was one of those impressively and sometimes terrifyingly uncluttered people; her attic flat was all smooth white lines and high ceilings. It always felt far more peaceful than Astra’s place, which tended to be sprawled through with half-finished easels, half-drunk cups of tea and stacks of marking at any given stage.

Astra bit her lip. She felt rather useless simply standing there staring, even if Lucille had already done most of the candles anyway, so asking if she could help felt a bit pointless. It was all clearly in hand. She cleared her throat.

Lucille shifted to face her at the sound and held her last match up to mouth, illuminating a flash of soft pink lips, before she blew the flame out. She shook the matchstick, trailing smoke as she set it aside, but held onto the candle in her other hand. The wax was a deep purple, the flame the same flickering gold as all the rest.

“Have you ever experimented with wax before?” Lucille asked, oh so casually.

Astra released a breath, startled by the sudden question, and shook her head. Her pulse shot up. “No,” she said. “But we talked about it.”

She very much doubted Lucille had forgotten that, judging by the look in her eyes.

They had met a little under a year ago, when Astra had wandered into one of Lucille’s exhibitions after work. Astra’s works were all traditional fine art paintings – when she had time anymore anyway – but Lucille’s had been shown in photographs that day.

“People get funny about me exhibiting actual people,” Lucille had said, coming to a stop next to her. “It’s a shame, really. A photograph doesn’t quite capture the same effect, you know?”

Lucille’s work had, technically, been painting also. It was just that she had painted on people’s skin rather than a canvas.

One man stood with his chest brushed skeletal, each line of his bones and ribs lit glossy white again. His heart was the only burst of colour. Another piece was a woman whose mastectomy scars had been painted over with blooming flowers, new growth, life. Another of the photographs still had been a portrait of a woman with half of her face perfectly made up with make-up, and the other half painted to be shattering like glass. Ruined.

“It’s quite an effect, though,” Astra had replied. Her heart had hammered wildly in her heart, too big, entranced in a way she hadn’t felt in a while. “I can only imagine what the real thing is like.”

Lucille had smiled, head tipping to examine her, up and down. She watched Lucille back. She was a delicate sort of woman, cute and unthreatening. Astra had felt Lucille's attention slide through her veins like something molten all the same.

“I’d love to do you,” Lucille said, then. “Sometime. If you’re free.”

That was how it had started.

Astra didn’t consider herself the most lovely of models – she spent too many hours teaching art in classrooms and stealing chocolate digestives from the staffroom to be much of a work of art herself – but the paintbrush sweeping over her skin had been soothing.

She’d been painted by Lucille a number of times since then, small things; a bluebird on her shoulder, an ocean up to her ankle, a ring of fingertip-shaped bruises meticulously crafted around her wrists. She was always reluctant to wash the paint off, but she’d spent a long time staring at the bruises in particular.

That was how it had evolved.

“I think you’ll like wax,” Lucille continued. “Though, as ever, you are free to say no at any time.”

Astra walked across the candlelit room and sat down in the middle of the floor in response. She raised her brows at Lucille. It wasn’t what they’d had planned for the evening, before the blackout, but she certainly wasn’t objecting to the idea.

Lucille laughed, softly, under her breath. She filled a bowl of water in the sink before coming over too, sitting down. She set the candle and the bowl to the left and studied Astra for a beat. Her attention had turned laser focused again, in the way that always made Astra’s breath catch.

Lucille was the kind of woman who suited candlelight, moonlight; anything less defined than the bright fluorescent strips of artificial bulbs. They made her seem otherworldly. Astra watched her consider, something sliding honeyed in the pit of her belly.

“Off,” Lucille murmured.

Astra pulled her dress over her head with practiced ease and tossed it a safe distance away, somewhere without fire, before wriggling out of her tights. A shiver ran down her spine as the cooler air hit her bare skin. A second shiver followed as Lucille reached out, warm fingers brushing up her calf, before moving atop her knee to press and guide her legs away from where they hunched instinctively against her chest. Astra rested them flat stretched in front of her.

Lucille leaned in to press a kiss to her lips, deep and calming, before she pulled back.

“You look beautiful,” she whispered. “Stop worrying. I’ll do your front, so you can see the finished work.”

Astra huffed and smiled, waving a hand for Lucille to go ahead.

She watched as Lucille reached for the candle. She watched as Lucille held it over her legs with a steady hand, letting her see the first time. The purple wax pooled and dropped, splattering a starburst against Astra’s thigh.

“Oh, fuck.” It blurted out of her in a shocked astonishment.

If the paint brush had always had a lulling feeling, gentle and cold, then the heat of the wax was almost like being hit. It was the same flare of heat that quickly cooled. It was, all in all, impossible to focus on anything else.

“Okay?” Lucille asked.

Astra managed a nod and managed not to giggle, breathlessly. The world apart from them suddenly felt very far away.

“Good.” Lucille reached out with her free hand, and then in one swift movement grabbed Astra by the throat and pressed her to lay down on the floor. “Don’t move,” she whispered, against Astra’s ear, before nipping her neck. “You’ll be in trouble if you make me start over.”

Astra bit her lip for an entirely different reason than awkwardness, face flushing. She didn’t move.

The candlelight painted the room awash in shades of ochre, amber, and red; softening and sharpening corners, transforming the world she knew into new definitions. The light rippled and danced across the ceiling.

The second droplet of wax landed on her stomach, then the third, the fourth, the fifth and a small sound escaped her throat. She couldn’t brace for it. It was too unpredictable, never exactly the same heat twice. Some stung, some burned, some were the same gentle warmth as a kiss. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing turning ragged.

Lucille shifted more candles closer, more shades for her palette.

It took every inch of will power Astra had to hold still as the colour splashed over her; purples and blues and bright yellows and whites. She curled her fingers into fists, digging her nails into her palms. She thought she might scream – not from pain, exactly, but because of the way every burning wax-stroke made her more aware of her body than before. More sensitive.

Lucille stopped when she started whimpering, at a particularly hot droplet just below her waist. Her hips twitched. Needing to move. Needing to deal with it somehow. Lucille leaned down to blow cool air on the spot, another soft laugh on her lips.

Astra released another, helpless, curse word in response.

“If you can’t restrain yourself, dear, I’ll have to do it for you.” Lucille’s voice was teasing. “You’re being very distracting.”

“ME!?” Astra yelped.

Lucille smothered a grin, then started again.

She pieced her work together like the fragments of a mosaic and with time the heat turned to white noise, wax pattering like bright rain upon the windows of Astra’s mind. It was not, exactly, soothing, by any means and yet something about it was. It was overwhelming. It didn’t allow for wandering minds or ordinary troubles. She was a work of art, nothing more, nothing less. All she had to do, in the grand scheme of everything, was hold still. It was easy to get lost in the feeling.

Every so often, Lucille would pause, but time lost all meaning. It came in drips and drops, rather than anything so plebeian as seconds or minutes.

Finally, Lucille set the candles down completely.

Astra’s head swam, and the world felt softer, and she didn’t think it was just candlelight.

Lucille leaned back over her, arms braced on either side of Astra’s head, making sure not to dislodge the wax. Her blonde hair tickled Astra’s cheek.

“Good girl. Okay?” she asked.

Astra made a noise of agreement because words felt like far too much effort. She grinned up at Lucille to make it clear. Lucille smiled back. She leaned down to press another kiss to Astra’s mouth.

“Do you want to see?”

Astra gave her a look, because yes, of course she wanted to see.

Lucille’s smile turned to a grin again too and she helped Astra to sit up, slowly, so that she could get a good look at what she had become.

Astra’s eyes widened, her gaze roaming over the purples and blues and bright yellows and whites. Lucille had made her a constellation, a galaxy, a twinkling array of stars picked out upon the deepest swirls of night.

“Ooh.” Astra’s breath left her in a long, amazed, sigh. “Wow.”

She was, without question, fucking beautiful.

She would go to an entire gallery filled with pictures like that, 3D across the curves of her body; painstaking, blot by pretty blot.

She met Lucille’s gaze.

“Happy birthday,” Lucille said.

She’d known.

“I didn’t get through enough candles, technically,” Lucille continued, “but you can still make a wish. If you like.”

Astra laughed, and dragged her into yet another kiss, another, and another still. She kissed her breathless. She could think of nothing to wish for, in that moment, except what she already had.

The lights above them flickered, before switching back on as the power outage came to an end. Astra blinked against the brightness.

Lucille gave the nape of her neck a reassuring squeeze and pulled back. “Get cleaned up,” she said. “I’ll get dinner on.”

Astra caught her hand, and squeezed it back.

“Thank you,” she replied.

Lucille tossed her a wink, bringing Astra's hand up to her lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

She was never going to feel the same lighting candles on a power-cut again.

#hides face #i am weak to the whims of the people #okay last one #back to your regularly scheduled enemies to lovers and heroes to villains and all that 'what you expect from tmt' jazz #f/f #lesbian

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llamagoddessofficial · 11 months

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So we've seen your Error headcannons, can we get your Nightmare ones since you're in a romantical mood?

Oh can you.....

He's a very complex individual. Under all that rage, when he likes you and wants your company, he's actually a very calm, intelligent and eloquent lover. Princely, if you will. He likes hearing you talk, and is very good at roping you into chatting about your hobbies for hours while he just adoringly stares. He enjoys the arts, music, poetry... once he finds someone he wants, you'd never even know how much anger he's set aside.

(Unlike Error, he's aware that constant anger isn't a very attractive trait)

While he's first starting to develop feelings, it's one of those situations where you won't realise how much he likes you until you see the way he acts around other people. You might think he feels neutral about you, at best- he talks to you, but never about himself, seeming to prefer when you're the one talking. Maybe chortles at a joke every now and then. But overall, he's relatively quiet, relatively still-faced... not very outwardly emotional in any manner.

... Then you see how he acts around everyone else. Hair-thin temper that leads to physical violence with anyone who annoys him too long, dismissive and mean about any subject, he tells people who talk too long to shut up and makes underhanded cruel 'jokes' at their expenses. The same tentacles that curl around your hand or stroke your back as he walks by will grab Dust around the head and slam him into the ground because he made a poorly timed joke.

Nightmare has an eye for traditional courtship. Once his heart is set on you, expect bouquets, jewellery, fine evening dining, strolls through midnight gardens, flowery handwritten letters. He carries a locket with your portrait.

You would think his love languages are gift giving and acts of service, considering how often it seems to be the only way he shows love. But deep down... it's actually physical touch. He's just far too afraid to show it.

Nightmare would do well with a physically affectionate partner. Someone who'll cuddle up to him first so has an excuse to snuggle back. But someone less physical would also be good- sometimes he's afraid his aversion to touch will drive away a partner, and somebody who doesn't really mind either way soothes those fears.

You can't lie to him. Well, I mean... you can. But he can sense it, and he'll always know. Whether or not he lets you think he believes you is up to him.

He has a locked box in his castle full of sketches and small oil paint studies of you. You'll know he's finally totally comfortable with you when he politely asks if he can draw you.

His tentacles often act on his true feelings. Whether that's snapping out to choke Killer for asking if you top, or lovingly curling around you when he's half asleep.

... He's actually pretty childish. Especially when in love. Though he's good at hiding it under layers of highborn mannerisms, he fucking hates when there are any potential rivals for your affection. He tends to lash out against the 'rivals' in underhanded manners whenever you're not looking, then really lay on the charm and affection with you to ensure you're not thinking of leaving him. If you're asexual or demi it may not be that big of a deal because he's soothed by your lack of interest in others, but if you're pansexual or bi, it might be a genuine problem that needs addressing.

Call him "my love". He likes feeling like your one and only.

#llamagines #you all have valacre to thank for my adoration of nightmare

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whispersoftheton · 1 year

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Hey, lovely!!! Could I get a Regency Anthony x reader with the prompt “is that a drawing of me?” where maybe Anthony had Benedict draw the reader and just fluff. Please and thank you!!!

Hi my love! Oooohhhhh I've been wanting to try writing some Benedict so this is perfect! I hope you like it!

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader, Benedict Bridgerton

Warnings: anthony is a pining fool as usual, fluff, brotherly teasing

Word Count: 1.5K

Every day in Anthony's life was precisely like the other. Endless business deals and meetings, mixed with social obligations, became an excruciating routine for him. He found himself dreading each day, that is until he met you. You were the only thing that would instantly melt away a long day of dodging insignificant exchanges and keeping up a pleasant facade amongst everyone. The sight of your warm smile and the comfort of your presence was enough to instantly break through Anthony's seemingly tough exterior. Your voice whispered a soothing sonnet to his ears; he couldn't get enough.

But Anthony often found himself yearning from a distance, with fleeting moments and stolen longing glances at one another, constantly leaving a desire for more. A feeling he was quite unfamiliar with, seeing as he cared so little for other's company if it didn't involve business or family. You were different. The captivating way you held yourself in every discussion, effortlessly capturing his mind and heart all at once. Anthony knew he had to do something; he needed to make you his before the season came to an end. And he knew just how to do it.

Benedict sat in the center of the well-lit room, surrounded by canvases of unfinished paintings and what seemed to be smeared paint scattered among them. He contemplated continuing a piece he had been working on before Anthony barged through his doors.

"Ah, there you are." Anthony approached him, a firm pat on his back as he pretended to take an interest in the canvas before him.

"Brother. What do I owe the pleasure?" Benedict turned from his easel, an inquisitive look painted on his face at his brother's unusual affection toward him.

"I require a favor of you. A gift for…someone, and I will need your help." Anthony maintained a steady tone so as to not feed his brother's curiosity.

"And would this have anything to do with a certain lady who has piqued your interest as of late?" Anthony's eyes widened. He couldn't have known; he thought he had been discreet with the time he spent with you. "Maybe one who enjoys strolls in the park, hm?" Benedict teased, taking great pride in seeing his brother shift uncomfortably as he attempted to hide his affection for you from his prying. "It is, isn't it?" Benedict pushed, determined to get an answer out of him. "You are smitten! I knew it!" he blurted, jumping out of his seat, making Anthony step back and roll his eyes, shushing him in annoyance.

"You know nothing, and I will not discuss this any longer if you are to ridicule me as such." Anthony moved to depart before Benedict quickly moved in front of him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

"No, no, brother, I assure you it was not ridicule. I will help however I can, but…what could you possibly need from me?" Anthony scoffed, briefly pondering his options. Perhaps he could go into town and find you the most exquisite jewel his money could buy; that would undoubtedly rid him of the embarrassment now flowing through him before his sibling.

"You are artistic. I should like for you to paint a portrait of her."

"A portrait?"

"Yes. I want to gift it to her."

"And will you be gifting this said portrait to her as a sign of courtship, brother?" Benedict smirked, unable to help himself when it came to taunting his own brother. Anthony shot him a glare, to which Benedict put his hands up in defeat and cleared his throat. "Very well then. I shall have your portrait ready soon enough."

Benedict knew it would not be possible to have you posing in a room for hours on end for this portrait, so with Anthony's help, he dedicated a portion of his days to enjoying the park on days you did as well. He would sit on a bench far enough away to not be seen but near enough to capture you exactly right. He knew if Anthony had asked this of him, it must be of importance to him; he couldn't mess it up.

The mid-afternoon sun graced the sky as you made your weekly visit to the Bridgerton home. You and Eloise had made it a habit of strolling the market together from time to time in order to gain some time away from your mamas to talk all things Lady Whistledown. Upon your arrival, Lady Bridgerton greeted you as always, informing you that Eloise had made a quick visit to her friend Penelope but would make quick haste in her return. You graciously accepted her offer for tea and catching up while waiting.

Anthony huffed as he signed his name for what seemed like the millionth time that day on a never-ending sea of business documents. His eyes burned, and his head ached from the tension of a long workday requiring a break from his duties. He shut the door to his study and made his way to the main room, where he was sure whatever his many siblings were up to would engage his mind elsewhere. Instead, Anthony found a largely empty room, Hyacinth quietly practicing her Latin in one corner and his mama enjoying company in another. It wasn't until he walked closer that he discovered it was none other than you.

Your eyes immediately cast downward toward your teacup as Anthony came nearer with eyes searching for your own. It was inevitable; as much as you tried to avoid it, your draw to him was too much to disregard. Your eyes unwillingly met his. The softness of them melting away any tension you felt, pools of amber you wished to soak in forever mesmerizing you and making your breath hitch as you tried to steady the teacup in your hand. Your moment dissipated almost instantly when you heard Benedict enter the room, making both of you glance away, and Anthony cleared his throat.

"My brother and Mama tell me you are fond of art, yes?" Benedict said as Anthony stood behind him, eyes seemingly looking anywhere but at you. "We have several pieces you must see. I do think I should show you before Eloise makes her return, hm?" Benedict kindly offered you his hand. You glanced between Lady Bridgerton and him, taken back by his sudden offer. "It will only take a second. Brother, will you join us?" He looked knowingly toward Anthony, who nodded and began following the both of you down the hall. As keen as Benedict was to show everything to you, it seemed almost as soon as you entered the room, he excused himself with a hasty justification you barely heard, leaving you and Anthony utterly alone. You offered Anthony a kind smile which he returned. Unsure of what to do now that your chaperone had run off to god knows where.

"May I?" Anthony offered his arm, which you took almost too eagerly. He began guiding you through the room, showing you each painting and how his family acquired it. Your mind was otherwise preoccupied with having him so close.

"And this one…" Anthony paused as he led you to the end of the room. You must've been too distracted to realize he'd already passed most paintings—all but one. You noticed a small portrait was propped up on an easel beside the far wall of the grand room. The image became apparent as you approached it.

"Is that…me?" You were in awe, heart positively bursting at the lovely gesture. It was a detailed portrait of you sitting on a park bench, seemingly enjoying a book on a beautiful spring day in one of your favorite dresses. The picture captured you in one of the most tranquil moments of your day. It was breathtaking.

"Do you like it? I had my brother draw it for you; he is quite the artist. Or at least, he likes to think himself so." Anthony rambled unintentionally, slowly losing the composure he prided himself on before you. He wondered if you liked it; maybe this would be the moment he longed for. The moment you'd realize all the feelings he harbors for you. His head couldn't help but wonder, slipping into self-deprecation faster than he cared to admit. What if you absolutely loathed it? Found the entire situation to be quite odd and never wanted to see his face again. Your words untangled him from his spiraling thoughts.

"It is beautiful. Thank you." Anthony searched your face for any sign of disdain but found none. "I am quite speechless. I-This is…" Tears welled in your eyes, and your chest tightened, unsure how to convey your appreciation in words. But Anthony could tell by the tender way you admired it with so much fondness.

Anthony took a deep breath and stepped closer; this was it; he had to ask you now. A courtship with you was something he could only dream of. Deep down, Anthony knew if there was ever a chance of happiness with someone in this lifetime. It was with you by his side.

Mini Tag List: @bugnug @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @thethreeeyed-raven @ssprayberrythings @fatbottomedvirgo @fictional-hooman (let me know if you would like to added here or dm me if you’d like to be removed)

I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton netflix #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton fic #bridgerton season 2 #anthony bridgerton angst

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luna-writes-stuff · 1 year

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What types the Crows would fall for:

Includes Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan van Eck, Nina Zenik, and Matthias Helvar.

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Kaz Brekker:

This man relies on every realistic aspect. Whenever planning something, or even thinking about something, he runs through everything that could go wrong and analyses it properly. He needs someone with a mind that completely contradicts it. Someone who could think of creative solutions he usually wouldn’t come up with. And not only the mental aspect of creative. If you engage in something such as painting or embroidery, he’d love that too. His mind is complicated, and completely logistic and analytical. He doesn’t leave much room for imagination or creativity. He relies on you to do that for him. And when you can, it’ll grow on his list of things to adore you for. Your ideas are the most captivating for them; he’s always admired a good mind. But that doesn’t mean other outings of creativity go unwanted by him. He will proudly display your items throughout his office, leaving portraits for heists hanging in the halls.

——

Inej Ghafa:

Inej is very hesitant because of obvious reasons. She has been through some stuff and it still messes with her. She’d 100% love someone who just soothes her when necessary, but in a somewhat distant manner. Words of affirmation or tiny services are good enough for her. She’d fall for the type who is able to see the good in everything. To turn even the glummest of points into something somewhat positive. When she has that dip in her mood, she tends to see the worst in everything and make it add to her already terrible state. If you would point out all the things that she can learn from this, or all the things that are not necessarily evil, she’d be comforted so much. Even by the mere thought of it. Gently reassure her that you’re there, even after everything she has been through. She can run to you, she can find refuge with you. She adores the way your voice switches tone when she’s down, or how you’ll approach others on a daily basis. Everything about you is so calming, not just to her. She takes great pride in that.

——

Jesper Fahey:

Outwit him, please. When he flirts, flirt back. Play that uno reverse card. It only takes one sarcastic or charismatic remark to make him fall. “You come here often?” “No, but seeing you here, I think I should.” BOOM, GONE. Just like that. Now, he’ll constantly follow you around, placing compliments here and there, flirting with you continuously. He’ll buy your drinks, he’ll hold your chair, he’ll take your coat. This man becomes a puppy, but with attitude. And once you actually get together, he will not stop. But now he’ll include kisses on top of your head, hands around your waist, hugs from behind, hands buried in your pockets, hands running through your hair, hands everywhere. He needs to be touching you constantly. If you grow uncomfortable under this, he’ll try to keep his hands to himself, but he cannot help the occasional touch on your shoulder. A simple remainder he is still there. He respects it, he truly does, but he cannot always help himself. You’re just so gorgeous and witty and breathtaking and you picked him???? He wants to show that shit off, okay?

——

Wylan van Eck:

As Kaz, Wylan has always loved creative people. Mentally or practically. Most adoration would go towards sculptors, I’d like to believe. Whether you create tiny statues out of clay or huge cut out marble. He doesn’t care. Hell, you could make a birdhouse from wood and he’d like it. Though your looks and kindness would initially captivate him, his admiration grows as he discovers your hobbies. And from that, he decided to do a lot of actual research! Need some inspiration? He’s your guy. He makes it his entire duty to give you a good idea. I’m talking, nose deep into books to note something. He himself loves to tell stories, and it gives you a lot of ideas through this. The funniest part is that he doesn’t even know it. When he tries to look for something, you usually dismiss it (kindly), but when he’s ranting about something or comes up with a funny story, the ideas start flowing. Late nights are always spent on the bed, hand entangled as he talks and you listen, occasional kisses places on top of your head.

——

Nina Zenik:

Nina is smitten with badasses. I mean the people who practise sports such as Kung-Fu, Judo, Krav Maga, boxing etc. etc. Not only is it incredibly hot to her, because who wouldn’t think it’s hot, but she loves the movement of your figure throughout the practises. It looks so flawless and graceful. There is so much commitment and dedication in your eyes, she thinks it is absolutely stunning. And you, quite literally, kick ass. It’s a turn on for her, okay? Anyone who can beat her in physical combat. If you have some good strong arm and/or leg muscles to go with that, she falls even deeper. Because, you’re kidding. Not only are you the most awesome person she has ever met, but there are muSCLES???? You actually met through a argument gone wrong at the Crow Club. Someone got too close to a friend of yours and you full on body slammed them into the table. She was nearby when it happened, and she thought that person was going for her. In her eyes, you saved her. You haven’t corrected her on it. She’d wrap her arms around one of yours when walking constantly. Not because it makes her feel safer - even though it does -, but because you’re so damn huggable, she cannot get enough of it.

——

Matthias Helvar:

We have seen him around Nina; he needs some joy in his life. Someone who makes him laugh. And that’s a whole task. Initially, you had stumble into something and you ended up falling like an idiot, but Matthias thought it was absolutely hilarious. And since that laugh, you had begun to make it a task to hear that more often. Yes, he had a nice laugh, but also, his usual stoic self seems to fade away so flawlessly. It’s a whole other side for him, which you seem to appreciate very much. And for him; who doesn’t love laughing? Being so gleeful you have to audibly out it? That is why he fell for you. He felt so happy and relieved around your mere presence. He knew he was safe with you and vice versa. You bring out the best in him, as cheesy as it may sound. And now, he will protect you with his life. He has this habit of stepping near you every time someone nears. Subtly, at first, but eventually he’d end up blocking your view entirely. That’s his sunshine. No one touches it with evil intent.

#christmas week with luna 2022 #Soc #six of crows #grishaverse #shadow and bone #nina Zenik #nina zenik x reader #Kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #Inej ghafa #inej ghafa x reader #jesper Fahey #jesper fahey x reader #wylan van eck #wylan hendriks #wylan van eck x reader #matthias helvar #matthias helvar x reader

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memoriesndew · 2 months

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hobbies that you can start this new year ft hobby tracker notion template pink

As we dive into the year, now is the ideal moment to discover new interests that bring us joy, creativity, and personal growth. Whether you want to relax, go on an adventure, or simply broaden your horizons, there is a pastime for you. Here are ten intriguing hobbies to consider for the new year:

Photography: Using a camera lens, capture the beauty of your surroundings. Whether you enjoy landscape, portrait, or macro photography, there are limitless opportunities for creativity and investigation.

Pilates: is an adaptable and efficient fitness regimen that provides a rewarding pastime option that fits into every schedule. Pilates classes, which emphasize strength, flexibility, and mindfulness, can be brief but effective, relieving stress and boosting overall well-being. In my opinion, pilates truly focuses the body in a soothing but powerful way. Overall, I like it.

Writing: allows you to express yourself creatively. Whether you're into journaling, fiction, poetry, or nonfiction. Writing is something I really enjoy doing. I've written poetry and begun a novel, but I constantly get sidetracked and fall off course, which is why I built the hobby tracker to help me focus on writing, which is one of my goals for the second quarter of the new year. Writing might be as simple as making cute notes, but it is quite fun and relaxing

DIY crafts: allow you to exhibit your creativity while also decorating your space. From knitting and crocheting to woodworking and painting, crafting is such a productive way to spend your time, and I really enjoy the sense of completing a craft; it feels very satisfying.

Learning a Musical Instrument: To channel your inner rockstar, learn to play a musical instrument. Mastering a musical instrument, whether it's the guitar, piano, or ukulele, can be both tough and incredibly rewarding, and the music itself is simply lovely.

Cooking or Baking: A lot of people see cooking as a chore but it's so relaxing, in the quiet of your kitchen or better yet with your friends just imagine baking, cleaning up, and eating with the people you love; it all sounds so relaxing and it can really help in the future in the instance you get really good and might even pursue it as a career.

Nature Walks: Walking not only provides wellness but also allows you to explore amazing landscapes and reconnect with nature. Walking is one of the most therapeutic forms of exercise because it allows you to think and connect with yourself, and it is really peaceful.

Vlogging: For me, vlogging is more of a nostalgic activity because I enjoy going back and seeing my development and what I've been up to, but your vlogs can also be shared with the world via YouTube, TikTok, or any other site. It is a very good approach to capture memories.

Collecting: collecting merch or just anything you find interesting can be considered a hobby. For example, I want to collect Archie comics because I see a lot of people collecting manga and how it fills their shelves is so cool, I want mine to be Archie comics because I just like them and it connects with my childhood self. You can collect anything really, from toys to albums; it just has to be something you love.

Ice skating: is a thrilling and graceful hobby that offers both physical and mental benefits. Whether you're gliding gracefully across the ice or perfecting your spins and jumps, ice skating provides a fun and rewarding way to stay active and express yourself. i think it is fun

A lot of times we lose track of our hobbies and sometimes they seem too much and overwhelming so here is a futional hobby tracker to keep track of your hobbies and also add anyone you might want to dive into in the future.

You can find it through the link below.

Hobby Tracker - the notion nest 's Ko-fi Shop

that’s all for today bye my dew drops..

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toms-cherry-trees · 1 year

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First of all congrats on your 1500 followers! 🥳

I love your work so I’d like to send in a gif request for your milestone celebration. The type of blurb I’m thinking about is angst but on the other side I don’t really mind so do what feels best for you!

Thank you for your request! Honestly I feel like this gif makes the perfect scenario for some good ol angst so thank you for sending it! I did drift from the gif into an scenario of my own but you can sort of see where the gif could fit in this

'Mars 1.5K Celebration'

Portrait || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Death, mentions of infertility, Tommy cheating and then regretting it

Swirls of dust danced in the stale air. They piled in every corner, every surface, hung from the drapes in masses of dirt, and elevated into puffs every time something disturbed them with their step. But it had been a long time since someone disturbed the stillness.

Amidst all sat a man. The blue of his eyes had lost their spark, the overgrown and unkempt beard had obscured his sharp features. Streaks of grey crossed his one lustrous hair. A cigarette hung from his fingers, a cigarette he failed to bring to his mouth, letting it turn to ash and crumble down, repeating the process over and over again until the cigar case was empty. In his other hand hung a bottle of fine Scotch, but he would not have noticed the difference between it and the cheapest stout; everything in his mouth turned to dust. He himself was turning to dust.

Tommy sat before a painting of a woman. Her smile reminded anyone who looked at her of the famous Gioconda; the sweetness, the cheekiness. Her piercing eyes follow you across the room, watching you through thick eyelashes casting shadow in her cheekbones. Tommy had once been fortunate enough to have the real thing in his arms. And then he had been foolish enough to waste it.

Whenever he closed his eyes he could see her. Her hair blowing in the sea air, while they were en route to their honeymoon in New York. Smiling at him over her shoulder in a gala, wearing that red dress that brought Tommy to his knees. Tangled in his sheets, her legs intertwined with his own and cradling his hand in her bosom, the gentle whisper of her breathing lulled Tommy into dreamless sleep.

He also remembered her tears. How they tracked down her cheeks every time she got her period, yet another failure to have a child of their own. The way they glossed over her eyes while they waited together in the doctor’s office, hands laced together and her leg bouncing nervously. The way they dampened the pillow for days after, while Tommy attempted futilely to soothe her woes and assure her that he would love her, baby or no baby

Oh, but nothing matched her fury. When red clouded her judgement, the ground trembled and the windows rattled with the power of her ferocity. Tommy had only once found himself in the receiving end of her tempestuousness, and not once in his life had he felt so diminished by a woman so sweet. The vase she had flung in his direction had never been meant to harm him, but had surely served the purpose to give him a taste of terror.

Yet nothing matched the calm, serene apathy in her features when she awaited for Tommy, sitting at the foot of the bed, her two suitcases neatly packed at her side. When Tommy jokingly asked her if she was planning a trip, she threw a bunch of papers in his face. When his eyes fell on the letter, all colour drained from his face. Saliva turned to cement in his mouth, keeping him from spilling any of the hundreds of excuses that had formed in his brain. But whatever train of thought he had was cut short by her dry words.

“I cannot tell what is worse, Thomas. That you got another woman pregnant and tried to get her to rid of the child, or the fact that you wrote the letter from your own fucking hand”

No amount of explaining, of begging, or excusing himself had been able to undo the damage. It had been a moment of weakness, just one, an impuissance of the flesh, it had meant nothing, it was just business, a transaction, a desperate moment of need. The excuses tied in his tongue and made him trip over his words, but they all came down to the same thing. He had failed her, he had failed the one person who had managed to love him past all his walls. This only added insult to injury at their fruitless attempts to start a family of their own. The fact he said it was ‘one time’ made it worse; one time it took for her to fall pregnant. One time unlike his wife

Tommy had actually fallen to his knees, albeit accidentally, in his haste to make her stay, promising everything that was his to promise and more in exchange for one more chance. But it was all in vain, and he was forced to watch her leave into the night, leaning into the threshold for support, for he did not trust his knees to hold his weight. A cold, heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach, a sense of impending doom tightening his heart as her car became smaller and smaller into the road.

It did not take long for him to see her again. The very next day, in fact, when he received a call from the police to identify a body in the mortuary. A car had veered off the road and fallen into the water, probably trying to evade an animal. He did not need them to pull back the sheet; all he needed to see was the ring in her hand, the same ring he put in her finger five autumns prior. He had felt the cold of the jewel against his skin in bed, and his lips had touched the black stone when he kissed his wife’s hand. He asked them not to remove the sheet. He didn’t want to see her face. The same reason he demanded the casket be kept closed during the burial

If he did not see her face, he could pretend she was away, somewhere, anywhere in the world that could bring her happiness. He could pretend she had not spent her last hours heartbroken, betrayed by the one person who should have guarded her back. He could pretend she would one day come back, with her smiles and her tears and her groundbreaking fury, with the ring in her hand and his name on her lips.

The moment he returned home, his gaze landed in the portrait. She had sat for that painting only for his pleasure, wasting hours and days in the library, her back stiff and her eyes watering from the effort not to blink as the canvas and the artist did their best to capture her beauty, dolled up in her wedding dress and her hands laced in her lap. The veil hanging from her hair and pooling around her in a sea of white gauze

Swiftly, Tommy had her portrait moved from the gallery and hung in his room. Spending his nights and days under her gaze, tracing with his finger the curve of her smile, the line of her chin. It became his obsession, his only reason to wake in the morning. To look into those eyes, to dream of her hands on his chest, to reminisce in the warmth of her lips. Long after her smell had faded from her pillows and her clothes, he still found comfort in the painting. He could not bear to be away from it, not for one second. Clinging onto the very last memory of what he had and had lost. Even as years passed and his life withered away, he sat there, in front of that image of his wife, the door always unlocked for the day she would return.

And until then, he would wait.

#tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #marsie writes #mars 1.5k celebration #asks #tommy shelby #thomas shelby

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tinytinyblogs · 5 months

Text

Let me paint my feelings onto your dreams tonight.

Expressing emotions they couldn't voice while you were awake, trusting the night to carry them.

⚠Ot8, non-idol reaction, cocktail of emotion, and a lot more⚠

Stray kids masterlist here

Chan

The flickering light of the television cast long shadows across the room, dancing across your peaceful slumber on the worn couch. Chan, his heart heavy with the weight of another late night, tiptoed closer, his gaze softening as he watched your chest rise and fall in gentle rhythm. The sight, a testament to your unwavering love and patience, twisted his gut with a pang of guilt. This, another night sacrificed to the demanding altar of work, was yet another night he'd failed to be the boyfriend you deserved. He reached for the remote, silencing the droning TV with a soft click. The sudden quiet deepened the intimacy of the moment, drawing him closer to the haven you'd created on the worn cushions. Kneeling beside you, he whispered, "I'm home, honey," his voice a caress against the stillness. "I'm so sorry I kept you waiting. I must be the worst boyfriend ever." A sad chuckle escaped his lips, the sound echoing in the cavernous silence. He settled on the floor, his back against the couch, his gaze never leaving your sleeping form. You were a portrait of serenity, your features softened in slumber, your breathing a lullaby that soothed the storm within him. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken emotions. "Thank you for always loving me, for understanding me, even when I don't deserve it. I don't know what I'd do without you, without this sanctuary you create for me every day."

He knew he should wait until your eyes fluttered open, to confess these vulnerabilities in the warm light of day. Yet, the words, like caged birds, clamored for release, seeking solace in the quiet intimacy of your slumber. He needed you to hear, even in the realm of dreams, the depth of his love, the aching gratitude that bloomed within him like a fragile flower despite the thorns of circumstance. The gentle caress of his hand on your head, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine, disrupted your peaceful drift towards sleep. His voice, a low rumble laced with a tenderness you'd grown so accustomed to, echoed in the quiet room, a balm to the ache of his late return. "I have my day off tomorrow," he murmured, his breath stirring the strands of hair around your face. "I swear, I'll make it up to you. No need for waiting, no need for worry." A gentle kiss, like a whispered promise, landed on your forehead. It was a feather-light touch, yet it ignited a fire within you, a spark that danced in the depths of your soul. "Good night, love," he whispered, his lips brushing your skin, sending shivers dancing across your skin. And then, the words that made your heart skip a beat. "A little secret for you," he breathed, his voice a husky murmur. "Today, I fell for you again."

Minho

The night settled into a hushed stillness, a stark contrast to the symphony of whispers and gentle banter that usually flowed between you and Minho. Your voice, like a firefly's light, had extinguished, leaving him alone in the cool, quiet darkness. He shifted, his gaze tracing the soft rise and fall of your chest, a silent confirmation that you had succumbed to sleep's embrace. Peace, like a feather, settled upon him. He cherished these moments, the quiet intimacy where vulnerabilities were laid bare and whispered secrets found sanctuary in the space between your breaths. Yet, sleep remained elusive for him. The day, with its tangled threads of anxieties and triumphs, clung stubbornly to his thoughts. He chuckled, a soft rumble that barely disturbed the night air. The idea, though seemingly absurd, held a curious truth. He, who had always prided himself on his stoic demeanor, found himself drawn to your orbit like a moth to a flame. He reveled in your laughter, savored your silences, and found his heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of your name. A small smile tugged at his lips as he turned to face you, his hand brushing aside a stray strand of hair that veiled your peaceful countenance.

He traced the curve of your jawline, his touch feather-light, and marveled at the way your features softened in slumber. "You know what, my mom said I'm a simp for you," he whispered, the words tinged with a playful amusement. "Never thought she'd see me like that, but hey, what can I say?" His voice dipped even lower, a conspiratorial murmur in the quiet. "Maybe she's right," he conceded, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone. "You do have this way of tying my heartstrings in knots, making me sing off-key and blush like a teenage boy." He paused, a sigh escaping his lips. "I guess," he continued, his voice softer now, "I don't mind being your simp. As long as I get to keep you safe, make you smile, and witness the magic you weave into the world, then the title suits me just fine." With a final, lingering touch, he settled back against the pillows, a newfound peace washing over him. Sleep remained elusive, but it no longer held the sting of frustration. For in the quiet hush of the night, with you by his side, he had found a different kind of solace – a quiet contentment that whispered promises of a future where dreams, like fireflies, danced in the moonlight, guided by the gentle glow of his unspoken devotion.

Changbin

Changbin emerged from the shower, a halo of steam clinging to his damp hair. He ran a towel through his locks, the fabric rasping against the strands with a satisfying roughness. Water dripped from his fingertips, leaving tiny puddles on the tile. As he dried, a small smile played on his lips, a secret melody only he could hear. He reached for the doorknob, the metal cool against his palm. Pushing it open, he peeked into the bedroom. The sight that greeted him was a tableau of serenity – you, sprawled peacefully on the bed, lost in the world of dreams. He paused, his hand hovering in the air, the smile widening on his face. It was a scene he could never tire of, your slumber like a whispered promise of stolen moments and shared secrets. Walking softly, he approached the bed, his bare feet making the faintest whisper on the floor. He settled beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of your skin, the gentle rise and fall of your breath against his cheek. "Cute," he murmured, the endearment a secret shared with the night. His voice, husky from the shower, dipped into a low murmur, filling the silence with his own private monologue. He knew you wouldn't answer, but the words, like pent-up water finding its release, tumbled from his lips. "Today was a good day," he said, his voice laced with contentment.

"Every day with you is, really. But today… it hit different." He sighed, a deep rumble in his chest. "I never really thought about it before," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "but when I saw you in white gown… it hit me like a truck." His words, though spoken into the quiet night, were heavy with unspoken emotions, a glimpse into a world only he and you could see. The clock, a relentless metal heart, beat out the seconds in the hushed room. Each tick, a tiny hammer tapping against the silence, punctuated by the soft, rhythmic melody of your sleep. Even the slight, endearing snore that escaped your lips was music to Changbin's ears, a lullaby woven from the threads of your slumber. He let the towel fall carelessly to the floor, its abandoned form a testament to the singular focus of his gaze. Your sleeping figure, bathed in the moonlight that spilled through the window, was the only landscape he needed. "I must be the luckiest person in this world," he whispered, the words barely audible above the symphony of the night. "Knowing you'll be mine forever," he murmured, his voice a thread of silk woven into the tapestry of the night, "could you imagine how happy I am?"

Han

The heavy thud of the front door resonated through the silent air, a jarring contrast to the gentle rise and fall of your breath on the sofa. His eyes, weary beyond the fatigue of a strenuous workout, held the echoes of your fight, the sharp words still stinging on his tongue. He tiptoed in, each step measured and deliberate, afraid to shatter the fragile peace you seemed to have found in slumber. As he drew closer, a single tear, sparkling like a trapped diamond, glinted on your cheek. His heart clenched, a physical ache mirroring the emotional turmoil within. "Honey, I'm home," he whispered, his voice a soft caress against the silence. The fear of waking you battled with the urge to cradle you close, to chase away the remnants of the storm that had raged between you. He sank to his knees beside you, a silent sentinel guarding your dreams. His gaze traced the map of your face, etched with the residue of tears and unspoken hurt. He wanted to rewind time, erase the harsh words that had wounded you both, undo the tangled mess of their argument. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, more to himself than to you. The words tumbled out, a confession woven with guilt and regret. "We lost control, didn't we? Words like weapons, flung in the heat of the moment. I shouldn't have said what I did, those things about not loving you...they were lies, born from anger and frustration, but never from truth."

The living room held the echoes of their fight, but with each soft breath you took, they faded into the background. His eyes, weary from the emotional battle, found solace in the sight of you curled up on the sofa, an angel bathed in the soft amber light. A smile, both hesitant and hopeful, curved his lips. "I feel like I met the right person," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile peace. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd want you to be away from me." The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken apologies woven into their fabric. He knew they couldn't erase the sting of their argument, but they were bridges, tentative steps towards reconciliation. He spoke to you in the language of the night, words whispered to a sleeping heart. It didn't matter that you couldn't hear them, not yet. It was his own catharsis, an unburdening of the guilt that weighed on his soul. "I'll make it up tomorrow," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "I'll show you how much I love you, every beat of my heart, every breath I take." He leaned closer, his hand hovering over your cheek, hesitant yet yearning for connection. And then, a feather-light kiss on your forehead, a silent prayer for forgiveness and a promise of a new dawn. "Good night, love," he whispered, his voice a lullaby in the stillness. "Thank you for always understanding me, for loving me even when I don't deserve it."

Hyunjin

As the soft glow of twilight seeped in, you found yourself nestled in Hyunjin's embrace, your head resting comfortably on his chest. His arms were strong, yet gentle, cocooning you in a warmth that seeped into your very core. His voice, like honeyed velvet, flowed over you, carrying a melody that danced with the twilight breeze. His words, whispered promises of love and laughter, mingled with the steady rhythm of his heart, a lullaby luring you towards the land of dreams. You felt yourself drifting, eyelids growing heavy, your answers to his endearments becoming softer, then fading altogether. A sigh escaped your lips, tinged with the contentment of his nearness. Hyunjin saw it, the telltale signs of slumber stealing over you. A smile, as gentle as the moonlight, curved his lips. He tightened his hold, just a fraction, ensuring you felt the unwavering presence of his love, a silent whisper against the canvas of your dreams. "We spent another day together," he murmured, his voice a sigh against your hair. "And it makes me happier than words can say." His hand traced idle circles on your back, a silent conversation between lovers, a language older than words. His silence deepened, broken only by the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock. A sudden realization bloomed in his heart, casting a fleeting shadow across his peaceful expression.

"Do you know what I just realized?" he whispered, his voice barely a murmur, afraid to break the fragile spell of your sleep. "How I always freak out when I see others wanting you as much as I do." He let out a soft chuckle, self-deprecating and honest. "It's silly, isn't it? My fear of losing you, it feels like a bottomless pit in my stomach." He paused, the silence pregnant with the truth of his confession. You stirred, a small, unconscious movement in search of greater comfort. His chuckle turned into a low, amused sigh. "And then you do that thing," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb your slumber. "You ignore them all, turn back to me with that breathtaking smile, and my heart just… beats like a hummingbird's wings." He fell silent again, content to simply hold you, to watch the moon paint your face in its soft silver light. His worries, for now, were tucked away, replaced by the profound peace of having you in his arms, of knowing that in this quiet haven of shared breaths and whispered fears, he was your home, and you, his refuge. "Having you by my side feels like the universe's way of saying I deserve all the happiness in the world." And so, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Hyunjin held you close, letting the lullaby of his love, sung in hushed tones and gentle touches, carry you deeper into the embrace of sleep. Your dreams, he hoped, would be filled with rainbows and sunshine, a reflection of the joy you brought to his every day.

Felix

The soft thud of bare feet padding on wood was music to your ears, even in slumber. Through the haze of a long day, you felt a familiar rhythm approaching, drawing you back to wakefulness. It was Felix, his eagerness radiating even before he came into view. You peeked a sleepy eye open, just in time to see him skid to a stop on the living room floor, his eyes immediately glinting with joy at the sight of you sprawled on the sofa. "A tiring day, huh?" his voice was a warm whisper, tinged with that familiar playful concern. He reached for the remote, the TV's glow fading into darkness, leaving only the moonlit stage of your shared living room. His gaze lingered on you, tracing the lines of your sleeping face, each soft breath a silent melody in the quiet room. "My friends were giving me an earful today," he chuckled, more to himself than to you, as if confiding in the soft air around you. "They said I'm a hopeless romantic, a fool, stuck waiting for someone who might never make the first move." He shook his head, a touch of self-deprecation in the gesture. "Said I need to tell you how much you mean to me, how I dream of having you as mine." His voice took on a more serious note, dipping even lower, almost afraid to break the spell of your sleep. "And I guess they're right. I can't imagine anyone else making the first move, stealing away the chance to show you my heart on a silver platter." A smile flickered across his lips, hesitant, yet hopeful.

"So maybe..." he trailed off, a question hanging in the air, a promise whispered to the night. Felix swallowed hard, his gaze holding fast to your peaceful slumber. Sunday loomed large in his mind, the art gallery visit taking on a whole new significance. "Asking you to be mine there…makes me a tangled mess of nerves," he admitted, the words tumbling out in a soft rush. His eyes traced the familiar contours of your face, etched with the day's weariness. He shifted slightly, his gaze landing on a collection of your belongings scattered on the coffee table – a well-loved book, a half-knitted scarf, a mug bearing a silly cartoon cat. He reached out, his touch feather-light as he tidied them, creating a constellation of your life against the worn wood. "You have no idea how much I've practiced," he chuckled, the sound barely a whisper. "Like a madman, rehearsing lines in the shower, pacing in the park, even babbling to my bewildered cactus." His smile held a touch of self-effacement, a vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings, even in your sleep. The weight of his unspoken question hung heavy in the air, a melody played on the strings of his love for you. In that quiet space, surrounded by the echoes of his whispered confession and the unspoken promise of Sunday, you drifted deeper into sleep, unaware of the storm of emotions brewing in the heart of the boy beside you.

Seungmin

The soft thud of the apartment door closing seemed impossibly loud in the hushed space. Seungmin tiptoed in, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the window. You, his beautiful angel, were sprawled across the living room couch, lost in the slumber that always seemed to paint your face with an extra layer of serenity. He moved with the stealth of a cat stalking its prey, his every step cushioned by a silent prayer not to disturb your peaceful dreams. Placing the plastic bag of convenience store goodies on the coffee table, he sank into a crouch beside you. In that stillness, your sleeping face became his masterpiece. Your features, usually animated by laughter or furrowed in concentration, were now softened by the gentle brush of sleep. He traced the delicate curve of your jawline with his gaze, his lips curving into a tender smile. "It's still feels like magic," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Even if I think about it a thousand times, even if I wake up tomorrow and it's all a dream…" His voice trailed off, replaced by a sigh that spoke volumes of his disbelief and unyielding joy. His eyes, pools of adoration reflected in the moonlight, drifted from your eyelashes to the small, contented curl of your lips. "That you're mine, and we just fit, you know? Like puzzle pieces carved from the same soul." Seungmin reached out, a hesitant hand pulling the soft throw blanket higher around your shoulders, ensuring you wouldn't feel the night's chill.

The gesture, small yet overflowing with tenderness, spoke of a love that thrived in the quiet moments, in the unspoken promises etched in whispered breaths and soft touches. "I even feel the love," he murmured, his voice barely a tremor against the silence. "The kind I used to wonder if it was just something in fairytales. You make me so happy, Y/N. With you by my side, every day feels like a miracle." His hand, calloused yet gentle, found its way to your head. His fingers brushed through your hair, a comforting rhythm that spoke volumes of unspoken affection. "Never thought I'd fall this hard," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "But then you walked in, and my heart turned into a kaleidoscope of emotions, all swirling around you." A soft chuckle escaped his lips, the sound laced with a hint of disbelief. "Never thought I'd be capable of holding so much love for someone, but here we are." He lingered for a moment longer, his gaze tracing the gentle rise and fall of your chest, committing every detail of your sleeping form to memory. Then, with a final, lingering kiss on your forehead, he rose, the quiet guardian of your dreams, forever grateful for the magic that had brought you, his perfect puzzle piece, into his life. With eyes full of devotion, he murmured, "Love you, sweetheart, more than words can express."

Jeongin

Jeongin's thumbs danced across his phone screen, the glow illuminating his face in the quiet room. But the words on the display couldn't compete with the symphony playing out beside him. Your rhythmic breaths, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, were a lullaby he wouldn't trade for any ringtone. He glanced over, a smile curving his lips as he watched you sleep. Your phone, still clutched in your hand, buzzed with the remnants of your conversation, a conversation he hadn't been fully present for. A pang of guilt flickered through him, quickly smothered by the overwhelming tenderness he felt for you. He reached out, careful not to disturb your slumber, and gently pried the phone from your grasp. With a sigh, he placed it on the nightstand, his gaze returning to your peaceful face. In the stillness, his own insecurities began to whisper. "You know what," he murmured, his voice barely louder than a sigh, "sometimes I feel like I'm not a good enough boyfriend for you." The words hung heavy in the air, laced with self-doubt and a yearning to be better. "It's not like I don't want to," he continued, his voice a soft confession. "Even though you're mine, this incredible, beautiful puzzle piece that fits perfectly with me, I still feel this shyness, this awkwardness like I can't quite express what's in my heart." He shifted, his eyes never leaving your face, searching for some hidden sign of disappointment.

"I know I should tell you more often," he whispered, "how much you mean to me, how you light up my world with just your smile. I'm trying, sweetheart, I really am. Just give me time to find the words, to truly open up this clumsy, shy heart of mine to you, to us." He settled beside you, your warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your pajamas. He wasn't a grand gesture kind of guy, not yet. His love bloomed in the mundane, in the shared silences and the comfortable routine that was just beginning to define their 'us.' He worried, sometimes, that it wasn't enough. That his fumbling attempts, his shy pronouncements of 'I like you' whispered into the night, couldn't compete with the grand fireworks of established relationships. The silence returned, but it was no longer empty. It was filled with the unspoken promise of future confessions, of whispered declarations that would one day bloom into a vibrant tapestry of love. Even with his lips sealed, his message resonated in the quiet room. His hand, resting comfortingly on your cheek, spoke volumes. "Even if I don't say it enough," he breathed, his voice barely a tremor against your skin, "you have to know this, sweetheart. I love you. So much." And in that quiet act of vulnerability, Jeongin's shyness seemed to soften, a delicate seed waiting to blossom under the warmth of your understanding. The future stretched before them, a blank canvas ready to be painted with the vibrant colors of their love, a love he would learn to express, word by precious word, until it filled every corner of your shared world.

💬Forget resolutions, let's toast to new beginnings! Consider this a sprinkle of sweetness for your New Year's journey, wishing you joy and good vibes all year long.

©Tinytinyblogs

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macabr3-barbi3 · 1 month

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PrideRing and Prejudice Prompt Challenge!

hello everyone! the Bapple's Orchard Discord Server had a Regency Prompt Challenge that a lot of crazy talented artists and writers have contributed to: here is the Masterlist of everyone's submissions that will be being updated through the day as more people post! There's something for everyone, and will be including RadioStatic and x Reader fics and music!

With that said, here are my submissions! First, have a string quartet arrangement that I did for a Bapple Approved™️ RadioStatic song, Something About Us by Daft Punk 🦌📺

And a short and sweet Alastor x Reader fic- enjoy! 💕🦌

Moonlight on Canvas (Hazbin Hotel Regency AU)

The ball hosted by the Morningstar family had been, as always, a fantastical soiree until you had spotted Alastor.

You give Lord Morningstar’s daughter Charlotte a wave across the room when she spots you, her own arm waving furiously, and as she turns away you see Alastor behind her, caught in conversation with the eager viscount, Vincent Vox. He strikes a silhouette like a portrait, one you’ve painted countless times before; tall, lean, the red of his outfit a charming contrast to his dark hair and eyes. You can see it in your mind now, the brushstrokes you could use to mimic the beauty of him in the lights of the ballroom, the burgundies and crimsons for his jacket, hickory and mahogany for his hair and the darkness of his eyes where they watch the viewer under the shadow of his fringe. It would make a stunning painting, and yet still be a poor imitation of what stood in front of you.

He looks like he would rather be anywhere but where he is, taking cautious steps backwards that Vox follows, and when he casts a desperate look behind himself he catches your eye, brows rising when his gaze settles on you, resplendent in your evening finery.

You bolt when he turns to make his excuses, ducking into the hall that leads to the garden before his eyes can track where you’ve gone.

The cool air of the night is a soothing balm on your nerves as you settle on the bench amongst the roses and tulips, off the main path where married couples and chaperoned groups pass by. Your heart is racing and you wish you had given enough thought to your escape to grab a drink before fleeing. You couldn’t face Alastor tonight; maybe you never could again. Once a close friend, he had been gone for seven years. You had written him countless letters, asking of his travels, when he would be coming home, why he had left so suddenly- every one of them left unanswered, the Viscount having assured you that he was passing your messages along since they had also been tentative friends before he left.

Surely you had done something wrong. He had changed his mind after leaving, your last conversation one about his marriage prospects- “if I must marry anyone, a lifelong commitment to a friend that I have grown fond- to you- would be far more desirable than one thrust upon me by the demands of society,” he had said, and while it wasn’t a dramatic declaration of love you knew what you expected of one another. You wanted him, but you would settle for being part of society, not pushed to the wayside as a spinster as your age went on; he wanted to be left to his own devices, no longer bothered by the mothers of eligible women or fathers looking to make a marriage for business connections. You had thought that he meant you- you must have been mistaken, if his blatant ignoral of your letters was anything to go by.

You wouldn’t let it bother you. You had been waiting for him all this time, but perhaps the time had come to set aside matters of the heart and focus on your life. Sir Pentious, a charming (if clumsy) man was present at the ball, and had made an offer for your hand once that you had declined, no father or brother to convince you on the matter and your mother uncaring of your choices- perhaps you could speak with him and see if the offer still stood…

A branch cracks behind you, tearing you from your thoughts, and you turn to see Alastor behind you, two glasses of champagne held in one hand. “I thought I might find you here,” he murmurs, giving you that familiar smile of his. “Where else would an artist be but amongst the most beautiful scenery on the grounds?”

“Alastor.” You glance through the bushes and trees, not seeing anyone in the immediate vicinity. “I didn’t know that you were back!”

His head tilts ever so slightly. “Oh? So your record setting sprint from the ballroom was for another reason then; I see.” Despite his smile you can see that he’s a bit irritated, his grip on the stems of the champagne glasses making them clink together before he hands one to you. “I had hoped that we could speak tonight- I meant to inform you of my return sooner.”

You take the glass from him wordlessly and down it, ignoring the amused look on his face. “Perhaps you should have informed me of your departure sooner as well, rather than disappearing into the night without so much as a ‘farewell.’” You use your glass to keep you grounded and turn to inspect the flowers, fighting to keep the ire from your voice. You weren’t ready for this conversation with him, hadn’t been planning on talking to him at all really, after his absence.

“Darling.” You hear the compression of the grass as he steps closer to you, entering the peripherals of your vision. “What have I done to earn such a dismissal? Do you not wish to see me at all?”

“No,” you say truthfully, and the flash of hurt across his face strikes anguish into your heart. “I didn’t- I wasn’t ready to see you tonight.”

Even now he is beautiful, especially now; he stiffens his shoulders, his face upset, eyes still bright in the darkness of the night. Amongst the flowers, the yellows and reds contrasting so stunningly with the image of him, you could paint this scene a hundred ways and still never quite capture the raw emotion that overtakes his expression. Depending on how the rest of the conversation goes, that might be the only way that you can gaze upon his beauty going forward- paintings done from memory, sketches on ballroom napkins when you spot him at a party and can’t stop the itch in your fingers that demands you bring the vision to fruition.

The tension seeps from his frame, not in relief but defeat. “I wish you had come to me,” he whispers, pain evident in his tone. “About whatever I did to cause your apparent frustration with me. Before simply deciding to cast me- our friendship- aside. So that I may have had some attempt at salvaging it.”

“What are you- Alastor, you cut me off!” You whirl around to face him fully, hating the sting of tears in your eyes. “I sent you countless letters when you left and you never responded-”

“You’re one to speak of unanswered correspondence,” he huffs. “‘Countless,’ you say- can you not count to ‘zero?’”

“What?” The tension in his frame has returned while he struggles to keep his composure, and he looks away from you, casting his eyes out across the garden rather than facing you. “Alastor, I sent you hundreds of letters over the years- I had to send them off through the Viscount since you didn’t deign to even tell me you were leaving. So many letters asking where you were, why you left, when you were coming back. If you were… okay. I thought you might have died and I was devastated until I saw you today and I thought that you just-” You cut yourself off when you hear the quiet clamor of other voices, and you duck into the shadow of the apple trees that line the path. You watch Alastor track their movements down the path before he turns back to you as they get out of sight, his expression now curious rather than pained.

“What did you think?” He sets his glass down on the bench and steps closer, maintaining a respectable distance between your bodies but reaching his hand out to take yours, pulling the champagne glass from your own tight grip with his free hand and setting it beside his. Your heart is hammering in your chest while you stand there together; if someone so much as saw you out here together-

“Dearest.”

“Don’t call me that,” you manage despite your breath being caught in your chest. “Not now. You’ve clearly changed your mind, if you meant it at all, and I was foolish to-”

His unoccupied hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone and effectively making your brain stutter. “What did you think?” He asks quietly, his eyes lidded as he looks down at you, his familiar smile looking like it means to come back, twitching at the edges of his lips. “Grant me this clarification if you would- a proper conversation might help to clear up any lingering uncertainty between us.”

You can’t bring yourself to step back from his hold on your skin. “I- our last discussion,” you breathe, not daring to speak any louder lest you break the spell that’s fallen over the pair of you. “You had said that were you to marry anyone you would want it to be me, and then you vanished for seven years without so much as an ‘adieu.’ I thought…” You swallow the lump in your eyes, distantly thinking that the blurred image of him before you would make another lovely portrait. “I thought you changed your mind; that you had said something reckless and wanted to take it back without having to have such a discussion with me.”

“It would appear that the charming Viscount has played us both for fools, darling.” He looks like he wants to step closer to you but thinks better of it as a peal of laughter escapes the hall leading to your little platform in the garden. “I am not one to change my mind once I have made a decision; I sent you letters as well. Tales of what I could divulge of my travels- and I will provide more details when I am able to- and questions about what you were doing without me, mentions of how I missed our chats and teas. I inquired multiple times if you had considered what I said, blatantly verified that I would be interested in marrying you whenever I was able to return. I thought your lack of a response was a refusal.”

“Oh my God, Alastor.” The nervous laughter that bubbles out of you is so refreshing it takes over your body, stomach not able to heave the way it wants with the corset in the way of your air intake. “You tried to send your letters through Vox as well?”

“Not directly- I had my aide, Husker, coming into town with my correspondence. He left them with dear Vincent who assured him that they were going to the proper recipients. I suppose I can only hope that no one else was subjected to the same discourtesy and received my letters as intended.” He removes his hands from your face and wrist to clench his own into fists at his sides. “This blatant disrespect of not just my matters, but yours as well, will not stand.” He turns like he means to head back into the ballroom and your hand darts out, grips his arm like to let him go would be a grievous mistake.

“Did you really mean it?” You ask him, and the look that he gives you you want to find a way to paint on the back of your eyelids- fond and amused and relieved, tinged with anger that is not directed at you but on your behalf. “You- you would marry me?”

He hums a bit, glancing back at you with that fond look in his gaze. “As long as you'd still want to marry a man potentially convicted of manslaughter after I've seen the Viscount, then yes, darling. Seven years might have changed a lot, but neither my feelings nor my intentions.” He pulls you closer, almost into his arms then, his embrace so light it’s hardly there, the fabric of your clothing just barely brushing his. Your gasp is lost against the soft material of his coat before you look up at him, smile soft when he directs it to you. “Would you think me a scoundrel should I steal a kiss from you before my possible imprisonment?”

Your heart stutters in your chest. “I could never think anything but the best of you, Alastor,” you tell him, and then whisper, “please,” tilting your face up and closing your eyes, the thought of someone seeing you far from your mind. This moment would make a beautiful painting, you were sure of it; anticipation clear in the strokes of the brush, the colors making the tension and relief between the two of you evident, your emotions bleeding through the canvas into the eyes of whoever looked at it.

His lips press to your forehead, and when your eyes fly open he’s chuckling at you, grin mischievous as he steps away. “I’m afraid this is all I will allow myself, dearest- I can’t be causing too many scandals in one night.” He brings your hand to his lips and presses a light kiss there as well before releasing you entirely.

“Now that things have been cleared up between us, I do believe the Viscount is owed a visit!” Alastor says this cheerfully, a wink aimed in your direction before he's striding back down the hallway to the ballroom, his long legs making it difficult to catch him before he can do something reckless.

You’ve just entered the room, cheeks flushed, when you see Alastor stroll up to Vox as casual as can be. “Alastor!” The Viscount exclaims, gesturing beside himself to a tall companion, dressed in a gaudy shade of purple. “I was just telling my friend here about-”

The crowd never hears what Vox was telling his friend as Alastor’s clenched fist connects with his face, sending him flying backwards into a table and spilling punch and hor d'oeuvres across the floor. His friend looks outraged, a young woman nearby failing to stifle a chuckle into her glass of champagne, and everyone is watching Alastor like some feral animal as he straightens up after dealing his blow and stretches his hand out. “This man,” he says, his voice full of contempt like you’ve never heard from him before, glaring down at Vox’s bleeding form, “is a cad. An encroaching fungus that has wheedled his way into the fine community that we have here and should not be spared another thought. Viscount or not, a wretch will remain a wretch; things such as honor and loyalty cannot, apparently, be taught. I implore you all to keep that in mind!” He offers a smile and a low bow to some of the nearby ladies as a couple of the Morningstar guards are shuffling over, and he puts up no resistance, holding his arms out amiably for them to take and lead him away.

When the guards have led Alastor away, the Morningstar patriarch following out the way they had come, you watch as Vox is helped to his feet by his companion, furiously wiping blood off his face before storming out of the ballroom. You wonder if there’s a way to get your letters back- to give them to Alastor, provide him with the words that you had tried telling him for so long before the opportunity was forcibly taken from your hands. You find a glass of punch from a table that hadn’t been buckled under the weight of a man and sip it while you make a lap around the ballroom- unsure if Alastor will be able to return but not yet willing to let the magical feel of the evening end. There are whispers all around you, about Vox, about Alastor, and you look again to the broken table that hasn’t yet been cleaned up, wondering if they would allow you to take the stained tablecloth to use as a canvas if you stretched it properly.

“Excuse me, miss.” A man speaks behind you, and you turn to see an older gentleman- Husker, if you remember correctly of your tea and chats with Alastor. “His Grace has asked me to reassure you that with the exception of his being thrown into a jail cell, he will come to call on you tomorrow at your mother’s residence; to ask for your hand properly.” He gives a heavy sign, glancing at the rest of the occupants of the ballroom and the group of people that stand to your left. “I was also asked to inform you that should you decide to paint the events of this evening, he would be more than happy to hang the resulting portrait in the manor’s foyer.”

Your face lights up with a genuine smile, something that Husker eyes suspiciously before he walks away, muttering under his breath. You look around the ballroom and find Charlotte talking to a friend and make your way to her- she could be convinced to part with the tablecloth, you were sure of it, and you would use it to make a beautiful piece of art that hung in your new home and marked the start of something that had been worth waiting for after all.

#PrideRing and Prejudice #BapplesOrchardCollabs #fan song #arrangement #hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #alastor x reader #alastor #everyone is so creative <3

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fortune-fool02 · 2 years

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Brahms Heelshire x female reader

Requested by: @playgroundfadings

Prompt 35 - Kissing their bruises and scars.

Why hello there, missed me? Jdjfksjf

From your prompt list, 35-kissing their bruises and scars with Brahmsy please 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Thank you for the prompt request! I love it and I hope you like this!

Please enjoy

The painted portrait on the wall was the centre piece. Placed at just the right angle for sunlight to fall upon, a golden image of a perfect, happy family. [Name] had looked at it every single time she passed it, her eyes drawn to it. More so, to the young Brahms in the painting, holding onto his mother’s hand while smiling.

But it was a lie. What a difference a few different strokes of the paintbrush can make, to forge something else entirely. [Name] had seen the real photograph of this painting and Brahms was not the happy child it portrayed him as. She didn’t tell Brahms, not wanting to pry at something that was likely quite sensitive to the man. She had just gotten him to start coming out the walls more often, she didn’t want to fall back to square one again.

However, there was this curiosity that lingered. The story of the house fire when he was a boy was something that stuck with her, how he never once took the mask off around her. Hell, she didn’t think he took it off at all given how dirty it was. A security blanket, of sorts, perhaps? He felt more at ease behind a mask than allowing his face to be seen? So many questions and very few answers. Regardless, [Name] would not invade his privacy.

A soft sigh slipped her lips as she leaned against Brahms, snuggling against him on the couch in one of the lounges in front of the fireplace, watching the flames crackle and burn. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close to him, his deep, steady breaths soothing along with the calming rhythm of his heart. Something that offered a sense of security and warmth to her, like being bundled up in blankets on a cold, winter’s morning.

“Brahms?” Her eyes glanced up at the emotionless mask, earning a soft hum in response, showing he was listening. “I was wondering, would you like me to clean your mask-” Before she could even finish the question properly, she felt his body tense up beneath her. Not unlike that of a scared animal, ready to flee if felt threatened. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to. I just... I thought you...” Unable to come up with a reasonable explanation for why she wanted his mask off, [Name] gave a sigh. “I just wanted to see you. The real you. Under the mask.”

A few moments passed, Brahms’ eyes low as he thought. It had been a very long time since he showed his face to another, he cannot recall who was the last person to see his face. Most likely mother. But it could have been father? Regardless, [Name] wanted to be the first to see after so long. And he didn’t mind it. Brahms brought his hands up, carefully unclasping it and gently lowering it from his face. [Name] sitting patiently through it all.

Deep scarring covered most of his face, mainly the right side of it, the biting lash of a fire against skin. Little smears of dirt and dust here and there but nothing too bad. His beard matching his dark hair. Dark eyes watching her, expecting some kind of disgusted reaction at his face.

Instead, [Name] slowly leaned up, her actions slow and measured. Brahms only sat there, waiting for her reaction. Her warm lips pressed softly against the cold scarring, a touch that sent butterflies flurrying throughout Brahms. An electric shiver jumping his nerves.

“You’re handsome, Brahms.” He looked at her as she spoke, her eyes hiding no lie nor false truth to make him feel better. Genuine. Raw genuine words.

“Beautiful...[Name]. You’re beautiful.” He mirrored her action, pressing his lips against her cheek as he pulled her closer again. The mask sitting on the arm of the seating, forgotten for a time while they shared this moment.

#brahms #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire #brahms the doll #brahms x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #the boy 2016 #brahms the boy #prompts

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sorryseraphim · 4 months

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It took him a few weeks to visit this particular area of his gallery after wallowing from grief. After he had himself elevated the title of Lord, he didn’t immediately make haste in moving his items to Wyrm’s Crossing; it felt lonely and empty, knowing he wouldn’t be able to share it with Helene. Her sudden disappearance brought back terrible memories of his past, the feeling of abandonment and fear, but mostly sadness threatening to devour him whole.

As he stood there, pulling the covers off an unfinished canvas, her words echoed in the back of his head, vividly remembering how her eyes thinned staring at him; for a moment, Enver thought she would refuse again to his request despite her already sitting behind the canvas. The painter sat quietly behind them, waiting for his signal to start with the painting, pretending to prepare the colors in his palette as Enver assured Helene; he was fully aware that she wouldn’t agree to have herself painted; after all, being the high priestess and leader of a murder cult requires privacy.

“Just the one. I won’t pose for any portraits or nonsense again.”

Soothing her shoulders as he gazed upon her, he spoke softly. “Just one. I promise.”

“Fine. Do I need to do anything?” He remembered her asking, a smile creeping up his face as she started narrating how when she received word from Enver about an “urgent” matter that morning, she came running to his estate to heed his call. He remembers walking back to the painter’s side, who is now holding a brush, its tip wet with paint the color of pearl, just right to represent her pale skin.

“Just sit down straight. Straighten your back as if you’re about to attack me.” He replied playfully, making her smile a little. Her repressed smiles, which he particularly cherished the most, meant she was genuinely amused but too stubborn to admit. The memory of his eyes drifting from the painter's fluid strokes back to her sitting stoically, legs crossed, face unmoving in front of him brought another rush of pain across his chest.

“Helene, look at me.” He remembered calling her attention when her gaze drifted miles away, staring at nothing momentarily. Blinking rapidly as she focused back on his face, an exchange of smiles and sighs filled the room until the painter finished her bust. He should have known those were signs of distress on her part. She had addressed a few times then that she could feel her gut stirring to an “unknown threat” dawning upon her that she was yet to discern. He had brushed it off then, and now regret flooded his insides, drowning him with the memory of her last day.

The way she stood beside the painter after, eyeing the portrait’s finished portion of her face, crept to him once more. How her brows furrowed, and her lips pursed, slowly curling into a smile washing over him.

“You need to add more freckles. I think.” Helene said, looking at him, ignoring the painter’s shaky hands as she stood close to him.

“It’s not yet finished. You really need to work on your patience.” Enver replied with a smile, crossing his arms in front of him as he watched her walk up to him. Her heels echo in the quiet of the room.

“What is this portrait even for? You never told me.” He remembers her asking quickly, just a hint of suspicion and amusement with his sudden request.

“You’ll soon see. For now, you have my immense gratitude. You can go back to your duties.” He smiled reassuringly at her, a hand reaching out to hers, kissing it gently before she left.

Now that the memory finished flooding back, feeling defeated as he stared blankly at the unfinished portrait, so were the many things he regretted not telling her. He should have told her how he cherished her loving touches as they lay at night after a moment of passion. How her laughter filled his chest with joy, he couldn’t remember ever having. And, of course, she always had a way of showing her unyielding passion for him, if not with words.

It will never be finished, he thought as he draped the covers back. How will it ever be finished? The lady in the canvas will never have the chance to wear the white dress he had dreamed of seeing. Nor would he hear the vows spoken in front of a cleric, promises they had only said to one another between the sheets and in secret to bind them for eternity officially.

Enver’s heart will never be complete. So is the wedding portrait he kept in the darkest part of his gallery.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #enver gortash #gortash x durge #the dark urge #lord enver gortash #bg3 gortash #lord gortash #dark urge x gortash #gortash

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tiny-vermin · 2 months

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I want to know more about the m9 artist au!! I remember reading a post or two about it a billion years ago (and would love to read them again) 💜

hi jess!!!! thank u for being interested hehe :")

so ever since i drew that lil thing of essek painting a frank stella inspired painting (or even before), ive been thinking of what kinds of art each of the m9 would do. essek ofc is inspired by a minimalist show that i went to here, all the big names from that movement were shown, but those really dark, sinkhole-like paintings are speaking to me. another artwork of boxes made of mirrors also seems like the thing he would do too

there's a kiln here that we visited which was huge, and surrounding it were artists' studios and some other ceramic sellers, i imagine the clay family having a place like this in the middle of nowhere amongst the trees, and caleb would do his work there

anyways because at heart im a shadowgast luver its centred around them,, they meet at an artist residency or something like that and its an incredibly slow burn that involves talking and not-talking and looking and not-looking. in the end i am but a simple wong kar wai fan so. that kinda vibes would definitely influence this, i would describe it as a quiet burning i guess?? time skipy and words that are not said

i think im gonna rant a bit more about their different mediums and styles so i'll keep it under the cut

i think caleb sculpts figures and portraits, but in a sad, kathe kollwitz charcoal vibe. maybe some funky looking animals, perhaps some pots and vases to look at the pretty glazes. he's interested in using fire to burn texture into different mediums, like ive seen it being used on shellac to make a really cool net of ink looking structure.. but yknow, just seeing the aftermath of glazed ceramic from the kiln is enough, and probably better for him to keep his distance anyways

the clay family produces most of the ceramic to sell, vases, pots, plates, cups, teapots, yknow just a whole array. and its really colourful too, depicting every family members different style. i think caduceus would do some matte glazes with a lot of different colours, theyre all a little wonky but theyre better off that way anyways. he does some really mean ink calligraphy and painting though

jester definitely does,, everything, whatever her heart desires kinda thang. she makes pastel textile installations and lighthearted cute paintings, but theyre always so contemplative and soothing. she gets m9 a lot of work cus her mom has connections, etc etc. i really love the idea of jester creating works that talk about the female body and femininity (definitely not projecting no)

beau is a printmaker and photographer who's really experimental, she loves cyanotypes and printing flowers (for yasha), idk she seems like she would put fabric and rocks into the washing machine to see what would happen. u would probably catch her in someone elses studio learning about what they do or in the library learning about what old people did

veth works in a museum as a curator, getting beau to help her sometimes with gathering artworks and artists etc. she probably organises community art projects for kids and public art installations. her house is full of m9's artworks and various other artists shes worked with.

yasha does bouquets as her post-retirement part time job, prior to that no one really knows what she did ("she probably murdered a bunch of people and is now hiding from the government"). fjord draws comics for fun but is also not a job for him, molly is a question mark for me. but these guys probably wont be in it as much anyways

im still not sure what format i wanna do this in, im actually having fun just writing it in my notebook now (digital does not facilitate the creative juices) but i do want to do some visuals like fake movie stills or storyboards. maybe they will work together well???? dunno. working on the other shadowgasty thing im doing made me realise how much easier it is to draw when there's a script already there, so im writing the script for myself

im definitely not as practiced in writing as i am in drawing, but idk im just gonna have some fun and see where that takes me, meanwhile try not to feel too bad that its fanart HAHA (very bad habit)

edit: i just saw my previous thoughts on beau being an art journalist, but i kinda like this better.. but maybe she can do both muah

#working tag for this ->#the kiln #honestly if u had any tips for writing #i'd love to hear..#i was insulted once on my writing and never wrote again HADHSFHF #oh and also emo smoking #that is somethng i want to draw more of

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devildom-moss · 8 months

Text

Roses for You (7)

This had all started when you noticed a link between a book on the language of flowers you had borrowed from Satan’s room and the current lessons from your Seductive Speechcraft and Magical Potions classes.

In Seductive Speechcraft, you had just reached a section on the effectiveness of spells using non-verbal communication: enchanting glances, dance, and offerings. Meanwhile, in Magical Potions, the professor had been discussing the significance of using specific quantities when concocting potions; they had spent fifteen minutes just providing examples – including adding petals from two different flowers when using them for a love spell.

You couldn’t resist discussing the use of flower language – utilizing the type, color, and quantity of the flowers – to specify the magical intent of an offering as a form of seductive speechcraft. Asmo and Solomon listened intently. The same idea popped into both of their minds, and before you knew it, everyone was looking into color and number meanings, searching for the perfect combination to convey their feelings for you and try to put you under their spell. The only rule for their little competition to charm you? Only roses are allowed.

Will you be charmed by their attempts?

Seven Roses - Belphegor

(original Obey Me lesson 16 spoilers)

Word count: 777 (a perfect 777 for the seventh born giving you seven roses)

I’m lucky to have you; I’m madly in love with you

Belphie: I can’t sleep. Come to the attic and soothe me.

Belphie: Please. So tired. I need your warmth.

Somehow you were grateful that the sleep Belphegor was being so cruelly deprived of was just his afternoon nap. You had gotten out of your last class of the day and were heading home. Had this request come from anyone else, no doubt it would have been lighting up your screen late into the night – assuming you weren’t scrolling on your D.D.D. already. Knowing you had time to kill, and that Belphegor was adorable when he cuddled up against your body, you figured you could acquiesce. Worst case scenario, Lucifer or anyone but Beel would lecture you about spoiling Belphie. Or, you supposed, Belphegor could try to kill you again – but that seemed unlikely. Dead bodies aren’t known for staying warm for long, anyway.

MC: So needy. I’m not your personal heating pad, but fine, I’m on the way.

When you arrived in the attic, Belphegor was lying in bed on his side, his shirt riding up his back – presumably from his attempts to settle comfortably among the sheets. You chuckled. As you approached, you could see that he was holding a bouquet in his hands – for you, no doubt. You peeked over Belphie’s sleeping body to get a closer look. 1, 2 . . . 7 deep purple roses.

That could go one of two ways: “I’m lucky to have you” or “I’m madly in love with you.” With Belphegor, it was hard to tell which meaning he leaned towards – perhaps he meant both. The gorgeous deep, jewel-toned purple didn’t do much to help you decipher his meaning, either. If anything, the color only distracted you with its familiar loveliness. It was just like Belphie to send you muddied messages. Passion, infatuation and a deep desire to know someone more, mystery, admiration – maybe some combination? Belphegor was careless in painting the lines of his love for you – or else, he was too thoughtful and precise with it. His love was expressed like impressionist art – tender strokes that came together to create some recognizable thing of beauty that seemed to sway in the light. Some part of you craved the rigid, distinct lines, but for all your frustration, you couldn’t deny that you had fallen for the dreamy portrait he painted.

You sunk one knee on the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping demon – not yet, at least. Slowly, with a featherlight touch, you lifted Belphegor’s shirt further up. In truth, the skin on his back was dry, and you made a mental note to rub him down with some lotion later. You left gentle kisses up his back; your breath felt hot against his exposed skin. Belphie let out a soft moan, and when you stopped to peer over at his face, you saw his brows knit together. He called your name out sweetly.

“Yes, baby?” you cooed.

Belphegor shifted onto his back, allowing you to crawl over him and straddle his hips. His eyes were misty and dreamy – as if he was on the verge of tears but too tired to cry. A soft smile formed on his lips, and he gave you a comfortable sigh.

Oh. The roses were the same color as his eyes. That explained why they had captivated you.

“Mhhmmm, missed you.” Belphie tilted his head. He opened his eyes slowly and seductively – but you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not.

“Thought you couldn’t sleep,” you chuckled.

“I lied. I just wanted to see you.” That was enough. You leaned down and kissed him with the express goal of turning Belphie into a moaning mess beneath you. He was quick to kiss you back and eager to open his mouth so you could tease him with your tongue. When you parted, his tongue chased yours, sticking it out of his mouth slightly. The sight of him – a blushing, panting mess with his cheeks tinted pink – was precious.

“So,” you hummed teasingly, “these roses for me?”

“No, they’re for the other human I want to make out with.” Belphie smirked.

“Solomon?”

“Gross,” Belphie groaned and rolled his eyes. “Stop talking and kiss me again.”

“Oh? You mean I’m the human you want to make out with?” You feigned ignorance.

“Kiss me, now,” Belphie demanded in a desperate, whiny voice. You felt him squirming beneath you. “I want you. I need you so bad.”

“You’re precious.” You chuckled and made no move to get closer to him.

“Then put your mouth on mine already.” He was practically whimpering. You had teased him long enough. It was time to feed his madness.

#belphegor #gn!mc #obey me series #obey me #obey me belphegor #belphegor x reader #I want to bite soft whiny sleepy Belphegor until he cries and that's probably okay

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