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dearly-somber · 6 months

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RBF | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, fluff, f2l (friends-to-lovers), pining, found family, high school!au

-> w/c. 1344

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. This one is pretty Yoongi centric, but it’s important for later installments (and also I wanted to build more on Y/N’s relationships with the pack outside of Jungkook heh).

-> warnings. Yoongi’s kind of a dick 💔

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Jun. 30th, 2022 @ 18:24

-> fin. Mon., Oct. 4th, 2023 @ 22:48

-> edited. Wed., Nov. 1st, 2023 @ 09:47

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

“Why does Yoongi hate me so much?”

Jungkook looks up from where he’s been sketching a picture of what he thinks your wolf would look like if you had one, a frown on his face. “Yoongi doesn’t hate you,” he says.

“He does,” you pout, pulling at a loose thread in your socks.

“He doesn’t.” Jungkook sets his sketchbook aside to give you his full attention. “Where’s this coming from?”

You sigh. “It’s gonna sound stupid…”

“It won’t.” Jungkook holds your hand. When you finally look up at him, you’re met with a boyish grin that melts your insides.

You sigh. “I went down to the kitchen earlier to grab something to drink…”

“Yeah?”

“And…” You chew on your lip, sighing again before letting your thumb rub over the back of Jungkook’s hand in an attempt to calm your nerves. “And Yoongi was there. I accidentally bumped into him on my way out and he spilt coffee all over.”

“And he got mad?”

“Yeah.” You take a moment to get the words right, briefly reliving the older shifter’s scorn and flinching at the memory. Even just thinking about it has you biting on your lip to stop yourself from crying. “He got really mad. Started growling and cursing at me; shooed me upstairs… It’s the angriest I’ve ever seen him,” you whisper.

“Oh, angel.” Jungkook takes it upon himself to lift you up under your arms and set you back down in his lap. You’re surprised because, first of all, you never realized just how strong he is, but also because you find you don’t hate it as much as you should—nevermind “angel”.

Usually you hate being manhandled, especially into such intimate positions or poses, but you know deep down that you can trust Jungkook and his motivations, so you let yourself accept and bathe in his affection and affirmations.

You don’t mind when he guides your arms around his shoulders. You lean into him and let your eyes drift closed when his arms wrap around your back, holding you to his chest. “I’m sorry Yoongi hyung growled at you,” he says.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble into his shoulder, already feeling lighter than when you’d sat back down next to him after the whole ordeal took place. “I just… I wish I knew why he disliked me so much. We’ve been friends for almost six months, now! Everyone else has warmed up to me already.”

Jungkook sighs, running his fingers up and down your spine as he thinks. The feeling sends shivers down your body. “Yoongi hyung is…protective. He’s had past relations with humans and it didn’t end well for him or the people he cared about. I’m not saying what he did was right, but there’s a reason he’s such a dick to you all the time,” Jungkook explains softly, trying and failing to subtly nose at the juncture of your neck.

You pull away from him as gently as you can, sliding off his legs. As you sit knee-to-knee with him, you settle your hands in your lap and stare. Thinking.

Finally, you speak. “Fine.”

Jungkook raises a single brow. “‘Fine’? What does that mean?”

“It means I get it. But he’s got his head farther up his ass than I thought if he thinks it’s an excuse for him to treat me like shit.”

Jungkook smiles with a fond shake of his head, sighing, “There’s the Y/N I know and love. There might finally be peace in the world once you and Yoongi start actually liking each other.”

You roll your eyes, laying back down as he reverts back to sketching. “It’s not my fault he’s got a stick up his ass. He needs to realize I’m not the same human who hurt him gods know how long ago. I might be more annoying, but I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

Jungkook smiles down at his sketchbook, muttering something under his breath. “It’s actually—“

“Y/N!”

“Oh gods,” you groan, hyping yourself up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice ricocheting off the kitchen walls, “what now?”

“Don’t be mean,” Jungkook chides, shoving you with his foot on your way out the door. You stick your tongue out at him, shaking your head with a dumb smile on your way downstairs.

“What’s up, doc?”

Namjoon frowns at you as you lean your elbows against the island. “I’m…not a doctor…”

“It’s” —you sigh, waving him off— “nevermind. What do you need?”

“Yoongi’s out back. He asked me to call for you.”

“Yoongi?” you ask skeptically, an eyebrow raised.

“Yep,” Namjoon says. “Off you go.” He shoos you out the patio doors like an old lady, disappearing back inside the house after sliding the doors shut.

“Great,” you mutter. You trudge through the wet grass and mud to the little backyard leading into the woods where the pack likes hanging out when they’re shifted (and sometimes even when they’re not. Ever since you came along, they added a little bonfire and a few camper chairs for when you’re hanging out with them).

As you near the backyard, you spot Yoongi sitting, in wolf form, on one of the several rock-slash-boulder formations surrounding what is now the bonfire pit, his fur dirtied from running while it’s wet outside. Under his mud-laden paws, you spot a dirty but otherwise intact article of clothing you thought you’d lost forever.

“Is that my Toothless sweater?” you ask, surprised. You thought you lost it after forgetting it in the woods the first time you were invited to go swimming in the river with them.

Yoongi’s ears perk up on his head as he raises his head to glare at you, dragging his tongue over his maw. He sits a little straighter the closer you get, watching you so close you can feel your heartbeat instinctively pick up its pace.

“I thought I lost this,” you mumble, wrapping your fingers around the stiff fabric and tugging to get it out from under Yoongi’s large paw. You utterly fail, because the dickhead decides to tease you by pressing down harder on it and refusing to budge until you’ve exerted all your strength, nearly sending you ass-first into a puddle of mud.

You glare at him as his wolf seems to snicker—shoulders shaking and tail wagging ever so slightly behind him.

“You know…” You rub the fabric between your fingers, contemplating whether or not you’ll get mauled to death and deciding you don’t actually care. “I like you when you’re like this.”

Yoongi’s head tilts to one side, his ears flopping. How dare he look so cute when he acts like you’re the devil more than half of the time.

“When you’re shifted,” you clarify. “Guessing your mood based off the way you hold your tail is much easier than trying to decipher your emotions based off your resting bitch face.”

Immediately, the backyard fills with a low, warning growl. Yoongi’s head is back to its righted position, but slightly lowered so you can see just how hard he’s glaring at you.

“You know what, no!” You clench your sweater in your hand as you point an accusatory finger at the rumbling grey wolf. “I’m tired of you bullying me, Yoongi. Not all humans are bad, you know!” You scoff at the way his eyes widen, comically round in this form. “I’m not going to hurt you, or anyone else! Jungkook loves this pack, and I love Jungkook.” Yoongi’s tail shoots straight up, ears perked high on his head. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”

You pause, clearing your throat so you can muster up the courage to say, “He’s my best friend. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

Yoongi stares at you, but you can’t read his facial expressions—can’t guess what’s going on behind those burning cocoa eyes of his. Not even his tail gives him away. So instead of hurting your brain overthinking his reaction, you huff and storm off, leaving a very intrigued shifter behind to contemplate several things at once.

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lostelfwriting · 2 months

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Bury Me with a Rose, We Both Have Thorns (Prologue)

Rating: Explicit

AO3 Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Death & Dream, Dream & Hob, Dream/Hob Gadling

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Death of the Endless, Hob Gadling, Jessamy, Matthew, Corinthian, Lucienne

Additional Tags: NO Major Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Terminal Illnesses, Thoughts about death and dying, Decaying Health, Refusing Treatment, Strong Language, Unrequited Love, Enemies to ?, Past Minor Characters Death(s), Protective Death of the Endless, Doctor Human!Death of the Endless, Alternate Universe - Human, Tattoo Artist Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Flower Shop Owner Hob Gadling, Blood, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word count: 32k

I'm posting the whole work here on the 1st of March, but I strongly reccommend you read it on AO3, where I will be posting one chapter per day. Either way, click Read More or go to AO3 to read the Prologue!

Written for the event @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang. With beautiful art by @five-and-dimes!

It is a slow day at the studio, so while he is waiting for his next appointment, Dream is – like he does almost all of his free time – sketching new tattoo designs to add to his portfolio and listening to music loud enough to completely shut out his own thoughts. He is sketching a snake, having no doubt that it will catch someone’s eye. There is always someone who wants a tattoo of a snake. He pauses to look at his progress and ends up snorting in disbelief.

The drawing is truly a snake, but the reptile is weaving among the stems of flowers instead of a dead branch like Dream had intended. And they are ugly flowers at that. He is pretty sure that he gave a pot of those flowers to his secondary school teacher, who always called him Murphy, even though he hated that nickname. He can’t resist snapping a picture of the flowers with his phone and trying to look up what they are, but once he finds the name – cyclamen – he refuses to look up their meaning. It would surely be something stupid, like forbidden love, or maybe hopelessness.

Even the snake’s scales seem to actually be made of flower petals, and Dream rolls his eyes as he flips the page of his sketchbook. The downside to trying to tune his mind out is that he doesn’t notice when his subconsciousness begins to interfere with his process, and it has led to many flowery paintings in the past months. With a sigh, he starts copying the usable parts of the design onto another page until an insistent thought makes him pause mid-movement.

Just a few weeks ago, he would have been furious if this had happened. He used to tear those ruined sketches to pieces and then go outside into the late winter chill and glare at every passing person who dared to look his way. He wished they all felt as bad as he did, and most of all, his neighbour with his shop opposite Dream’s studio, with its bright, flowery logo.

Today’s drawing incident feels like just a small inconvenience. He feels zero anger, though he might still opt to destroy the sketch later, just for the miniscule satisfaction that the action will bring him. Or maybe he will keep it. Pin it to the wall next to his bed and look at it every night. He will look at the ugly flowers and realise with wry amusement and aching hollowness that he has finally accepted his fate.

He, Morpheus Endeles, is going to die.

He thinks about it and waits for anger or grief to appear, but they don’t. Good. He was getting sick of the self-pity. It has been months since he noticed the first symptom – the occasional cough – as something seemed to tickle his throat, easily blamed on a bit of dust. And then, a bit later, when he lay awake late at night and everything around him was quiet, he heard the soft rustle of leaves as he breathed. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him that he had the Hanahaki Disease. He tears the ruined sketch out and shreds it into tiny pieces, enjoying the bit of satisfaction that it brings him. Maybe he is still harbouring some badly suppressed anger. He doesn’t need a fortune teller to tell him that he has no chance of getting affection from the person he hopelessly loves. Because it is his neighbour, the owner of The White Rose, Robert Gadling, a straight man who rightfully dislikes Dream.

+*+*+*+*+

Cyclamen: resignation and good-bye

#my writing #bury me with a rose #centennial husbands big bang #dreamling #hanahaki disease #angst #happy ending

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dixons-sunshine · 1 year

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Half Awake (Xavier Thorpe x fem!reader)

Summary: Admittedly, being in detention was never on your to-do list, neither was your half awake rant about Xavier's hair. But everything always happens for a reason, right?

Warnings: Some swearing but that's about all I can think of. Let me know if I should add anything.

You're telepathic and telekinetic in this. (Very original, I know 😌😂)

-------------------------------------------

"'Don't worry,' you said. 'We won't get caught,' you said. Well, looks to me like we got caught, Xavier!" You said, throwing your hands up and gesturing around.

Xavier leant back in the uncomfortable chair he found himself forced to sit on, letting a sigh escape him. "I, clearly, didn't think that through."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock Holmes." You let out a huff of frustration, leaning forward to lay your head on the table.

The two of you- more Xavier than you- didn't think you'd get caught. The two of you had snuck out of the school on more occasions than one, sneaking through an abandoned gate at the far end of the school where no one went anymore, and never once did you two get caught.

Not until today.

Xavier supposed that he should've listened when principal Weems said that there would be no going of campus until further notice. He just didn't think that she would go to the extremes of having guards covering every inch of the school.

"You seriously didn't expect Weems to go to that extremes? Are we thinking about the same principal here?" You asked unexpectedly, startling Xavier.

"Jeez, don't do that!" Xavier said, placing a hand over his chest dramatically.

"Consider it a small amount of payback for getting us in detention."

"How many times do I have to apologize? And besides, it's not like we're in jail!"

"We might as well be!"

"Stop being so dramatic," Xavier said, getting his notebook out of his bag to work on a sketch.

"Oh, I'm being dramatic?" You said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Wait, how were you reading my mind in the first place?"

"The bracelet fell off when we were being escorted back into the school. I couldn't exactly say anything because Weems wouldn't let us speak, remember?"

The bracelet.

It's something that you gave to him a few months into your friendship. It gave him the ability to block you from reading his mind. He never really used it at first, but he's been using it a whole lot more recently.

However, you didn't dwell on it too much.

You could see how Xavier's face lost a bit of colour. He quickly shut his notebook and opted for doing something on his phone instead.

Deciding against reading Xavier's mind again, you leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and thinking about how you got into this situation.

Flashback

"Are you sure about this, Xavier? Weems seemed serious when she said that the school would be on lockdown," you said, nervously following him towards the 'forgotten gate' that the two of you used to sneak out of the school on multiple occasions.

"Of course I'm sure. Stop worrying so much. This is a once in a lifetime experience. Ajax and Enid are gonna meet us there," he said.

The two of you successfully reached the gate, stopping only so that Xavier could pick up the backpack he hid there earlier.

He got his phone out of his pocket to let Ajax know that the two of you were on your way, until an amused smile graced his features.

"What's so funny?" You asked, confused.

He looked up at you. "Enid somehow convinced Wednesday to tag along."

"Oh," you said, suddenly feeling out of place. Jealousy seeped through you, replacing the happiness you felt earlier. It was no secret, to you at least, that Xavier had a crush on the Addams girl, even though she made it clear that she didn't reciprocate his feelings.

Although you never really said anything, you had feelings for Xavier. He was unlike any other guy you have ever met or been with and he always treated you like you were a princess. You thought that meant he might reciprocate your feelings, but since Wednesday came to Nevermore, you haven't been so sure.

"What's wrong?" Xavier asked upon seeing an unreadable look rest on your face. He reached to place a hand on your shoulder.

"Nothing. I just want to get this over with," you said, moving away from his touch.

This confused Xavier. During the entirety of your friendship with him you have always loved physical contact, no matter how mad you were at him. You never once denied his touch, yet there you were, moving away from him.

"Are you sure?" He asked awkwardly, not knowing what he did wrong.

Before you could respond, someone cleared their throat. "I thought that Principal Weems made it very clear that no one was to go of campus."

The two of you looked at the werewolf that Principal Weems probably hired to guard the school. The werewolf crossed their arms. "Come on. I'm pretty sure that Principal Weems would love to have a talk with you."

End of flashback

"Damn, how long do we have to endure this torture?" Xavier jokingly asked. Confusion dawned on him as he didn't get a response. You couldn't still be mad at him, could you?

He looked over at you, seeing you leaned back in your chair with your eyes closed, breathing evened out as you had fallen asleep. He took this moment to admire the peaceful look on your face.

He never could understand how someone as perfect as you would ever want to be associated with the likes of him. All he knew is that he thanked his lucky stars for your unlikely friendship, even though he wished you two could be more than that.

Everyone always asked him if the two of you were together, which he always had to deny. He hoped that one day he'd be able to say yes to that question, but in reality he knew that having your friendship was more important to him and he wouldn't risk it for the off chance that you would say yes to dating him.

A guy could always dream, however.

He sighed, deciding to work on his sketch again. Admittedly, it was a sketch of you. You once told him that you would love to be drawn by him, to see him capture all your imperfections although, to him, you didn't have any.

"I want you to draw me like one of your french girls," you had jokingly told him a few months ago. He had laughed it off, but that did put a blush on his face.

He looked up at the clock, sighing as he saw that the two of you still had two hours of detention left. Weems had told you that it was either five hours of detention or one hour every day for five days. You had decided on the five hour one, saying you'd rather get this over and done with in one day.

So, while everyone was out in the sun and Ajax, Enid and Wednesday were at the Imagine Dragons concert, the two of you were stuck in detention. Luckily without any supervision, because Weems said she trusted that you wouldn't try to escape, basically implying that there would be serious consequences if the two of you did.

For now, he'd let you sleep. It gave him time to finish his sketch for you.

-------------------------------------------

"Hey, wake up. It's almost time to go." A soft voice broke you from your slumber.

You looked up, confused at your surroundings, until the haze from your sleep cleared up a bit and you were reminded of where you were.

You don't even recall falling asleep, or when Xavier moved his seat right next to yours. The last thing you recall is Xavier saying something, and then the rest went black.

"What?" You asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Next to you was Xavier, who gave you a small, loving smile.

"There's only ten minutes of detention left. I doubt Weems will notice if we leave a few minutes earlier," he said, laughing lightly as you groaned. "Come on, you can go right back to sleep once we get to your dorm."

You looked at him with one eye open, motioning something to him. He playfully raised his eyebrows.

"You want a piggyback ride?"

"Yes, please," you replied, voice more timid than usual.

Xavier's smile didn't falter. He gave you a silent nod, motioning for you to get on his back.

You hopped on his back and picked up your bags with your telekinesis, letting it float behind you as you two made your way to your dorm.

On your way there, Xavier noticed you softly playing with his hair, making tiny braids and then taking them out, restarting the process.

"You have amazing hair, you know that?" You said quietly, opting to lay your chin on his head.

Xavier chuckled lightly, a blush covering his cheeks. This wasn't the first time you've absentmindedly complimented him while in this stage. Being a telepath took it's toll on you, considering how your mind worked overtime. Because of this, it takes you longer than most to properly wake up, resulting in these compliments from you.

"You really think so?" He asked. You nodded.

"Yeah. I especially love when you have your hair down. Don't get me wrong, I love it when it's in a ponytail, I just think that..."

Xavier smiled the whole way to your dorm room, listening to you rant about his hair. He could listen to you all day if he could. You were the most adorable person to him, and these half awake rants of yours always made him smile.

"Here we are," he said, opening the door to your dorm. He closed the door behind him, moving over to your bed to put you down.

As he basically tucked you into bed, you said something he didn't expect. "Did you mean what you thought? Back in the detention room, I mean."

"What do you mean?" He inquired, sitting down on the bed. His heart raced as he thought of all the possible things you could've seen in his mind back there, but he tried to remain calm.

"That you liked me. That you wanted to date me but you didn't wanna risk our friendship?"

Xavier gulped. It was now or never. "Would it be a good thing if I did?"

You smiled, sitting up. "It would be the best thing ever, because I like you too."

Xavier smiled, slightly leaning in. "Enough to go on a date with me?"

"Even more than that."

You closed the remaining distance between the two of you, lips melding together perfectly. Xavier put his hands on the sides of your face, while yours went to the back of his neck.

It was the best thing you have ever experienced. All those times you imagined kissing him didn't come close to the actual feeling. His lips were incredibly soft and he kissed you in a slow, passionate way that made you feel as if you were on cloud nine.

Unfortunately, air was still an important thing. The two of you pulled away from each other, hands still where they were during the kiss. Blushes covered both of your faces.

"That was- wow."

You laughed. "It really was. I never knew you were such a good kisser, Xavier."

"I have a couple of secret talents that you don't know about," he joked.

You laughed at that. Just as you were about to pull him back in for another kiss, your roommate, Yoko, entered the room.

"So, Xavier, you still gonna tell me that the two of you aren't a thing?"

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This was my first time writing Xavier, so I'm so sorry if this sucked. I hope that some of you thought it was okay, though. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you beautiful people next time. Bye!

#krys writes .ೃ࿐#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe x fem!reader

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lueurjun · 8 months

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━━━━ cupid’s pond. c.soobin

soobin x reader! — when you least expect it, love can find its way into your life; like a bolt of lightning, cupid's arrows can strike at any moment in the most unpredictable places.

deep into the forest where most dare to stay away, sits a pond which sparkles beneath the kind eye of the sun. lily pads dot around the water, bobbing gently with the quiet waves and the patch of grass dances smoothly with the breeze. a sweet symphony of birdsong fills the air, quieting it into an endless serenity.

not too far from the pond stands a majestic tree, its wisdom evident in the decades it has weathered. recently, it was blessed with the sight of something new—a budding love between two strangers who find solace in its quiet seclusion.

it was a chance encounter when you stumbled upon the pond a few months ago — more precisely, six months. a sunny lunchtime called for an escape into the depths of the forest — nothing to accompany you but the music streaming from your headphones that lulled you into a state of peaceful contentment. you had no idea how far away from civilization you had traveled until the stillness was broken by this tranquil body of water. and with no sounds of traffic or people in sight, it was the perfect spot to unwind.

the pond became your haven, a peaceful refuge from the worries of the world and an escape to a faraway land only the pages of a book could bring. you’d find solace in this quiet spot, burying your nose in literature and allowing yourself to be transported away from reality.

you had only stumbled upon the hidden oasis a week prior, but already it had become like a second home to you. here, you stumbled across soobin deep in thought beneath an ancient tree. a sketch pad was balanced on his lap and a kaleidoscope of coloured pencils lay scattered around him. he hadn't noticed your presence until you inadvertently let out a surprised shriek - it had been your secret hideaway, and you were surprised to know he'd found it too.

he hastily moved to apologize for intruding, explaining that he had been visiting this spot for months and was unaware that someone else knew about it. you assured him it was alright, gesturing for him to remain there since he had arrived before you. after a brief introduction, a peaceful albeit awkward silence fell between you two as you went about your business, occasionally engaging in pleasant small talk.

the two of you crossed paths more often after that, getting into a routine of sitting in each others presence beside the pond. soobin’s jovial jokes brought warmth to your heart and your snacks eventually doubled until it felt like a picnic just for the two of you. you found yourself eagerly anticipating these meetings, savoring the private moments that felt like a little slice of paradise.

six months later, a blossoming friendship was accompanied by two flourishing crushes.

it had been a crisp sunny day when cupid sprinkled his magic.

as usual, you arrived after soobin, but his face was not lit up with its familiar brightness. earphones plugged into his ears, the pencil in his fingers moved with vigorous strokes rather than his usual feather-light touch. the frown on his lips subdued his delicate features, and the shadows in his eyes seemed darker than ever before.

reaching down, you tenderly extracted one of his earbuds, successfully garnering his focus. His head jerked up abruptly and for a moment his expression was guarded, but then his whole demeanor softened as soon as your eyes met. instead of the usual practice of taking a seat opposite him, this time you plopped yourself down beside him. he couldn't help but allow a small smile to grace his lips.

you poked his dimple. “you look stressed, is everything okay?”

a breathy chuckle drifted into the wind at your action, sending the butterflies in your stomach absolutely feral.

“i had an argument with my friend, yeonjun. it’s left me feeling tense, sorry for not greeting you. i was lost in my thoughts,” he explained, his gaze conveying a sincere apology.

his voice was filled with warmth and sincerity, a soothing balm for even the most festering of wounds. he was always so compassionate; it was impossible to imagine him angry with someone. you couldn't even fathom the thought of him ever becoming raising his voice. he had told you all about yeonjun before, and the stories between them sounded like two inseparable partners in crime, making it easy to understand just how much this argument had impacted him.

there was a brief curiosity, perhaps your inner gossip, that prodded at you to ask what the argument was about—after all, we’re only human and curiosity is natural, but you knew better. it was soobin’s issue and if he wanted to tell you, then he would on his own accord.

“im sorry, is there anything i can do to help?”

he shook his head, declining with a simple but resolute no. while he was grateful for your kind offer, he wasn't sure anything could really help his somber mood. he shifted slightly and offered up the other bud of his earphones. "would you like to listen to some music with me?"

soobin’s playlist surprises you with its stark contrast to his persona, given the large presence of bebe rexha. It's almost amusing, yet it also stirs some strange sort of fondness within you. it makes you realize how little you know about him and just how much there is left to discover. you find yourself more intrigued by him than ever before and wanting to learn every single detail about who he is as a person.

the music cascades into your ears as you settle, and the once forceful strokes of his pencil become gentle as his previously annoyed countenance relaxes. you have never been so close to him before, yet there's something about it that attracts you; it's soothing. a sense of ease pervades your being.

so at ease that you naturally nestled your head into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his firm biceps. soobin paused for a moment and just as you were about to pull away, embarrassed that you had gone too far, he gently set his head upon yours and you were certain you could feel the warmth of his smile. a contented calm washed over both of you as the two of embrace in a blissful moment, completely lost in each other's company.

it’s uncharted territory, but the way he draws a cluster of hearts at the very top of the page reveals that there may be more to discover in this newfound intimacy. a warmth and excitement builds inside you at the thought of venturing into something unknown, yet full of potential.

who would have imagined that the secluded pond, nestled away in a forgotten corner of the forest, would be the very spot where cupid’s magic was set loose?

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

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Hiya, love your stuff, man. Could you do Joe and a artist!reader? Maybe she's trying to do his portrait and he just won't sit still cause he's a cheeky cumcum twat

i couldnt not write this (cheeky cumcum twat omg i love you) its a short one! Wordcount: 0.8K

-----

One Day

Joe caught you in the morning, pencil in hand, eyes fluttering from the paper in front of you to his features and back again. You were sat at the end of your bed, legs crisscrossed in front of you and with a sketch book on your lap. You’d woken up before Joe, the soft light filtering in indicating early morning, and had gotten up and out to pee. When you walked back into your bedroom, the vision of Joe still asleep looked stunning to you; arms tucked up under his pillow, his face buried deep into it, shoulder blades and mid-back exposed above the sheets laying bare his buttery soft skin – you had immediately reached for a pencil to put the sight of him to paper.

The sound of the pencil gliding along the paper, alternating between longer and shorter strokes, had woken him up a little. When he reached an arm for you and found you weren’t there, he’d looked up, finding you at the end of the bed.

“Baby, don’t move,” you gently directed, but Joe groaned softly, stretched, reached a hand to squeeze your ankle and smiled at you before turning over, completely changing his position and facing away from you as he tried dozing back off for some extra minutes of blissful sleep.

You looked at him a second after he resettled before discarding your original sketch, and starting a new one of him right next to it, focusing on the curls on the back of his head this time. Your whole sketchbook was like this; unfinished drawings of Joe, small bits of his body incomplete and facial expressions barely there in the lines.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” you’d always tell him. “I can physically feel your eyes burn on me,” Joe would always answer, shuddering with discomfort, mostly as a joke. “Just a little longer,” you’d encourage and you’d try to be so fast in your work, but Joe’d always falter.

Joe didn’t really like being drawn; the attention and eyes on him would make him uneasy if it lasted too long, which to him, it always did. He blamed it mostly on your eyes; they would change intensity when you’d stare to sketch. Your eyes could rapidly go from expressive, kind, smiley eyes to sudden fervent, observant ones. It was funny, because drawing him was exactly how you and Joe had met.

You’d been sat on the tube, sketch book in hand, drawing random things you’d see to pass the time. A dog laying by its owners feet. A man in a suit looking up at the tube map, counting the stops he still had to go every time the train stopped. A little girl hanging onto her mother’s hand, wearily eyeing the strangers around her. And then, when Joe sat down opposite you, you had drawn him. He’d been wearing headphones, and was reading the newspaper he’d found on the seat before he sat down. Whatever articles he’d been reading had distracted him enough not to have spotted you darting your eyes from him to your sketchbook repeatedly for the duration of his commute.

It wasn’t unlike you to miss your own stop to finish your sketches, but when Joe had gotten up to step off, you realised you’d missed your stop by 7 stations. A new record.

You’d followed him off the train, stopped him on the platform to give him the page ripped from your sketchbook with a shy smile, and then made your way to the opposite side to get onto a train that would take you back the way you’d come. It prompted conversation - the sketch, and the fact that you had clearly missed your stop. Your sketch then hadn’t been completely done, either, you would’ve missed 7 more stops if it meant you’d gotten to finish it. But Joe was impressed - your sketch was good. Furthermore, you also looked really cute.

And now here you were, seven months later, still without a full sketch of him that you considered done. Joe would joke that the second you would finish a drawing of him, you’d be straight out the door, onto your next project.

When after a few minutes of trying your hand at the back of his head, the early morning sunlight dancing along his strands, Joe moved again. This time he turned over onto his back, hiding the swirly shapes you'd found in his hair into the pillow. It made you groan softly, a little defeated. “One day,” you sighed, closing your sketchbook, placing it on your bedside table and sneaking back under the covers. You knew you’d be able to get some cuddles out of Joe still before his alarm would force him to wake up.

“One day,” Joe softly repeated you, not sure what you meant, still half asleep, but arms finding you and happy to have you there. He pulled you in and tucked you into his side, nuzzling into you and breathing you in as the sun slowly arose, breathing the day into existence.

-----

The Taglisted: @ghostinthebackofyourhead @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @jssmth5 @nobody-000 @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @thefemininemystiquee @dirtyeddietini - add yourself

#requested #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn fluff #joseph quinn fluff #joe quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfic #one day

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lemon-wedges · 1 year

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Just wanted to ask (and feel free to not answer), but how do you draw so much so quickly? I'm always impressed by how fast you doodle or paint. Also, wanted to say that I appreciate your Barok and DGS art as a whole.

and with this ask i have finally reached an artist milestone 😭

Well theres a short answer and a REALLY long answer (which ill put under cut when i get there).

short answer: practice + refs

which.....can be an annoying thing to hear. And as someone who studies art and has bought a LOT of online courses trying to figure out how industry people can just churn out work like nothing. it feels like a let down every time i find out their big secret. just practice and photo refs. Every. Single. Time.

LONG ANSWER:

its how you studying your refs. heres how i do mine

sorry if this is rambly. but ill try my best to at least be clear. BUT THIS is the EXACT way i taught myself how to be quicker.

I do not know if youve taken any art classes but essentially one of the ways to study gesture drawing is by first tracing ur photo ref to get a sense of the flow/proportions of the body. youve probably seen a billion of these tutorials floating around:

So last year around hmmmm june/july? i was NOT looking to get better at my anatomy or gesture. i was actually trying to get better at clothes. but my problem was it took me so long to draw out a figure (which i was fine with cause i liked how my people looked at the time) that i could never really just focus clothing part.

So i told myself look. ur not looking to draw in this style like this forever. so for now SIMPLIFY SIMPLIFY SIMPLIFY!!!! I WANT THE BAREBONES OF A HUMAN HERE TO MAKE A MANIQUIEN FOR CLOTHES OK

but how do i do that....

Im gonna use this piece as an example from my rise and yosuke fashion palooza month. FIRST u see i got all my photo refs together. i like those poses on the right and i want to switch out the clothes for the other ones i picked out. i trace out my poses. kind of like the tutorial up top but since this is about draping i was focused the exact places their waist/arms/legs/etc would bend.

and like the tutorial u turn off the photo ref and do a drawing based off that traced piece.

then i would turn on my refs and add on my clothes

And after a month of just doing that over and over and over. i was surprised to find that figures and poses were so much easier to understand when i would break them down like this. and once u get familiar with them the faster and more confidently you'll draw them.

I and still do this btw. heres my otasune from the last week

i used photo refs for all my sketches. if i cant find anything online to match what i want i just take photos of myself. and some might say well arent u just relying on reference TOO much?

AND AGAIN take it from someone who has spend a lot of money buying classes from their fav artists in the industry. The Secret of how they churn out so much cool work so fast always turns out to be this. practice and photo refs.

Every. Single. Time.(tho this is omitting a lot. im not getting into like they way they stylize their art work. that actually the fastest and funnest thing to do once u have ur base down)

Now PAINTING

The thing is, i dont actually post up all my work on this blog. So theres a ton of stuff you havent seen me do. These are some paintings i did 2 years ago for a class.

I already know how to pick my values and set up lighting. When you see me painting my figures now. i am not focused on learning these basics im actually just honing a technique.

you might see me post readmores with these kinds of wips. I lay in all my colors and lighting with the lasso tool. ALL THE MAJOR DECSIONS ARE DONE HERE

(the little miniature i add on the side basically tells me what the overall feeling is going to be when i blend in the lineart to be cohesive with my colors) ( also if you had any questions on my prepainting process tho. feel free to ask!!!)

and if you compare this wip to my finished piece youll actually find that i dont stray that far from what i've laid in.

everything happening at THIS stage is about feeling out how i want the textures to blend with one another and getting funky with some brush strokes.

and thats it? im not sure if any of this is helpful but if anything. i hope you come away from this feeling like what ive been doing here is nothing special. "THATS IT???? THATS ALL THERE IS??? well i could have done that :T"

exactly man. you can do ALL OF THIS aND MORE!!! I BELIEVE IN U :D

but ill let this be the last thing i leave u with my friend: my barok sketch and the refs i used for his boobies

#asks #ITS A LONG BOI #art advice #?

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giddlygoat · 1 year

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some of my thoughts on drawing, learning the accordion, and how they apply to each other.

i have been drawing my whole life. the last time i can remember feeling genuinely ashamed of my artistic skills was when i was probably 12. at some point i was able to look at my art and realize it wasn’t anywhere near perfect, and i became okay with that. nowadays, i have no anxiety about posting my art or leaving a piece with flaws, because i like my style and i’m comfortable enough in my skills and the knowledge that there will always be room for improvement to allow myself to simply enjoy what i create.

i have always been fascinated by the accordion. around age 11 i started considering learning to play it. by 13 i saw one at an antique store and seriously considering buying it for a long time, but did not. as the years go on i find that artistic burnout is becoming more of a frequent issue with me, and i often find myself desperately wishing i had a gratifying way of expressing myself other than drawing.

i’m always humming, and doing the mouth trumpet, and clicking and clapping out tunes all day. singing and scatting are some of my favorite pastimes. i can do all this but it’s not the same as playing an instrument. i feel like it can never quite extend past my fingertips; like i’m cranking out all this energy and excitement but it can’t go anywhere. it’s like not being able to get past the sketch when you have a whole painting inside you.

about three months ago, i finally picked up the accordion. i don’t know how to read music. my understanding of the technical side of music is pathetic, although i have a good natural sense for it, and now, a good teacher. i am scared.

i have all the usual beginner issues: my hands don’t know where to go, i’m not used to the weight of the instrument, and it feels alien in a way, just to name a few.

there’s another problem, too. i’m good at drawing.

everywhere i go, i see things i want to paint. i’m taking pictures of the pickled jalapeños and carrots at work because i want to study how they interact with the opaque black plastic container, all little dynamic shapes of green and orange swimming in vinegar. i’m watching a cat stretch and yawn on the concrete and lay down in a sunbeam that looks too heavenly to be real - it gives me an idea for a sketch.

i look at the arms of the man loading hay bales with me, and try to commit to memory how the muscles move under the skin, what foot he puts his weight on, how he wipes his forehead and shifts his weight. it makes me want to draw pages of people doing mundane things, studying how weight and action and stylization works together to create something satisfying and alive. i want to do the beauty of the universe justice.

when i open procreate to draw, i am not thinking of anything. my hands know where to go, i don’t even have to look at the buttons or tools to know what i’m doing, and all these complicated layers interacting with each other and their applied effects and backgrounds etc come like second nature to me now.

the first day i used procreate, i was so overwhelmed, i was afraid to touch anything.

the first day i held an accordion, it was the same.

my problem is that i know how to look at art and examine why techniques work or not, and i don’t quite have those skills when it comes to music. sure, i can slap beautiful harmony onto any song, but heck if i know what notes they are. i couldn’t tell you what key the song is in or what defines a measure.

and i realized that while now i am looking through this frosted glass trying to make out the basic shapes behind it, one day, i will be able to peel back the mystery and truly understand not only how this instrument functions, but how music flows, too. because i see art in everything. i understand the weight of people and objects and how they would interact in a cartoon. the colors of a blooming cactus in my yard become lemony saturated in the early light and pale and dusty in the late evening. i can see the line of action in characters and better understand the composition behind paintings, and why it works.

it’s my hope, that as time spent with my accordion goes on, i will start to see music in everything, too. there’s nothing i want more than to understand it and speak its language as i do with art. i want to someday pick up my accordion and make up a melody as i would sketch out a doodle. this is the kind of stuff i think about all day.

#thoughts #i know i like never make posts like this but i’ve been having these thoughts a lot lately and wanted to be able to look back on them later #accordion

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firefly--bright · 1 year

Text

without home (without you)

jean kirstein x gender neutral!reader

a blooming hearts extra!

warnings : heavy, heavy angst, grief, aot-verse violence mentions, manga chapter spoilers!!!!!! major character death (it's you lmao you're the character-) proceed w caution! can be read as a stand alone piece but reading blooming hearts would help :)

summary : an almost devastating need to be with you. his skin wanted to lay with yours. jean doesn't know what to do with his hands now that you're gone.

a/n : damn this was hard to write. i love writing angst but mmm this was kinda tricky cause it's about poppy, yk? i had to do alot of digging on Jean's character and watched a few videos about it too, just to get this perfect. i hope it was worth it and that you guys would like this :) engagement is very appreciated!

tagging : @a10vely-yutazen taglist is open!

✿ blooming hearts playlist ✿ fic pinterest board ✿ enter my taglist ✿ main masterlist is in pinned navigation ✿ requests are open! ✿

fanart in the middle by @/gemmsen on Instagram.

Jean didn’t realise his bones hurt this much.

He knew they’d hurt after all the years being spent in relentless fighting, but he didn’t know they'd hurt this much. He assumed the pain would go away as soon as he lead a more relaxing life, but it seemed to stay.

His mother had opened the door to his childhood house with a wide grin and tearing escaping her eyes. She never cried when he was a kid – a sign jean took for her strength. But when she stood infront of him, head near his weary but beating heart, he heard her sob. And out of all things she could do, she thanked him.

Him. she thanked him.

And what for? For returning empty handed? Returning with less than he had started out with? Returning without bringing you?

He had promised her in those letters he wrote to her almost every other month that he’d bring you along with him when he would finally come back home after all these years. That his mother would love you and show you around jean’s childhood garden and make you his favourite food in hopes you’d love it too. he wondered if his mother was waiting for you as much as she was waiting for him.

But the wait would have been futile anyway. You would never grace his old house, your soft footsteps would never pad along his childhood room that still had his old drawings and sketches and clothes that he bet his mother still kept in his closet, collecting dust.

He hugged his mother close to his chest. After he was ushered inside by the older woman, she had promptly made him tea with milk the same way he’d drink it as a child and some toast with a little bit of sugar sprinkled on top. The same toast you had tried to make in Marley after he told you about his old favourite treat. he remembered you putting a little too much sugar on it, and when jean complained about it, you just shrugged and told him his bitter attitude would be fixed if he ate the whole thing.

He ate the whole thing. Not to fix his ‘bitter attitude’ but to see your smile on your face as you prepared to make the second piece of toast, this time with less sugar.

His mother talked about all the things he’d missed. She talked about how Mr. Thompson’s boy ran away one time, and how he came back at night after he became too hungry. The boy’s mother had given him a beating after that, jean’s mother recalled. Jean smiled as he blew his tea to cool it, something he had to now get used to doing by himself. You’d always make the tea hot and let it cool down as jean slept through the sunrise. The commander position had been too much for him to handle as he sat through sleepless nights trying to complete the endless paperwork and future plans himself. You’d try to stay up by his side, but ended up passing out after having to help armin with the new train track plans the entire day in the blazing paradis sun. the milky tea would cool down to be a temperature which jean actually enjoyed sipping it in, so in some ways, the sleeplessness would be worth it.

He remembered you trying out coffee for the first time in Marley. Your nose scrunched and eye twitched as you drank the bitter liquid, but you tried to maintain your composure infront of the azumbito who had so kindly offered you the drink. The cup went untouched after the first sip. Jean had to finish it off so you wouldn’t feel bad about being rude to your hosts, and with his stone face as he sipped the wretched thing, he saw your shoulders relax a bit. He remembered thinking he would make you pay him back, but for now, it would be worth it.

his mother knew better than to ask him about his experiences. She remembered when he wrote that letter describing when jean found his dear friend dead. The letter was one of the first he had ever written to her. It was short and to the point, but jean’s mother treasured it nonetheless. His mother told jean how there had been a shortage of apples for a while now, so her horse in the stable hadn’t seen his favourite treat for a long time. She left out the part where she would look at the empty stable next to her own horse, the one occupied by jean’s father’s horse.

Jean’s father had always been a touchy subject in the Kirstein household. Jean himself had his mother’s last name due to the reason, refusing to take his fathers. He’d leave and return at random times of the year, claiming something about “having work” which jean, even as a child, didn’t believe. He would almost always return an ungodly amount of time later, in the late hours of the night, claiming he missed his ‘wife’ even though the ring on jean’s mother’s hand was long gone, kept in the drawer in her closet. She told jean that she would give the ring to him when he decided to get married himself so that it could be like a family heirloom instead of something that made her see the man that she grew to hate.

She had kicked jean’s father out soon after she got better after being sick, when jean had been in the second year of his cadet training. She wrote the news to him in a letter that went unanswered for a long time. Jean didn’t acknowledge it until after the war in trost, when he diligently answered his mother’s letters – new and old – after you had told him to treat his mother better. He realised his stupidity the night you told him that after the close call to his death, he might as well tell his mother he was alive and somewhat well and that his teenage rage bullshit with his mother would only keep hurting the woman.

He detailed his apology in the next letter he wrote to her. She brushed his stupidity aside, saying she forgave him. she then asked about you in the letter.

Jean’s next letter was three whole pages long, front and back.

As he cleaned up from the warm and much needed dinner after a long day's travel, he wondered if she still kept that letter.

Jean wished he could go back. he wished he was here with you instead of alone. He wished you rode your horse alongside his and complained about how your back was hurting because of the long journey. Jean wished he could massage your back to relive you of the discomfort like how he used to after you had been slumped on your desk for too long.

he tried to swallow down the lump in his throat, shifting his attention to cleaning the dishes.

But how could he focus? Your hands weren’t wrapped around his waist, cheek pressed on his back like you used to back in Marley, in your shared apartment supplied by the Azumabito’s as the scouts tried to act like normal Marleyans and somehow gather information about the military and whereabouts of the suicidal maniac. But in your little home, coated in beautiful silence, you and jean were just…that. Just people. Not trying to stay alive on the rooftops of trost while fighting cannibalistic giants, not infront of your friend’s and old commrades’ graves asking for forgiveness, not a commander and his assistant. You were just two people, sharing a house, doing the dishes after eating dinner, with your feet touching the same ground, warm skin touching warm skin.

Jean sighed. The basin was a relatively new invention to paradis, and he was glad for that. He couldn’t imagine dipping his hand in the dirty water like he had to during his cadet days after you had been separated from him to clean up the stables.

Stop thinking, he tried to will himself with futile results.

Missing you would be an understatement. Missing you would be saying that you were only gone for a couple of days. Missing you sounded more like a promise, like a hope that you'd come back to him and he’d stop missing you. he wasn’t grieving you, either. He grieved marco. He grieved sasha. He grieved the commrades that died on his command, and he knew for a fact that grief wasn’t what he felt for you.

No, this felt more like… an ache. Residing deep in his muscles because they couldn’t hold you, residing deep in his lungs because they couldn’t smell the scent you left behind – the freshly washed clothes and the smell of flowers. After you had discovered perfumes in marley, it was over for you. you tried every single one, finally settling on the one marked as “pure blossom” and jean remembered calling it a stupid name because they could’ve just named it “flowers” instead of something pretentious, but the smile on your face made him pull his wallet out anyway.

The ache, as he decided to call it, was more dangerous than the grief. The ache felt more like a habit he had left behind instead of memories that would rush into his head. Habit of seeing you wake up next to him, of seeing you cutting up vegetables alongside him, of you strapping on his ODM gear. Things you had done to him a million times before, things he couldn’t call memories because memories would imply that he was going to forget them soon, or that he was intending to bury them with his countless other memories, but for him it felt like a cycle. Like the spinning of the candy floss he bought for you at your first carnival in the interiors of paradis as a cadet.

He hadn’t notice his mother walking back into the kitchen when she laid a hand on his shoulder. He had subconsciously stopped scrubbing the dishes, his hands frozen under the running water.

“I’ll clean up the rest, jean-bo. I set up your bed, so go and sleep.” She said.

Jean breathed. Nodding, he wiped his hands on the napkin next to him.

His upstairs room, as suspected, had been left untouched. He assumed there would be dirt everywhere, but jean’s mother seemed to have cleaned it. He sighed an affectionate smile.

The air in his room smelt like old wood soaked in rain. He padded his feet over to the window near his closet to let some fresh night air inside.

resting his chin on his palm, he looked out the now open window. The moon was full and beautiful, and under his room was the perfect view of the garden his mother was so fondly and patiently growing.

The moonlight gave just enough light to the flowers she grew. If memory served jean correct, some were tulips with their closed buds. Some were uncanny to white roses, but he wouldn’t know with the dim lighting. His eyes wandered the place, observing the flowers in the different staged of being bloomed, until they landed on them. The poppies.

The red flowers looked almost purple with the moon’s glow and the indigo night sky, but that didn’t stop jean from recognizing them, not after everything.

“poppy.” He whispered.

“poppy. Poppy. Poppy.” He repeated, like he thought saying it enough times would bring you back. he remembered how sasha had told him that if you say a name of a dead person three times infront of a mirror, their apparation would appear infront of you. sasha was from a small village, and the extents of her superstitious knowledge never failed to surprise jean, and he brushed her off saying it was just something her grandmother would have made up.

But although jean didn’t have a mirror infront of him, he hoped the conviction in his voice would do the trick. He hoped his tears would mold you out of the ground you had sank in after death, he hoped his hand pressed to his chest would breathe life to your sculpture and that you'd be here, infront of him, glowing beneath the moonlight, no longer in a pool of your own blood on the cold floor, that your warmth would be yours again.

But all he did was sob and repeat your nickname in between the pleads of your name, soon becoming incoherent and jumbled mush. His right hand was pressed on the centre of his chest where it hurt the most, where the only thing that would heal it would be your signature kisses to it, like your own handmade key. Like how his was on the tip of your nose. His left hand clasped his ear, hoping he would hear the sweet tunes of your voice again, but all he heard instead were his sobs and the gunshot that killed you.

But one of his wishes was granted. If he were not to hear you or touch you or feel you again, he could at least see you as he closed his eyes tightly. He saw the first time he’d seen you without your clothes, only in your undergarments. The curtains of his room were closed, as you both laid on his cool bedsheets. Jean’s eyes roamed your body, marking every bruise, fresh and old, and every scar, new and healing and healed. He remembered asking himself why the priests in the churches prayed to a god in the walls when his god was here, infront of him, breathing, and how they could ever worship something that wasn’t even half as real yet holy as you, how they could plead to the sky when you were intertwining his pinky with yours, and how they could devote to their readings even if they could never find the words you say to him in the scriptures. How could they worship someone who has never touched them the way you had to him, your hands now tracing his jaw, trailing down to his adams apple as he swallowed, then to all the scars on his chest and arms, the ones he’d always kept covered. Did the gods they worshiped make them feel free of all their sins as they claimed to the same way he felt his sins wash away as you held his hand? Jean was never the religious type, but he did remember thinking, no, knowing, that there had to have been some god in you. that you had to be a god. And of course, he couldn’t say these things out loud in a way that would make sense, so he just continued to look at you as his eyes fluttered shut that night.

His mothers hand encircled his shoulders as she sat down beside him, back pressing the wall with the window jean was previously looking out of.

his mother guided him to sit at the edge of his clean bed. she sat on the edge of the mattress, and jean instinctively rest the back of his head against her knees.

it was something they used to do - whenever jean would be bullied, which happened quite a lot, his mother would ask him to sit on the floor as she massaged his head and took away all his worries. he'd rant to her about the boys with raspy voices and bruised knuckles would pick on him and him only, while his mother reminded him he was special, that he was okay, that the boys only did that to him because they lacked the confidence jean had.

and when jeans mother, once again, brushed her hand through his hair, his sobs ceased. he still wanted to scream, burst out in the tears that he had already exhausted to an extent, but instead, he sat there with wet eyelashes and cheeks with closed eyes, thinking about you and the things he wished would happen. that's the only thing he could do, he realised. all he could do now was wish and dream and picture a life with you by his side instead of living the horrid reality without you.

his mother broke the silence. "tell me about them," she asks.

she doesn't have to; she knows everything there is to know about poppy from her point of view by Jean's numerous letters detailing his experiences which somehow always consisted you. but she asked anyway. maybe because she wished someone would have asked her about jean's father when he left because not only did she have so much to say, she felt as though if she didn't, then it would be less real. then it would be all in her head. and if her son was anything like her, he was feeling the same way right now.

jeans hands shook, something he had grown used to since being a scout and waking up with nightmares; only this time, you weren't with him, holding his palms with your fingers until they stopped moving feverously. with one of his hands on his chest and the other in his lap, he took seven deep breaths in the same way marco had taught him. inhale, hold for a couple seconds, and then exhale. he repeated that until he gained his voice again, until he was sure the lump in his throat had dissolved a little.

with his mother's hands still in his hair, Jean found the strength to speak. he opened his mouth.

“they… the first time we talked, they called me flower boy.” He said hoarsely, and even if he had exhausted his tears for atleast two weeks, his eyes still burnt from a memory he couldn’t go back to. He saw it clearly, as if it were yesterday; the dining hall was packed, the smell of moist old wood and stale bread and steamed vegetables stained the atmosphere. The fire lamp behind you hit the side of your face, and he heard your voice clear as the night sky outside – “flower boy” you had said and if jean had food in his mouth, he was sure he would’ve spit it out.

“it wasn’t even..” jean smiled sadly, “it isn’t even a romantic nickname like honey or babe or sweetheart but it still made me choke up and blush. I think it was the fact that it was a personal nickname that I knew they wouldn’t call anyone else. and we had this stupid competition where we’d see who could go through the forest faster with our new ODM gear and one time they crashed into me because they lost control and I was on crutches for the next two weeks and they felt so guilty about it that they made me a flower crown every other day. I wasn’t even mad at them, not really. I just wanted them to continue making the flower crowns so I pretended to be mad at them.” He said. His voice regained it’s strength, palms facing upwards on his lap, taunting him as they lay there empty without yours intertwined in them.

His mother hummed knowingly. She knew what it was like to be in the crutches of strong teenage love, feeling like she had an entire world to explore with this newfound vision. How she wished she could go back and tell her younger self to enjoy that rose-coloured feeling while it lasted.

“and they never stopped calling me that. It felt wrong for someone else to call me that,” jean explained, and he felt his hand drift to the centre of his chest, feeling his heart beat. It seemed calm now, he noted, how the rhythmic vibration didn’t seem as erratic as before. maybe his mother was right, maybe all he needed to do was talk about you.

But how long would it take? How long would he have to blabber on about you, which he would do very gladly, for his still beating heart to know that you were no longer here? That you weren’t the reason it would flutter and thrum against his chest? how much longer would he have to keep reminding himself that you wouldn’t stop him in his tracks if you ever spotted a poppy on your way to a bakery in marley?

“I don’t think I can….i don’t think I can live without them, ma. It hurts. It hurts so much.” The cold hand on his chest started shaking again. “I don’t want to open my eyes without them. I don’t want to…I don’t know what to do, ma, what do I do? What do I do with all of what I’ve felt and keep feeling for them?” he asks raspily, desperately, like his mother would know the answers to questions she herself hadn’t been able to answer. Jean turned his head towards her, placing his cheek on her lap as he closed his eyes once more. If his mother couldn’t answer him, surely the darkness would be able to do something, right?

“sweet heart… I will be honest, I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t. its like your hands don’t know what to hold anymore, isn’t it?” she paused. “I wont pretend to know what you’re feeling. But all I can say is that you keep loving them, jean-bo. Preserve it. Keep it locked up only for them. And then, when time comes, and when your chest stops aching so, you can let it go.” She says.

Jean shakes his head, “but what if my chest never stops hurting?”

His mother doesn’t answer.

Jean knew at a young age that his mother didn’t always know the answer. Where other boys would spew facts and trivia about the world as their mother told them, jean’s mother would only answer him with an apologetic look and a “you’ll know soon enough jean-bo. And when you do, be sure to tell me.” and sometimes jean would be jealous of the other boys for having a mother like theirs, but he would shake away that jealousy quickly enough, coming home to his mother with an unbuttoned shirt, crying because the button broke off during a rather aggressive play of catch, and his mother would quickly sew on a shiny new button to it’s original place.

He learnt that his mother may not have all the answers to the world, but atleast she’d know how to fix them. How to fill in the cracks of the questions to make it her own wall.

But now he was here, on his mother’s lap, asking her to fix his broken heart, asking her to fix his collapsing lungs and shaking hands, looking for answers he knew he couldn’t find. He knew you took the answers with you, and he knew the threads you so intricately wove into him, into his veins, were unravelling until there would be nothing but a husk of a body he once knew only through your stitches.

His mother took his shaking hands in her own, forcing him to sit up straight. Her thumbs rub over his scarred knuckles. She lets out a sigh.

“I don’t know.” She mutters. Its an apology.

He doesn’t know either. He’s sorry too.

#jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x you #aot #marco bodt #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #sasha braus

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dianneking · 1 year

Text

The Painter (Larissa Weems snippet)

Taking a page out of the great @writerswho ‘s book, I had a snippet I loved that needed to be cut for plot reasons out of my longfic, so I decided to post it here as a standalone.

TW: mentions of drug use, off-screen death.

There had been a painter, almost a decade ago. He had paid her for hours on end, just to pose for him, as he desperately tried to recreate her resemblance on canvas.

He had been obsessed with her different shapes, his atelier becoming filled with sketches and drafts, until Larissa could only see herself around it anytime she visited. She had been both honored and disturbed by his devotion, asking herself if anything good would ever come out of it.

As it often happens with these things, it turned out she didn’t need to worry, as he had died shortly after, mere months since laying eyes on her for the first time (months that had felt like a whole lifetime, though).

He left her in his will the last painting he had been working on, the one that was supposed to become his masterpiece. The one over which his body had collapsed as the cocktail of chemicals and desperation he had had running through his body had finally decided to take his life.

It was a raw, gloriously unfinished painting, her hands and eyes the only details that stood out, completely finished and shadowed, among the rough, blurry lines and flat colors of the rest. It was disturbing and beautiful.

Larissa felt like it captured her essence in a way that no photograph ever could. She still had that painting, hung over her bed, silently watching over her when she slept.

It was a part of herself, a precious memory, even if touched by darkness. One of the many pieces that made up the kaleidoscopic puzzle that was Larissa Weems.

Like the way I write? check out my fanfiction masterlist!

#larissa weems #larissa weems fanfiction #Gwendoline christie cult #gwendoline christie characters #dianneking #dianneking fanfiction #wednesday fandom #wednesday the series #wednesday netflix fanfiction #principal weems #principal weems fanfiction #tw drugs #tw death

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year

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Aaaaa

Your blog is so inspiring,

Like truly I’m finding it easy to design and flesh out my monster OC’s because of you!!

Your world building is spectacular, and the way you connect your characters to one another? Chef’s kiss.

I adore your art so much! I especially like how you draw Claws! And dicks

Whats your process when designing your monsters? All their designs are so cool and it makes me jealous lol

[Hhrnsg- Thenk! /////]

It's funny you mention being jealous, I'm never content with what I make (which is typical for creative types), and I often avoid exposing myself to things I know will make me jealous unless I'm doing it to learn. Anyhow, I assume you're talking about visual design?

It's... Well, I don't really have a standard process. I doodle a lot. A whole lot. See, the fun thing about making monsters for me is that you don't have to adhere to anatomical standards, you're not confined to anything unless you want to be. So I just like making shapes go stupid. Most of the time, I don't even have a concept of personality and role yet, I just draw monsters aimlessly, save sketches and then slowly piece a narrative together. In fact, I've used sketches I had laying around for years to make newer characters. Hellion is one of those examples, as his concept sketch was left sitting in my gallery for months and used as soon as I acquired a concept.

I'm not too sure what to say, because sometimes designs come very easily to me, other times I spend months on them (*cough* Vorticia *cough*).

The narrative started out as something very small. First there was Ludwig, then there was Krulu, and I strung them together. Many other characters came and went before I started putting together a "beta" cast of characters with no real affiliation to each other, then the idea of an establishment came to mind. I spent a lot of time mulling over it, and up until then, the narrative only existed confined to the walls of The Clergy's Eye. I tested the waters, adding more and more exterior lore onto it, and now I basically have a whole world in my hands that, while pretty undefined, holds potential to be coherent. Point is, I'd recommend starting small and going with the flow, unless you already have something very defined in your mind.

Nowadays, my character design is a little less spontaneous and moreso born out of necessity. To fill important holes in my lore I previously never had to consider. That's not to say they're any less fun, I enjoy having some guidelines.

#unrelated⭐️#notamonsterfucker

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hypnotisedfireflies · 11 months

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Hi Arien! Were there any major or minor plot points in Driftersverse that almost happened but didn't? Would love to learn about any and all tidbits you feel like sharing. Thank you <3

Okay ... this is fun, thanks for asking. <3 I'm going to remember what I can. Most of the stuff that almost happened but didn't I've been able to cover off in some of the prompts, by expanding things.

Speaking of, at the risk of being George Lucas, there is actually an additional chapter I plan to slot in early to Dawn. It's something that is subtly throughout but I realised I didn't give it proper gravity until it was better embellished in one of the prompts. So yeah that's a thing. But anyway, on to your question proper:

Ash was not originally a villain. He was going to be with them awhile longer and then die as a sacrificial lamb. He was still a dick, though.

Mike was not originally dead, but missing. He and Tess got separated and she was in a camp with their son, who died a couple of years in when that camp got overrun.

I never meant for him to come back, though. It was just going to be one of those 'lost in the chaos' things and Tess would eventually accept he was gone.

Keisha was more villainous and less mixed up. In fact, the whole scene with Tess and Joel in the park at night happened because Keisha was supposed to see them and then make certain accusations that would get Joel in trouble. And because it was rough, she didn't register the consent, it just hearkened back to her own trauma.

Tess was going to take care of it in a way that would make things look like an accident but I just felt it was all over too dark and melodramatic and stupid.

I wrote about 3000 words of this btw

It just felt more interesting to me that Keisha was broken and harmless.

But this plot meant Rachel didn't leave with them because she figured out what Tess did.

Which was the original plan, Tess was going to choose Joel over Rachel but it just seemed dumb to me. I mean ... she could have both. There was no reason to make Rachel a villain for the sake of it, it seemed more interesting that she would be a gradual ally and form her own bond with Joel.

Plus I realised that if things were going to work, I needed to get Tess to a place of healing that he finds at the end of TLOU, so I started laying plans for that instead.

There was a lot of stuff in Indy that I didn't dwell on but wish I had, so I'm really glad for the prompt that led me to write Spite, so I could expand on that. I wish I had spent more time in Indy, but Tess didn't know what was going on behind the scenes so I couldn't really write it ... plus pacing etc etc.

I had planned on going into the consequences of all those pills and alcohol a bit more but there just wasn't really room to give it the full treatment so I just dropped it. I have sort of left it there a bit? There's some stuff coming up in Miss World that elaborates more on what I wanted to establish with Tess and her relationship with pills, and I sketched it out a little in Shots Fired!, but I did intend them to be a bit more fucked up on that kind of stuff at one point.

Ricardo was supposed to live longer than he did but he also got the sacrificial lamb treatment. (I would actually like to write more about those happy months with the four of them travelling around.)

There was a thing where they were going to travel by motorbike for awhile but that's happening in the AU instead. >.>

#driftersverse #asks

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mirum-wonder · 1 year

Text

MARCH OF ROBOTS...

MARCH OF SHMOBOOTS...

MARCH OF WHAT EVER... 🤖😱💀

After a week of exhausting day job with overtimes and sometimes even with a lack of time for a lunch break I observed myself being not capable of finding time to work on more robots designs for this years March of robots and seeing that I started to feel very disappointed in myself for not being capable to keep up with the pace of other artists posting robot arts daily or almost daily... while I'm not finding time to finish the so called SHADOW prompt thing (SHADOW - that's a prompt name from their official prompt list, you'll find it below) 😔

As you may notice it's far from finished and many things will change in the final version.

But now then I think about it, if I was doing quick sketches or something more simple looking, perhaps more silly or even cartoony perhaps I would find time to make it daily, but I wanted to do more polished arts for march of robots. I really like to do all those details, cables, joints and pistons trying to make my robots in a specific way thinking about how arms, legs and other parts will bend or turn in the final version, although I'm not an engineer or a mechanic I really find a very vast plain for self improvement in projects like that making all those mechanical parts and thingies detail by detail I'm trying to practice my conceptual skills and evolve in it at least a bit. Mostly I'm trying to make my finalised robots in the way that I could pose or rigg the whole thing later to make them look more dramatic and expressive in final pictures 🤖

But unfortunately it takes more time than I can spend combining it with a social obligations and a day time job... So where things got out of hands? I went to official march of robots instagram to check out the date on the post when they announced the prompt list for this years MOR2023 🤖

Booom! Turned out that I'm a slowpoke... I remembered about the challenge that takes place during March only the day the March started 🤪 No sh*t Im not keeping up with the pace 🙄 If I wanted to make arts the way I intended them to be, then I should start working on arts since day one after they anounced the prompt list, I would had an extra month of time to make some arts before the March starts 😅⌚🤖 But unfrotunetelly that was my first ever try to participate in a online art challenge and now I learend one big lesson... If I want to participate in somethimg like that next time then I shold start doing arts in advance as aerly as possible since the info about the challenge usually gets to be announced some time prior the challange itself... So...yeah... the more you know 😭 but any way... I decided to stop trying to catch up with the March Of Robots 2023 challenge pace, that would be healthy for me since for the scope of work I'm already month late. Sure thing I'll finish this Shadow prompt guy here and make an artwork with it, and perhaps I'll do few more artworks for the prompt list but that's basically it 🤖 Oh... and also there are some old robot artworks of mine that are laying around on my hard drive waiting for a good occasion to be published... So I think I'll post some of them this month... cuz you know...it's march and I have some old robots 😅

But the good news are is that I'm not done with online art challenges. I have made my research on this topic and googled out all the potential dates challenge themes out there to see if I can find something interesting and suitable for me. And yeh... It appears almost all year different art challenges are happening all over the internet and on different platforms. For example apart from all known INKTOBER there is KAIJUNE and KAIJULY (a fun challenges where you make/draw giant Kaiju monsters) 🐲🦖🕷️ cool huh? And many more...

I do not know If I will take part in those 2 particularly but I decided to give a try to join in to another art challenge that is coming soon... it's not started yet but it can/will start any day now (specific date is not announced yet) and yet again I found out about it later then I should have and I'm already risking to run out of time if it will start for example tomorrow, but since the official start of the challenge was not yet announced maybe I have few extra days before the start to make few artworks in advance 😁 At least I'm hoping so since I already started to make something for that challenge... Something BIG... And I hope I'll get better luck posting ~30 artworks for a whole month this time 😁😂😅

I wonder if someone is even reading my stuff? 🤔

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izzy-b-hands · 1 year

Text

There’s a moment or two of gentlebeard in this, but tbh? it’s v in the background bc the main focus is everyone realising that Ed does in fact miss Jack (we’re setting this past the Big Reunion Point, all of that has been squared away by this fic kdlfjsakj) and

That he might not be dead.

So of course they’ll need to go look, just in case, and ask around, bc even if he is dead, Ed deserves to know for sure, to grieve properly (even if he and Jack were pissed at each other at the time of Jack’s potential death, there are still Feelings, ya know?)

Happy ending with new crewmates being added to the team though!

Genuinely, this is all the best I can describe this. I entered a fugue state of some sort while writing this, I swear skfjdklafj.

---

“I’m not bothered by it,” Ed insists.

Multiple times.

Without being asked about Jack or anything in regards to Jack at all.

“He’s definitely not actually okay with it, is he?” Olu suggests, after the captains have gone to bed.

“No,” Izzy replies from where he’s wedged between Roach and Frenchie. “But I figured it would be best if I didn’t say anything, this time around.”

“You’ve known this whole time-”

“Look, what has being vocal gotten me in the last few months?” Izzy interrupts. “Would you be so eager to speak up and mention that your captain seems affected by the death of a...”

He frowns. “Jack was a lot of things.”

“Is he dead though?” Frenchie asks. “Like, I’m thinking about it now. Did anyone really check?”

Silence, minds churning away.

“I don’t recall that any of us saw his body,” Roach says slowly. “But he can’t have survived that.”

“Can’t he have? Would it shock anyone if he did?” Frenchie continues. “I say we keep an eye out for him first. Ask around at the next few ports, ask anyone we raid, anywhere we stop, we check.”

“Not a bad idea,” Izzy nods. “Worst case, he really is dead, and we can deal with that once we have it confirmed.”

They all lay back down to sleep, but no one actually sleeps.

There’s too much to wonder about in how even Calico Jack might have survived a cannonball to the gut.

“But have you actually seen him?” Izzy asks Jackie softly. “In the flesh?”

“How the fuck else would I see a person, but also,” Jackie replies. “I don’t like what that phrasing implies. I didn’t like him that way. Love the money he spent here, but otherwise?”

“No, I know,” Izzy says. “Just...it’s for Ed. We need to know for sure.”

“I can put word out,” Jackie nods. “He owe anything to Ed?”

“No, it isn’t like that. He just wants to know...to know for sure, if Jack is dead or not.”

“Most emotional ship on the water,” Jackie rolls her eyes.

“It isn’t the worst thing.”

“It isn’t, but I don’t allow crying in here. One person goes, then someone else asks why, they hear it and start crying, then I got a whole fucking thing on my hands,” she continues. “You know my rules. No exceptions, not even for Blackbeard.”

“Fair enough. You’ll write me if you hear anything then?”

“About all I can do, unless you want us to take him hostage, hold him here, and then write you so you can come here and see him yourself.”

Izzy ponders it. “That would work too.”

“Consider it done. If he isn’t dead, and if he isn’t weirdly greasy like last time.”

“Did you ever find out what he had all over himself?”

Jackie shakes her head, a grave look on her face. “And now, I don’t wanna know. Better not to know.”

Izzy nods, and thinks how ridiculous it is he almost misses those antics of Jack’s.

Almost.

“So, he did look like Jack?” Jim asks. “The guy you saw swimming near here?”

Their Nana nods. “Based on this lovely sketch-”

“Thank you,” Lucius interjects. “That’s from memory, by the way.”

“Really? What else do you draw?”

“Well-”

“This isn’t what we’re here for,” Jim cuts him off with huff. “If you see him again, write me.”

“I can do that. And in the meantime-”

“Yes, Roach is trying the cake recipe,” Jim sighs. “I promise. He said he’ll write to you if he runs into any issues, though I don’t know what fucking good that does-”

“Tell him to write anyway, I want to hear how it goes no matter what. Now, back to this young man with the talented hands: could I bother you to sketch my Jim before you go back to the ship?”

“I really don’t care,” Ed scoffs. “But the concern is appreciated.”

“Hm,” Stede remarks. “So, what are we naming the new kittens that Fang rescued?”

“Jerry, Jemaine, Jaclyn, Jack-” Ed pauses. “Okay, so I have been the one naming them all, but the names are a coincidence.”

“Look, I have to be honest,” Stede sits by Ed on their newest stolen couch. A nice yellow, but not overly bright, satin. “I didn’t care for him.”

“You don’t fucking say? I’d never have guessed it,” Ed smiles.

“But, that said...even if we don’t care for someone, when they die-”

“I think I know that,” Ed interjects. “That even if you didn’t love everything about them, even if you were really fucking mad at them by the time they died, you can still miss them and think hey, Jack would have loved those kittens, and-”

Ed stands.

“Ed?”

“M’good,” Ed grunts, but he won’t look at Stede.

“Did he like cats? I figured he was more of a dog person,” Stede continues softly.

Ed drops back down beside him, and into his arms. “He liked all animals, even fucking snakes. He used to get rid of them for me, and I took care of spiders for him.”

“Scared of them?”

“He’d kill me if I told you, but yeah. Not a lot, just enough that he didn’t want to touch them if he didn’t have to,” Ed replies. “Fuck.”

“Maybe I’d like him better if I knew more about him.”

There’s a beat before Ed laughs. “You almost said that like you meant it.”

“I do! Kind of,” Stede mumbles. “I’m sure he was...okay, sometimes.”

Ed’s crying, but laughing as he does. “You’ve got to stop; you’re killing me.”

“I’m trying!”

“I know; I appreciate it,” Ed wipes away tears. “This is really fucking confusing for me, this moment.”

“Lot of conflicting emotions.”

“Too many, arguably,” Ed sobs. “I don’t know that I would have forgiven him right off the bat, but-”

“You didn’t get the chance to find out,” Stede rubs his back and peers out the nearest window.

It’ll take the crew time to check the various spots they’ve asked or begged people to take mail for them. They’ve been gone all of half an hour, and he did tell them to shop and eat and relax a bit too.

But he’d like them to be back now, for Ed’s sake.

“I like your look,” a voice purrs. “I’m into the beige sort of thing myself.”

Jim turns. “How long have you been standing in the corner here? Not saying anything, waiting for me to notice you, like a fucking creep?”

“Actually, I just walked up,” Jack smiles. “I promise! Thought up my line a good six feet away.”

“And how long did that take you?”

“In my defense,” Jack slowly opens up his vest and lifts up his shirt slightly. “As you can see, I’ve got a bit of an injury I’m recovering from. Man has to take it easy, go a little slower, in times like these.”

Jim stares at the gnarled wound in his gut. “Weird question. What’s your name?”

“That’s...not a weird question,” Jack chuckles. “Jack. Calico Jack, to some. Jackie, to a few people, more than you’d think! James to my grandmother, god rest her soul. She wasn’t confused; she just really thought James fit me better.”

“I need you to come with me,” Jim grabs his arm.

“And why should I do that?”

“Because...” they pause and think of what the rest of the crew has told them about Jack. “We’re having a wine tasting on our ship. And we have spare places, so if you’re into that-”

“Wine! Well, what fancy motherfuckers have I found,” Jack snorts. “Sure. Lead on.”

“Hey,” Olu dips his head into their quarters. “So, can you two get dressed up fancy quickly?”

Stede nods.

“You don’t care why?”

“I suppose I should. Why?”

“Because we found him,” Olu grins. “But, per the relay chain, they told him he was being invited to a wine tasting on here.”

“Oh! Do we have any wine?” Stede asks. “I don’t think we do.”

“We don’t, but Roach is working on getting us some,” Olu replies. “Ed, you ready to see him?”

“I’d like to believe it’s him,” Ed sighs. “Hearing that you’ve all been trying to find him behind my back...explains why we’ve been stopping so often, actually. Not that I mind the extra shopping, time to stretch the legs, but-”

“That’s a yes,” Stede interrupts. “We’ll be ready.”

The galley is suitably full of wine (almost to excess, but no one is complaining) when Jim and Jack follow in the crew’s footsteps and return to the ship.

“Wow,” Jack’s eyes go wide as they enter the galley. “That is...y’all okay?”

“What do you mean?” Jim asks. “We were completely out. Now we don’t have to stock up for awhile.”

“Rum is cheaper.”

“You’re the one that called us fancy motherfuckers,” Jim smiles. “You wait here, and I’ll go get the other guests.”

“Kind of a weird setup for a wine tasting,” Jack says, but Jim is already out the door. “Wonder if they got cheese too. Can’t have wine-”

“Without cheese,” Ed says as he steps into the galley.

“That was the dorkiest fucking thing I have ever heard,” Lucius sighs, but Stede slaps his arm. “Don’t be like that; you heard it too!”

“Well, well, well,” Jack turns and scoffs. “So...no more pirate shit, just wine?”

“No, actually,” Ed says. “We did buy the wine, but we’re still very much pirates. Did...did you not recognize the ship-”

“My man,” Jack grins. “I am on so much morphine, constantly, it’s a wonder I recognize myself. Or you! I do like the beard bows though.”

His beard has grown out just enough for it, and Stede’s fingers still hurt from helping Izzy get them all tied onto Ed.

But they do look fucking amazing.

“Should you be doing that?” Ed frowns. “Or drinking, if you’re-”

“I shouldn’t be alive,” Jack tosses his vest off and lifts his shirt. “For a fucking week, it was an open hole. I still don’t know how the doc I found saved me.”

“How did you find anyone?” Lucius asks, pouring himself a glass of wine. “I wasn’t going to stay after we got Ed in here, but I’m curious now.”

“More the merrier,” Jack nods, and Stede takes it as a cue to lean out and let the crew know to come in.

“I swam,” Jack continues as everyone settles in. “Too fucking far. Bleeding out. Probably lost some of my guts along the way, but I didn’t ask questions when I did finally find a surgeon. Random little house along a beach, and he just happened to have worked in the field before.”

“And he sewed you up?” Ed asks as he motions for Jack to sit with him at the long table. “What about the guts you lost? I mean, we do need most of them, as far as we know.”

“He said he found replacements, and like I told you, I didn’t ask questions,” Jack chuckles. “I was alive, and that was good enough.”

He takes a bottle of wine as Stede starts passing them out and down the table. “We treatin’ this like a fancy one, where you spit it out, or-”

“Just drink it,” Stede replies hurriedly. “Swallow it, please.”

“You wouldn’t have to ask me twice,” Jack winks.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“You’ve grown on me!” Jack laughs. “It’s a compliment.”

“I was going to share this extra expensive one,” Stede sighs and sits on Ed’s other side. “But this bottle is just mine now. Everyone good with that?”

As he asks, he pops the cork and starts drinking, and the question answers itself.

“What do you do now?” Ed asks Jack. “You’re surviving somehow, I presume.”

“Surviving,” Jack gets into his own bottle and takes a noticeably long drink before continuing. “Is a word for it. I can’t fight like I used to, so now it’s random boring gigs onshore. Fucking...getting shopping for little old ladies, and shit like that. They’re nice enough, don’t get me wrong but-”

He grins. “I fucking hate every minute of it.”

Ed frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Twas mine own,” Jack scoffs and drinks again. “Fucking bird.”

“Olivia will absolutely try to kill you again,” Izzy notes. “I would mind your language when you talk about her.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“Buttons has told me,” Izzy replies. “On the later watches we’ve shared. She’s very nice, actually. For a gull.”

“Watch yer tongue!” Buttons calls from down the table. “She’s not forgiven you, by the way, Jack. But she’s agreed to forget.”

“That’s...” Jack nods slowly. “Okay. Cool. Best news I’ve gotten since the surgeon said I was gonna make it!”

“That’s a decent chunk of time with no good news,” Ed says, and looks to Stede.

“Oh no,” Stede sighs. “Oh, Ed. Darling.”

“I mean,” Ed continues. “We can almost always use spare hands. And we could put you somewhere that you won’t have to fight unless we’re well and truly fucked-”

“Can you cook?” Roach, sitting on the other side of the table, nods to Jack.

“Nothing fancy, but I can make shit without burning it.”

“I could use an apprentice,” Roach shrugs.

“I’m older than you. Apprentice doesn’t seem the right title.”

“It is when you’re being taught cooking and surgery,” Roach says. “Because if you apprentice with me, you’re learning both. Meat is meat.”

“I can work with that.”

Stede leans against Ed’s shoulder. “He’s your responsibility.”

“You sound like I did when I was talking to Fang about the kittens.”

“Kittens?” Jack peers down under the table.

“They’re in the Jam Room,” Stede replies. “You can go down and see them later, if you’d like. Because, and I cannot believe I’m saying this...you can stay here, so long as you follow our rules.”

Jack cheers, arms raised, only to immediately wince. “Oh god, that wiggled something. Hate how that feels.”

“Ew,” Stede remarks. “Anyway, that means Ed and I are both your captains. Do you underst-”

“You have my undying loyalty,” Jack stands and sweeps to the floor in a deep bow. “Mostly because I’m afraid if I don’t give it, Olivia will have me killed again.”

“She just might,” Stede turns around. “I mean, she said she would forget, but...”

“Gulls are fickle,” Buttons remarks. “Livvy may not like it, but she’s admitted it herself. If ye fuck with her, or any of us, in such a way again...”

He shakes his head. “I’m not responsible for what happens to ye.”

“Creepy,” Jack sits back down. “But fair.”

“I’d say we should do something to celebrate,” Stede says. “But we’re already drinking. Drunk. We should have had dinner before this, hm?”

“We could have dinner now!” Jack trips, standing again rapidly. “Roach, you and me, let’s do this!”

“I like the enthusiasm,” Roach follows him into the kitchen. “We have slightly more wine than food options, but-”

“Let’s put some wine in the food! Make a reduction!”

“You know how to make a wine reduction?”

“Here,” Jack gently pushes a bite of cupcake into their hostage’s mouth. “Now, Roach and I made these special for you.”

The man swallows and smiles. “Thank you. A bit of kindness, finally.”

“Oh,” Jack chuckles, and motions to Stede. “You wanna tell him?”

“Those were poisoned,” Stede says cheerfully. “But, we do have an antidote!”

“All you need do is agree to give up your ship, loot, and...” Ed pauses. “Hm. Anyone on your crew you don’t like?”

“We could do without Rory.”

A crew member of the merchant vessel steps out of the crowd of them. “Hi. That’s me.”

“You,” Stede stares. “Badminton?”

“Ah, yeah,” Rory blushes. “I don’t use the family name out here, since they’re not real pleased with my current career.”

“This is perfectly respectable,” Stede scoffs. “You know they tell people you died, right?”

“I did not know that.”

“Would you mind being a pirate?” Ed asks. “Instead of...what is you people here do?”

“We sell and ship ornate bejewled hairbrushes,” the captain replies. “My throat-”

“Yeah,” Ed cuts him off. “Rory, weird question, but bear with me: if you had to say if you liked your brothers or not-”

“Fuck ‘em,” Rory grins. “Seriously, they hate me and I...I’m not a fan of either of theirs. Not to be rude, but I think our captain is dying.”

“No, he’s dead,” Jack says, gently checking for a pulse at the side of the man’s neck. “Roach, you wanna double check my work though?”

“Nah,” Roach waves a hand. “Welcome aboard, by the way.”

“Mum won’t like this anymore than the merchant stuff,” Rory giggles. “Exciting though! Is there an opening in the kit-”

“Galley is full,” Jack interrupts quickly. “But I bet Izzy and Olu would love to teach you about being a first mate.”

“Hang the fuck on,” Izzy and Olu say at once, but Stede is already nodding.

“Is this what we get for looking for Jack?” Olu murmurs to Izzy as they finish the raid, moving loot from the merchant ship to theirs (all hairbrushes, unfortunately.)

“I think so,” Izzy sighs. “But it’s worth it.”

“Is it?”

“I’m trying to be more positive, you know that-”

“Sorry, right. Well. This will probably go fine.”

“Not that positive.”

“Thank fuck, this is gonna be a fucking mess.”

Izzy shrugs and sets down his box of hairbrushes on the deck of The Revenge. “Maybe he’ll get better with time.”

They watch as Rory trips on the board to cross from one ship to the other, shouting as he hits the water.

“We can make Jack go get him,” Izzy says. “Because...medical concerns, right? Since he fell.”

“That makes sense to me.”

Before they can call, Jack is already over the side.

Apparently, a natural born paramedic that missed his calling, a surprisingly good cook, and...

Well. Jack. To sum him up in so little would never do him justice.

#text post #long post

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primofate · 3 years

Text

Headcanon

Scenario: He hasn’t seen you in weeks due to some assignment/job that took forever

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe, Zhongli, Xiao, fem!reader

Warning: Slight sexual hints for Childe

Note: I originally did not include Xiao because I wasn’t very confident with him, but at this point I’m just gunna have fun with it. I originally started this cause I thought it’d be cute and fun to write, so I hope sharing it with everyone just brightens up your day or some cheesy thing XD

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Diluc

Is very focused on his task, but when night falls he can’t seem to get a proper sleep. Tossing and turning at the thought of you.

Often lays on his back at night thinking about what you must be doing right now.

Misses the way your hair tickles his nose whenever the two of you hug.

Sighs and finally tries to get some sleep after a whole hour of thinking of you.

Spots you in town just as he gets back. He feels like he’s frozen in time, seeing your face again.

Fast walks towards you and scoops you into a sudden hug, all he says as he buries his face in your hair is “I’m home,”

Kaeya

Is starting to get impatient. He didn’t expect the whole thing to be so long.

Is counting the days since he last saw you. Tells himself he’ll just think of an excuse to abandon the assignment if it takes longer than a week. In the end he still stays to finish the job for another 2 weeks.

Feels like a part of him is missing and doesn’t have the usual mischievous glint in him. In fact, the other knights thinks he’s rather irritable lately.

He comes back in the dead of the knight and cannot wait till the morning to see you. Knocks on your door, knows that you’re sleeping so keeps on knocking.

You emerge from the door sleepy and confused but he welcomes himself in, “It’s me,” so as not to alarm you that it’s some kind of creep. He picks you up, and rolls into bed with you, “I’m not leaving your side for the rest of the month,” and dozes off with you

Albedo

Is subtly pissed that his research in the cold mountains had taken more time than expected

Keeps on thinking he should’ve taken you with him.

Wonders how worth it this research is versus not seeing you for weeks.

Notices that his concentration is poor, it keeps on drifting back to thoughts of you. At one point he starts sketching your face by memory.

When he finally finishes his research he comes back to town and visits your house. When you open the door his expression changes to that of slight surprise. You welcome him back and ask if he’s okay.

“...No, I... Was just taken aback by how happy I felt,”

Childe

Is obviously pissed that it had taken this long.

He hasn’t had his dose of Y/N for weeks and it was driving him--and his subordinates--crazy. His men was under the constant wrath of his cold looks and pointed glares.

Thinks that he should just kill everyone--subordinates included--to speed things up.

Finally completes his task and runs straight to you. “Y/N!” when he spots you out in town. Bear hugs you, and spins you around once in sheer delight.

Mood does a complete 180 and is now all smiles, but secretly whispers in your ear “Clear up your schedule tonight, we’re gunna have to make up for all that time lost,”

Zhongli

Appears calm and collected in front of others. When in truth he’s thinking about how you’re doing and wonders if you’re taking care of yourself.

Whoever he’s talking to asks if he’s alright cause he has this far off look on his face.

“Hm? Yes, I heard everything. I apologize, my morning routine here is not as adequate as it is back home, hence my slight preoccupation.”

He just meant to say that he hasn’t had his morning kisses and hugs for way.too.freakin.long

Appears in front of you when he’s finally done and has travelled back. Doesn’t make a move to hug you but studies your features carefully, caressing your cheek with the back of his hand.

“I was afraid I’d start forgetting how you looked like but... even centuries would not make me forget such beauty,”

Xiao

99% focused. The 1% is you swimming around in his mind. By the first week, his concentration has dropped to 90%.

Is not sure whether he’s more annoyed by the fact that he’s not concentrating or that he’s been away for far too long.

Keeps on thinking that you’d better not have gotten yourself into some type of trouble while he’s away.

Keeps on stopping every once in a while to strain his ears and wondered if you’ve called his name.

Once back, he’s surprised by the hug-bordering-on-tackle you give him. You say that you were worried he wasn’t going to come back.

He returns the hug with one hand, “What am I going to do with you? I’ll always come back as long as I know you’re waiting,”

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