#shes so damn hard to draw because of her color scheme but i love her

[impostorsshow]

Hello Tumblr city I have nightly doodles

This time it was just finishing up old doodles since I only gave myself 2 hours, and uh. I also had a Garfield x Tom sketch but I decided not to finish that one also if you want to hear about my DSAF au that goes with the image click the read more below

Close up of the image along with the ref I used i wouldnt recommend clicking on any of my images for higher quality since my coloring is very unpolished

Anyway this au is pretty simple but I highly enjoy it so I'm going to rant about it past my bedtime - essentially, I looked at how the good ending is a pretty sad ending, and while it's great when the canon/best endings in games aren't the best outcome, I wanted to fix it /j. Specifically I wanted a good ending for Davenport, fuck the children fuck everything else let's take the morals of the Dave endings in the games and fucking run with them.

So i uh haven't replayed the game in a long while forgive me for mistaking a few details but it follows the ending where you salvage davetrap, and Jack doesn't go past the second layer of the flip side and never meets Dee, but instead of Henry possessing Jack or whatever the fuck happened there, Jack starts to work on a solution. I should mention this is a world where Jack never gets a new phone guy but listens to all of Henry's tapes - but Jack gathers the fact that daveyrap is unhappy because hes not a complete soul, and devises a plan. That plan is just to work with both Dave's, making sure davetrap doesn't cause his business to go under due to child murder but he can't completely stop him and working with flipside Dave to both figure out how to make a robot vessel that looks like Dave and could reasonably pass as looking like a human since it wouldn't need anything for programming or ai or movement that possession would be capable of, and to convince flipside Dave to try and be a complete soul again.

Because from what I've gathered, the whole soul thing means thag when the "child" or in Dave's case the part that doesn't want to deal with murder part of the soul goes away to the flip side, the soul is torn apart since there's still something with a mind in the animatronics, it's just left without the reason part of itself. If we incorporate remnant lore which I'm not going to go very far in it further exemplifies the point that Dave repossessing himself over and over tore his soul apart while normal dead kids just leave the remnant behind but whatever whatever Jack decides that if the two halves of the soul exist in one body again they can merge back together and become one soul capable of the full range of emotions, including happiness.

Also my jacks a bit fucked up in the head because this jack went to Vegas twice and killed the real Fredbear so he's on a slippery slope of almost becoming a Henry Miller pulling this shit and asking Dave to continue repossessing himself, but instead risking losing his soul entirely by asking him to possess something that doesn't have any connection to his dead body. And it works when the "it looks exactly like Dave but he can't go in the rain and doesn't smell like a rotting corpse anymore and also doesnt have nearly as many scars" robot vessel is built and the two try possessing the body. And then Dave helps Jack make a robot body for himself and is built in like 1/3rd of the time since Dave knows how animatronics work and not smelling is a pretty nice feature, except Jack doesn't actually *have* a soul so for all intents and purposes I have no clue how to fix that so the jack body is just sitting in the closet of jacks house useless but it's there.

And like then there's actual lore but I need to go to sleep since I have school tomorrow but Dave and Jack decide to keep running Freddy fazbenders considering Jack doesn't have a problem with murder, and the two soul halves in davetrap argue enough that the murder keeps to enough where Freddy fazbenders just seems like a hotspot rather than it actually needing to be a place in need of getting shut down for an investigation. That and Jack blackmailed the phone guy I forgot his name into helping them cover shit up in exchange for getting a hell of alot of freedom [for a phone guy it's a lot of freedom at least, Fredbears isn't a stranger to murder coverups even if it goes against his morals.] Also the nice part of Dave is only really staying with davetrap because he cares so much about jack because I do support Davesport but I try to keep it at a level of implication so it can be passed off as platonic if someone wants it to be

#dsaf #davesport #oc art #talk talks #original post #i love vira so much #shes so damn hard to draw because of her color scheme but i love her #also this is one of the. very few up to date refs i have of her #i dont draw vira very much and shes gone through alot of design changes very quickly because she didnt look correct without the long shirt #and the cape just spices up the design and i might give her multiple sets of capes so she can have more variety #art

[pigeonp0st]

heelloo!! uhm i was thinking could u write an agatha harkness x reader one with Agatha sees r with another person (just as closer friends but Agatha doesn’t know it). Then Agatha invites r to her house and Agatha has to bite down on their lip so hard whenever r talks about the other person, angst with happy ending please (and if your are comfortable, maybe you can add smut)?

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary:

Agatha gets jealous of your relationship with Wanda. Emotion ensues.

Warning:

Jealousy, angst (not really)

Notes:

Thanks for the request! I wrote this pretty fast and have not even read it over once…I’ll probably fix it up later…anyways! Hope you enjoy still <3 I always love an Agatha request

——

Agatha stopped Wanda for you. She brought down Westview, and forced Wanda into reality. In the process she ruined both of their fantasies; Wanda’s fantasy of a perfect life, and Agathas of all consuming power.

She did it for you. Because the prospect of power was nothing compared to the prospect of your devastation. Because you asked her to. You with your warm eyes, full of more emotion and humanity than both Agatha and Wanda have in power combined.

You asked her to, and there was no other option.

So no. She doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret trailing behind you and Wanda to help the Avengers, doesn’t regret following you. Can’t possibly. She doesn’t regret it, but Wanda smiles at you, leans in close, and Agatha feels a bit like she’s been betrayed. Betrayed because you smile back, and whisper something into Wanda’s ear that makes her flush a color that’s just perfect for the Scarlett Witch.

Agatha grits her teeth and returns to her book. She’s lived centuries and has never felt more childish.

It shouldn’t bother how close you and Wanda have gotten, she knows. She has no right to feel betrayed. She hasn’t done anything she’s done expecting anything more than your happiness. You aren’t hers.

You aren’t hers, and so Agatha just fumes silently in the corner of the room and imagines burning this whole damn tower down.

You don’t even know how Agatha cares, she knows. Every bit of vulnerability, love, and affection is hidden behind layers of humor and sarcasm.

You watch Agatha with distrust still because of it; wondering about alternative motives. Everyone in this god forsaken tower does, and Agatha has no idea why she’s here giving up centuries of planning for this game. These people are no different to those in Westview. Children playing dress up and pretend. All of them wearing costumes of heroes who aren’t afraid.

Cowards. All of them.

Your loud laugh draws Agatha’s attention from her page. Wanda is smiling at you with a gentleness Agatha can’t afford, and Agatha thinks, both with affection and a heavy heart; all of them but you.

She knows that despite her help she has given no one here good reason to trust her. She admits to herself that she enjoys letting them think she’s scheming—that she plays into it.

They’re just as uncaring for her as she is them. They push her away, but all you do is pull her in. To be brave and foolish is one in the same to Agatha, and she loves you for all the things she can’t afford to be.

—-

It’s only the next day that Agatha walks into the compound looking for you. She wants your help to test her potion.

She’s been visiting every day this week, and she’s beginning to feel a bit like the person she thought she wouldn’t ever be again. She’s beginning to settle into the thoughts instead of jerk away.

Then she sees you. You’re on top of Wanda, both you and her sleeping peacefully on the couch. Your head on her chest, her hand threaded in your hair, your legs intertwined.

The glass potion in Agatha’s hand shatters violently and loudly, startling only Wanda awake. She jerks and snaps her eyes towards Agatha, always on edge after being raised in war. Their eyes meet for only a second, and then both turn back to you, still sleeping peacefully.

Agatha turns on her heel. Wanda says, with a knowing that ruins her; “wait—”

Agatha, cowardly, no different than the people she despises, and never having claimed otherwise, teleports away.

—-

Agatha avoids the compound for just a week before she caves and invites you over.

She can’t bear to see Wanda, which is a new thing because usually she enjoys tormenting her. The image of her protective hand tangled in your hair, and your possessive leg thrown over her is still fresh in Agatha’s mind though.

Then there’s the text Wanda sent after Agatha left; filled with the same knowing Agatha sensed with her departure. You’re 5 years old.

(Then a bit later; whatever was in that potion melted through the compound. I hope you can magic up some money to fix your tantrum.)

Agatha, the picture of wisdom, sends Wanda two middle fingers and then blocks her.

So, naturally, she’s glad when you show up only an hour after Agatha’s text. No Wanda, for the first time in weeks.

At least—that’s what Agatha expected. It’s an hour later and all you’ve talked about is Wanda. Wanda this, Wanda that. Agatha has always had a challenge with patience, it’s always the biggest challenge of her schemes, and biting on her lip is barely constraining her from lashing out at this point.

It’s when Agatha tones your voice out though, that she notices the hunch to your shoulders, the heaviness in your eyes.

And the bruise around your neck. Why hadn’t she noticed sooner? “Who did this to you?”

Agatha drops her dishes immediately, rushing to where you’re seated at the kitchen island. She thinks; who, who, with a desperate frustration as she tilts your head up to inspect the injury. She’ll kill them. Kill them.

For now, she pulls her magic forward, setting to the task of healing the violence inflicted on you, but you pull away from Agatha just as suddenly as she calls on her magic; angry in a way Agatha is caught off guard by.

“All you are is hot and cold,” you mutter, looking away. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days and you haven’t responded, then I come as soon as you call and you ignore me for an hour. Now…now you suddenly care that I’m hurt?”

Agatha blinks, once, twice, and then you’re standing up and pacing her kitchen. Agatha stands, hand still hovering where it was touching your cheek, and watches.

“If you’re done—If you’ve already gotten what you needed from us, whatever it is, and are done, just tell me. Tell me and stop pretending to care,” you plead. Agatha notices the dark circles under your eyes. Notices all the parts of you that are dimmed now that she’s not stuck on Wanda, Wanda. “I can’t play pretend like you do, Ag. I don’t get what it serves you to act like you care about me. I have nothing to offer.”

You’re spiraling in the middle of Agatha’s kitchen, and Agatha is torn between all of the parts of herself. The one that wants to laugh and brush this all aside, the one that wants to comfort you, the one that wants to kiss you, and the one she settles on; the version of her that’s angry and feeling misunderstood by the person she knows she’s done everything to deceive.

She’s not often hit by regret, or not often this out of control over her own emotions. It makes her angrier. Angrier because it takes her back and makes her feel younger than she’s been in centuries. She’s not that child anymore, can’t be.

Don’t you get that you’re ruining her?

—-

“I care,” Agatha whispers urgently, silently fuming and with her face morphed into a frustrated scowl. “Of course I care,” she says, like it should have never been in question—because she’s made it so clear apparently, you think disbelievingly, unable to help the scoff that chokes out of you.

Yeah right.

With more disappointment than Agatha could ever understand, you shake your head. “The only thing you care about, Agatha, is power. You tell me yourself all the time. I just thought— ” you pause, untamed tears coming to your eyes. “I don’t know what I thought…”

The moment the words leave your lips, you and Agatha enter into a standoff. Agatha furious and raging, and you too wrapped in your own emotions to register it as it is.

Agatha angry for the first time—at this. At the doubting of her care. It should say all you need to know, but you’ve missed it completely now that you’ve stopped looking.

It’s another moment of glaring before Agatha scoffs and stalks forward, pushing you into the wall and trapping you. Anyone else would be scared, but you just continue to glare (even as you flush).

There’s a part of you somewhere, one you don’t notice, but that Agatha does. A part of you that knows Agatha would never hurt you.

“I’m too old for this, ” Agatha grits out, and then her hand is around your throat. You don’t even flinch. Aren’t even surprised when you feel the rush of healing magic. All you’re surprised about is just that— your lack of surprise.

Agatha’s eyes turn inspecting, she shifts your head to the side with her other hand, ignoring your protests. You’re beginning to feel like a child, beginning to see things as they are.

Of course Agatha cares, you know. Somehow it hurts just as much. How could she both care and be so unpredictable, so cold? Had she thought of how you’d feel at all when you ignored her for the week? The other Avengers grew suspicious, checking everywhere around the compound for something stolen. You thought something terrible happened to her.

Only Wanda seemed unbothered. “She’s just throwing a tantrum,” she said, and wouldn’t explain further.

“Who did this?” Agatha repeats, pulling you from your thoughts.

“It was a mission”, you explained, the fire leaving you with it. You can’t afford to be mad at Agatha. You need and miss her too much.

Agatha growls, not settled at all. “Isn’t Wanda supposed to be protecting you?” She asks venomously, her jaw tightening along with her hand. “What good is your little girlfriend if she can’t even do that?”

It’s so laced with bitterness, with wanting, you’re left to blink at her, utterly shocked. Does Agatha think—? Wanda’s voice comes to your head; “she saw us cuddling and looked like she was going to murder me with the shattered glass in her hand.”

Seriously?

“What?” Agatha asks, self conscious in a way she never is. Self conscious because she likes—possibly loves you back.

All of this week’s turmoil, and for what? Because the two of you love each other?

—

You’re grinning at Agatha now, and Agatha is completely suspicious and unnerved. She tries to step back but you capture her wrists, pull her even closer.

Agatha’s heart pounds at the look on your face. Like a Cheshire cat. She can’t escape the feeling that she’s been caught. She eyes you with uneasiness.

You look at her expectantly now. “So much wisdom and yet you’re still so stupid?”

“Stupid?” Agatha repeats with disgust, like the word isn’t even in the dictionary.

You nod. “Agatha,” you breathe, affectionately. Agatha feels her world shift. “You know I love you, don’t you? Wanda is only ever going to be my frie—”

Agatha doesn’t let you finish. Couldn’t bear too. She’s always standing on the precipice of something. Always hovering over lines, too impatient to stand back, and your I love you snaps Agatha forward, like she’s been waiting for it for centuries. She kisses you roughly, pushing you back against the wall, and tries to claim it.

I love you, to the person who has never felt loved. She turned her back on love the moment love turned her back on her. She was only a teenager then, realizing that there was not a strength she could have that would make her enough for her mother—for her clan. There was not a person she could be beside herself, and never a version that wasn’t lacking, just out of reach of affection.

Then you. You showed up in Westview, strong enough to break in unaffected, and suspicious of Agatha, suspicious and then knowing, but still caring through it, and Agatha felt herself enough in the moments her mother would have claimed were her weakest; her moments where she was vulnerable and honest.

She kisses you like you’re her testament of her strength, now. Like you’re a testament of just how enough she is. She’s always been wanting, and doesn’t know how to exist without it. Without the yearning of; more, more, more, but as her kisses slow down, turn loving instead of passionate, she thinks for the first time that to exist like this—for the first time at peace, is something she could get used to forever.

You’re breathing heavily when Agatha breaks away, completely flustered and shaken. Agatha feels her heart pick up again, and thinks, no—she’ll always be wanting, and moves in to kiss you again.

You laugh, so joyful and happy—because of her. Because of her—a hand over Agatha’s mouth to stop her. “Are we ever going to talk?” You wonder breathlessly. “About feelings? About where you got that idea about Wanda and me?

Agatha pulls your hand away, smiles devilishly and possessively. “After I’ve had you against every corner of this house, we’ll invite Wanda over and talk over everything you’d like.”

You groan in exasperation, but there’s no protesting when Agatha kisses you next, and from the way you practically fall into the way Agatha’s hand curls loosely around your neck, she doesn’t expect one anytime soon.

#marvel x reader #marvel x female reader #marvel imagine #marvel x you #marvel #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda marvel #agnes x you #agnes wandavision #agnes x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha: darkhold diaries #avenger x reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x female y/n #x fem oc #the avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x y/n #avengers x you #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you

[danothan]

started reading robin 2021 and i wanted to take the time to appreciate two of the most beautiful spreads in issue #1. they captivated me with how gorgeous and momentous they felt, which must have been the point bc i ended up staring at them sm that the symbolism finally kicked in

SPREAD 1:

1) LOVE the red and green at play, it’s such a difficult color scheme to get right lest you end up making the whole piece feel like a christmas card, but gleb melnikov pulled it off. the environment is rich and elegant and well-contrasted; it rly brings out damian’s classic red/green robin combo, even tho he’s not actually wearing his robin suit here. the green of his clothing highlights the green of talia’s, as well as the assassin’s tattoos, and, when combined with the cool-toned background, makes the red just pop out at you. pretty palette aside, it’s a very calculated choice in colors.

2) speaking of red, melnikov rly wanted you to notice the blood in these two pages. from the emphasis of the words DEMON BLOOD to the reflection of damian in the blood puddle, it only draws attention to the fact that his blade is perfectly clean of it in the second panel. one can only assume that talia killed that guy so hard that damian’s sword was caught in the collateral (damn talia !). it frames damian as the one to land the killing blow, as though his doubts/restraint with killing mean nothing because he still has the blood on his hands, blood passed down from talia. that doesn’t necessarily make it true ofc, but it does give us a reflection of his mindset with the blood acting as a literal mirror.

now before we delve into the second spread, lemme preface this with some context: many characters will refer to damian as an actual bird (“what better way to take out a robin than with a hawke,” “i’ve fought little birds like you before,” etc.) which speaks to his reputation, but i think it’s most notable when coming from talia:

at first, it’s used condescendingly, as it usually is from most ppl, and she speaks in a possessive tone when she talks abt returning him to the nest. she even tells him that if he IS to be taken under her wing, she would not treat him as her son but as a weapon. however, we know that this contradicts her intentions as she later uses the same “baby bird” petname as a term of endearment, even to calling him her son—notably when he is out of earshot.

you get the sense that they have this unspoken code of conduct around each other—family dynamics tend to be rigid in that way—but there’s also this feeling of regret as well as unfamiliarity navigating it coming from talia. i mean, she said it herself: damian was just a baby bird. he flew out of the nest too early.*

*see read more

so why does she taunt him for running back to his mother? why is she pushing him away? and why does she monologue for so long that she lets her guard down and closes her eyes long enough for him to disappear…?

SPREAD 2:

BECAUSE DAMIAN IS JUMPING OUT OF THE HELICOPTER!!! BECAUSE TALIA IS PUSHING HIM OUT OF THE NEST !!!!

talia doubled down on her militaristic plans as an opening for damian to leave. with that sense of regret mentioned earlier, talia knows she raised damian under harsh conditions, but she doesn’t know to raise him differently either, so she urges him to find his own path. presenting “the way of the demon or the way of the bat” as the only 2 options to her already rebellious son was guaranteed sabotage. she pushed him too early when he was younger, but she knows that her baby bird is ready to fly now :”)

bonus: what a classic jason todd move to wear a mask underneath your mask btw. guess it just runs in the family! (but on a deeper, unironic level, damian switches out both his robin and his demon suit into this new one. this obviously symbolizes his forging a new path, but also reveals his intent/doubts abt the whole confrontation. a mask underneath his mask? he was never truly looking to rejoin the league. after running away from bruce, he runs to talia to test the waters and see if he would do better there. and when it ends in the same shadowing of an ambitious parent, he ditches the whole thing. the fact that he had a back-up plan meant that his heart wasn’t in it, just as talia’s heart wasn’t in keeping him caged. a confirmation bias given permission by a mother’s facade. god, the al ghul mindgames are truly smth to behold)

*so much can be said abt how talia’s approach to parenting parallels and contrasts bruce’s. they both have the same good intentions for their son, and they both realize that he’s too young to face what he had and what he’s abt to. but talia wants to start the healing process of her control in his upbringing, and bruce wants to prevent damian from having to face it alone knowing firsthand what suffering he “endured to become batman.” one is letting go, the other is desperate to bring him back.

it’s such a fascinating look into the push and pull of their fatal flaws and mistakes as parents, as well as making them feel human and reasonable within the limits of all they know and are capable of. OF COURSE they’re overcompensating for their regrets, that’s just so… them!

and the fact that you can see both parents’ traits and influence in damian as he searches for his own identity just makes the whole family feel well-rounded. robin 2021 is so good you guys, it’s too fucking good

#damian wayne #damian al ghul #talia al ghul #bruce wayne #batman #dc #robin #robin 2021 #panels #meta #danbles #long post #alt text #described #no spoilers please i only just finished issue 2 🫶 #god i can’t wait to get to talia and damian’s reunion that shit looked tense

[pastel-rights]

Both!

ooo... that's a good one... my sonas and my friends... it got kind of long and rambley, sorry.

well... among my own sonas... I think I'd have to say Rabuka for several reasons!

I'm a really big fan of his animalistic features (his wings and his tail! he technically has animal ears too but I didn't feel like drawing it.) and the black, white, and red color scheme with the yellow eyes. I have always been a big fan of characters with yellow eyes because it lends to an aura of mystery and divine origin,,, and because Rabuka is a demon who's got features based on a chimera, it works in his favour.!

Of course, there's also his lore and personality I like a lot too, as well as his interactions/relationships with other sonas.

See, Rabuka (which also means frilled shark in Japanese!) has a more. blunt and serious personality, he's very detached from those around him, so he doesn't have many close relationships. And because he's in technical hell, most of the relationships he has aren't deep or intimate either. Of course, this man is a little (extremely) out of pocket and it just adds to his charm I think.

He's a bartender and a gambler at heart, in the overworld at least. He appears at the casino that Pins' mafia boss sona runs, and he acts as her right-hand man. He almost softens up around Miss Vampire because he doesn't perceive her as a threat. He thinks she's kind of cute, to be honest.

In hell, he is the technical bodyguard of the princess. Miss Char... well, see. She isn't the sharpest knife in the shed. She does stupid things and gets herself into situations and it's up to him to save her. He thinks she's a dumbass, but she's his dumbass and he'll be damned if anything happens to her while he's there.

He wants to have a heart of stone. To be cold and uncaring and emotionless. And he is, for the most part, yes. But there's a tiny sliver of him that is *almost like human* that no amount of being a powerful demon in hell can really override.

Of course, there is his lore, which adds to his personality and relationships a lot.

Rabu wasn't always in hell, after all. He wasn't human, of course, but he wasn't always a demon either.

I think what I like most about Rabu is his duality. He isn't black and white, but rather all the different shades of grey in between. There's not one correct way to see the world, morality isn't just one or the other.

Everything is a spectrum. Rabu included.

And I think I just really vibe with that.

as for friends' sonas...

for starters, miss fashion designer is by far my favorite Pins' sona. I mean. Just look at her. She's gonna go jump the k-pop idol and her brother and do it in STYLE /j (and probably lose /lh)

I also just really enjoy the vibe and relationship she has with miss florist. they just have a really enjoyable dynamic together and I really love the way they mesh together! women <33

for klai, i kind of. really vibe with Zaiaku??? there's something about the other sister who tries so hard to fix everything that she falls apart. that I just really like. I also really do like their design! It's giving off like. elegant older sister vibes... I can trust her with my worries!!

i probably shouldn't but hey! saki's colorblind so there /j

and then for Sam. well.

White Devil.

I have a bias for puppet/doll aesthetics and they just. hit it so well....... I just. I also have a personal bias towards their design and color palette. Something about them is offputting but in a /pos way and I do think the eldritch horror doctor motif fits Sam perfectly???

And there's the matching Nerissa.

And the way they interact with one another and in the setting of the story is just. really nice. The way they assist one another and care so deeply.

There's something about two monsters learning to love each other that's really heartwarming for these two.

...

okay so you might be wondering if Tazai is my favorite Tae sona. to which.

uhm.

narratively speaking, yeah? I think the character development they go through and the struggles they've gone through have made them an overall favorite sona of all time for me, and the way they express love towards their girlfriend/future wife and the lengths and pain they're willing to go through is enough to make any stone cold bitch swoon but.

i have another favorite above them.

now i KNOW you are ALL RUSHING towards me with your fire and pitchforks /j because who the FUCK would I like more than TAZAI who I drew so FUCKING much to which.

hear me out hear me out

okay so like. hey hey wait no hear me OUt.

tatum is my favorite tae sona purely because of how. silly she actually is. she's just a fun sona to draw and she's a fun sona to shitpost with.

tatum isn't SUPPOSED to be taken seriously and that's. why I love her.

okay thanks for coming to my tedtalk please don't kill me over my choices of favoritism /j

#sona information #( if i had to choose seconds then. kaon is the second fav from my group. ) #( and then the eel sona for pins. klai's aunt sona. sam's base blackwail and nerissa. and then tazai. i guess. /lh ) #( but if you will indulge me for a moment. and let me choose not tazai. probably either tricksty or char?? ) #( personally i'd put tazai before tricksty and char since I just. have more of a emotional connection to tazai but. ) #( you can also!! click on pins/klai's art and it'll take you to the posts they made. heart hands. )

[pineappleciders]

I just saw your OC drawings post and damn, they look cool! I'd love to hear more about them (if you want). :)

-🪐

erm. yes please.

tw for some maybe dark topics like eds and menyal health. also school shootings. also huge infodump wanring.

this is MAX hes 13 and i think they r my favorite. he is non binary and uses he/they and alex is his bff. theyre kinda like edd from eddsworld personality wise. like theyre the main character and kind but also sarcastic and likes to pull pranks. i love him so dearly. he is bisexual

he is african and has two moms. max is rolling with the lgbt. them and alex have a very sibling like bond as they met when they were young and maxs family took alex in as if she wwre their own. they didnt adopt her her parents r just so neglectful that they judt took care of her. they are the bestest friends ever.

max deals with a toxic relationship during thhe show (its basically this show i made up in my head so im gonna say show) whereas this guy takes advantege of them and it fucks them up big tome. and theo is sad the entire time because he has feelings for max. more about theo down below!!!!vv

the one on the left is alex!!! shes 13 she has black hair dyed pink on the ends and shes autistic and obsessed with bombs and shes trigger-happy. shes like kind of obsessed with violent stuff but she radiates sunshine and shes literally batshit insane but i love her. she is a lesbian as seen from this photo

she is half filipino and half mexican. her father is absent and her mom is lowkey neglectful as fuck. shes also missing an eye and wears an eye badnage rhing. she dealth with lots of bullying when she was younger and actually is very dangerous she shiuld be locked up.

one on the right is sam and shes a trans lesbian. she is really kind and nice and uust goes along with everyone, but she has like a dark side n lets her walls down around her gf alex and her friends. she struggles with mental health issues and is also autistic and has a hard time showing her emotiosn and speaking. she can be serious sometimes and its kinda scary how she switches from being dark and brooding to all nice and talkative. basically she masks super hard but shes a rlly good person i love her.

she has an eating disorder. i havent decided what one but she struggles with body dysmorphia and body dysphoria. she is struggling all over

she has dark dark brown locs with gold rings in them. she has dark skin and usually wears a yellow tank top, a purple jacket and blue jeans + white shoes. pastel color scheme

sam again ^

this is theo i have way more photos of him but im too tored to go get them. hes 14 and trans and gay and i lvor him. hes kind of the smart one think tom from eddsworld. he has a goofy side thoigh and really cherishes his friends. he is autisitc too and he behaves very differently from how he thinks. he doesnt mean to come off as rude and cold but he cant help it. basically i am projecting very hard. i love him.

he has grey hair and green eyes and tan skin. his mom is white and his dad is black so he is mixed. his roots are a dark brown

he has some family issues and lives in a low-income house. he is so cool thougj i love him.

basically theyre all Utistic and go on wacky adventures Nd theyre all frienfs. theres more characters in the story and i will post them when they get named. anyways ive made like a future au for them, there are two different 'endings'for the story ive deciided

basically one is like they all be normal and max starts a company and gets all successful and alex is like super tech savvy and mechanical so shes like a worker for him and he pays her and theyre like a business duo. and theo is like a successful scientist too and i think sam is something idk but i have a deisgn for her and shes all goth snd pretty but idk what she does in tje fuyute.

the other ending (bad endging warning!!) is alex (the really unstable and trigger happy one) loses it and shoots up their school. she goes to prison for a long time and max and her friends are really bretrayed. and then they meet in the future when she gets release and their friendship is never the same and. its justnlike really angsty and sad and it makes me sad and i feel like its mean to put them througj that so i consider the ending where they grow up happy as the canon one. i still like the idea of alex going crazy so ill probably make some stuff for that

anyways tjx for listening i LOVE my ocs and i never get to talk about them. probably gonna post them more because of this. this post took 30 minutes to weite

#autism posting #infodump #oc #original character #pineappleciders #original characters #my art #my oc art #my oc stuff #ranting

[iwannasleepbuticant]

Hello everyone. I do not know how to start blogging normally at all, so let's start like this. I'm just carrying a bunch of ideas, thoughts, feelings that I really want to share with someone, and damn it, why not? Even if no one needs it and no one'll read it. It's just important for me to speak out, I just want to. Maybe I'll get lucky and find an audience. It doesn't really matter right now, because I'm not really hopeful. Tumblr is too huge for people to suddenly choose me. But okay that's not the point, I wouldn't write if I didn't have to throw out a huge bunch of meaningless thoughts. Imagine, I even once wanted (and still want) to have some kind of YouTube channel to just sit, chat, draw, share thoughts, and so on. Yes, I'm so bad!

Aaaaaaaaand Im (like many now) obsessed with Welcome Home and damn, just imagine Barnaby and Wally ✨️✨️ . Barnaby is so huge, isn't it scary for Wally when Barnaby hugs him? Like he's twice his size. And does he also give himself a hug to everyone in a row or only to specific "people"? Don't worry, I remember that picture where Poppy hugs him. But still! By the way, there she can be even 3 times higher than him! And Barnaby is taller than her... Does Wally even like to cuddle at all? Can I hug him? Please. And don't be surprised if after the next site update you suddenly see a comment in the guestbook with similar questions. That's me. I'm just going crazy about it! I can't get it out of my head!

In general, I'm a little scared to be in the fandom right now. No, God forbid, don't think that I was trying to find personal information about a clown or somehow perverted his universe. It's just that I'm new to the fandom. Every time I go into the comments, I see that people have been following the fandom for a year or more, and I just came, and it may feel like I'm coming and going with a wave of popularity, and all my love, all my comments are not from the heart. Of course, time'll tell, but it still makes me very uncomfortable.

And I've been playing genshin for a year and a half (59 rank hello). Honestly, by the time Layla came out, I was already going to quit, but she melted my heart. She is one of the most comfortable characters for me, I honestly like her style of play, I like the way she moves, I like her voice, I'M IN LOVE WITH HER MEETING. She is my sunshine, I so want to spend sleepless nights with her in the library. In silence. I love her caramel-colored eyes, I love the most beautiful color scheme, I love her story. I want to hug her :_(

And also, I was thinking, we're going back to Welcome Home. Does anyone know why everyone shippers Eddie and Frank? I don't mind, I just don't remember a single case that they were together at least somewhere. Well, okay, one picture where Eddie holding his face, and Frank blushes. But that's it! Did I miss something?..

I just looked at the volume of the post I wrote, I'm terrified. And how do you shut me up now? Ehh, it's hard. I don't think anyone will be interested in reading my "notes of a madman". But in any case, I'm not regret it)

PS here are a couple of my drawings with Julie. It goes from my very first one ( which I drew in ibis paint :_) )to the one I drew a couple of minutes ago. Guess who is my favorite character in WH?)

#welcome home #Please shut me up I want to sleep #partly genshin

[baitgore]

A reference drawn for the sake of getting a commission done. I'm gonna use this as a springboard to chat about the ~design process~ for Bait here.

Initially my only thought for her design was "nice ass a la Beast Wars" because I got a look at the Beast Wars butts and went "damn i like that". So that's the context for her entire design: I wanted something sexy with booty ass for days. IN order to make that work I just leaned hard into the self-indulgence, so I also decided she'd be a dragonformer, and because I love IDW 2005 Arcee I decided she'd also have the kind of vibes like if you left her alone for too long someone would end up dead, but also because I love G1 Vortex I wanted her to have the kind of vibes that she's like that on purpose and does it for fun. Aaaaand then I didn't bother to do anything with that concept for like two months.

I finally sit down and I'm like, "alright, I'll design this OC into something so I can draw her." But a crucially important fact about me is that I am not creative enough to make my own TFOCs and also have them look like TF characters. I had one or two oc designs outside her, and universally the design language was just always off. And unfortunately I care a great deal about that. So I used a different tactic and just... took like the top 10 most sexy characters in The Transformers and cut up every part of their designs I liked and smacked them together.

The head fin/vent back shapes were largely borrowed from Drift; the vents were nabbed from a whole bunch of different places but the silhouette of them was largely referenced off of First Aid and Vortex; the visor I got from a few different (very cute) fan designs of Optimus Prime; the little V chevron came from Ratchet and the little glowing detail behind it came from Pharma. The two-toned mask was my own idea, but the mask and visor setup references Soundwave, who has almost the same face without the ability to swing his mask open and turn someone into paste with his teeth.

The shoulders and the chest cockpit detail (if memory serves, anyway) came from the Flame Toys take on Starscream. The claws are a very vague reference to some Grimlock toy I'd seen before. The rotors came from Vortex. The lights on her chest were loosely inspired by Tarn. Her hips were inspired by Arcee's (specifically in IDW 2005's Robots In Disguise/The Transformers ongoing), down to the lights, but cut out significantly to allow room for a beast wars style round as hell butt. The alt mode kibble was also vaguely inspired by the same Arcee, because I didn't want to bother figuring out how her alt mode worked or looked so I just slapped some junk on there aand called it a day. The two-toned titties were homegrown, and the actual torso shape was just my "generic Transformer torso", with a narrow waist and top-heavy dorito chest.

There wasn't really much going on with her legs; most transformers have a pretty standard leg design (one relatively narrow upper thigh and a much chunkier "boot"/lower leg. She got talons because I said so, and the rest of it was just me throwing whatever kibble I thought could stick there. Her knees are the same shape and color pattern as her tits, though, so that that wasn't as silly, and she has a pair of tail rotors in her outer calves that were referenced vaguely from Combiner Wars Vortex's silly arm things.

I got the color scheme from a gaming computer and the triangle patterns from my brain. Thus concludes the Design Process.

#char: discussion #char: art

[showtoonzfan]

Y’all remember when I said the two character designs of Hazbin that I absolutely hated the most was Sir Pen and Cherri? Well, I wanted to go into a tad more depth on why I heavily dislike Cherri’s design.

I think the first OBVIOUS problem are the colors. Pinks, reds, whites, blacks, and yellows of course, the 5 colors Viv is OBSESSED with. There’s too much pink in her design, and there’s too much RED in her design. In the shots of the pilot, she barley stood out due to the brightly pink colored backgrounds, so the way she looks isn’t helpful. Her color scheme kinda reminds me of Nifty’s old color scheme, she’s just so damn brightly colored, at least before her hair was BLONDE, but now it’s pink of course. Cherri’s color scheme is once again a showcases of the issues Viv has. She’s too obsessed with these colors, and I know I always sound like a broken annoying record, but it would be nice to look at a character for freaking ONCE who doesn’t have reds, blacks, whites, yellows, and pinks in it. These colors are starting to get really boring, you’re designing DEMONS for pete’s sake, start using more color variety for the love of GOD. It’s just so funny because Viv herself had said criticism is an important thing, yet she never seems to LISTEN to it and keeps using the same colors over and over again.

Speaking of Cherri being a “demon”, yeah she looks nothing like one. Once again, she’s just a human with one eye and crazy hair, and of course that sharp toothy grin almost EVERY vivziepop character has. I get that she’s supposed to be a cyclops apparently, but adding one eye to a human design doesn’t really do anything Viv, you have to make everything else look appealing. I’ve said this before, so you’ll know that another reason to why I hate her design is that she’s another pale white skinned character, like Charlie and Katie. Again.....USE MORE COLOR VARIETY, there are other colors that exist other than white and yellow. She looks like she’s freaking RELATED to Charlie with this character design, and that kinda tells you something.

I also despise her body shape, like good LORD Viv. I don’t care for exaggerating the female body, but once again, Cherri is just another STICK FIGURE with floating boobs, wide hips and skinny legs, just like all the other female characters. To give Charlie and Vaggie credit though, Cherri’s body shape looks WORSE. It’s ridiculously lanky and over exaggerated like how she used to draw her female Zoophobia characters and I just don’t like it. Like her waist is so damn skinny and then her ass pops out, and her legs are so crazy. But enough about that, let’s get to the final problem, the BIGGEST one I have.

So....for those who don’t know, Cherri is from the 1980’s. At first, I didn’t even KNOW that because I never recalled Viv specifically confirming that, so I went to Wikipedia and it turns out that fact is true, as she confirmed it in one of her livestreams. So......yeah, apparently Cherri is from the 80’s, yet she looks like a 16 year old early 2000’s chick. She’s got the ripped clothing, fingerless gloves, I don’t even know WHAT the hell her pants are, like if that’s a skirt or not.....it’s all just.......no. For those who need a reminder, this is what most 80’s female fashion ACTUALLY looked like:

Like.....that wasn’t that hard. You just Google “80’s female fashion” and you’ll get TONS of pics. It’s honestly mind boggling how Viv screwed this up. It just goes to show that she doesn’t do a lick of research when it comes to her characters and is stuck in the early 2000’s. I could understand it being difficult to do some research for characters like Al and Sir pen who are from the really early days, but the 80’S??? It’s......it’s SO easy I’m sorry. And this is petty yes, but the more I look at Cherri’s design, the more I realize just how BAD Viv is at designing characters, especially characters who are from a specific time period, but always end up looking like sparkledog emo OC’s. Viv is always obsessed with chokers, fingerless gloves, ripped clothing, striped stockings, spiky hair, the list goes on and on. I want to say liking these things in general aren’t BAD, it’s just an issue when it comes to designing her characters. Since we haven’t seen Cherri’s redesign yet for the actual show, yeah....I hope they change her a LOOOOT. Like there needs to be a lot of changes, honestly just change her completely because this ain’t it.

So, to wrap this post up, without being petty AT ALL and speaking genuinely now, all I want is for Viv to come out of her comfort zone and put in the effort to make these characters look vibrant and the best they can be. It’s clear that she’s in her personal comfort zone, she’s stuck in the early 2000’s with most of her clothing choices, obsessed with suits and bowties, and is still only using the same few color schemes she’s drawn to, not to mention the lack of diversity in her body shapes. To this very day, it STILL feels like she’s stuck like this. Like...I’m being serious when I say I don’t think Viv has necessarily IMPROVED ever since the pilot came out, but here’s to hoping she did. I want her to actually do some RESEARCH, and just learn how to give each character VARIETY. Use more colors, use more shapes, use more features, it’s HELL with demon characters, take ADVANTAGE of that. She has so much potential, so in the future when it comes to designing characters, I sincerely hope that she steps out of her boundaries and explores more, because I DO like her art, and I want to see this show succeed.

#vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #vivziepop #vivienne medrano #vivziepop rant #vivziepop art critique #character design talk #character design critique #demon character design #Hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #Hazbin hotel critism #anti vivziepop #cherri bomb #hazbin hotel cherri bomb

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Athena

So. I have to deal with the virgin goddesses… By mythos, there really shouldn't ever be children of Artemis, Hestia, or Athena (yes, Athena was a virgin goddess). PJ got past that by making it canon that Annabeth and her siblings were born from cracking open Athena's skull (yes, that's also more or less the canon explanation). They gloss over it real quick but I remember, Rick. I've always remembered and that mental image has haunted me for years...

I can't, in good conscience, ignore the history around Athena's worship (call it an academic restraint) but I REFUSE to do the skull thing. So, since I make the rules here, I'm going with magic adoption. They still get magic powers, they're just more human than demigod. Cool? Cool.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena

Lucifer

The human that popped out of the portal seemed to have enough sense not to attack everyone in the room for a change, but even Lucifer could tell that was more of a strategic choice than for lack of ability...

Their very existence was highly unusual… and quite worrisome. He wasn't even aware Athena could have "children" of her own, but apparently she had been taking in some particularly bright humans to raise and train like her own...

Unbeknownst to him, a surprising amount of human scholars, diplomats, and generals have her to thank for their trade… and that alone should speak to the level of intrigue at play here. 

Was this an accident or Athena's attempt to plant an Olympian spy in the Devildom too…? Either way, he didn't trust them from the get go…

Look, Lucifer isn’t stupid. Athena is a goddess of Wisdom and War and war happens on more than just the battlefield… 

Since they've shown up records have been going missing, official documents keep getting misplaced, and he swears that there's some kind of bug in the student council room...!

It's infuriating watching the MC suck up to Diavolo when he's almost certain that they're running their own agenda behind the scenes! And he can't prove any of it!! They cover their tracks too well!

Lucifer has one of those corkboards covered in newspapers and string in a secret wing of the Castle - 100% dedicated to just tracking the MC's activities…. The longer they're there, the more obsessed he becomes...

He swears between Simeon, Solomon, and MC he feels like a shepherd wondering why the sheep are growling… The Devildom has never been in more danger than it is right now... Send help.

Mammon

To be honest, he kind of thought that they were just going to be Satan 2.0 but that's not really true.

They're more than just a book sponge! Though they do read, like a lot. Let’s just say from one schemer to another… Game recognizes Game.

They come up with plans and ideas soooo fast, it’s insane! Honestly, there are times where he has a new money-making plot and he just brings it to the MC first to run it over. 

Nine times out of ten, not only do they sniff out any problems but they have a solution for him in a matter of minutes! His scheme game has been on point since they’ve shown up!!

They’re also even better tutoring than Satan is, so he’s even managed to get a couple A’s for the first time in his life! Lucifer actually told him he was proud (which he secretly recorded and now uses as a ringtone much to his brother’s regret...)

So yeah, he likes them... buuut that doesn’t keep him from thinking they act a little weird sometimes... 

Mammon: *points to a unused tower close to the RAD building* Over there is the Tower of Sorrow. We use it for storage.

MC: Ah. Interesting… *starts writing in a notebook, muttering* It may need a few minor tweaks but the location is defensible...

Mammon: *stops* Ya say somethin’?

MC: *looks back up* Nope! Say, you’ve been to the Castle a lot haven’t you? Do you know any good ways in?

Mammon: Uhm… Why do ya want to know that…? *starts looking around for Lucifer*

MC: In case of emergencies. I like being prepared. 🙂

Mammon: Look, I don’t know what Lucifer might’a told ya…

MC: I’ll pay you a thousand Grimm for it.

Mammon: Well shit, ya want those maps with or without color?

... Yeeeah, that’s pretty weird… But it’s probably fine. I mean, as long as they keep giving him money, who’s he to complain? 🤷‍♀️

Leviathan

Also thought that they’d be a lot more like Satan but was pleasantly surprised that they were into more than books.

What else did they like exactly? Military strategy!!

It’s been a looong time since he’s been able to talk to someone who’s actually interested in all the battles he’s fought, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, and their curiosity is kind of flattering...! Not a lot of people take his strategic prowess all that seriously anymore...

Plus, they are the BEST partner to have any turn-based strategy game. Hands down. He once got stuck on a level of D-COM for weeks until the MC walked in and mopped the floor with the AI!! They have a serious head for probability and tactics.

The House once made the mistake of letting these two be on the same team during a Hell Game and they absolutely demolished the competition. Mammon didn’t even get a single shot off before half his team was lost to a rigged paint grenade… It took a whole day to clean up… 

However, Levi’s also noticed some odd things about the human… He likes that they’re interested in his past but maybe they’re a little… too interested?

Levi: -and that’s how we defeated the Four Horsemen before they escaped from Purgatory. 

MC: Wow, Levi that’s seriously impressive!! *furiously scribbling on a notebook*

Levi: Well t-thanks… 😅 But, uhm... are you writing that down…?

MC: Hm? Oh no, just doodling. *they lift up the notebook to show a bunch of cute little sketches on the page… and not the magic-based invisible ink all over them…*

Levi: Oh you draw too? Can you do fanart???

MC: Eh, sometimes. But say Levi, can you tell me about your naval ranks again? I’m still really curious… *gets the pen ready again with a smile*

Satan

Oh, it's been a long game of cat-and-mouse between these two… and unfortunately, it’s been pretty addicting too.

He honestly had every intention of tricking the human into making a huge mess do he could bother Lucifer, but at every turn they proved just a hair too clever for him...

He once gave them a cursed book to “lend” to Lucifer, but they saw through it the moment they touched it and lifted the spell before handing it over.

He rigged a podium to spray glitter during one of Lucifer's speeches but the MC disconnected the trigger mic before he even got on stage. It was pretty dang frustrating...

At one point he got so desperate that, just as a test, he tried to trap them in the House's Music Room. Fortunately for them, it only took a few minutes to work out an escape. They even passed by him in the hallway with a wink!

It's confounding! It's infuriating!! 

...and it's so damn sexy... He should be furious but he’s just in awe!!

Add on that they know their art, literature, and multiple different crafts thanks to the tutelage of their adopted mother and that’s it. He’s finished. This boy is in love.

Truthfully though, a part of him is 90% sure that they’re also gathering state secrets… Like, they’re watching Barbs and Diavolo far too close for comfort - but he just can't bring himself to care. 🤷‍♀️

The MC could walk into his room one day and say, "Hey, do you want to help overthrow the monarchy with me?" and he dreads it because deep down he knows that he wouldn’t say no…

Take some notes, kids. Some bad influences get you to drink or do drugs. Others pull you into a centuries long conspiracy to destabilize and topple rival realms from within… But he has fallen for their brain hard. Devil help them all…

Asmodeus 

They’re pretty clever, he’ll give them that, but uh… Are they a little off to anybody else?

Asmo is a charmer by birthright so he has a bit of nose for when someone’s just a liiittttle too nice… Not much of a nose mind you, because he can be thrown off by compliments himself, but enough to think that the MC might be a little too… “kind” for their own good...

First off, who wants to spend that much time with Levi?? They don’t even seem that interested in anime! They just keeping asking him for old war stories…

Then all the sucking up they do to Diavolo and Barbatos? Look, he gets it. Diavolo is a delicious piece of man-hunk and his butler could give him a lesson or two in sweet-talk (and he has), but they seem to be just a little too… nosy.

Of course, Asmo’s suspicions disappear pretty quickly after they start to spoil him with spa nights and beauty secrets they picked up from “casual research” into the subject.

And you know, get a little Demonus in Asmo and start massaging his back? Oh, sweetie he’ll sing like a bird!! … with gossip. Singing with gossip.

Asmo: So I’ve heard that Lucifer has been spending more time at RAD than usual… His whole club is talking about it, they think he’s meeting with some witch!

MC: Hm, is that so? *works on a knot near his shoulder blades* What do you think?

Asmo: Ooh~! Right there, MC! *purrs and lays his head on his arms* Well come on, this is Lucifer we’re talking about! I’m sure he’s just working.

Asmo: Hmm... though come to think of it, I think I heard him asking Barbatos for the spare keys to the Tower of Sorrow…

MC: Oh really? Huh. *works out the knot and gets up* I just remembered that I left some papers with Satan... I’ll be right back.

Asmo: You’re going already??

MC: *waves him off quickly* I’ll be right back, Asmo. *hurries out the door to do totally on-the-up-and-up things… surely*

Beelzebub 

Honestly he doesn't like this one… But not for the reasons you'd expect.

He agrees with everyone else that they seem a little shady, but Solomon and Simeon are too so it's not like that's anything new... 🤷‍♀️

No, no. He dislikes them because they're the person who FINALLY figured out how to keep him from eating all the food in the kitchen!!

Turns out that the trick was to put a teleportation charm on the fridge door that would send all the food away if it’s opened after a certain time of night… 

And where does it go? The Purgatory Hall fridge. And where does the Purgatory Hall food go…? The HoL fridge…

It doesn’t sound so bad until you remember that it means half of their fridge is now Solomon’s leftovers…. 🤢

After they put the same kind of spell on the pantry, it was all over… He couldn't get midnight snacks from the House anymore… Everything was contaminated by Solomon…

The MC is a nice enough person, he doesn’t have a lot of complaints about them, but he wants them to leave. Now. This is inexcusable… He’s so hungry… and he doesn’t want to die by “goulash” or whatever Solomon calls his latest culinary catastrophe… He’s still too young for death… 😓

Belphegor 

In a way, he absolutely could not have asked for a better person to help him get out of that attic.

… In another way, he got one of the worst possible people to try and kill... Like. They saw through his scheme sooo fast…

How was he supposed to know that the human had training in body language and sniffing out lies???

Getting the door open was a piece of cake for them. They knew enough magic to undo the seals and just rummaged around Lucifer's stuff long enough to find the key to the door. He could not have found a more competent individual for a break out, really.

It’s just… well he didn’t expect to go from locked in a room like a prisoner to tied up in enchanted rope, still like a prisoner but now mobile. 😑 

They even used his own hug ruse against him! They caught his wrists when they got close and tied him up before he could shake them off...

Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the best look for them either - what with walking Belphegor downstairs to the others like a one-man-prison-caravan but they're as silver-tongued as they are sly so they talked their way out of it beautifully… 

And like hell was he going to trust them after that!! And not even Beel liked them so something had to be up...

Well, you want a detective? Look no farther than Belphie (no seriously, it’s in the canon). He can put things together pretty fast when he puts his mind to it and watching the MC for a while gave him enough proof to work off of...

He always knew that, humans were bad news and the MC just proved it to him all over again. They are bad news, bad bad news and they’re going to-!

Overthrow… Diavolo…? Is that what he is getting from them…? Huh…

Wait a second, MC. You might just have him interested… 😏

#you say athena mc is smart #i say athena mc is spy #because where better to use your smarts #in war #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me demigods

[kingandfireheart]

The Lady of the Autumn Court: what the fuck is happening in Autumn (part 2)

As I said in my Eris Vanserra post, it seems that the Lady of the Autumn Court is a bigger piece to the Eris and Lucien puzzles.

We don't know what the fuck has been happening in the Forest House but we do the following:

The Lady of the Autumn Court is/was extremely powerful

Lucien (and to some extent Eris) are mama's boys (even though Lucien has been exiled for centuries)

The Lady met Helion before she was married to Beron

At least one of the seven brothers - Lucien - is Helion's child, but Helion saved the Lady after she had already had some kids (so Eris probably isn't his, even though they both have amber eyes)

The Lady chose to stay with Beron

Beron is aware of the affair between Helion and the Lady

Beron is physically abusive towards the Lady and had tortured Eris

Helion does not know Lucien is his heir, but Eris seems to know Lucien isn't Beron's son

Things that aren't mentioned below the cut, but are interesting:

Eris is the ringleader of the brothers, the commander of Beron's forces, and is Beron's most trusted son (the other three don't even have names)

In ACOWAR, Eris says has never denied Beron anything - except to save Lucien - but is angling for the throne and betraying him in ACOFAS and ACOSF (this reminds me of Lorcan betraying Maeve for her own good in TOG)

Beron wanted to kill Lucien for wanting to leave Autumn and marry Jesminda (this doesn't seem like a good reason if he isn't in line for the throne - or isn't part of their bloodline, but I guess Beron doesn't need a reason to be cruel)

Helion alludes to having trouble at home in ACOSF

The remaining unnamed brothers are all angling for the throne (this reminds me of the Khaganate in TOG and the Cruel Prince)

I got a little carried away with the color coding, but here's every major scene involving and discussing the Lady of the Autumn Court (and some breadcrumbs because I'm convinced SJM is purposeful in her writing)

Rhysand uses the Lady of the Autumn Court taunt Lucien in ACOTAR:

Rhysand’s venom-coated smile grew. “You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leached from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground. It was Tamlin who answered. “Put your sword down, Lucien.” Rhysand ran an eye over me. “I knew you liked to stoop low with your lovers, Lucien, but I never thought you’d actually dabble with mortal trash.” My face burned. Lucien was trembling—with rage or fear or sorrow, I couldn’t tell. “The Lady of the Autumn Court will be grieved indeed when she hears of her youngest son. If I were you, I’d keep your new pet well away from your father.”

The Lady of the Autumn Court also helps Feyre with one of her tasks:

A door clicked open somewhere down the hall, and I shot to my feet. An auburn head peered at me. I sagged with relief. Lucien— Not Lucien. The face that turned toward me was female—and unmasked. She looked perhaps a bit older than Amarantha, but her porcelain skin was exquisitely colored, graced with the faintest blush of rose along her cheeks. Had the red hair not been indication enough, when her russet eyes met mine, I knew who she was. I bowed my head to the Lady of the Autumn Court, and she inclined her chin slightly. I supposed that was honor enough. “For giving her your name in place of my son’s life,” she said, her voice as sweet as sun-warmed apples. She must have been in the crowd that day. She pointed at the bucket with a long, slender hand. “My debt is paid.” She disappeared through the door she’d opened, and I could have sworn I smelled roasting chestnuts and crackling fires in her wake.

Rhys (while wearing the mask of hte High Lord) uses her to taunt Lucien again in ACOMAF:

“Little Lucien,” Rhys purred. “Didn’t the Lady of the Autumn Court ever tell you that when a woman says no, she means it?”

“Prick,” Lucien snarled, storming past his sentinels, but not daring to touch his weapons. “You filthy, whoring prick.”

Lucien explaining how he was treated since Beron may suspect he's Helion's heir and as we know from Tamlin: future high lords have physical markers:

His jaw tightened. “As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.”

“I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.”

A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

This may not relate to the Lady of the Autumn Court's relationship with Helion, but I'm gathering all the crumbs (why does Eris hesitate before calling his brothers brothers?)

“You hunted me down like an animal,” I cut in. “I think we’ll choose to believe the worst.”

Eris’s pale face flushed. “I was given an order. And sent to do it with two of my … brothers.”

Eris has no love for Beron (he literally asks Rhys to kill him), but he does seem to protect the Lady during the High Lord's Meeting:

“If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern,” Rhysand said blandly to them all, “consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.”

Only Beron was stupid enough to scoff. Eris was just angling his body in his chair—blocking the path to his mother.

Helion and Lady of Autumn lock eyes:

The violence simmering off my friends was enough to boil the pool at our toes as the High Lord of Autumn filed through the archway, his sons in rank behind him, his wife—Lucien’s mother—at his side. Her russet eyes scanned the room, as if looking for that missing son.

They settled instead on Helion, who gave her a mocking incline of his dark head. She quickly averted her gaze.

The High Lords discuss the past war:

(also reminder: Eris has Amber Eyes like Helion)

Helion shrugged, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. “Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.” His amber eyes darted between Tarquin and Beron. “Surely your northern neighbors will welcome them.”

Beron’s lip curled. “We do not have the resources for such a thing.”

“Right,” Viviane said, “because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.”

Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. “Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.”

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flared as if struck by lightning. “If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.”

“Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,” Beron counted coolly. “A young, pretty thing like you especially.”

Kallias’s snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl.

Beron smiled a bit. “Only three of us were present for the last war.” A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose face darkened. “One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.” He put a heavy hand on his wife’s too-thin arm. “Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.” Helion was watching Beron closely, his stare simmering with reproach.

The Lady of the Autumn Court kept her focus on the reflection pool. Any trace of color drained from her face. Dagdan and Brannagh flashed through my mind—along with the corpses of those humans. What they’d done to them before and after they’d died

After Nesta makes her speech:

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

After Azriel attacks Eris:

Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a hard barrier of my own. I lifted my gaze to the High Lord of Autumn. “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”

Helion laughed

---

Eris, wisely, averted his eyes. And said, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

His father actually gawked at the words. But something like approval shone on the Lady of Autumn’s face as her eldest son settled himself once more.

Thesan rubbed his temples. “This does not bode well.”

But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. “Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.”

Feyre loses her shit:

Beron shielded barely fast enough to block me, but the wake singed Eris’s arm—right through the cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Lucien’s mother.

---

The Lady of Autumn was clutching her arm, angry red splattered along the moon-white skin. No glimmer of pain on that face, though. I said to her as I reclaimed my seat, “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes lifted toward mine, round as saucers.

Beron spat, “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.”

Helion tells the story of the Affair:

Helion tapped a finger against the carved arm of his couch. “He played games in the War and it cost him—dearly. His people still remember those choices—those losses. His own damn wife remembers.”

Helion had looked at the Lady of Autumn repeatedly during the meeting. I asked, carefully and casually, “What do you mean?”

--

Helion’s jaw clenched. “The Lady of the Autumn Court was sent to stay with her sisters, her younger children packed off to other relatives. To spread out the bloodline.” He dragged a hand through his sable hair. “Hybern attacked their estate. Her sisters bought her time to run. Not because she was married to Beron, but because they loved each other. Fiercely. She tried to stay, but they convinced her to go. So she did—she ran and ran, but Hybern’s beasts were still faster. Stronger. They cornered her at a ravine, where she became trapped atop a ledge, the beasts snapping at her feet

--

Helion didn’t so much as shift in his chair. “She was still young—though she’d been married to that delightful male for nearly two decades. Married too young, the marriage arranged when she was twenty.”

---

But it was Mor who said coolly, “I heard a rumor once, Helion, that she waited before agreeing to that marriage. For a certain someone who had met her by chance at an equinox ball the year before.”

I tried not to blink, not to let any of my rising interest surface.

The fire banked to embers and Helion threw a half smile in Mor’s direction. “Interesting. I heard her family wanted internal ties to power, and that they didn’t give her a choice before they sold her to Beron.”

--

“How long did the affair last?” I asked. That withdrawn female … I couldn’t imagine it.

Helion snorted. “Is that a polite question for a High Lady to be asking?”

But the way he spoke, that smile … I only waited, using silence to push him instead.

Helion shrugged. “On and off for decades. Until Beron found out. They say the lady was all brightness and smiles before that. And after Beron was through with her … You saw what she is.”

“What did he do to her?”

“The same things he does now.” Helion waved a hand. “Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them.”

I clenched my teeth. “If you were her lover, why didn’t you stop it?” The wrong thing to say. Utterly wrong, by the dark fury that rippled across Helion’s face.

“Beron is a High Lord, and she is his wife, mother of his brood. She chose to stay. Chose. And with the protocols and rules, Lady, you will find that most situations like the one you were in do not end well for those who interfere.

I didn’t back down, didn’t apologize. “You barely even looked at her today.”

“We have more important matters at hand.”

“Beron never called you out for it?”

“To publicly do so would be to admit that his possession made a fool of him. So we continue our little dance, these centuries later.” I somehow doubted that beneath that roguish charm and irreverence, Helion felt it was a dance at all.

But if it had ended centuries ago, and she’d never seen him again, had let Beron treat her so abominably …

The Lucien Paternity Revelation:

While we spoke, I said down the bond, Helion is Lucien’s father. Rhys was silent. Then— Holy burning hell. His shock was a shooting star between us.

I let my gaze dart through the room, half paying attention to Helion’s musing on the wall and how to repair it, then dared study the High Lord for a heartbeat. Look at him. The nose is the same, the smile. The voice. Even Lucien’s skin is darker than his brothers’. A golden brown compared to their pale coloring.

It would explain why his father and brothers detest him so much—why they have tormented him his entire life.

My heart squeezed at that. And why Eris didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t a threat to Eris’s power—his throne. I swallowed. Helion has no idea, does he?

It would seem not.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

Beron must have discovered the affair when she was pregnant with Lucien.

He likely suspected, but there was no way to prove it—not if she was sharing his bed, too. Rhys’s disgust was a tang in my mouth. I have no doubt Beron debated killing her for the betrayal, and even afterward. When Lucien could be passable as his own of spring—just enough to make him doubt who had sired his last son.

I wrapped my head around it. Lucien not Beron’s son, but Helion’s. His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him.

His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.

You never suspected?

Not once. I’m mortified I didn’t even consider it.

What does this mean, though?

Nothing—ultimately nothing. Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir

#LONG post #lady of autumn #lucien vanserra #autumn court #beron vanserra #eris vanserra #helion spell cleaver #acotar #lady of the autumn court #forest house #a court of wings and ruin #high lord's meeting #a court of silver flames #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

[lonelyreputation]

Arpeggio

A/N: Woooo a long one! The idea has been on a stick note for three months and it’s finally here 🤧 It was a very fun one to write! I hope you enjoy it & let me know your thoughts! Ahh! 💥🥰💗

Summary: You’re a ghostwriter for a famous singer and Shawn is head over heels in love with the singer who he thinks writes her own music…But little does he know it’s you.

MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Few swear words

WC: 13.7K // Angst & Fluff

--

You sat on the edge of your seat, legs crossed, as you stared intently at the “famed” singer-songwriter who was reading over your lyrics.  She shuffled papers back and forth either humming in distaste when she didn’t like a particular lyric, or slamming a lyric sheet down on the table for a song she wanted to keep.

This was the third album cycle you had done this for her––writing songs and pitching them for her to sing.  All while you sat in the background and collected royalties off the copyright you owned.  

When you were sixteen, you wrote a song that circulated around a publishing company, and she––Zilla––did whatever she could to have the song be put on hold for her.  She was a newer artist, but you heard whispers that she bought out Kacey Musgraves in order to record your song.  

It started with one song as a work for hire, which grew to an EP where you had copyright ownership, and then to a full album…Which led you to sign a contract with her management team as her ghostwriter.

You remember it clear as day––you in their office, with your own entertainment lawyer, as Zilla and her manager slid an NDA across the table.  You remember the manager trying their best to not outright say that Zilla wasn’t talented in songwriting––She just spends so much time making sure her vocals are perfect that she doesn’t have time to write and everyone wants personal songs nowadays.

Zilla’s real name was Willow––but in order to keep the artist name the same as the songwriting credits––she picked a stage name.  So, her stage name was just Zilla, and your songwriting credit would be listed as Zilla Greene.  

While the public knew that Zilla was a stage name for Willow, they thought that she also wrote her own songs under the pseudonym Zilla Greene…But nobody knew how far from the truth that was.

The sound of papers slamming down on a wooden table snapped you out from your daydream, “None of these work,” Zilla leaned back on the couch and crossed her arms over her chest, “I want to change my sound.”

You had spent months crafting the songs in front of her.  Carefully crafted rhyme schemes, imagery that was similar to the second album you wrote for her that won her three Grammys, it had an even mix of upbeat songs and ballads…And she didn’t want any of them.

Your mouth dropped, “But what––You want––Why?”

Zilla shrugged her shoulders and picked at her nails, “The last album was so…Pop,” she cringed, “Too colorful. I need to change it up––Keep listeners on their toes––I’m seeing this album aesthetic as more black and white.”

You picked up your little notebook and scribbled down aesthetics and moods she wanted to match.  With each sentence she rattled off, you wrote down key words––songs that connect in a story, feeling lost, black and white, heartbreak––a bit of your soul crumbled as you saw the songs you worked so hard on lay abandoned on the table without a second thought.

“Give me an album that gives me a perfect score on Pitchfork.”

The pen you frivolously scribbled down ideas on dropped from your hand, “That’s––I can’t control Pitchfork!”

Zilla rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Then you better write a damn good album.”

“But you––Red!” You shouted out to grab her attention as you saw her packing up her bag, “That’s a nine.  Literally one point away from a perfect score.”

Hiking her back over her shoulder, Zilla flicked her perfect loose curls over her shoulder, “Red was a good debut album, 1989 was a good Grammy album, I need something great.”

And with that, the “famed” singer-songwriter walked out of the room.  The clacks of her heels were as loud as the sound of your heart shattering as you continued to stare at the songs on the table…That’ll never have the chance to see the daylight.  

---

It was a new day and the sun shining through your half-opened window as the thin white curtains softly blew with the breeze.  You were sat crossed legged on the floor in a little corner of your apartment that you claimed as your “writing room.”  It wasn’t much of a room––because you literally sat on the floor––but it was where you wrote the best.

You sat in the corner, right under the window, on a small pink and teal woven rug, with a few throw pillows, and lyric sheets scattered all over the floor.  

How were you supposed to create a whole new album when you had a perfect album already written?

With your head buried in your hands, you were at standstill, never having writer's block hit you this hard.  You had songs already written––An album that was hopefully a 7 on Pitchfork’s scale––but it wasn’t good enough for her.  

Nothing seemed to be good enough for her.

Your phone dinged with an email and you read the preview that it was just a Google Alert for Zilla.  You ignored the notification, not wanting to think about how angry you already were at her…even though you were currently writing for her.

A melody slowly came into your mind as you started humming into a voice note.  But it was quickly cut off short when you heard the stomps of Mia––your roommate––come running from the kitchen to where you were.

“Did you see this interview?”

You raised an eyebrow at her and directed your eyes to the strewn papers on the floor, “I’m a little busy?”

She waved you off and couldn’t stop smiling, “Shawn Mendes is like in love with you.”

The phone dropped from your hands, and you cringed because you knew that was going to sound horrendous when you played back the voice note. But that wasn’t what was on your mind.  

“What?!”

Mia nodded at your shocked reaction, but then backed up with her explanation, “Well, not you––Zilla,” she made a little throw up noise, “But he loves your songwriting.”

“How––”

Mia shoved her phone into your face and you saw a paused YouTube video.  In the video you saw Shawn Mendes sitting on a chair, holding a white poster board, as he was in the middle of ripping a paper off.  He was doing a Wired Autocomplete Interview.  You skeptically looked up at Mia, and she gestured with her hands for you to hit play.

So you hit play and immediately cringed at the sound of his nails coming in contact with the poster board as he ripped off the blocking.

“Did Shawn Mendes write a song on Zilla’s last album?”  Shawn let out a small laugh as he shook his head, “I wish she would write a song for me.”  His smile only seemed to grow as he continued talking about her, “She posted an acoustic clip of this new song she was working on––I’m hoping it’s on her new album.”

You felt a flutter of butterflies swarm your stomach because you knew exactly what song he was talking about.  It was the chorus to a song called Cardigan, the first song that Zilla hadn’t turned down for the new album. 

The video Zilla posted on her Instagram was dimly lit as she sat on the ground with her guitar.  And while she frustrated you to no end…You couldn’t deny that she had a beautiful voice.

And apparently Shawn Mendes thought so too.

“Ever since her self-titled EP, I’ve been obsessed with her,” at Shawn’s words you looked up at Mia who mirrored your smile, “There’s just something so personal about her songs and I…” he looked down at his shoes before looking back up at the camera, “I’m fangirling, but I really admire her songwriting.  I hope to write with her one day.”

He went to rip off the next question, but you paused the video, not wanting to hear the scraping sound again.

With the phone slightly shaking in your hands, you slowly picked your head up to look at Mia with a wide smile, “Oh my God.”

Mia nodded excitedly and jumped around in a circle, “Shawn Mendes likes––no loves––your songwriting!  He’s so in love with you––He wants to write songs with you––He––”

You started to feel an overwhelming sense of pride as a jolt of joy was sent from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.  Shawn Mendes––an artist that you admired for his work ethic––admitted to fangirling over your songwriting.  

You were about to get up and dance around with Mia because it felt like a celebration, but with one look at the lyric sheets scattered on the floor…Your excitement slowly diminished.  Because all of these songs––all of your feelings, your poetry, your deepest regrets and highest of loves––were going to her.

Zilla got the credit for your art.

People told Zilla that she inspired them to write songs.

And Shawn admired what he thought was Zilla’s songwriting.

You picked up the pen and twirled it around your fingers, clenching your jaw, as you casted a regretful look at the songs on the floor…They were your pride and joy, even the ones you didn’t like very much, because each song took a little bit of your soul and was then shared with the world.

“He’s in love with Zilla’s writing,” you sucked in a deep breath, “Not mine.”

----

Instead of your safe writing spot at your apartment, you were in the studio for a change.  Since the only people who knew about Zilla’s secret were you, Mia, your lawyer, her manager, and Zilla herself…The record label still booked sessions for Zilla to write.  So you found yourself in the studio a few times a month whenever it came time to write her a new album.

“How’s the album?”

You had been writing for hours and felt so exhausted that you should’ve been surprised when you didn’t hear a door open.  But you were absolutely dreading this album writing process, you were creating emotions––trying to draw from real experience––but nothing was working.

You stretched your arms over your head, squinting an eye when you heard your back crack, and looked up at Zilla with tired eyes, “I have a few songs.”

Her mouth dropped, not liking the progress you were making, “A few?”

“It’s been two and a half months since you said you wanted a whole genre switch,” You snapped at her, “You’re going from pop to some sort of folk alternative––”

Zilla scoffed, “You did this before.  Red was country and 1989 was pop.  This shouldn’t be a problem.”

The two of you were in a glaring match as you set your pen down, “You demanded a seventeen song album––Do you know how hard that is with the soft deadline Columbia gave you?”

“You had songs written before––”

“Then why didn’t you take those songs?” It was a genuine question, but also a question you knew the answer to.  And you were right when she spurted something off about wanting to change up her sound.

“People love me because I’m not predictable,” Zilla walked over to where you were sitting and picked up a lyric sheet, humming in approval before letting it slowly fall to the ground, “And the songs you wrote before weren’t good enough.”

“What do you mean––”

“It’s just writing a few songs,” Zilla huffed out, “I don’t see how you can’t do that between now and the soft release date.”

You closed your eyes and let your head fall on the back of the couch cushion.  You brought your hands up to rub the inside corners of your eyes, “You want a heartbreak album––I’m not in that headspace and you also need to record the songs.” 

You opened your eyes and immediately glared, “Do you remember how Rob Stringer nearly flipped because I still had to finish writing Clean but you lied and said it was just the backing vocals that needed to be done?”

As much as Zilla wanted to refute you, she knew she had no place, because what you said was absolutely true.  That was not a fun phone call to be a part of with the C.E.O. of Sony Music––even if you were on mute.

“It won him Album of the Year at the Grammys,” Zilla said in an unsympathetic voice, “And this album is going to be better than that.”

You let out a very loud and exasperated sigh, “That won’t cut it this time around!  At least I had some inspiration for that album, because I have none––”

“You’re crazy,” Zilla narrowed her eyes, “Just find a random person and have them break your heart.”  You had your mouth open for a rebuttal to tell her that that’s not how songwriting worked, but she picked a piece of lint off her sweater, “You’re pretty…enough.”

You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt yourself begin to seethe at her.  You started to feel a slight pain in your jaw with how hard your teeth were clenched together, but your eyes were still shut as you tried to simmer your anger, as your voice came out dangerously low, “Out.”

“You can’t kick me out!” Zilla laughed and you opened your eyes to look at the woman who had no respect for your artistry…Even though you were the one to give her a career in the first place, “I’m paying for your studio time.”

“No, technically,” you glared over her shoulder at the door, “Columbia is paying for the studio.”

Zilla huffed as she crossed her stiff arms over her chest, “No need to get so angry––”

You felt yourself becoming more angry at her presence.  Her presence was driving you insane and you knew that she was being a nuisance on purpose––poking you like a bear until she got her desired reaction out of you.

“Out!”

She looked at you with shock written all over her face.  You were never one to raise your voice at anyone, and you always bent over backwards to comply with whatever Zilla wanted.  But not now.  You only felt angry and crazy in her presence, and those feelings only intensified in you when she pointed out how crazy and angry you were acting.

Zilla left––you don’t know if it was after you screamed at her or if she stayed for a few moments longer––because for the first time in writing this album for her…You felt inspiration for a song hit.

You heard the light piano keys first, humming the pitch in your head, as the light sound of finger picking on a guitar creeped into the back of your mind.  Fresh off your argument with Zilla, the chorus of the song came first.  You channeled your anger into inspiration as your hand gripped the pen until your knuckles hurt.

You don’t know how long you were writing the song for, but it was almost finished––I’m taking my time––Oh, how you wished you could take your time with this album––Taking my time––Well, maybe you will take your time with this album and get her in trouble with all of her deadlines, even though it would technically be breaking your contract too––Because you took everything from me.

She took your songs away from you.

“Oh, Sorry I––I might be in the wrong room?”

You dropped your pen and slammed your writing journal closed because no one was supposed to be in this room.  With eyes wide, your heart stopped, because there were papers all around the room of potential songs for Zilla’s album.  

Lifting your wrist to look at your watch, you saw that you were eleven minutes past your allotted amount of time Columbia reserved.  Immediately, you scrambled to get off the couch as fast as possible, crunching your lyric sheets in the process.

You shook your head, still not looking up at the person because you wanted to make sure all of the songs were in your possession, “You’re probably in the right room.  I––I’ve stayed past my time just a little and I––This is most likely definitely your room––”

“Wasn’t Zilla in here before?”

You froze and gripped the song sheet that you were currently stuffing in your bag.

Shit.

Slowly, you took a deep breath, and looked up at the person who had the room reserved after you.  And your already wide eyes doubled in size when you saw that it was Shawn Mendes standing in front of you.  The guy you saw on Mia’s cracked iPhone screen a few months ago––fangirling over songs you wrote.

His knuckles were white as he gripped his guitar case––in what you assumed to be excited nerves––as his head darted around the small studio space, hoping to catch a glimpse of the singer-songwriter.

“Oh, yeah she––She was done like forty minutes ago,” you spewed out a lie, “And then she let me use her remaining time.”

Shawn’s shoulders sunk in disappointment, and his smile faltered just a tad, undoubtedly disappointed that he missed his chance to meet a songwriter he admired.  But little did he know that songwriter he actually admired was standing right in front of him.

You never wanted to be in the spotlight, never liked having attention on you, and it’s part of the reason why you agreed to work as Zilla’s ghostwriter.  But with how her career took off, her songs––your stories––were gaining much more recognition than you ever thought.  And it was times like these that you wished you could tell someone––other than your roommate––that they were your songs.

“So…” Shawn rocked on his feet a few times, quickly breaking eye contact with you to look at the remaining papers on the ground, “Are you friends with her?”

You nodded your head as you bent down to pick up the remaining songs, stuffing them deep in your bag, “We’re like––Uh––Yeah, pretty good friends.”  

How else were you supposed to describe your business relationship with her?  In the beginning, you hoped it would be more of a collaborative experience––Zilla telling you stories about her that you could write into songs––but that wasn’t the case.  

She didn’t want to do any work besides reap the benefits of traveling the world and having millions of people adore her.

He ran his free hand through his curls, following your every move of cleaning up your mess, “Do you sing?”

His question caught you off guard, “Pardon?”

Shawn let out a small laugh and gestured to the recording studio the two of you were in, “Are you a musician?”

You immediately shook your head, “Oh no, I’m––I write.”

“Ah, a songwriter,” Shawn softly smiled in appreciation as he went to set his guitar down by the other couch in the room, “Without people like you, us singers would be useless.”

“You write your own stuff.  Not many people do that anymore,” you rolled your eyes at his compliment, “That’s a redeeming quality.”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, I…I do write my own stuff.  With some help obviously, but it’s rare to find that nowadays.” You nodded in understanding as the two of you stood in silence.  He slipped his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans as a smile lit up his face, “Except for Zilla.  Now she…Wow,” he whistled low, “She’s a once in a lifetime artist.”

You felt your throat tighten up.

“Yeah, that’s…” You let out a fake laugh as you bit the inside of your cheek, “That’s one way to put it.”

Shawn eagerly nodded as he continued to talk about your least favorite topic, “Her words––Her experiences––It’s all so personal.  Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping or reading her diary,” He plopped down on a black rolling chair and his smile grew wider, “Now she’s someone I respect.”

And while you knew he was complimenting your work, he didn’t know it.  The person who he thought he respected so much was in the music industry for all the wrong reasons.  The person he thought so highly sent you a text on the day she got her first Billboard number one––a song that you wrote––and demanded a new song in a few weeks time all while she popped open a bottle of champagne on her Instagram.

You nodded your head, knowing that if you said something, it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

“I’ll let you get to work,” you picked up your journal from the couch cushion and slipped it in your bag, “I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

You turned to walk out the door but Shawn’s voice called you back, “Hey––You, um…I think this is yours?”

Turning around, you saw Shawn looking down at a familiar white piece of paper with words scratched out and arrows changing up verses, “This is…This is really good…” he looked up at you, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Y/n,” you rushed out as you snatched the paper out of his hold.

Shawn nodded his head and stood up from the chair, leaning over your shoulder to continue reading the lyrics, “Centennial park…” he scratched his chin, “Nashville?”

You folded the paper in half, shielding your story from his eyes, as you lied, “Different park.”

Still stuck on the song, your mouth dropped as Shawn yanked the piece of paper out of your hands, opening it back up to skim over, “Maybe in the bridge––The last line…” you reached out to grab your paper from him, but he held it over his head, tilting his head back so he could still read the lyrics, “Change string to thread? Change up the lyrics like you did with the chords.”

Once he got his thought out, he lowered the piece of music and you grabbed it back, glaring at him as you stuffed it deep into your bag, “These aren’t mine,” you said bitterly, because while they were your words, they would eventually belong to Zilla, “They’re Zilla’s.  So I’ll let her know.”

Shawn’s eyes bugged out of his head, mouth wide open in shock, “You––You have her lyric sheets?!”  His eyes quickly darted down to your bag.  You pulled your bag closer to your side out of protection, “The things I would do to have whatever job you have.  I mean––To be able to read her songs before they’re out? That’s––I will literally trade places for a day with you.”

You let out a weak laugh, wishing that you got out of the studio on time, “I’m sure your job pays much better than being her…assistant.”

Shawn’s eyes glistened with excitement, “You’re her friend, assistant, and you get to read her songs?”  Shawn ducked his head as he let out a chuckle, “I’d do anything to be you for a day.”

You pulled your eyebrows together, but tried to keep your face neutral, “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” But his smile only widened as he daydreamed about being so close to someone you thought was cousins with the devil, “I should really get going.”

Shawn nodded in understanding but called your name out, “Y/n––I don’t know if this is too forward, but…I mean––You don’t have to do it––But could you give Zilla my number?”  He didn’t get a chance to look at how everything about your appearance dropped.

You were stunned as your mouth hung open, your eyes drooped in sadness, shoulders deflated…But he couldn’t visibly see the weight that you felt like was dropped in your stomach.  He picked up a pen you left on the table and scribbled his number on a sticky note and you couldn’t remember a time where you felt so defeated.

He tore the sticky note off the pad and handed it over to you as he blushed, “I’d really love to write with her.”

You’d love to write with me, your brain screamed at you.  But outing yourself as Zilla’s writer wasn’t worth all the lawsuits you would face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and numbly nodded, “I’m sure she’d love to write with you too.”

----

Two and a half weeks later you found yourself writing in the same studio.  And while you normally felt cooped up when in the studio, it was better at being at your apartment.  Ever since you told Mia about your run in with Shawn it was the only thing she talked about.

She told you that it was the perfect time to tell the truth about your career––bring that witch down once and for all––were her exact words.  But you didn’t want to deal with the mess of breaking an NDA.  

So the next time you saw Zilla, you told her about your run in, and unenthusiastically handed her the sticky note with his number.  Her smile was as wide as his when you told him you worked with Zilla.  And while Zilla portrayed herself as a down-to-earth singer who transcended all genres of music…She was nothing but the opposite.  

And from your brief run in with Shawn, you knew he was completely opposite of Zilla in every way, shape, and form.

The sound of your phone ringing brought you out of your songwriting process, without looking at caller I.D., you answered, “Hi, this is––”

“Y/n.”

You sucked in a breath when you heard her voice, “I have half of the album written.  I’ll send you the songs and then you can record them,” You doodled in the margin of your journal, “So that way we don’t get in trouble again––”

“No, stop––Shawn is on his way to the studio.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your grip around the pen tightening as it scratched a hole in the paper, “I’m sure the fans will be happy to see pictures––

“No. Shut up for a minute,” at her strict tone you straightened your posture, not liking the way she was talking to you, “He’s coming to you. Where you are.”

You were about to make a quip about how she should talk to you with a little more respect, but when you heard the news of Shawn, your mind went from lyrical songwriting to ultimate panic.

“What?!”

“And I’m like an hour away from you,” you heard a car horn beep on the other end, “God, I hate L.A.––But he––He wants to write songs with me––”

“But you don’t write your own songs.”

“Don’t I fucking know,” she sneered through the phone.

A victorious small smile crept on your face, “Then why did you agree?”

“We had lunch and I told him I had a studio time slotted and he just texted me that he’s ten minutes away,” Zilla said all in one breath as she honked her horn twice, “because he wanted to surprise me.”

“Not much of a surprise if he’s texting you.”

She honked her horn again, “Y/n.”

“Sorry, sorry…I just,” you looked around at the mess you created in the studio.  There were your usual papers strewn around, empty coffee cups, some takeaway food containers on the table that you were too lazy to throw out, “I’ve been here for like seven hours and there’s no way it’ll be clean before he comes.”

“Well do something––”

“Y/n?”

At the sound of your name being said gently in the same room as you, instead of it being yelled at through a phone, you quickly hung up on Zilla and threw your phone to the other end of the couch.  You snapped your head up, and like the first time you saw him, he had his guitar case clutched in his hand, knuckles white.

“Shawn,” You said his name carefully as you looked wearily at him, “Hey.”

He slowly nodded his head, “Is…” and you cringed when you saw him looking around the mess you created in the studio, “…Is Zilla here?”

“Oh she––she just––” you had to think of something quick, “Had to pick something up at the pharmacy and it’s a bit out of the way––and she––so she called me and wanted me to uh––keep watch.”

Shawn looked at you, letting out a confused laugh, as he tilted his head, “Keep watch in a highly secure recording studio where the rooms lock?”

You nodded your head, keeping up with your lie, “She’s very very protective of her work space.”

Again, he nodded his head as he took another look around the messy studio, “I can…see that.”  He shrugged his shoulders at the mess and took a seat on the ground.

You gathered up some of the papers that were on the couch around you, and on the table, and on the floor, “She had to go across town so she’ll be some time,” you shuffled the papers together until they all lined up.  You set them aside and flipped to a clean page in your notebook, “So like––Make yourself at home.”

In the midst of gathering your stuff up to leave, he called you back in, “Y/n,” you lifted your head up to see an amused smirk on his face, “Leaving your watch position in her studio?”

Your eyes widened, “Well, uh––You’re here now so like––I think it’ll be fine if you’re here, and if you have stuff to work on, I don’t want to get in the way––”

Shawn shook his head, “Stay.”

As if you were trapped under a spell, you set your bag down on the couch and sat on the ground across from him.  You sat with your legs criss-crossed as he opened the lid to his guitar case, “So…” you started off slow as you watched him carefully pull out his guitar.

Once he got in a comfortable sitting position with his guitar, you saw him pluck some strings and adjust the tuning pegs.  There was one string that sounded off and you couldn’t hide your cringe.

“That B is flat.  It needs to be higher.”

Shawn moved on to tune the E string, “I think it sounds fine.”

Even though he was looking down at his guitar, you still shook your head, “Get your tuner. It’s flat.”

Shawn let out a playful sigh and picked his head up to look for his tuner.  Once he found it in the case, he clipped it on the head of the guitar, “If it’s not perfect, I buy you a coffee,” he smiled at you, “And if it is perfect, you buy me a coffee.”

You only offered him a smile as your response, already knowing that he would be the one buying you coffee.  And when he got everything set up, plucked the string again, he looked at the tuner and frowned.  He started twisting the peg as he continued to pick at the string until the B string sounded like music to your ears.

Shawn lifted his head up, a small smile toying at the edges of his mouth, as he looked at you through his eyelashes, “Do we have perfect pitch over here?”

You smiled and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to brag because you did have perfect pitch, “I like a cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso.”  

Shawn laughed at your response and rested his arm along the body of the guitar, “Working on anything exciting?”

You saw him eye the small stack of papers to your left, “Um…” self-consciously, you moved the papers further behind you so they were out of eyesight for him, “No…Not really.” Shawn gave you a look saying that he didn’t believe you, but you flipped the question to him, “What about you?  Getting some inspiration for new songs?”

On the outside, you wiggled your eyebrows in a suggestive manner, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of joking.  But on the inside, you felt your heart squeeze and your lungs collapse.

And it crushed you even more when he ducked his head and blushed, “I’m sure she’s told you plenty.”  You laughed, pretending like you knew he was talking about, but Zilla hadn’t told you anything. 

“She’s just so…Not what I expected,” a part of your spirits lifted, hoping he had seen her for who she truly was, but that was diminished when you noticed the far off dreamlike look in his eyes, “I think it makes me like her even more.”

You breathed out a silent laugh, twisting your hands together, “She’s a tricky one.  Always…always surprising people.”

Shawn nodded his head and slowly strummed the guitar, “I think I like being surprised.”

This time, you threw your head back in genuine laughter, but when you saw his confused stare, you coughed in the crook of your elbow, “Stick with her if you like to be kept on your toes.”

Shawn tried to conceal his smile, but you knew he was already enamored with Zilla, too far gone to be swayed by anything you could say, “I’ll take that advice.”  The two of you sat in another silence, as he softly strummed some chords on his guitar.

“Enough about her,” Shawn offered you a friendly smile, “I’m having trouble with something––Partly why I wanted to see her in the studio––” he leaned over to his backpack to grab out his sheet music and handed it to you, “See, I wanna do this,” he tried playing a chord, “But it’s not––I want it to sound different.”

You snorted and laid the sheet of paper on your knee, “That’s a good way to describe something you want changed.”  Shawn glared at you, and you rolled your eyes, “How about…Have you tried an arpeggio?”

“You definitely went to music school.”

You waved off his comment, “I’m sure you know what it is––just maybe not it’s technical name,” you pushed yourself off from the ground and walked over to grab your guitar.  Having already tuned it when you got in the studio, you sat down and situated the guitar on your lap.

“It’s like; do, do, do, do, do…” You tried humming, but when his face was still confused you started to play one of the most recognizable guitar riffs, “House Of The Rising Sun, the opening is an arpeggio,” you continued to hum along with the notes as you saw everything click in understanding in Shawn’s head.

You continued to play the opening chords on loop, “It’s a broken chord.  So that way you can hear the individual notes,” you explained, “Say on piano, you would play an arpeggio by just playing each individual key, and it’s the same on a guitar.  So when you play it slower,” you slowed down your strumming, “You can hear them more individually.”

Shawn nodded his head in awe of his little music lesson.

“They’re usually played in either ascending or descending order,” you picked up the pace of your strumming, before placing your hand flat on the strings, over the sound hole, to stop playing completely, “They’re also pretty common if you play them in a triad.”

Again, Shawn only nodded, enchanted by the sound of guitar.

“How much do you charge for music lessons?”

You let out a loud laugh and set your guitar over to the side, “I think you’re probably good in that department, but just buy me coffee then we’ll call it even.”

Shawn eagerly nodded his head, “I’m holding you to that––So like, with an arpeggio, is it always obvious that it’s there? Or do you have to listen to it really really closely?”

“I mean…” you tilted your head to the side, trying to find wording for the answer, “I think they’re more common than people realize? It’s a bit technical, because you're consecutively picking notes on different strings, but if you listen really closely, you’ll pick up on the broken chords.”

Shawn nodded, eyes seeming to be unfocused on something behind you, “Broken chords…” he mumbled under his breath a few times.

Feeling a little unsettled with him staring off into space, you cleared your throat, and that did the trick to snap him back to reality.  

He smiled and then nodded his head toward the lyric sheet he handed you, “And these lyrics…I can’t––” He leaned over and slid the lyrics across the floor so that they were placed in between you two, “Something’s off.”

You nodded your head, biting your bottom lip in concentration, trying to figure out the root of the problem.  Because while the lyrics were good, and you were able to hear the melody he had written down in your head, there was something off about them.

“Your rhyme scheme,” you mumbled, eyes still concentrated on the lyric sheet, “It’s a bit all over the place.  So I would just narrow that down, figure out if you’re doing an arpeggio or not, and you should be golden.”

When you looked up, you saw Shawn look at you with the same admiration he had in his eyes during your first conversation when he said how much he respected Zilla’s songwriting.  

You broke eye contact with him and scratched the back of your ear, “But only if you want––I don’t––Zilla is probably the person you should ask about this––”

Shawn shook his head, “She keeps blowing me off whenever I ask for her opinion,” and when you brought your gaze back up to him, he looked unsure of himself, “I know I’m not up to her level, and she’s…nice, but she always seems too busy to write.”

The insecure downcast of his eyes, and shrunken up body language, was a look you knew all too well.  He didn’t think he was good enough to write songs with her.  And what killed you was that he thought that way because she kept giving out false hope to him.  It angered you because if only he knew that he was actually writing songs with the person he admired, he would have a different perspective on everything.

You let out a sigh, knowing exactly how rejected he must feel, and slid the song sheet back over to him, “For a cup of coffee I’ll give you music lessons.”

Everything about Shawn’s demeanor switched like a light.  His posture straightened out, eyes beamed with joy, and his smile looked to be a little too wide after just offering him music lessons, “Please.”

You shyly nodded your head, feeling heat raise up to your cheeks, as you pulled down your phone from the couch and handed it over to him, “You can put your number in and then we can find a time.”

“I really appreciate this,” Shawn said as he swiftly typed away on your phone, “I can’t even––”

“Shawn?”

The voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to you, but you regained your neutral composure before Shawn had the chance to notice any change.  You looked up to see Zilla in the doorway, glaring down at the two of you––with your guitars out and a music sheet in between you.  Shawn quickly handed your phone back to you, his full attention captured by Zilla.

“Hey, Z,” Shawn waved at her, still sitting, “Y/n was just helping me write––”

“Was she?” She gave you a pointed look that was meant to be a silent yell at you to not help him whatsoever because it could blow both of your covers.

You nodded your head, standing up with your guitar, putting as much distance between you and Shawn, “I only helped a little.  I told him you were the one he should go to.”

And with that answer, you still received a glare from her because of course she was useless in helping him with anything music related.  You could never win with her.

He handed his lyric sheet out toward Zilla, “If you want, you can look at what I have––”

“Actually,” Zilla cut him off with a smile, “I thought we could get some lunch.”

Shawn looked down and tapped the screen on his phone, the light illuminating a small portion of his face, as he looked up with eyebrows scrunched together, “It’s five fifteen?”

Zilla clapped her hands together, “Early dinner then.”

When you looked over at Shawn, you could see that he was disappointed that Zilla––once again––brushed off his attempt to write.  With a slump of his shoulders, you heard a barely audible exhale of annoyance come from him, as he packed up his guitar with a nod.

Once his guitar was packed away, he stood up and offered you an apologetic smile.

“Come on,” Zilla reached out her hand for Shawn to take, “There’s this really good sushi restaurant we can go to before it gets too crowded.”

And even though you could tell that all he wanted to do was sit down and write songs, when he looked at her, his smile was genuine.  He melted right at her touch and his eyes softened.  

His eyes flooded with admiration for her because he thought she was the one who wrote the music she sang.  He looked at her like she was his inspiration to keep writing better music. He’s looking at her the way he should be looking at you, your mind screamed.  

His eyes only added insult to the injury that started the day you signed your contract agreeing to be her ghostwriter.

“I’ll see ya for a music lesson later, Y/n.” Shawn smiled over his shoulder as Zilla dragged him out of the door.

Before Shawn looked back at Zilla, she shot you a smirk, as if she was claiming Shawn in victory.  And in a sense, she had won whatever contest she made up in her head.

She won by becoming a household name, she won by not doing any of the grunt work of composing music, she won by having people do the work for her, and she won the heart of the second most famous pop singer-songwriter in the world because he thought she wrote all her own songs.

And just like that, with the slam of the door, you were left exactly in a position you found yourself in plenty of times before.  You were left alone in a studio, with all of your songs, while Zilla pranced around with the newest person who caught her attention.

But this time, instead of both of you not caring about what the other one did, you could feel yourself being exiled from any part of her life that revolved around Shawn.  And you knew she did it purposefully.  She was threatened that your songwriting could easily sway Shawn away from her.  She was threatened because she knew she couldn’t give Shawn exactly what he wanted; a partner to write songs with.

And just like every other time Zilla left you aggravated with too many feelings, you began to write a song.

----

You took your sunglasses off and squitend your eyes as you scanned the outside patio of the coffee shop.  You were about to take your phone out, but when you saw Shawn stand up from the table and excitedly wave his hands above his head, you smiled and weaved through tables.

When you approached the table, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and your smile widened as you brought your arms around his waist.

“My favorite music teacher,” Shawn hummed as he pulled away from the hug.

You were a little disappointed he cut the hug off short, but you had to keep in mind that he was somewhat kind of seeing Zilla.  You tried to get her to define her relationship with Shawn, but she would just wave you off and say it was nothing serious or kept asking if you were jealous.

While you might’ve been a little jealous whenever you saw a low quality paparazzi picture of them out in L.A, knowing that Zilla kept lying to Shawn about her songwriting “ability” always made you sleep with a smile on your face.

Just like the past month and a half when you met Shawn for coffee for one of your “music lessons,” he was always there first.  And like every other time before, he had your cappuccino––light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso––at the spot across from him.

Not wanting to waste any time, Shawn eagerly took out his songwriting journal and flipped open to a random page.  He slid the journal over to you and a laugh escaped your lips every time you saw how chaotic his journal looked.  

He had different color post-it notes sticking up from the top, corners of pages that were worn down because of how frequently he dog-eared them, and the occasional loose leaf paper that was folded up and stuck between two pages.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you leaned closer to his journal, trying to decipher the messy script that was his handwriting.

You leaned back in the chair, nodding as you took another sip of coffee, “I like it.”

“Just like?” Shawn wrinkled his nose.

Shrugging your shoulders you took another look at the lyrics, “I mean…It’s a compliment?”

Shawn let out a sigh and buried his head into his hands for a moment before looking up at you with a pout, “Something’s not right.”  He leaned over the table a bit and pointed at the second verse, “I don’t know what it is, but something isn’t right.”

“I like it.”

Shawn crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, “No, there’s something you’re not telling me,” he glared at you, “You ripped apart my song last week and now you’re too quiet.”

You took another sip of your coffee to cover up the fact that you did think something was wrong with it.  But like he said before, with the way you tore his song up last week, you felt a little bad.  You didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t a good songwriter, because he had a way with words that you found yourself learning from.

He didn’t have quite as many songwriting awards as you, but you knew he wasn’t too far off.

With a sigh you offered him a weak smile, “You’re too vague.”  And with your first point of criticism, Shawn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he took out a smaller journal and began to write down what you said, “You’ve already had songs that have touched on feeling lonely, and you’re really specific in the first verse, but too general with the second verse…” you trailed off your sentence and pointed at some scribbles on the paper, looking up at him, “Why’d you cross this out?”

Shawn stopped his scribbling to see what you pointed at, and when he saw the lyric, his cheeks turned red and he let his curls shield his embarrassed face, “It’s nothing,” he grumbled, “What should I change it to?”

You shook your head, “Nuh-uh,” you gave him an encouraging smile, “What did you write?”

He shook his head and looked down at the table, “I don’t like it.”

Under the table, you lightly brought your foot up to tap his shin.  You didn’t stop nudging his leg with your foot until you saw a small smile grace his lips when he shyly looked up at you, “I’m wondering.”

Shawn rolled his eyes at your poor pun and retaliated by nudging his foot against yours in order for you to stop teasing him, “It’s…” he shook his head, “It’s too embarrassing.”

“I’m sure it’s really not as bad as you think,” you smiled at him again, “If you tell me what the lyric was, I’ll tell you what I think you should do music composition wise at the end.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped on your foot, “You’re evil.”

You let out a small laugh as you rounded your hands around the hot coffee, “I see your three starts next to it, I know that’s your little ‘I need help’ symbol.”

Shawn flipped you off and it only caused the small amount of butterflies in your stomach to grow even more.

With a deep breath, he looked down at his hands and started picking at a loose piece of skin, “I wonder…” He peered up to see your anxious gaze, but then diverted his stare back down to his hands as he tore up the paper napkin in front of him, “When I cry into my hands, I’m conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man.”

You were in the middle of lifting your coffee mug up for another sip, but when you heard the rest of the lyric your hands froze mid-air.  You felt rooted to your seat as you stared at his face that still hadn’t looked up from tearing little pieces off the napkin.

How did he think that that lyric was not good enough?  That was something that you wished you wrote.

It was so vulnerable and honest and most of all, it was true to who he was.  In songwriting, no matter how personal a person thinks their experience is to them, there will always be hundreds upon thousands of people who will resonate with your story.

That was something you learned and used to your advantage.  

On Red, you fought hard for one particular breakup song to stay on the album that Zilla thought was too personal.  She kept saying––No one will care about leaving a scarf at his sister's house…No one will connect with dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light…And absolutely no one has had anyone ever call them up again just to “break them like a promise.”

But you fought hard and it was the song that solidified Zilla as this generation's greatest lyricist.  And it was also the song she performed on the Grammy’s when her debut album was nominated for Album of the Year.

Nervously, Shawn peaked up and saw the neutral expression on your face as you sat frozen.  He ran a hand through his hair and reached a hand across the table to pull his journal back, “See?  You think it’s stupid.  I––That’s why I crossed it off.  It’s too vulnerable and if people heard me say that?” He let out a somber chuckle, “They would think of me as less of a man.”

You pulled his journal back toward you and snatched the pen he had laying next to his other notebook, “That’s…Shawn that’s an incredible lyric.”  

You re-wrote the lyric on top of where it was originally scratched out, “There’s so much strength in vulnerability.  Not enough people––especially male artist’s––are comfortable with their vulnerability.  It’s refreshing and amazing and what you wrote––That lyric…”

When you looked up from re-writing the lyric down in his journal, you saw that he was trying to contain his growing smile by biting his bottom lip.  And this time under the table, when you brought your foot up to his, you gave it a single tap in reassurance, “It might be my favorite lyric ever.”

His voice cracked, “Really?”

You nodded your head, “It fits so well with the theme of self-discovery and being honest with yourself,” his smile widened with every compliment you offered him.  You leaned back in the chair, arms crossed over your chest with a proud smile on your face, “I think you knocked it out of the park with that one.”

Shawn ducked his head again and went back to ripping small pieces off the napkin, “That…That means a lot coming from you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt an electric current jolt through your veins, “If that lyric doesn’t make the song I won’t listen to the album.”

With a laugh so loud that it caused a few coffee shop patrons to look at your table, you let a smile overtake your face as you admired how the corners of Shawn’s eyes crinkled in joy.

“I’ll keep that promise,” Shawn scratched the bridge of his nose as he came down from his laughter, “So…” He briefly looked down at his songwriting journal with a smirk before looking back into your eyes, “What should I do with the end?”

You noticed a new flame of confidence in his eyes as he pushed his journal toward you more.  You let out a laugh as you looked at him with your eyebrows raised in excitement, “I’m thinking of a choir and horns…”

----

As your “music lessons” with Shawn continued for the next few months, so did your writing for Zilla’s next album.  And unfortunately, Zilla and Shawn also continued to see each other.  And while it was always a punch in the gut whenever Zilla brought it up, your conversations with Shawn were solely on writing and experimenting with different synthesizers for his new album.

With your contract that essentially hid you from the public, it was so refreshing to be able to collaborate with someone instead of writing by yourself.  Even though you mainly just helped Shawn with a bit of writing and composing some music, it was an experience that gave you new inspiration.  

You always thought you worked best alone, but collaborating with Shawn opened your eyes to everything you were missing out on.

It was all fun until Shawn approached you saying that he wanted to give you credit on his upcoming album.  That was when reality hit you because there was an exclusivity clause in your contract with Zilla stating that you could only write for her.  You tried to politely decline Shawn’s offer, but every time you saw him he brought it up.

It wasn’t until you told him you would stop your music lessons with him if he kept asking you.  

The times after that, you could tell he wanted to bring it up, he was fair in wanting to give credit where credit was due, but you told him not to worry about it.  Someone had been taking credit for your songs for years.

And soon enough the end of July came around and the album you wrote––Zilla’s album––folklore, was released to the world.

The public’s reaction to this album was more than you could’ve imagined.  It started off as an album with no inspiration, just meaningless stories, but it morphed into an album that you held close to your heart.  It had your true feelings, real experiences––that might’ve been exaggerated just a little––but it was still an album based on personal experiences.

And while it only got an eight on Pitchfork––two points off from a perfect album––Rolling Stones gave it a 4.5 out of 5 rating with possibly the most beautiful review Rob Sheffield ever wrote about your songwriting.  You made sure to hound Zilla to send him a thank you basket.

It might’ve been your favorite album you’ve ever written, and while you sipped on a glass of red wine at the album release party, all you had to do was look over to see Shawn’s laughing face to know why it was your favorite album.

He was still clueless that you wrote the album.

He still didn’t get any of the signs you gave about being the true songwriter.  It was always you writing with Shawn while Zilla pulled him away to go out to an expensive restaurant. And while he still looked at Zilla like she was the most inspiring songwriter of today’s generation…He was starting to look at you the same way.

The inspiration behind the album came from everywhere.  It was mostly centered around your frustrations with Zilla and how most of your regrets lied with signing that contract at sixteen.  No matter how hard you tried, it still felt like you wasted most of your potential writing for her instead of yourself.

But then Shawn came into the studio that one day.  He came in and your perspective changed.

You took another sip of red wine as the opening chords of the 1 started to play around the small venue ZIlla rented out to celebrate the release.  Bitterly, you took another sip of wine, as you looked at the boy who inspired the song and threw an arm around the person you despised most in the world.

If one thing had been different…If you were the person who rightfully got credit for your work…Maybe it would’ve been you he threw an arm around and pulled in close to his chest.

Your wine glass was still half full, but you tossed your head back to finish it off.  And when you brought the glass down, you saw Shawn turn his head toward you and offer you a wave.

You tightly smiled back at him and whirled around to the bar to get yourself another glass of wine.

You took full advantage of the open bar Zilla provided and another glass of red wine was placed in your hands.  And as you tasted the alcohol hit the back of your throat, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of them.

If only all of your wishes came true.

----

“And we’re back!” James Corden cheerily smiled at the camera before turning to face the three guests sitting on the couch.

You were backstage watching with Shawn as the crowd clapped at the “return” from the commercial break.  While you never went with Zilla to any of her interviews, you started tagging along to them to fit your “assistant for Zilla” cover story you told Shawn.

And with folklore released just a few weeks ago, you had accompanied Zilla on more than enough of the press tour.  You were back in L.A., which eased your spirits a little, but it didn’t ease the bubble of animosity that you felt toward Zilla every time she talked about her experience writing folklore.

“So, Zilla,” James started off, “Congrats on the new album––folklore.”  Everyone cheered and a smile lit up her face as James continued to praise her songwriting, “I’ve got to say, it’s probably my favorite album of yours.  It’s so different than anything you’ve ever written before.”

Zilla crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees, “It was…It was a totally different experience writing this album, and when inspiration hits you just have to get it all out…”

As Zilla went on about her fake inspiration for the album, you tuned her out.  You could care less about what she thought the songs meant, but when you heard James bring up a little segment he wanted to do with Zilla, you felt your heart jump to your throat.

James deviously smiled, “As one of the greatest songwriters of our generation––Oh, stop blushing you know you are––I think we should play a little game.”

Zilla let out a small laugh, “Oh?”

Even though you couldn’t stand her, you knew when she was nervous.  Her foot started to bounce and she ran a hand through her hair as she quickly looked down at the ground.

And before James explained his little game, you felt someone rush past you with an acoustic guitar in their hands.  You felt your stomach churn with anxiety because Zilla had already performed on the show, and she was the only musical guest on the show.

The crew member rushed on stage to hand the guitar to James and then quickly ran off.  Your eyes widened and you felt your breath come out short.

“We here at the Late Late Show are obsessed with folklore––and even more obsessed with your songwriting.”

Oh no.

James handed the guitar to Zilla who took it with shaky hands, “And we challenge you to write a mini-song. Right here,” The crowd cheered, “Right now.”

Oh no.

Your jaw dropped the same time as Zilla’s and she whipped her head to look backstage at you with petrified eyes.  

“Oh, James…” Zilla nervously laughed as one of her hands gripped the neck of the guitar, “You can’t just write a song in that amount of time.”

One of the guests spoke up from the couch, “But earlier you said that it only took you seven minutes to write the chorus of hoax.”

But there was a small little detail that everyone was missing.  It didn’t take Zilla seven minutes to write the chorus to that song…It took you seven minutes to write it.

Zilla glared at the guest, “It needed some tweaking after––”

James let out a loud laugh and waved her off, “Oh stop being modest,” he then turned in his seat to face the audience and speak into the camera, “After the break we’ll have a brand new little song from singer-songwriter, Zilla!”

The crowd erupted in cheers while both you and Zilla stood frozen in place.  Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think Zilla would be in this position.  Before every single interview or T.V. appearance, Zilla had her manager carefully pre-screen all of the questions and segments she would be part of to make sure nothing like this happened.

“This is exciting,” Shawn bounced on his feet, and for a moment, you forgot that he was standing next to you, “She always changes topics whenever I try to talk songwriting with her.”

This was definitely not an ideal situation for either her or you.

“That’s…” you looked around to see the audience excitedly talking amongst each other.  You heard one girl in the front row say how she couldn’t believe she was going to witness the Zilla write something in front of her.  You were beginning to feel increasingly hot with ever second that passed, “That’s one way to put it.”

“And we’re back!”

Zilla’s head whirled around again to look at you, but you turned your head to the side to try and find the nearest trash can in case you threw up.

“Zilla…” James started off with a smirk, “You just sat here looking off to the side…I’m hoping you heard the music in your head.”

The audience laughed, Shawn laughed, and Zilla just sat there in silence.

“Well, go on then,” James gestured to the guitar, “Play us what you wrote.”

At least Zilla knew how to play the guitar, and she started off strumming a random chord as she let out a shaky breath before singing.

“Oh…You make me feel like the sky…So…Blue,” you visibly cringed at her lyrics and were reminded as to why you were hired.  But as she continued to sing, you started to feel more and more nauseous, “Oh…I wish you made me feel like…The sun, so bright and…Yellow.”

Everyone was silent.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off her as she still had her eyes shut tight.  You knew exactly how she was feeling; embarrassed, nauseous, and utterly humiliated.  You took a peak at Shawn and saw that his mouth tugged down in a frown, lips slightly parted, with his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

James’s stare was blank before he let out a forced chuckle, side-eyeing the audience, before he turned his attention back to Zilla, “Nice warm up, but now, let the magic flow and sing us the real song.”

Zilla opened her eyes and took in a deep breath, “That––I told you––You can’t push inspiration.”

James nodded his head, eyes wide in surprise at how Zilla snapped at him.  Zilla was always poised, always charming everyone in the room, and never had she ever snapped at anyone in public before.  Her jaw was clenched and you saw her shoulders tense up.  

“I––I get that,” James tried his best to de-escalate the situation, “But you––your songwriting––You’ve always been so vocal about how you can write so fast, even without inspiration––”

You were surprised Zilla hadn’t snapped the neck of the guitar in half with how strong her grip was on it.  She glared at James, “Well, I’m just not feeling it today––”

“I could’ve written something better,” the guest next to her laughed, which caused the audience to laugh along with them, as they continued their teasing, “Might need to take away your songwriting achievements––”

Zilla snapped her head to her right, turning her anger away from James, to the unknown actor who sat next to her, “I hired the best songwriter in in the business. She writes only the best for me––”

“––Because what you just sang was horrific.” They finished off their sentence.

For the third time tonight, you froze.  All of the second-hand embarrassment you felt when she sang disappeared and was replaced with absolutely nothing.  You had no thoughts––You just felt empty. You only had a feeling of absolute devastation, paired with a slight ringing in your ear, as your throat closed up.

You thought that her revelation couldn’t be heard by the actor talking over her.  You thought that no one caught her slip up.  But with the stunned look James had on his face, a few audible gasps of confusion from the audience, and Shawn stiffening up next to you…You knew that she blew her own cover because she didn’t know how to keep her cool.

James cleared his throat, “Your…Songwriter? You have someone else write songs for you?”

Zilla’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as she realized her mistake, and her face lost color, “Well, no––Of course not––It’s me––I’m my own songwriter––”

The other guest to Zilla’s left let out a snort, “There’s no way you wrote exile––”

“And we’ll be back after the break!” James interrupted the trio on the couch before Zilla completely lost her head.

Right as the studio lights lit up more of the room, Zilla tore off her mic and stormed off the stage.  Her hands were balled tight into fists as you could visibly see her face turn a darker shade of red with each stomp she took toward you.  You felt your heartbeat stop as you noticed her fiery glare was tunnel visioned toward you.

“She––You write her songs?”

Oh, shit.

For a moment, you forgot that Shawn was standing next to you because all you were focused on was the death glare Zilla continued to shoot your way as she walked toward you.  You had been at the end of many of her glares, but nothing compared to how she looked at you now.  Everything she had built her career on was crumbling and you knew she was going to blame you.

You rapidly shook your head, and when you looked up at Shawn, all you saw was betrayal and sadness, “No––Of course not––How’d you ever come to that conclusion––”

“You’re always in the studio when she’s supposed to be there,” Shawn cut you off, “She never wants to talk about songwriting while you––we’ve––been writing songs together,” his eyes widened as you saw something click in his mind, “Invisible String…” His voice tapered off as he mentioned the song, “You––You said you were just holding onto it for her.”

As you felt your heart plummet down your throat and into your stomach, you continued to shake your head, “I was just holding it on for her––It’s not––I––”

“I gave you a suggestion to change a lyric and it…You changed it,” his eyes that were full of despair suddenly narrowed at you.

Your voice cracked as he took a step away from you, “Shawn––”

He shook his head, “You lied––”

“This is all your fault,” Zilla shouted at you as she took hold of your elbow, spinning you away from Shawn to face her wrath, “If you could’ve––”

“How is this my fault?!”

Zilla shook with anger as you saw fire in her eyes, “It’s just––You,” she stomped her foot as she continued to throw her tantrum, “It’s all your fault!  If you hadn’t been so caught up in writing with Shawn you would’ve been more focused on me.  Because newsflash,” she took a step forward, “You still work for me.”

“You––Y/n?  So she is your ghostwriter?”

Zilla’s eyes widened because she forgot that Shawn was also backstage with you.  And she basically just confirmed everything she tried so hard to deny when she was on stage.  

You were long forgotten as Zilla turned to face Shawn.  She tried to take hold of his hands, but he shook her off and took a step back, “It’s––We have a partnership––We both write–––”

“You take credit for the songs that Y/n writes,” Shawn said it more as a statement than a question, but his voice was still one of disbelief.

Zilla’s face crumbled.  She knew the only hold she had on Shawn was that he thought she wrote all her own music, “Shawn––”

“Zilla,” her manager came rushing toward her with panic written all over their face, “This––This is bad.  We need to do some serious damage control––”

“The show––It’s pre-recorded,” Zilla hastily said, “Can’t we––Is there any way we can pay them to edit it out?”

Her manager grimaced as they shook their head, “Someone had their phone out, recorded the whole thing, and posted it to Twitter.”  Zilla let out a noise that was a mix between a cry and whine, “Billboard already has a whole article written.  TMZ is having a field day…” Her manager rubbed their temples, “It’s really not looking good.”

This time, Zilla did let out a soft cry as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling.  Everything she built her career on––The authenticity of songwriting––It was over.

“And you,” her manager gave you a disinterested look, “You should probably leave.  If people saw you two together they might think––”

“Loud and clear,” you grumbled at them, not feeling the least bit sorry that Zilla had a meltdown on television and that it was all on video.  This was the Zilla you knew.  This was the “famed” singer-songwriter you had to deal with for years.  She was rude, nasty, and the most self-centered musician in the industry.

With a deep breath, you were about to turn around and leave, but if this was how they were treating you after everything you gave up for her, you wanted to make one thing clear, “Don’t ever come to me asking for another song again.” You angrily breathed out, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer as I expect that she,” you glared at Zilla, “Violated some term in the contract by admitting to having a ghostwriter.”

You whirled around, hoping that would be the last time you saw Zilla until you had to meet again to officially terminate your contract.  When your back was facing her––all you heard was her crying––but you couldn’t find the one person who deserved an apology.

Shawn was gone.

----

Two months after the public meltdown Zilla had on James Corden, people were still trying to figure out who the ghostwriter was.  But unlike the day you signed the contract at sixteen, there was an extra person who knew that you were Zilla’s ghostwriter.  Shawn was added to the list of you, your roommate, your entertainment lawyer, Zilla’s manager, and Zilla herself that knew your secret identity.

Zilla had come out with a tearful apology less than twenty-four hours after multiple music publications came out calling her a fraud.  And the next time that you saw her in person was with your entertainment lawyer to terminate the contract.  When the contract was labeled “null and void” it felt like the chains Zilla had around your wrist were broken.

And ever since Zilla confirmed she’d been working with a ghostwriter in her tearful YouTube apology video, the internet had not stopped searching.  In her video she said, “out of respect to the writer I worked so closely with over the years, I’m not revealing their identity.”

It was a low blow.  Because everything about that sentence was a lie.  The two of you never worked close together on any songs and you knew she had little to no respect for you.  She made that clear during the years you worked for her.  

Even after everything…You still liked the anonymity that came with the deal.  Especially now, if you were to come out as her ghostwriter, you would have the attention of the world.  And while you wanted credit for your work, you didn’t know if you were ready to be put on that stage yet.

But the thing that killed you the most was not being able to explain everything to Shawn.

He hadn’t responded to any of the messages you left him.  You felt a pang of pain in your chest whenever you pulled up your messages with him and read back through your texts.  You listened to the voice notes he sent you a three in the morning when he was struck with inspiration and you mourned the ridiculous selfies he sent you.

You had taken up a hobby of cooking complicated recipes, that needed your full attention, to keep yourself from hyperfocusing on the regret you felt by not explaining the situation to Shawn sooner.  As you put the beef wellington in the oven, coming to a painful understanding that you would probably never hear from Shawn again, your phone dinged on the counter.

Two months after not hearing from him…He sent you a text.  It was simple, and to a stranger looking in on your friendship, they wouldn’t know what it meant.  But you understood it loud and clear.

Music lesson in twenty?

You yelled out to Mia––telling her to keep an eye out on the oven––as you grabbed your keys and dashed out the door.  After you buckled up, you sent him a response––of course––and broke about every traffic law in the book as you raced to the coffee shop you always had your “music lessons” at.

Your park job was pitiful, but it didn’t matter, because you made it to the coffee shop in a record thirteen minutes with only one person on your mind.  Automatically, your feet carried you through the coffee shop and to the back patio.  You were about to sit at an empty table when you saw that your music partner was already sitting at one.

He was slumped down on the chair, arms tightly crossed over his chest, and even though he was wearing sunglasses you knew that he saw you enter.  But unlike all the other times you had your music lessons, he didn’t jump up and wave his hands above his head.

Like routine, you weaved through the tables until you got to him.

You stood in front of him for the first time since the James Corden incident, and even though you could feel the irritation he felt toward you…You noticed two cups of coffee on the table.  He had his usual black drip coffee and there was a cappuccino.

“Light on the foam with an extra shot of espresso,” Shawn mumbled.

You didn’t know what to say.  So you didn’t say anything.  You promptly sat down and circled your hands around the mug.  Because even though it was October, you still felt cold in California.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments longer; Shawn was still slumped in his chair while you sat with perfect posture, wanting to be ready for anything that came your way.

It was a silence that came when two people understand each other.

You let out a sigh as you looked at the latte art this particular coffee shop was known for, before you looked up at him with wide apologetic eyes, “I––I know saying sorry isn’t enough of an apology.”  Shawn stayed slumped as he nodded his head.  You saw your reflection in his sunglasses and gulped, “And not telling you because I was contractually obligated to keep quiet about being her ghostwriter…” you let out a pathetic laugh, “Just sounds shallow and shitty.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Why did you do it?  

Truthfully, you didn’t think you had it in you to captivate the attention of record labels and you didn’t think you were interesting enough for a fanbase.  Your plan was to hopefully get a publishing deal, write songs for that specific music publishing house, and have various artists cut your songs for their albums.  But then you caught Zilla’s attention.  And just like how she was with everything else in her life, she was selfish and wanted your talent all to herself.

Wanting to stall before you answered, you picked up the cappuccino and took a sip, but even beneath his sunglasses, you could feel his hard stare on you.

You sighed, “I––I didn’t like the idea of being in front of people.  I was sixteen, didn’t want to be pulled away from home, and I felt like I was better suited for writing and not performing.” 

You tapped your fingers on the side of the ceramic mug, “And before I knew it…Zilla heard one of my demos floating around a publishing company, liked it enough to cut it, and then it turned into signing a contract with her to be her ghostwriter.”

Shawn shook his head as he leaned forward, taking off his sunglasses, tired eyes staring straight into yours as he rested his elbows on the table, “Why’d you let her pretend that she wrote your songs?” 

Shawn briefly covered his face with his hands, before looking at you with a pained expression, “As a songwriter, I can’t…Just thinking about someone else claiming my feelings as their own?”  The look he gave you made you want to hide in a cave for the rest of your life, “Why did you do that?”

You sucked in a breath and shrugged your shoulders, “I––I’m not sure.”

He nodded his head, not because he understood your answer, but in understanding that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you.

“How’d you do it?” He stared straight into your eyes, not backing down until he got this answer out of you, “I looked at the songwriting credits and they were all under her name.  I searched every performing rights organization database and saw that she––you––whoever––was with B.M.I. And I called the people I knew there and they said that they didn’t have anyone by your name.”  

He let out a defeated sigh, “The only person they had registered for her songs,” the fact that he couldn’t even say Zilla’s name had you smiling just a tad, “Was a Zilla Greene.”

You nodded with a sad smile, “That’s me.”

Shawn tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows together, “No, that’s not––Zilla Greene––That’s Zilla, not you––”

You shook your head and held up a hand to him, he quickly stopped talking and let you explain, “When Zilla approached me to be her ghostwriter, it was her manager’s idea to have Zilla––whose real name is Willow––perform under a stage name that synced up with a pseudonym for me.”  Shawn slowly nodded his head, “So that way if anyone were to look at the songwriting credits and search her up on a database,” you gave him a pointed look, “It would just look like it was still her stage name. First name, last name, and all.”

Shawn let out a small laugh of disbelief, “I can’t believe you pulled it off for years.”

You shared his laugh and took a sip of your coffee, feeling a small sense of dread in your stomach, “And it would’ve kept going on if she didn’t practically admit it on James Corden.”

The atmosphere went back to feeling tense.

“So, are you…” Shawn lifted his head and looked at the people sitting around them, before he leaned into the middle of the table, whispering, “Still her ghostwriter?”

You let out a small laugh as you shook your head, “She technically broke our contract so, no,” you genuinely smiled for the first time when talking about Zilla, “I don’t write for her anymore.”

Shawn took a sip of his coffee before he mirrored your smile, “All this time…” He looked at you with a hint of remorse, “Whenever I told you how much I wanted to write with Zilla,” he smiled sadly, “I was actually writing with her.”

You nodded your head, “Don’t feel bad,” you waved him off, “I knew the whole time that it was me you wanted to write with.”

Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly nudged his foot against your leg under the table.  At the gesture, you didn’t try to hide the blinding smile that overtook your face.

“I was literally fangirling over you in front of you,” he briefly looked down at the table, letting out a chuckle, before looking back up at you with soft eyes, “And I didn’t even know it.”

You smirked, “Don’t worry, it still boosted my ego all the more.”

Shawn let out a loud laugh as he flipped you off just when you were about to take another sip of the drink he bought for you.  

“So…” Shawn started off slow, briefly breaking eye contact with you, “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with it yet, but I…I’d be honored if I could credit you as a songwriter on my next album.”

After years of being brushed under the rug, years of someone taking advantage of your feelings for their own monetary benefit, having Shawn saying he would be honored to credit you––actually you––for your work…You felt yourself get choked up at the thought.

You sniffled, trying to hold back the small tears of joy you felt behind your eyes in, “I would really appreciate that.”

Shawn’s smile was wide as he nodded once at you, before he leaned over to reach for something under the table.

He pushed his songwriting journal over towards you and opened it up to a page with music notes.  You looked down and his messy note placement as you heard the composition in your head.

“So, I’ve been practicing arpeggios,” you looked up from the journal to see a sheepish smile on his face, “And while the sound of broken chords sound really cool,” and again, under the table, he brushed his foot on top of yours, “I’d like it better if the chords were together.”

You smiled as you felt a familiar warm feeling in the pit of your stomach cause a shiver to run through your whole body.

“Together,” you repeated his words that most definitely held a double meaning, “I think I’d like if the chords were together, too.”

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[alienahellsparkle]

❦ List fandoms of my heart: №3 (the last).

✯ Kuroshitsuji (Dark Butler)

This anime is my guide to the world of anime, my first of all, and the first that I liked. In addition, I have been watching it since I was 13 (omg, how old I am..).

I can say, from it I learned what anime is. It is one of my favorites and one of those that I can revisit (P.S .: And I'm still waiting for the new season or new full-length films, although no one said anything or promised anything about it).

The advantages of this anime are - interesting plots, 19th century setting mixed with the supernatural, soundtracks and a huge number of different characters for every taste. As I can tell, everyone will find their ideal 2D kun or chan here.

I could single out a lot of cool characters, but I'm afraid they could be spoilers too, so I'll just mention a few of my personal favorites.

Sebastian is a demon butler and another protagonist besides Ciel. A jack of all trades, a cool killer and one of the most real handsome men who stole many hearts from the female audience, who is in many similar tops and sometimes even has leading positions. I can say that he was my very first anime - love.

Prince Soma is an Indian prince. I don't know how many fans he has, but I think not as many as Sebastian and Ciel. Actually, Soma is the one who attracted me much more and my love for Sebastian did not last forever. This is because Soma, in addition to being beautiful and Indian (which was important to me as a lover of Bollywood films and music, and also interested in Indian culture), has a sweet and good personality. Three combos!

Madame Red is a bright woman with a difficult fate. I guess there isn't much more to say here (spoilers, spoilers, damn it).

Pluto is a devilish dog. Cutie, charming, with one cool ability and mine another anime-love (those who know this character and his unusual ability - yes - yes, I know it's weird to fall in love with characters like him).

As I said, the soundtracks are wonderful - some of the tunes have some classic notes in them, and also, the opening can be recognized from a thousand and it is easy to remember which anime it belongs to.

Also, there are elements of detective and crime, which also adds its own special shades and makes this anime even more interesting and aesthetically pleasing.

I look forward to continuing with it and begin to show interest in anime of a similar genre and setting in one (I found something similar, for example, as "House of Shadows").

✯ Dame x Prince 

Another anime that became my find and I can watch it many times. I liked it so much that after I found it (in 2018 it was a spring novelty), I watched almost all the episodes in one gulp and only later realized that it ends too quickly, because I could not stop in time.

This anime contains everything that I love about the reverse - harems - beautiful drawing, bright colors, romance, elements of comedy and fantasy, attractive male characters and not a stupid main character who can be respected.

We can say that Ani is one of the few normal owners of a harem, but she can be considered a diamond among them. She is encouraged by her courage and the fact that she is not embarrassed when guys compliment her or try to flirt (I could say more about her, but these will be spoilers).

Despite the fact that here the male characters are clichéd, for example - a kind cutie, handsome womanizer, narcissistic rude and so on, they look cool and interesting to watch, it's a pity that we will never know which of them Ani chose in the end.

In addition, there is one more plus in the form of a good plot, after which it helps some characters to reveal themselves.

Even if many people do not always take girly harem animes well and consider them worthless and empty, just to please teenage girls with cute romance in a colorful wrapper, this anime genre also deserves a place to be. Who knows, maybe soon the reverse - harems will evolve even more, at least there are already some anime-worthy options. Everything has its fans..

In general, this is a good and positive anime that can bring more colors to life. And I still hope for season 2.. 

✯ Nanbaka

When you watch a video on the topic: "Guess the gender of anime characters", you will not think that in this way you will be able to discover a new anime. That's how I found out about Nanbaka, after which I watched the first season in a couple of days.

I associate this anime with the beginning of July 2018 and the dairy drinks Twix, Milky Way and Snickers, which at that time I was finally able to taste.

Nanbaka has several advantages - a cool variety of characters, an element of comedy, and an equally vibrant color scheme. Also, I noticed that all characters have their own special difference - they all have nails painted in a different color and have small fangs.

Despite the fact that there is no romance here and the plot is built around a prison theme, Nanbaka is quite interesting to watch, and in some episodes there are elements of drama and seriousness. However, if the first season is more comical situations, then the second season is a little more serious, at least there are more problems that the heroes solve.

Of the characters, there are not only bisonens and heroes with simple qualities including kindness, cuteness, foolishness, signs of a womanizer, hot temper and severity, but there are also unexpected specimens, such as several LGBTQ characters and even antagonists.

Unfortunately, Nanbaka is not a very popular fandom and most likely there will never be a third season... But this is another solid anime that can be endlessly watched and is one of those that drags on from the first episodes.

✯ Romance Club

This visual novel often came across to me in YouTube recommendations, in the form of walkthroughs and analysis of Easter eggs from it.

At first, I was not very interested in this, and from the video, my first impression was that this is just an incomprehensible game with characters similar to cardboard figures, but for some reason it became very popular and discussed on social networks.

After some time, I still began to watch the walkthroughs and more or less began to understand what the whole highlight of the game is, and after that, I began to play myself, though at the beginning, then, I had only a plan to while away the rest of summer time until autumn, but I didn’t notice how I began to be drawn into the RC and it became not just a game for one time, it became a habit that is difficult to get rid of.

Now, it's not just a bunch of pretty cardboard character figurines and a joke that RC is a mix of films like "50 Shades of Gray" and "Twilight", made for teenage girls.

Romance Club is - characters for every taste, from whites and Europeans, to Hispanics and Asians, both boys and girls. LGBTQ relationships have not been forgotten here either.

Various stories with any setting - vampires + werewolves, pirates, aliens, 19th-18th century, royal setting, movie stars and fame, Scandinavian mythology, ancient Greek mythology, sea and beach setting, detectives and crime, ancient Japan (geisha and samurai) , angels and demons, everyday life and much more, but the creators continue to delight us with new stories to this day, and I think we still have a lot to see.

Beautiful graphics and drawing of characters, cool design of clothes, and also, here you can learn how to beautifully compose texts and sentences (let's say this can be useful for the writing sphere), since some stories contain wonderful descriptions of some scenes and comparisons of concepts (example. "Stars as luminous points," and the like).

But besides romance, other important topics can be revealed here, such as the concept of friendship, a hard life due to many problems, courage and self-confidence, and sometimes even 18+ topics can be touched upon. In addition, some stories have instructive facts, for example, something about the history of Turkey during the Ottoman Empire. 

Romance Club is scientifically enlightening!

Despite the fact that I refused to play games, since they take a lot of time, during which you can do a bunch of other useful things, RC is the only game (besides the Sims) on which I do not regret wasting my time and it is always interesting to watch new stories and how the old ones will end.

(P.S.: 

here is part 1 https://lenahellsparkle.tumblr.com/post/650656683336548352/list-fandoms-of-my-heart-1

part 2 https://lenahellsparkle.tumblr.com/post/655103141583470593/list-fandoms-of-my-heart-2)

#fandom #multifandoms #my fandoms #favorite fandoms #cartoon fandom #movie fandoms #game fandoms #anime fandoms #kuroshitsuji #dark butler #dame x prince #nanbaka #romance club #visual novel #anime harems #anime reverse harems #anime #kuroshitsuji fandom #dame x prince fandom #nanbaka fandom #romance club fandom #detective animes #supernatural animes #anime demons #anime prisoners #girlish animes #romantic games #romantic animes #reverse harems #part 3

[fencesandfrogs]

clan culture inspiration fic master post

a collection of fics/series/w/e i've used for inspiration. ordered by how much i used them

Flightless Dove, Poison Ivy acaciapines

read it, it’s good. it's 100% my main fic inspiration, i love it, it's very good.

the light that shines on you solacefruit

huge inspiration for my riverclan. just. massively where i get a lot of ideas. probably a larger source of material than flightless dove, if i'm being honest.

RIVERCLAN leaders have a litany of names. weather caller, storm seer, spirit walker. a new leader being made is a chance to find another for the list. these names are to honor leaders for the role they play in their lives.

(names. leaders. meaning.)

so you can see where i got that from.

Warriors Redux Deconstruction Dullard on ao3 (not linked)

i've split this into two parts, because there's a lot. i'm a fan of this in terms of world building, but i've been select in what i've used from it. deconstruction is linked highly because it had a lot of key details that shaped my opinions on what wouldn't be. a lot of this i would've changed anyway, but i wanted to list WR because it'd be dishonest to act like this wasn't shaping my thoughts.

anyway, a short list of things that were mentioned in WR:D that i'd already decided on or am now using

behaviors. i mean, i've said "flicked her tail" or "flattened his ears" so much it's getting old, but by god if i am not being true to cats movements. i think WR:D is somewhat conservative on use of purring, but i've also been writing about kits, and a lot of purring is involved with kits, so special case, i suppose. but i'm very cautious with my descriptions. i've tried really hard not to use smile, because cats don't smile. that's the one that gets me the most.

water. this is kind of a specific thing. but. in ctd's fading echoes. the lake is a concern not because the cats need water, but because the prey needs water.

queens and toms. now. i have always been irritated by this. and the lack of female leadership. because toms should know they're kept on the graces of the queens. the sisters got it right. but i can't just kick out half the cast, so i'm forced to keep them. i have, however, kept toms out of the nursery. queens are protective around their kits. it's the best i can do to appease my strong desire to literally just kick every male cat out of the clan. in all of my stories, though, i keep track of who's in the nursery with what kits, because those kits are going to bond to every damn mother. it's super annoying that this isn't kept more clear anywhere. i have to do so much math and check so many allegiances every time.

kits. it's basically impossible to convince me to write this the way the hunters do, so even in ctd, we see kits not walking, not opening their eyes, until real kittens would. does this make the early chapters of growing shadows a pain because dovekit does basically nothing but sit and listen? yes. do i care? yes, it is important to me that dovekit does nothing but sit and listen because she's a baby. bb. need protect.

genetics. usually i correct coat colors for POV cats. because it bothers me. see: tortie dovekit/ivykit in CTD, and the fact that i think in jaywing, jayfeather is going to end up amber like brightheart. i need to do some research to double check, but...i think that's what will happen. (please don't ask about hollykit, ivykit, and lionkit. i don't even know who their parents are. how is crowfeather "dark grey, almost black"? what does that mean. how is leafpool even leafpool. i don't understand anything.)

religion. i'm not fundamentally changing how starclan works, because i'm writing the books where magic is confirmed real, but...i've tried to distance the connections with it. and god, so help me, i'm going to make things a proper religion for w&f. there will be religious things like prayer. god.

cultures, folklore, names. this is getting long so i'm lumping this together. basically, i've got some name stuff sorted out. it's not "traditional" naming, because i'm not going WR on this and renaming really important cats (altho the reason WR has my respect for traditional naming is because they're not afraid to rename cats to fit the scheme), but i have some pretty defined rules. and there will be folklore and stories. this is especially important for dovefeather, when she goes to riverclan.

Sharing Tongues Icej

a series. i don't think i've used much of this directly, but it has shaped a lot of my opinions on clans. it's why thunderclan is militaristic and why windclan is so strict.

it's also shaped my thoughts on a lot of parts of clan life. i'm writing this all out of order, so i'll say, a lot of the inspiration that warriors redux had, is shared in this series. i'm not sure if there's overlap in the interst, but it's got simularities.

especially in terms of relationships. i have a bit of a fascination with story telling as a form of culture, if only because in my personal life, story telling, especially verbal story telling, has always been really important. so i think a lot about it.

anyway, these are a good set of fics, and they're ranked so highly because they're kind of a paradigm i've crafted my thoughts around.

Tell me about your Ancestors Drowsy_Salamander

so this was what got me started, even over flightless dove. it got me thinking about the differences clans would have.

i haven't written "funerals. mourning. prayer." yet, although as you might guess from the fact that i have a title, it is on my mind. i think i'll draw heavily on this for that.

one other very specific line in this that i draw on is

When SkyClan was reformed by Firestar at the gorge, it was reformed in ThunderClan’s image.

now i say that specifically because i didn't want that. i wanted leafstar to find her own tradition. a lot of skyclan's destiny deals with her struggling to adapt the warrior code to her clan. so Ancestors continues by talking about tree's influence, and this is what i got from it:

SKYCLAN once held ceremonies at tilt, when the birds were quiet, but now, they hold most ceremonies at low moon, when the spirits are strongest. ...

apprentices are made at low sun, born from a time when they were not always gathered.

(ceremonies)

and i'm happy with that

Warriors Redux: Ammendment Dullard on ao3, not linked

this is ranked significantly lower than deconstruction because (a) i'm borrowing superificial things at best and (b) i had already come to a lot of these conclusions. still, i'm writing a full list because there are little things i don't think to write whole essays about sometimes. that said, whereas in deconstruction, i could basically say "yes, everything that's said here, i agree with, i'm only tweaking things for personal taste or because of differences in perspective" here it's more like "here are the things i'm using" and the other stuff is just there, but not really anything i want to use

time and date. in one of my generic CTD posts i had a few paragraphs about this. basically, i like the system of time. except for half, because that confuses me. so it's dawn, sunrise, low sun, (sun) tilt, sunhigh, dusk, moonrise, low moon, (moon) tilt, moonhigh, repeat. and kits are aged to apprentices at the beginning or rough midpoint of seasons.

numbers. math. drawing things in the dirt with claws. in short, yes, no, what the...no. just no. cats in my stories can basically count, but they don't really, like, count the way we do? they might say five leaf bares ago, because i am not saying, "the leaf bare before the one with X which was before the one with Y" and that's what a cat is thinking and maybe they have words for this, i don't know, i'm not writing that. four and nine are holy numbers, or the closest cats get. (apprentices are apprenticed at nine moons in the holy sense, because a queen pregnent for a three --- two, but who's counting --- and in the nursery for six. this will never come up in a story unless it's a background note, because it's confusing and hard to explain off the cuff.) i don't have to explain my last point.

names. i have my own rules. i don't intend on changing character names with the exception of the symbolism in jaywing and dovefeather, but i may at some point make some comments on what, based on my rules, i would do. i don't want to change names because it confuses me, but i don't want to say for sure that i won't. definitely not based on WR rules, i have my own form of "traditional naming" for the w&f world.

clan specific notes. you can find it in my writing. there's a lot of influence in it. i don't want to list everything.

come back to you one by one solacefruit

i haven't really used this for anything, i just generally like it. it's definitely given me inspiration for how i use stories, but not any particular thing.

it really is beautiful, though.

alright, that's about it.

#warriors au #warriors worldbuilding #worldbuilding #warriors #warrior cats #jaywing #cloudtail's daughter #dovefeather #mine #txt #28th #February #2021 #February 28th 2021 #1st #March #March 1st 2021 #q

[trashboatprince]

I saw a challenge to write something sexy about Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese from this post by @naniiebimworks and I’m not missing the chance to make content of them in written form. Love me some Crowley and Aziraphale’s personas.

Summery: Warlock is too old for his nanny, but he’s not too old to start having a private tutor. Make that two tutors, who happen to look a bit like the nanny and the gardener who followed her off the grounds.

And already there’s something going on between them.

AKA Crowley and Aziraphale are really into how the other looks for this next phase of the plans.

Warning: these two are already in a relationship. Not full on content, but there is touching and such, gotta keep it pg-13 cause some of my followers are young. Also, not beta’d, so forgive the grammar errors 

EDIT: There’s an extra mature chapter on ao3 

On with the fic!

--

Nanny Ashtoreth put in her two weeks without much of a fuss, politely telling the Dowlings that young Warlock had no need for her anymore, it was time for him to get his lessons from a professional and not a nanny who was smarter than expected.

She recommended someone she said she had worked with previously, that he was highly recommended.

The day after she departed from the estate, there was a knock at the door and a tall, sharp man in an even sharper, dark suit stood there, carrying a briefcase under his arm. “I’m Mr. Harrison,” he greeted the doorman with a voice that dared him to say something, “Nanny Ashtoreth told me that this is where I would I be teaching.”

Without waiting, he stepped past the doorman and into the foyer, where he greeted Mrs. Dowling, who stepped down the stairs to greet him.

Mr. Harrison reminded her greatly of Nanny, that they looked rather similar. The same red colored hair, same facial structure, though clearly Harrison his sharp cheek bones under a beard.

“We’re cousins.” He told her simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

He would start his lessons with Warlock tomorrow at nine.

--

The next morning, while Mr. Harrison was teaching Warlock his first lessons on the ancient armies of the world, there was yet another knock at the door.

The doorman was surprised to see a man with wild, near-white hair and an equally wild beard standing there, smiling. He was dressed in creams and golds, a stark contrast to the clothing of the other man who had been at the door the day before. “Good morning!” He greeted the poor employee with a Welsh tint to his voice. “I am Mr. Cortese, I was hired to be the private tutor to Warlock Dowling.”

“Uhh…” The doorman blinked, before making himself professional. “I am so sorry to inform you that Mrs. Dowling has already hired a tutor yesterday.”

“Oh?” Mr. Cortese asked, eyebrows raised high as he glanced about past the man, as if looking for the person who took his job. “I am sure that the young boy wouldn’t mind two instructors.”

The man at the door sighed and said he would get his boss to speak to the stranger. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Dowling hired Mr. Cortese to be Warlock’s second tutor, taking two days of the week and sharing one with his coworker.

She took note that he reminded her of someone, but she wasn’t sure. Sort of like the weird gardener who happened to leave right after Nanny Ashtoreth did, but house staff come and go.

--

“… And that, young Warlock, is why one must not draw on his books, you never know what their worth will be in the future.” Cortese sighed loudly as he finished with erasing the last of the doodles the young boy had drawn on the open pages of the history book in front of him.

“I thought it made it look cool.” Warlock replied in his defense and Cortese nearly rolled his eyes before removing his pocket watch from his vest pocket, looking at the time.

“Right, well, it seems that our lesson for history is over for today. Off you go, enjoy your hour break. When you return, we shall begin our coverage of literature.” He waved a hand towards the door and Warlock didn’t need to be told twice to run off for fun, there was a video game with his name on it that he couldn’t keep waiting any longer.

Cortese watched him run out of the room with a small huff, smiling as he started to clean up the books and papers on the table of the building’s library where he was to do his lessons. He paused when he smelled something, a strong cologne that covered a natural, demonic musk that he knew all too well. “Mr. Harrison, I assume?” He turned to meet the man who he had yet to be introduced to since arriving yesterday.

Leaning against a bookcase, Cortese stared from behind his reading glasses, feeling his face heat up just a bit as he looked at his counterpart.

Harrison was in a dark suit, fitting of him, opened jacket and tie just a bit loose. The angel inwardly cursed as he looked at how the other had styled his hair, pulled back in a tight short ponytail. He hadn’t seen Crowley since they left the estate, wanting to get themselves ready for their next personas.

Seems that Crowley miracled up a beard that looked too good on him, the littlest of changes to the demon always got something stirring in Aziraphale, be it a new haircut or the addition of facial hair.

And he did a combo, damn him.

Clearing his throat, Cortese straightened himself up, adjusting his jacket. “I almost didn’t get the job because of you.” He told the redhead, who only smirked, crossing his arms.

“You’d have gotten it anyway, and look, you did! Come on, you knew I was gonna show up first, made it less… suspicious, if we both showed up at the same time.” Pushing himself off of the bookshelf, Harrison sauntered over to partner in this scheme, the smirk turning more playful as he stepped around Cortese, looking him up and down behind dark lenses.

He stopped behind the shorter man, who froze up at the eyes that he felt on his backside, those hungry eyes…

“Nice suit,” Harrison commented, “suits you, love the colors. Golds and creams? A change of pace from the tartan.”

“Oh!” Cortese turned sharply, giving him a hard stare. “Must I repeat myself? Tartan is stylish! But, if you must know, I decided to change it up a bit. I do wear other clothing you know, Mr. Harrison.”

Harrison looked at him, before shrugging. “Of course, just… can’t help admirin’ how good you look when you mix it up a bit.” He was suddenly closer, when had he gotten so close? Cortese stepped back, feeling his backside bump against the table, he was pinned.

“You need to dress up more, angel.” Harrison then frowned before chuckling. “No, don’t do that, you become too much of a tease when you step out of the norm.” He toyed with the silk tie that Cortese wore, slowly, carefully loosening it as he tugged down on the knot with one finger.

Cortese’s face flared up red as a heat pooled in his stomach. “M-Mr. Harrison! You wily man, behave yourself!” He swatted at the hand. “You should be professional!”

“Oh please,” The demon rolled his eyes before leaning in closer, “it’s not like we didn’t have our fun as the nanny and the gardener, yeah? Won’t take these fools long to start rumors about us as well…”

Cortese paused, looking at Harrison’s face. Right, they had been a bit adventurous and frisky with one another when in their previous personas, what’s the harm of having a little fun as two tutors? It was like something out of his romance section, but he wouldn’t voice that out loud.

“We waited a few months as Ashtoreth and Francis before we got handy, my dear.” He finally replied and Harrison groaned.

“Wow, way to be a real buzzkill, angel!” He moved to step back, but Harrison found himself in place, hands on his hips that suddenly were pressed against Cortese’s. “Whu-?”

“Who said we weren’t going to have any fun?” The blond scoffed. “Besides…” There was a snap of fingers and Harrison heard a lock set in place.

Cortese leaned in close to his ear, he could practically hear the smug smile in the other’s voice. “We have less than an hour before my next lesson and I’d like to get my ‘coworker’ a bit better. Is that alright with you?”

The string of sounds from Harrison was all Cortese needed as an answer.

Someone, Harrison found himself flipped around, his own back pressed into the table with the angel pinning him to it, kissing him hard on the lips. Any coherent thoughts in the redhead’s mind were thrown out the window as he was snogged into next week, wrapping his legs around soft hips.

He pulled back, panting a bit as he looked at the hazel eyes that stared right at him. “Damn, angel, you’re in a mood.”

“You’re a terrible tease, dressing up like this.” Cortese huffed, kissing at his neck before working on undoing the already-loose knot of Harrison’s tie. “You know I love seeing you dressed up.”

“Mmm… sssshould do it more often than…” Harrison tilted his head back, lifting his hand up to snap his fingers, but a hand stopped him. “Come on, don’t go slow…” He groaned.

“No, I want to take it slow, I’m not going to just have your clothes vanish on me!” Cortese scoffed as he pulled back to start working on removing the suit jacket, taking note that he rather liked the pattern on it, Crowley needed to wear more patterns in his wardrobe.

Harrison pouted before his own fingers got to work on unbuttoning the vest Cortese wore, legs still firmly in place around the other’s waist. “How far?”

“Hmm… heavy petting?”

There was a loud snort. “Who taught you that?!” Harrison laughed before undoing the last button. He looked at the other man, a coy smile on his face. “Lovin’ the changes, angel. You look so good with that hair, almost feral, very you.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Just commentin’.” Harrison mumbled as he pulled him down, talking against the other’s lips before kissing him hard. Cortese mumbled a reply that fell on deaf ears, the two clearly distracted be kissing and the sneaky fingers playing with the tie the other wore.

Both were discarded on the table, and Harrison was vaguely aware that his hair had slipped from the ponytail it had been in. He would have made a comment, but he was distracted by perfectly manicured fingers playing with his freed hair, and by the body that pressed against him.

His own fingers busied themselves with groping a rather nice, soft bottom, earning a squeak from the angel who was still toying with his hair. Harrison smirked, pressing down on the ample flesh, keeping Cortese against him as he moved to suck on the exposed skin of his advisory’s neck.

The room felt hot and both angel and demon were feeling even hotter, fingers moving here and there, but never to what was going to be wanting some attention. Well, Harrison thought, time to change that-

There was a sharp set of knocks at the doors to the library and Cortese pulled back sharply from Harrison, losing his balance and dropping to the floor at the sudden intrusion.

“Ssshit!” Harrison sat up straight and worked quickly to straighten out his shirt, trying to button it back up from where Cortese had popped a few of the buttons.

“Y-yes? Who’s there?” Cortese called out.

“Mr. Cortese,” came Warlock’s voice from the other side, “can I come in?”

“In a moment!” The blond replied before trying to get his vest and shirt back in order. “Oh, this was a bad idea…!” He whispered towards the other man in the room, who was trying to get his hair back into place.

“Yeah, yeah, I know! Gotta wait until the kid’s asleep, ‘r somethin’…” Harrison jumped from the table, throwing on his coat, then grabbing a tie, tossing the other at Cortese who was quick to try and get it done up.

Once Harrison thought he had everything in order, he rushed to the door, the lock suddenly undone and the door opened to reveal Warlock, standing there with a confusion on his face. “We’ll continue our discussion of the plans later, yes, Mr. Cortese?” He spoke, as if nothing had just happened, outside of the flushed look on his cheeks and the rumpled state of his clothes.

“Y-yes, of course, do come looking for me when you have the chance, Mr. Harrison.” Cortese replied, swallowing as he straightened his jacket out. He watched the other man walk past Warlock without much word and turned to the child. “Yes, did you need something?” He asked, trying to act like Warlock did not just interrupt something.

“Wonderin’ if I left my phone in here.” Warlock replied before tilting his head. “How come you’re wearin’ Mr. Harrison’s tie?”

Cortese looked down, seeing that, yes, he was wearing the dark colored tie.

This was gonna be a long next couple of years.

END

--

They make up for lost time later, but make sure that it’s when no one will bother them. >.>

Anyway, first time every writing for Harrison and Cortese that wasn’t them as the Radio Omens boys, it was fun.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #mr harrison #mr cortese #john's drabbles

[maho-s-blog]

After I began to delve into the theory about the relationship between Honkai and Genshin, I cannot but draw parallels with the lore of the Chronicle of Evillious. What about? If Teivat is really an "ark", then it is very similar to the attempts of the inhabitants of the second period from the EC to create a utopian world without a virus that drives everyone crazy and makes them deviant.

Therefore, for the sake of interest, I decided to choose the eyes of God for the characters of the most famous arc from the Chronicles of Evillious, "The Saga of Evil" (or "Story of Evil" - whichever translation you prefer)

I tried not to focus on the color scheme because it would be quite obvious. It seems to me that the eye of God should be more connected with the personality of a person than with what colors he is dressed in.

[English is not my native language. I translated it through Google Translator. So there may be mistakes.]

ANEMO

Germaine Avadonia

While many people would give Germaine the Pyro element, I would give her the Anemo element. Because all she did was to make people free from the tyranny of Riliane, and, in fact, that's exactly what Venti did!

Yukina Freezis

A writer who began writing books at a young age and, as a result, spent many years of her life uncovering old secrets and stories about the owners of vessels of deadly sins. Traveling around the world in search of a forgotten truth could well be described as the life of someone driven by the wind.

GEO

Allen Avadonia

A brother who served his sister with honor and truth and as a result dead instead of her.

Perseverance, hard work - these are the most common traits that can be traced in characters with a Geo element. And this also applies to Allen.

Chartette Langley

A chaotic girl, capable of destroying a stone fountain with her physical strength. She is hardworking, but the gods have clearly deprived her of her ability to avoid trouble.

ELECTRO

Elluka Clokworker (Levia etc.)

If genius immortal sorceress, extremely similar to Lisa is not Electro then who

PYRO

Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche

The hot-tempered princess who burned the neighboring kingdom out of jealousy for the new passion of her ex (to whom she was engaged).

But after her actions led to the death of her brother, she repented.

Kyle Marlon

A prince who was betrothed to Riliane but ended up falling in love with a servant from the kingdom of Elphegort. His rash break of engagement disrupted relations between his countries and led to the genocide of the inhabitants of Eltfegort by Lucifenia. After this object of his love was eventually killed, he secretly joined Germaine in the revolution and hated Rillian and Allen until he found out that the girl he loved was killed by his sister on the orders of his mother. Abruptly rushed to kill his mother after that. Pyro, of course. How damn chaotic he is.

DENDRO

Michaela

The spirit of the forest, who took the form of a girl to help the sorceress Elluka in her mission. I gave her the Dendro element because in the end, when her physical human body was killed, she was reborn as a sprout of the Millennium Tree. And in any case, she (like a forest spirit) was created by the tree god Held. Although, in the end, is it possible to consider the rebirth of the human soul in the spirit form, but without its memories about his life a creation?

HYDRO

Clarith Netsuma

I thought for a long time where to put it. And in the end I made up my mind. Hydro. After all, Archon Hydro is the God of Justice, and Clarith has created a whole denomination, a whole movement in the local church that opposes discrimination against people. True, with these it could have been added to Anemo, but I'm sure that Clarith is Hydro. She's also connected to the church, just like Barbara.

KRIO

Keel Freezis

Seth's clone, frozen in a cryocamera and defrosted by chance. In this world without a patronage of the creator he build his life independently, by your own hands.

ITS END THANKS U ALL

Maybe I'll do the same about the other characters, but I'm not sure. Thank you for reading!

#evillious chronicles #хроники эвиллиоса #genshin impact #геншин импакт

[sunmoonandeddie]

a vision in white

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3,441

summary: Fucking Chad and fake champagne.

prompt: “And our love story? I know it may not feel like it right now, baby, but I promise you, it’s just getting started.” (This is Us)

warnings: swearing, angst with a fluffy ending

a/n: This is my first successful attempt to getting back into writing long form.  It’s also my entry for @softhairbarnes‘s challenge that was due, like September 18th.  I’m so sorry it took so long, and the prompt is bolded in the fic!

Bucky Barnes hated weddings.

Actually, no.  That’s not quite accurate because he loved Sam and Natasha’s wedding.  When Sam had asked him to be a groomsman, he’d actually cried.  In fact, he cried at least four times that day: watching Tony walk Natasha down the aisle, during the vows and the first dance, and then when he’d watched his girl catch the bouquet.

His girl.

No.

He needed to stop that.  You’re not his girl anymore.

It was that stupid bouquet toss that had caused him to panic.  It had sent him into a downward spiral as his anxiety reared its ugly head, telling him that he’d never have this with you.

It didn’t matter what the stupid tradition said.

Steve was standing near the front with Tony and Sam, mingling with your parents and having a grand old time.  He must’ve said something at least a little funny with the way that your mom had her head thrown back in a laugh.

That used to be him.  He used to be the one chatting with your family at events, his arm around your waist.  Your dad always called him ‘son’ and your mom fretted over whether he was eating enough while your older siblings gave him hell for keeping you away from them in New York City for too long.  He’d never thought he’d have a family in the twenty-first century, but yours had welcomed him with open arms.  Your brothers had become his brothers, your sister became his sister.

And then he’d fucked it all up.

And because of his fuck up, he was sitting in the back pew of a church, watching some asshole named Chad chat with one of his groomsmen while waiting for the ceremony to start.

The worst part was that it was all wrong.  This wasn’t the wedding you wanted.  He knew that for a fact.

First off, the church.  You never wanted a church wedding in the middle of August, damn it.  Everyone was sticky with sweat, even with the air conditioning on full blast, and more than a little miserable.

And there wasn’t…  There wasn’t enough flowers.  The only flowers present were two bunches of white tulips on either side of the altar.

Fucking tulips.  In white.  It was like you’d had zero hand in planning your own wedding.

Which, from the look of things, you probably didn’t.

There just wasn’t enough color.  It was all pristine white, as though trying to create some image of purity that he knew you didn’t have.  You weren’t some kind of innocent virgin like the whole church thing suggested.

The trip you two had taken to the Dominican Republic a few years ago had made sure of that.

You’d told him about the wedding you dreamed about in the middle of the night, between sleepy kisses and wandering hands.  The sheets had been kicked off at some point.  You’d tangled your legs with his, soft fingers brushing his hair back away from his face as you murmured into the crook of his neck, “I want a small wedding outside.  Just you and me and our family.”

“Yeah, baby?” He’d chuckled, drawing you even closer, if it were possible.  “Just us and our family?”

“Mmhm.  Don’t need anyone else.”

He’d hummed his agreement as he rolled the two of you over, leaning over you.  His forehead pressed against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist.  “What else?  Hm?”

“What do you mean, ‘What else?’” You had asked, his t-shirt riding up your torso.  You’d stolen it at some point, almost permanently becoming one of your so-called ‘sleep shirts.’

“Tell me about our wedding.”

Your bright eyes crinkled as you giggled, your fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.  “Our wedding, huh?”

His fingers attacked your sides in retaliation, sending you into a fit of laughter.

“Okay!  Okay!”  You had allowed him to lie on your chest, his head resting right above your racing heart.  His weight was a welcome one, grounding you and keeping you in the present.  Just as Bucky had his demons, you had yours, too.  Your voice was soft and sweet, barely audible, as you continued, “It’ll be outside… in June…  And there’ll be flowers.  We’ll have so many flowers that no one will know what our color scheme is supposed to be.”

A laugh from your fiancé, your soon-to-be husband, pulled him out of his memories.  God, the smug bastard.

Part of him wondered if he even knew about your past relationship.  Granted, he had to.  You were together for so long, it would be strange to not at least mention him to your new lover.  Your fiancé.

Right?

Without a second thought, he stood up from the cold, hard pew and went through the double doors that people were still filing in from.  He didn’t care that he received more than a few dirty looks after bumping shoulders with a few people.  He didn’t recognize more than half of them.  Some of them he can vaguely remember from one of your family reunions.

He had so many questions that he needed to ask you.  He needed answers.

His invitation was crumpled in his hand as he searched the church, looking for any hint that might lead him to where the bridal party was getting ready.  He knew that he’d find you wherever that was.  Wanda and Natasha, too.

“Bucky?”

The familiar voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to see your older sister standing standing behind him.  Josephine, or Jo, as she preferred, was your only sister, the second born of five.  He had no doubt in his mind that she’d bawled when you’d asked her to be your maid-of-honor.

“Hi,” he said with a bit of a wince.  He knew how he looked right now.  Crazed.  Desperate.

She had a glass of what appeared to be water in her hand, but he could smell the vodka from where he stood.

Some liquid courage for the bride?

“She doesn’t like vodka,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Jo rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and crinkling the silky gray material of her bridesmaid’s dress.  “Yeah, well, she used to not like guys named Chad either, but here we are.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to say or how to respond at all, and just stood there with his mouth hanging open like a codfish.

“Come on,” she said, nodding further down the hall.  The first few feet were completely silent, their footsteps muffled by the old carpet covering the floor.  There was no way this church had been renovated since the seventies.

“She misses you, you know.”  She kept her eyes forward, refusing to look at him as she admitted things she’d sworn secrecy to.  “She won’t admit it to anyone but me, but she does.  We all do.”

His blue eyes drifted down to the cardstock in his hand.  It was white, just like the rest of your wedding, with you and your fiancé’s names embossed on it.  It was worn from the amount of times he’d folded and unfolded it in his anxious state.  “I didn’t expect to get an invitation.”

“She didn’t send it.  I did.”

It was said so matter-of-fact that he didn’t even register her words at first.  But the second he did, he tripped and almost fell flat on his face.  “You what?!”

“Oh, come on, Bucky,” she said, stopping in front of him.  “This…  This whole thing isn’t right.  I know you feel it, too.”  She motioned back down the way they came.  “This isn’t her.  She’s settling for someone that isn’t right for her because she thinks you don’t want her.  And I…”  Her eyes, the same brilliant shade as yours, drifted to the ground.  “I knew that if you came, it would mean that you still love her.”

“I—”  He ran his hand over his face.  “Of course I do.  But she deserves more than me.”

If Jo’s eyes could’ve rolled to the back to her head, then they would’ve.  “You’re both absolute idiots.”  She grabbed his hand and set the glass of vodka in his hand before pushing him towards a closed door.  “This is your chance to fix it.”

He looked at her once more before turning back to the door, knocking once.

“Come in.”

God, just hearing your voice in person for the first time in three years sent waves of affection through him.

The first thing he saw when he opened the door was your back.  You were sitting at the vanity in the room, toying with one of the pins your hair.

“Jo, can you help me?  This just… isn’t right.”

But Bucky was frozen by the door.  His mouth was suddenly dry and he had to fight the urge to down the entire glass of vodka in his hand.

“Jo, really—”  You turned in your chair, freezing when you saw him standing there instead of your sister.  “Jamie?”

You looked so… so shocked.  Hesitant.  Maybe even a little scared?

“Uh…  Hey, sweetheart,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat.  “It’s, uh…  It’s been a while.”  When you just stared at him, he held out the glass.  “Jo gave me this to, uh, to give to you.”

But you didn’t take it.  Your fingers were white from how hard you were gripping the back of the chair.  “What are you doing here?”

His heart was beating so hard he was sure his ribs were going to break like glass.  “You…  You look beautiful.”

And he wasn’t lying.  You were truly a vision in white.  The veil covering your hair was trimmed in delicate lace, framing your features in a way that made you appear almost angelic.

Your fingernails were digging into the palms of your hands as you finally stood up.  “James, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Jo invited me.”

You cursed under your breath, your eyes drifting up towards the ceiling.  “Fucking Jo.”

He took a step forward, a little scared of how you’d react.  His hands were trembling.  “I…  I…”  He cleared his throat as he desperately tried to gather his thoughts.  Rolling his shoulders back, he willed himself to have some fucking courage, damn it.  After what must’ve been an eternity, he finally allowed himself to meet your gaze.  “Listen, I could say a lot of shit right now about how sorry I am, and it’d be true.  Because I am sorry.  I was stupid and dumb and, and a lot of other words that I can’t think of right now because fuck, you’re right here and I…  I miss you.  I miss you more than anything in the world, and if I could take it back, I would.”  When you didn’t retreat, he took a few more steps towards you.  “I love you.  I love you so god damn much, and I never should’ve pushed you away.”  The vodka was rippling, his hand was shaking so much.  “You’re the love of my life, and I’d be willing to bet anything—in fact, I’d bet Steve’s life—that I’m the love of yours.”

“James—”

“Tell me that you love him,” he said, now standing just mere inches from you.  He set the glass on the vanity without breaking eye contact.  You could feel his breath gently fanning across your face.  “Tell me you love him and I’ll leave.  I won’t ever bother you again.  But, sweetheart, there’s no way he can ever love you how much I love you.”  His hand, calloused and rough, tenderly cupped your cheek.  “I don’t have any right to you, I know.  But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t even try to make things right.  And our love story?  I know it may not feel like it right now, baby, but I promise you, it’s just getting started.”

Even though your eyes were watering, you didn’t step away from him.  Your cheeks had just gotten hotter and hotter the closer he’d gotten to you.  “What are you asking me, James?”

“Come with me,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours.  His voice sounded pained, his metal hand grasping yours.  “We can get out of here, go home.  Please.”

You took in a shaky breath, a million thoughts running through your mind.

“Say you’ll run away with me, sweetheart.”

“I…  I can’t.”

Bucky jerked away from you, feeling like a pot of boiling water had been tossed onto him.  “What do you mean?”

Nose scrunching as you sniffled, you reached out to him.  “Jamie, please…”

He backed towards the door, shaking his head.  “Don’t ‘Jamie’ me.”

Wiping at your eyes, you rushed to explain.  “I can’t just… just leave him at the altar, Jamie!  I can’t hurt him like that!”

“Why not?!”

You looked at him like he’d grown a second head.  “What the hell do you mean, ‘Why not?’  I’m engaged to him.  I promised to spend the rest of my life with him, and—”

“You don’t love him!”

The words died in your throat.  Your chest was heaving against the confines of your dress.  “I’m engaged to him.”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” he said bitingly.  His arms waved around dramatically as he spoke.  “You’re sitting here in a dress, about to give the rest of your life to an asshole—Which, by the way, really?  Chad?  You decided to marry an asshole named Chad of all things?—because you can’t hurt his feelings?”  He really wished he’d downed some of that vodka right about now, even though it wouldn’t really do much for him.  “Are you really going to throw your life away like that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to keep yourself from crying.  You were supposed to walk down the aisle in less than thirty minutes, and your makeup artist would kill you if you’d ruined her hard work.  “I…  I love him.”

Bucky stared at you for a long moment, hoping that you would realize what a mistake you were making.  But when it didn’t come, he let out a huff of air.  “You keep telling yourself that.”  He took one last look at you as he opened up the door, ready to leave.  “Have a happy life, sweetheart.  I’ll…  I’ll see you around.”

He allowed the door to shut behind him before the waterworks started, forcing himself to not go back in when he heard you crying.

Stupid super soldier hearing.

“Bucky?”

He looked up to see Jo standing there, the hopeful look in her eyes quickly diminishing.  “She, um…  She says she loves him.”

He knew that she could hear you crying even without a super soldier serum coursing through her veins.  Without even giving him a second look, she slipped into the room and out of his sight.  Your sobs seemed to get even louder when she entered.

Not able to withstand the torture that was being so close to you without being able to call you his, Bucky ran.

He left the church, grabbing a bottle of champagne that was sitting on the catering truck outside.

It would seem that your reception was to be in the basement of the church, of all places.

He didn’t even bother to tell anyone he was leaving.  After all, he’d ridden with the team to the church, and he didn’t want to have to beg one to drive him back to the Tower and miss the ceremony.  They’d actually been invited.

You wanted them there.  But not him.  Not after how badly he’d fucked up.

It wasn’t like any of them actually expected him to be able to make it through the vows, or even into the sanctuary.

He aggressively wiped at his eyes as he walked down the crowded streets of New York City.  “Don’t you have places to be?” He wondered aloud as yet another person bumped into him.

His feet knew where to take him before his mind did.

The 50 Street Station on Broadway.

The night you first met, you’d just finished a shift at Ellen’s Stardust Diner.  Your roller skates were sitting by your feet as you waited for the subway.  Bucky had just been wandering around the city and had somehow ended up across Manhattan.

He’d instantly been smitten with the girl working her way through university, and it had been history from there.

He sat on one of the benches, uncorking the bottle with little difficulty.

If anyone was curious as to why an Avenger was drinking in a subway station at noon on a Saturday, no one asked.

And in his nice suit, too.

“Oh, buddy, how the hell did you end up here?” He asked himself before taking a long swig from the bottle.  Some of the bubbling liquid dribbled down his chin and he wiped it on his jacket sleeve that definitely cost more than his childhood home back in the twenties.

He would kill for some of Thor’s Asgardian mead at the moment.

But he’d just have to settle for some second rate champagne that, honestly, probably wasn’t even real champagne.

“Probably made in America,” he muttered to himself as he inspected the bottle.

Sure enough, right there on the back under all the nutritional information, it said Made in California.

“Can’t even get real champagne for her,” he said to no one in particular.  No one in the station was paying him any mind, choosing to let him wallow in misery on his own.

Seven trains had passed by before he heard it.

“James?!  Jamie?!”

He imagined that right?  The wind from the trains was playing tricks on him.  Making him hear your voice.

An exquisite form of torture, really.

“Jamie!”

But it sounded so real.

Curiously, he lifted his head, the almost empty bottle dangling from his fingers.

And there you were.

Still a vision in white in your wedding dress.  Your veil was half torn off, your hair falling.  The hem of your skirts was dirty from the muck that covered the streets of New York City.  You held a suitcase in your hand, rolling your shoulder back to accommodate the weight and pressure of carrying it through the city.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as he got to his feet, the champagne forgotten.  He wiped at his eyes, desperately trying to appear more put together than he felt.  “You…  You are here right?  I’m not hallucinating or anything?”

“No, you’re not hallucinating,” you said as you set the suitcase down with a huff.

He blinked slowly at you, almost afraid that you’d disappear if he closed his eyes.  “I mean, you never know with fake champagne.”

“Shut up.”

He watched as you sat down on the bench he’d been occupying for a little over an hour and a half, crossing your arms over your chest.  “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?”

“You’re getting married to Chad.”

With an eye roll that reminded him a lot of Jo, you kept your eyes on the approaching subway.  “Clearly not.”

He snuck a peek at your left hand, heart pounding when he realized that you didn’t even have your engagement ring on.  “Oh.”

You two sat in silence for a few minutes, not speaking.  It was so peculiar to be in the exact spot that you two had met seven years before.  So much had changed but at the same time, so much was the same.

He was still crazy about you, for one, and it would appear that you felt the same.

“I hate that you’re right all the fucking time.”

His heart skipped a beat and he finally turned to look at you.  “What was that?”

And despite how much you fought it, a small smile was tugging at your lips.  “Shut up.  You know what I said.”

“I’m not right all the time,” he said slowly, inching his pinky closer and closer to yours.  “I wasn’t right to leave you.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I should’ve just told you that my anxiety was getting the better of me like you told me to.”

“Yes, you should’ve.”

He inhaled sharply as his finger finally brushed yours, and you allowed his fingers to intertwine with yours.

“Better late than never, I suppose,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his.

The silence between you was loaded with tension.  And the both of you knew that you had a lot of things to discuss, things to figure out if you were going to work in the long run.

But you were here and he loved you and you loved him.

And that was enough.

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