#sketched this in like half and hour ugh

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just wanted to make a color ref for Brain Therapist Magneto from 309 but i needed lights too for some reason

bonus The Flats Only Version

[kirain]

Part nineteen of my appreciation project.

@themournfulwatcher A fic based on their wonderful video edit here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The study was quiet, bathed in the dusky gold of the setting sun. Light poured through the arched windows, casting long streaks across the desk and turning scattered notes into constellations of thought. Stacks of papers, half-written drafts, and hastily sketched diagrams were strewn across the surface like the aftermath of a small war. At the centre of it all, Hugo sat hunched over parchment, jaw clenched with focus, eyes sharp under the weight of revelation.

The scratching of his quill had become erratic—scribble, pause, scribble, tear the page. He was naturally patient, but today he swore under his breath, raking a hand through his hair before starting over. The Fade. The gods. The unravelled truth behind Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. It was too much, and yet not enough. Not yet. Not until he found the words that did their downfall justice.

"Should I discuss the binding now?" he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No. I'd better ease readers into it. That's going to be difficult, though. The Chantry won't appreciate it, but if I keep the tone pedestrian..." He sighed. "They'll still pitch a fit. Ugh! What am I doing?"

Beside him, the door swayed open without a sound. Emmrich leaned against the frame for a moment, arms folded, watching the younger man with a soft, knowing smile. The room smelled of ink, sweat, and a faint trace of coffee long since gone cold—the scents of overexertion. He stepped inside, the floorboards creaking under his boots as he approached.

"You know," he said gently, "most people stopped for lunch six hours ago. And dinner, one hour ago."

Hugo didn't look up. "Most people weren't there. They didn't witness what we witnessed."

Emmrich's smile held as he moved behind him, resting his hands on Hugo's rigid shoulders. "You're going to burn out, darling. Your spine feels like it's preparing to rebel."

"I can't stop now," Hugo muttered, stiff under Emmrich's touch despite how good it felt. "If I don't transcribe every detail as soon as possible, I'll forget something important. After everything we learned—the Fade, the gods, Fen'Harel—it's all so..." He broke off, pressing his fingers to his temples. "This knowledge is unprecedented. I can't afford to forget a single moment."

"You won't," Emmrich said, his voice doting as he worked his thumbs into the knots in Hugo's neck. "Your mind is sharper than you give it credit for. And besides, you have the team and me to remind you of anything you miss."

"Easy for you to say," Hugo huffed. "You're an accomplished author of twelve books. Something like this is probably child's play to you."

Emmrich stilled, every movement ceasing as if the air had been knocked from the room. Hugo felt the shift, turned slightly, and caught the look: hurt—silent and unexpected—flashing across Emmrich's face like colour bleeding from a once-vibrant painting.

"No—wait!" Hugo blurted, twisting in his chair. "I didn't mean to sound so dismissive! You're a brilliant author, Emmrich. The best. I respect you more than anyone else in the field, and I know you worked your arse off on every manuscript. I just—" His voice faltered, thick with regret. "I just want to be worthy of that same world. I want to contribute... alongside you."

Emmrich said nothing. Then, slowly, the hurt gave way to understanding.

"Hugo," he tittered, taking the younger man's hands in his own. "You realise you're on the verge of writing a thesis that will put every mage in Thedas to shame, yes?"

Hugo blinked. "What?"

"You have nothing to fret about, my dear. You throw yourself into your work like a man possessed," he said, tugging playfully at his hands. "You obsess. You edit. You frown so intensely, I'm amazed your quill hasn't fled in terror."

He pulled, and Hugo, though reluctant, stood.

"But you know, that's exactly why I love you. The dedication. The care you put into everything you do. It's truly mesmerising."

Hugo felt his cheeks flush, swept up in the way Emmrich looked at him—rapt, proud, and hopelessly smitten.

Damn it.

This handsome, distractingly charming man—his touch was magnetic, his voice like a spell. Somehow, he always knew the perfect words, the right gestures, to pull Hugo away from his tiring pursuits.

"What are you... doing?" he asked, his legs suddenly weak.

Emmrich grinned. "Just urging you to heed the wisdom of a certain accomplished author who, as you noted, has penned twelve books," he teased, nodding to the door. "Come. It's time for a break. You can return to your thesis once you've remembered you're not an indefatigable automaton."

Hugo let himself be led, taking one last look at the scattered chaos of his desk. Then, his gaze drifted to Emmrich, whose fingers gripped him so tenderly that he couldn't help but smile for the first time in hours.

"Fine," he caved, as if he didn't yearn to follow. "But just a short one."

-----

The sea whispered its lullaby against the shore, the steady rhythm of the waves clashing with the unrelenting thoughts that refused to loosen their grip on Hugo's mind.

Together, the two men sat on the beach, the sun sinking into the horizon in a blaze of orange and violet. As they watched, Emmrich squeezed Hugo's hand, their fingers entwined, grounding him. The breeze carried the scent of salt and life itself, the warmth of the day lingering in the sand beneath them.

By all accounts, it was a perfect moment.

Hugo knew it.

He knew it—and still, his thoughts circled back to the parchment he'd left behind. That unfinished paragraph about the Veil, about how it had been manipulated—infused—by the blood of an elven god. He kept cycling through sentence structures, trying to distance the implications from modern-day elves. The last thing he wanted was to hand anyone a justification for further persecution.

He mumbled something under his breath, not realising his teeth were worrying the tip of his thumb. The sky was a brilliant canvas, yet his gaze had dropped to his feet, brow furrowed in silent frustration.

Then, fingers brushed gently through his hair, tucking it behind his ear.

Hugo flinched, looking up to see Emmrich watching him with that familiar smile—part fondness, part exasperation.

"Sorry," Hugo said quickly. "I know I'm not... easy to be with sometimes."

Emmrich's smile softened further. "You just need to stop and smell the roses," he said, glancing out at the dying light. "It's not just about enjoying life—it helps you focus. When I hit a writing block, I do something that makes me happy. Endorphins, serotonin—they lower stress, improve cognitive performance, and aid concentration."

Hugo scoffed, letting his head fall back. "Are you really giving me, a fellow Watcher, a lecture on neurology? Really?"

In truth, he was amused—grateful that Emmrich had whisked him away from that dreary study. He loved him, loved him so deeply it ached. But he'd loved before and lost, always because his work had taken precedence. It was never intentional, but by the time he realised what he'd done, his partners were already gone. He couldn't bear the thought of doing that to Emmrich. Not to the one—the man he wanted, more than anything, to spend the rest of his life with.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I know I fixate. I know I overwork. I just feel like... if I'm not being productive, if I'm not being useful... what's the point of me?"

Emmrich froze, eyes glinting—and then, without warning, he leaned forward and kissed him.

Hard.

The sudden force of it sent Hugo toppling back with a surprised but muffled squeal. Emmrich followed, pinning him to the ground, one hand wrapped firmly around Hugo's wrist, the other sliding up to his cheek. His mouth claimed Hugo's with ferocious intensity, devouring the apology, the tension, the endless spiralling thoughts.

Hugo's eyes widened, but the shock lasted only a second. He melted beneath him deliriously faster, a soft sound escaping his chest as he arched up into the kiss, all thoughts of the Veil burned away in the heat between them.

"The 'point' of you," Emmrich said, pulling back just enough to meet Hugo's gaze, "is to live. That's why we're born. Everything beyond that, we choose for ourselves. And for me—you are my choice. My purpose. You don't have to prove anything. You could stop working tomorrow, and I'd carry you. Or you could work until your fingers bleed, and I'd bandage them so you can keep going. Whatever your interests, your passions, I'll support you. As long as we're together, my darling, that's all that matters."

"Emmrich..." Hugo choked, blissfully overwhelmed. "I—"

Emmrich shook his head, leaving no room for argument. "You berated me for lecturing you on neurology," he murmured, dipping lower until he hovered over the younger man's face, tantalisingly close. "Would you prefer a lesson on anatomy instead?"

Hugo could barely breathe, let alone think. "Yes..." he wheezed, his voice hoarse.

That was all the invitation Emmrich needed.

Their mouths met again, tongues tangling in a desperate, searing kiss. They rolled in the sand, bodies pressed close, Hugo clinging to him like a man drowning. The roughness of it scratched at Emmrich's patience—his fingers fumbled with the fabric beneath them before he growled and pulled them both upright.

In one swift motion, he hauled Hugo into his arms and slammed him against a stack of old crates near the edge of the beach. The wood groaned behind them, but neither cared. Emmrich's mouth found his again, and Hugo gripped the back of his shirt with shaking hands, moaning as Emmrich's lips wandered from his mouth to his jaw, then to his throat.

"More," Hugo gasped, eyes fluttering shut.

Emmrich answered by dragging his mouth lower, his fingers tugging at the hem of Hugo's trousers.

The last sliver of sun vanished beneath the sea, and darkness fell like a curtain—the way both men preferred. Beautiful, secretive.

Only the stars and moon bore witness to the rest.

[bubble-leaves]

The Rainfall - Jel

Jel never sleeps, it nearly goes against his morals. The only time he’s able to go conscious is when he comes home from the docks at 7 AM. He sleeps until 9. Then it’s back to work. He rarely ever has dreams (despite his romantic swoons about how he dreams about you) due to his brain not being able to go into REM sleep in time. Jel is constantly exhausted, yet he effortlessly puts on a bright and alert persona. He couldn’t possibly let people know that his energy was low, as it would simply be unprofessional.

Of course, you are an exception. You can see his exhaustion as clear as day tonight.

Jel is not able to go to the docks tonight, which completely threw off his routine. It’s pouring rain outside, accompanied by terribly loud claps of thunder and lightning from time to time. Rain and storms are incredibly rare in Palia, so no one could have possibly predicted the havoc in the sky tonight. You’re stranded at Jel’s shop, as you too did not anticipate the rain. You hadn’t brought an umbrella, and Jel did not have one; he only had fashionable lace parasols. Jel had graciously offered his hospitality, and told you that you could stay the night if the storm didn’t pass soon. So, here you two are, inside Jel’s room and workshop. It’s quiet, apart from the calamity outside.

Because he’s unable to sit still and put his mind to rest, Jel is sitting in one of his lounging chairs, his legs curled up so he could place a sketchbook in his lap. You sit in the comfortable chair across from him. You can tell that he’s sketching out ideas for a future line; he’s been talking about starting a new one for a few days now. Although, you can also tell that he is so damn tired. His eyes can barely stay half-open, the strokes of his pencil are sparse in timing, and he often rubs his face. It appears the diversion from his usual night routine is making his mind finally realize it needs to rest.

The violent winds outside blow cacophonous rain against the roof of Jel’s shop. Jel looks up from his book for a brief moment to study the sound, then goes back to sketching . . . well, sort of.

“Do thunderstorms scare you?” You ask, finally breaking the silence between you two.

Jel’s brows furrow and he shakes his head. “Never. The storms are soothing, if not fascinating. Considering they rarely come.”

“I always found storms comforting, too,” You reply.

Jel takes a moment to continue conversing. His eyes are closed for a brief period of time, just before he opens them again with urgency.

“Ah!” He gasps. “Ugh … forgive me, (Y/N), I have no idea what is happening with me.”

You softly laughed. The sound made him blush and look at you with confusion. Did he say something funny?

“Jel, you’re tired,” You chuckle out.

He blinks a couple times, painfully slowly, then huffs melodramatically. “I am never as tired as this at this hour.”

You shrug. “Well, that’s because you’re usually on a stroll by this time.”

Jel deeply frowns, his face clearly annoyed. Not toward you, but himself. You understand and don’t mention anything.

“Hm. Ah, but I could produce so many concepts right now, my progress would be spectacular . . . ” He sighs sadly, then looks at you with barely open eyes. “How bad is it?”

You refrain from smirking at how adorably sleepy Jel looks right now. You say, “Pretty bad. You should probably sleep. Besides, when was the last time you got more than 2 hours of it?”

Jel looks away in thought, then simply shakes his head. “I see your point. I suppose I could use some proper rest.”

“Exactly,” You smile. “That’s, like, the first time I’ve ever heard you say something like that.”

You stand up and step over to Jel. He watches as you carefully take his sketchbook and pen, glancing up at your face more than once. You two are rarely this close in proximity. You place his book and pen upon his low table then turn back to him. You hold out your hands expectantly. Jel looks at your hands, then slowly tilts his head up to you. He says nothing. He simply takes your hands and stands up. You softly gasp as he sways weakly, but he manages to correct his posture. He huffs in utter disbelief at how exhausted he truly was. He’s disappointed with himself, almost.

“Come on,” You softly say, keeping one hand clasped around his to guide him to bed.

Jel’s face swells with heat as he feels the warmth of your palm against his. Ugh, it is so soothing, he doesn’t even have any incentive to let go. No discomfort. He just wants to keep contact with you. This feeling shakes, however, as you arrive at his bedside. He sits down, instinctively dropping your hand so he could collapse onto his bed. You pout with sympathy for him. You watch him run a hand through his hair before letting it rest over his eyes. 

The silence that overtakes the room makes you realize that the storm outside has run its course. The rain outside is now just a small drizzle. You listen carefully to the raindrops softly hitting the roof. This was your cue to leave; Jel only said you could stay if the storm doesn’t let up. So, you assume that you need to make the quietest exit possible. You turn away and take only one step before something clutches your wrist.

Your heart skips a beat and you whip back around. Jel looks up at you with a concerned yet still exhausted expression.

“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice gentle but still disappointed.

“Home,” You reply with the same mellow tone, akin to the rain outside.

Jel frowns. “But you will get wet.”

“It’s just a little drizzle out there, I’ll be fine,” You chuckle.

Jel’s grasp around your wrist releases, just to slide down to hold your hand. Your face flushes and your lips part in surprise.

“Please stay,” He softly pleads.

You gaze back at Jel with total shock, as you have never heard such a desperate plea from him before. It catches you so off-guard, in fact, that Jel feels the need to continue to get you to respond.

“You are more comforting than any rainstorm, or any bed, I have ever experienced,” Jel states. “And if I must sleep properly, I implore you to just lay with me.”

“Jel . . . ” You whisper, glancing down at your clasped hands temporarily. “ . . . are you sure? What if you’re embarrassed by it tomorrow?”

“Nonsense,” Jel dismisses. “Waking up to you would be a dream in itself.”

Your eyes slightly widen. You wonder if this is perhaps a joke, but then you realize that Jel would never be the type to mess with your feelings or say something he doesn’t mean, even if he’s out of it. He is being completely serious right now.

“Okay,” You accept.

You walk over to the opposite of Jel’s side and climb into bed. Jel has a small, joyful smile on his tired face as he turns to face you. The sight makes your heart flutter. You aren't afraid to get a little close. Jel feels your body heat emanate off you as you cozy up next to him.

“Please know that if you are uncomfortable, you don’t have to be flush against me,” Jel advises.

You smile and softly brush a stray piece of hair out of his face. The careful touch sends a shiver down his spine.

“Don’t worry, I’m not uncomfortable,” You assure. “This feels right.”

Jel is so pleased by those words that he sinks into his pillow, although his star-filled eyes never leave yours. Both of your hearts are beating hard. There was always some sort of romantic tension between you two, but it was never spoken or acted upon until this moment, at least not as directly. Jel always knew that you had some sort of feeling toward him, although he could never prove it. But your almost instinctual acceptance to be so close to him, and the way you smile at him from just a few inches away, solidifies his theories.

You watch as Jel rests his head. He softly gasps as you remove his eyeglasses, then chuckles. You smile and place them on his nightstand. When you turn back, Jel still has his eyes on you. He couldn’t help it. You prop yourself up on an elbow to look back down at him. To his utmost happiness, this position also gives you enough leverage to continue sifting through his hair. He sighs as he feels your finger sweep through his hair and push it back. It feels so lovely, and so relaxing, that his body no longer wants to move. Each stroke just makes him sleepier. His eyes close, his hands unflexing in front of his chest. You can see his chest slowly rise and fall, his breathing a comforting and hypnotic sound. Suddenly, Jel makes a final move and nestles himself against your body. He wraps one arm around your waist to anchor himself, then promptly relaxes once more. You softly chuckle and continue playing with his hair.

Normally, Jel wouldn’t have the confidence to be so forward and close to you, but his mind didn’t have enough energy to be insecure. In your arms, he had never felt so comfortable in his life. Your warmth, mixed with your gentle touch, made it so easy for him to just give in. There was no one else that could possibly do this to him, he’d never allow it. But, you . . . Jel couldn’t describe it. You just make him feel so pleasantly vulnerable.

The rainfall outside resumes a steady downpour as Jel finally goes to sleep. You yawn and realize that looking at Jel sleeping has made you tired as well. You avert your eyes to think, then decide that going to sleep with him isn’t as scandalous as it seems. So, you sink down onto the other half of Jel’s pillow. Your arm slinks under his so you could hold him close. When you’re satisfied with your hold, you close your eyes and calmly breathe out. Your heart feels warm as you imagine waking up to him tomorrow morning

[aviduringgremlinhours]

My Muse

~content warning: slightly nsfw~

Mizu x artist!reader

Authors note: I am not a writer so I apologize for any mistakes! Enjoy!

"Somethings' off...I can feel it..." you say as you squint at the canvas before you. Wether its the shape of the head or the length of the torso, you could TELL something was off. "Two years of art school and yet I still can't seem to get body proportions right. Ugh, maybe I should just find a different career path-"

You hear a knock on the studio door "Y/N? You in there? I made us some tea, can I come in?" you hear the voice of your partner, Mizu, behind the door. "Oh! Yes! Come in!" You exclaim. Upon your approval she comes in with two cups of tea and sets them both at the break table nearby. Deciding to take a break, you get up from the frustrating sketch before you to spend some much needed time with Mizu.

"Hows the art going? What are you working on?" She asks curiously. Mizu has always loved your art, and though she was a woman of few words, you could feel her admiration and respect coming off of her as she gazed fondly at the paintings made by your hand.

"I feel like if I try to fix it any longer I'm going to jump off a bridge" you sigh, half joking at this point. "Ouch, that bad?" She raises an eyebrow as her eyes scan the canvas. "It looks a little off but its not bad. Perhaps you should do some model studies. Who knows, maybe seeing the body up close will help you figure out what you're missing."  The idea sounds good in theory, but theres a problem with it "Where would I find someone willing to strip down and let me stare at them for hours while I draw them? I don't really have the cash to pay someone for it." You ask her earnestly.

"Well..." she contemplated "I could be your model, if you want." Your eyes widen at the thought, it makes sense, and its not like you haven't seen her naked before, but you feel a blush crawling up your cheeks regardless. "A-are you sure you're comfortable with that?" "Absolutely sure, I'm comfortable with it if you are. We can start after we finish the tea" She says, her ice blue eyes seemingly brightening up with excitement.

A brief moment later, and Mizu stands before you, a robe being the only thing covering her up. "I'm ready. Where should I stand?" She asks you. "Oh, just go sit on the lounge right here, I want to try capturing you in a leasurely pose." You say. "Just lay back with your back proped up on the arm of the lounge, have one knee bent, and your arm resting on the bent knee. Look off to the side as well." she nods and gets into position as you ready your pencil. "Ready?" You ask, "Ready."

You begin sketching out her figure, glancing over at her every now and then for reference. Every curve, every scar, every fold of her body carefully replicated onto your canvas. From her slender yet defined arms to her lean torso and model-eque long legs. "She's so beautiful..." you think to yourself. You sketch more. Her breasts, her gorgeously long dark brown hair, her breathtaking blue eyes-

You notice her glancing at you, flinching away your daydream as you hastily hide your burning red face behind the canvas. You hear a soft chuckle emit from her as she looks away, a warm smile fixed to her face and a light blush forming. The silence in the air that followed was not a suffocating one, but one that carried a sense of quiet intimacy between two lovers. Warm, soft, and inviting. You feel yourself beginning to relax as you continue to sketch the beautiful woman in front of you.

You finish your sketch up and exhale deeply "Its done! It came out so well! Would you like to see?" You ask her excitedly as she rises from the lounge and reaches for her robe. "Hell yeah I would." She replied. As she scanned over the canvas, her eyes widened with awe. "Its...amazing love, is this how you see me?" She asked "Of course!" You tell her "You're the most beautiful and amazing partner in the whole world, you could say you're my muse..." she looks away bashfully, a shy but happy hum coming out as a response. You gently turn her head to face you a plant a loving, soft kiss on her lips, one which she reciprocates in kind. "Thank you Mizu, you've been a great help. I love you." She beams at those 2 magic words "I love you too, Y/N"

[intothepast9]

to host a dinner

written for @pandalilymicrofics April 11 prompt "domestic" --wc 630

“You know how you said you could help me out this weekend,” Pandora asked as soon as Regulus picked up her call.

“Er,” he helpfully replied.

“Could that maybe be today? Like ASAP?”

“What do you need?”

“I’ve been cleaning my place for when Lily comes over later, but I don’t have any decorations. Like. AT ALL. I need help so my apartment looks less like the home of a domestic terrorist. I’ve moved the furniture around so there’s a better view of the window, and I’ve managed to hide all the boxes. She has to understand I moved like two months ago, right? And I bought a second chair and pillow. But literally there’s one picture of Jelly and that’s all.” Jelly was Pandora’s 6-year-old gray cat. She was excited for Lily to meet Jelly on their third date—Lily was coming over to her place for dinner. But she only had 7.5 hours to make her apartment look like it was inhabited by a real human being.

“Ok, it’s probably not that bad. Like not terrorist level. I don’t even know how domestic terrorists decorate, but you probably don’t have any conspiracy diagrams. It might look like you’re a straight man, though.”

Ugh. That might have been worse. Though Lily was bi, so maybe she wouldn’t mind something like that. “Please help me out?” she asked again. “Lily is literally an interior designer.”

Regulus sounded like he spit out his coffee “Fine, it’ll take me an hour or so to get there.”

He lived two blocks away and it usually took him 15 minutes to come over if she asked. “Did you just get up? I’ve been arranging all my furniture and cleaning since I thought that was socially acceptable three hours ago.” It was 11:30 a.m.

“I will never understand you.” So he had just gotten up.

“See you soooon,” Pandora sang. “Thank youuu.”

He hung up. She texted him three pictures of the apartment from different angles.

jesus christ he texted back. Great.

It’s like I’m telling her she can make all decorating decisions when we move in together <3 she replied.

Pandora, sweaty from cleaning and moving furniture, took a shower, and ate some lunch before Regulus came over. When he wasn’t there by 1p.m. she started to panic, and realizing she hadn’t messaged Lily about their plans since Wednesday, sent her directions about parking.

Thank you!! Excited to see you tonight : ) Lily replied immediately, and Pandora let out a small scream of excitement.

Me too! :)

Pandora sat with Jelly on her lap trying not to panic about tonight, and half an hour later, Regulus showed up with a full grocery bag.

“I hope you didn’t go shopping for supplies,” Pandora said when she opened the door.

“I had all this at home,” he replied tersely. “Be glad I got these frames at Costco so I had extra.”

He pulled out three framed attempts to sketch the same tree that Dorcas had done one day. She had left her drafts at Regulus and Evan’s place, and had taken home the one she liked, but he thought they would work here, he said. And he had brought a dark blue tablecloth. They arranged these things, and then he looked satisfied. Pandora could see there was a difference. “It’s minimalist, but I think it’s ok,” he concluded. “I’m not sure how you live like this.”

“I live in my mind,” Pandora tried to explain.

“I can’t believe you bought a second chair yesterday.”

“I’ve literally never lived alone before.”

“Well,” he said, stepping towards the door. “Tell me if it goes well enough that you can tell her this is all fake and you’re actually a domestic terrorist.”

“Oh I hope it does!”

[halforresterluvsford]

if you wish for stancest asks may I please humbly present to you: I hc that Ford has a sketchbook FULL of drawings of Stan that vary from doodles to full on portraits, and when they finally confess and Stan is finally clued into the sketchbook’s existence, Ford can use him for a…live model, shall we say 🤭

Ford so has a Stan Journal™️ where he catalogues every detail of Stanley, he draws him on every page. This man is like me, I fear.

“Ford, c’mon-“

“You promised me, Stanley. Now go on.”

“Ugh, fine! But no promises I’m doin’ this again!”

Yeah, Stanley promised he’d model for Ford, his journal was full of sketches of him and Ford has begged for a live model. Naturally, Stan agreed. He can’t exactly say why he did, but he knows the thought of Ford spending hours just looking at him in great detail sent pleasant shivers down his spine. He didn’t expect to have to wear this though.

Ford had pleaded for him to put on the outfit of his choice, and Stan would do almost anything for his brother. But he didn’t think Ford would want him to wear lingerie. The red lace hugs his hips and prominently cups and shows off his half hard dick, the baby doll top actually holds his chest well, giving his some actual cleavage instead of just sag, and the rest of it flows down over his large stomach. He protested showing off his stomach at first, but Ford made a compelling argument that night, spending hours worshiping Stan’s belly. And yeah, Stan can’t argue with that.

“Now spread your knees just a fraction, Stanley. And pull your shoulders back, the emphasis needs to be on your chest there!” came Ford’s demanding voice as he gives Stan a once over in their bed, pillows and blankets tossed to the side for a blank background.

Ugh. The pose is worse than the lingerie, he thinks. Ford had him pose leaned back on his knees, slightly spread, hands clasped behind his back, thrusting his chest out. In this pose, Ford can see everything. Every twitch, every adjustment, and the slow hardening of Stan’s cock as he’s dressed up and posed so lewdly.

“Can I at least have a pillow f’ my knees? They’re killing me over here!” Stan grumbles, an embarrassed blush spreading up to his ears, his face a faint shade of red.

“Of course, Stanley. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that beforehand.” Ford gathers two pillows tossed of their bed and stacks them together before helping Stan kneel on the, adjusting his outfit to better show him off as he goes. Ford’s adjustment of Stan’s burgeoning erection cause him to choke on some spit and twitch. Ford just gives his clothed cock a little pat and heads back to his chair.

Stan just grumbles and settles down, trying his best to get comfortable, knowing this will take hours to do for how obsessed Ford can be about things. It does bring a warm feeling in his chest, thinking about how much Ford cares about him to draw him so much and so carefully detailed. Maybe Stan will model for him again, if it brings these nice feelings to the forefront.

“Straighten your back, Stanley! This doesn’t work if you slouch! And remember, keep your head tilted! And your hips angled-“

Yeah, maybe he won’t.

[daughterofthemuse]

Thoughts on 'Wrath of the Triple Goddess'

General Thoughts

This book was a lot of fun.

Nope was the cutest ever

Hecate's house is WILD. The knockers? The aesthetic choices? The BATHROOMS? She 1000% committed to the bit

Some ppl have said that the recent Riordanverse books have had themes. (Roughly speaking,) 'The Sun and the Star' was about accepting yourself and moving through trauma, and 'Chalice of the Gods' was about growing up, aging and embracing the changes that come with it (kinda ironic for focusing on a character who is known for turning 17 every year). I thought 'Wrath of the Triple Goddess' could have been about grief and family, but it's actually abt choices and regrets. Bc ofc the book abt Ἑκάτη (Hecate), the goddess of crossroads, would be abt choices.

Fanart I want to see

The Halloween costumes Percy, Grove & Annabeth wore

Human!Grover, Owl-a-beth & Octo-Percy

The Campers' Halloween costumes

Page-by-page notes that I took (with quotes)

I'm always careful not to look at my mom's screen while she's writing, because a) I know it makes her nervous, b) the floating words make me queasy, and c) I can't help wondering if she's writing a character based on me. Maybe that sounds self-centered, but the idea of anybody writing a book about me makes me super paranoid. (pg 16)

Bud, I'm sorry, but it's a decade and a half too late for that

She knew exactly what I was saying, even if Dave and Hana didn't. "She can't do all your homework for you, dude," Hana said. "Yeah, she has to do our homework," Dave said. "Ugh, you two," Annabeth said, but she gave them a smile. "Okay, Jackson, I can spare you a few minutes, Come on." She hauled me up and led me out of the library, Paul and Hana whispering behind our backs, (pg 24)

Oh look, surprise name change! (/j)

Then his eyes drifted up to the gargoyles on the roof. "Oh, wow." "I know, spooky," Annabeth agreed. Grover scratched his goatee. "I was going to say the one on the left looks like my Aunt Helena. But guess that's the same thing." (pg 32)

Grover's Aunt Helena is probably a harpy / nasty wind Spirit

I'd barely been able to master numbers and colors in Spanish, even with my friend Leo Valdez as a tutor. (pg 35)

Rick is making himself plotholes. Percy is being tutored in Spanish by the missing Leo. It's only Chapter 4!

We had some trouble on Third Avenue when Hecuba decided attack a Lil Zeus Greek food cart, but I managed to pull her off before she killed the cook or devoured his meat supply. Dude wasn't too happy. He yelled something in Greek at me--maybe Please control your rhinoceros--but I couldn't be too mad at Hecuba. For one thing, the food smelled good. For another, anything labeled Zeus sent me into attack mode, too. (pg 64)

Lil Zeus Greek food cart? a) Percy should have understood more of the Greek dude's language, unless he did actually think the hellhound was a rhino and b) fair on attacking it

I took out Riptide. With the tip of the blade, I etched a message on the sidewalk: Went to Gramercy. That was another trick I'd only learned in the last month. One day when I was bored, sitting on a sidewalk while my mom shopped for clothes for her first author signing, I discovered that Riptide could sketch glowing lines on asphalt that no regular mortals could see. The markings lasted about three hours before fading away--less if it rained. It made me wonder why I'd never seen Celestial bronze graffiti around from other demigods. (pg 68)

Riptide can write on the pavement?

He couldn’t have been more than six weeks old. "You want another treat?" I asked him. "Nope!" he barked, which apparently meant Yes, please, I'll take the whole bag. I couldn't help but smile. "Is that your name? Nope?" He tilted his head, maybe thinking about it. "Nope!" "Okay, then that's what I'll call you." He crawled right into my lap. He was heavy--like fifty pounds--and floppy, with ridiculously oversize paws that told me he was going to be a rhino-size hellhound someday. I scratched behind his ears and kept feeding him treats, letting him get used to the sound of my voice. (pg 87)

Percy’s getting a Hellhound puppy that can say nope????

The man who was eating a late breakfast at Dr. Sharma's desk was definitely not Dr. Sharma. His dark hair and beard were flecked with gray. He wore a rumpled tweed jacket, tie, and dress shirt, with a flannel blanket over his lap. His old-fashioned wheel-chair had hand-pushed steel wheels and well-worn black leather armrests. He held a half-eaten bagel in one hand and a steaming cup of tea in other. I registered all these details with perfect clarity, but somehow, I still did not recognize him. (pg 99)

WHAT IS CHIRON DOING AT PERCY’S SCHOOL?

"The Adventures of Mom, Chew Toy, and Alley Boy," Annabeth mused. (pg 115)

pffft! And look, an Oxford comma!

My friend Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, also had the ability. He'd used it once to take me Christmas shopping in Florence. (Long story.) (pg 133)

Nico took Percy Christmas shopping in Florence? I need this story.

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe pack isn’t the right word. I don’t know why Hecate turned you into a hellhound. Gods are weird. I have a friend whose dad once turned her into a tree. Maybe Hecate saved you the only way she knew how. It’s not perfect, but it’s still love.” Hecuba gazed at the ocean—a view she’d probably seen thousands of times when she was a mortal. She’d watched the Greek ships anchor off that coast, ready for war. She’d watched her children die in battle on that rocky beach before the walls of her doomed city. (pg 137)

Is this book abt grief & family?

I frowned. "I didn't figure you for a nightclub guy." "Are you kidding? I can hoof-boogie with the best of them! I've still got that wedding-dress outfit from the Sea of Monsters, too." He sighed. "Maybe someday." (pg 142)

Grover still has his wedding dress?

Pracktical forcery and Potionf for Beginnyng Uferf (pg 144)

Oh look, it's that old-timey font where 'S' is really tall and skinny and kinda looks like an 'f'!

Under this collection was a brass plaque engraved with WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN. I lifted the top of the display case. I picked up a pair of blue-framed glasses that were snapped in half at the bridge. They were the same ones I'd seen in my vision of the child pedaling away from the manse in terror. On the right stem, the initials SEJ were monogrammed in gold. I felt like I had shadow-traveled into a block of ice. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. SEJ. I knew those initials. (pg 145)

SEJ, Sally's initials?

I didn't realize that when he'd said ground himself, he'd meant literally cover himself with the ground. He sat down in a flower bed and started to heap leaves and dirt over his legs. (pg 147) ... Two more tunneled through the leaves and skittered up Grover's legs. Within a minute, there were dozens, maybe hundreds. Honestly, I had no idea. I never had to count squirrels in numbers that high before Grover's torso disappeared under a tidal wave of chittering fur and twitching bushy tails. Somewhere in the mix of brown and gray, I spotted one very large black rat, who quickly disappeared in the sea of its squirrely comrades. (pg 148)

This grounding thing is weird... Could it be a Pan thing?

As he nibbled his cake, I said, "Okay. Tell me." He shrugged listlessly. "It's just... grounding myself like that? It's pretty powerful magic. I can only do it because I'm a Cloven Elder." Grover was too modest. He rarely talked about it, but after the Battle of Manhattan, he'd been promoted to the council of the three most important satyrs in the world, which in my mind made him an elite boss. "It's dangerous?" I guessed. "Oh... nothing I'd worry about," he said. "Not a big deal. It's just when I do that, when I connect with nature on that level, there's always a small chance..." "Yes?" He nibbled more cake. "That I might dissolve into nothing." (pg 151)

Yep, it's a Pan thing. And oh, the grounding thing is like Nico at the end of BoO... okay. This is great /s

And Grover seemed to enjoy being called Cloven Elder. My thoughts started rambling, as they do. I wondered if I should call him CE for short. Did that mean before he became a Cloven Elder he was Grover BCE? This is how my mind works. Welcome to the chaos. (pg 156)

Grover BCE, YES!

The name of the place glittered in pearly white over the door: AEAEA. I guess they'd spent all their money on the storefront decorations and hadn't been able to afford any consonants for their sign. "What is it?" Grover asked. "Not sure," I said. "The name of that place mean anything to you?" Grover tried to pronounce it. "It looks like something Hephaestus might scream when he drops a hammer on his foot." (pg 158)

Αἰαία (Aeaea)? Κίρκη (Circe)????

"My name is Filomena," she said, her jaw clenched. "Aeaea was my home island. But you don't even remember, do you?" (pg 161)

Dude doesn't remember the last time someone recognized him and accused him of destroying their home, does he?

A noxious purple fog started to rise around us. I recovered my senses, yelled, "Aeaea!" (because it was on my mind) and blasted the potion fog right back at Filomena. "Ack!" she complained, now speckled head to toe in magical whatever-it-was. "How dare you!" (pg 162)

Poison manipulation again????

"I take it you didn’t recognize the naiads?" "From where?" Grover asked. "You weren't with us," Annabeth told him. "You were stuck in a Cyclops's cave at the time." Grover shivered. "The Sea of Monsters." "Yep. The naiads are from the island of Aeaea." I rubbed my sore neck. "I think I would've remembered a name like Aeaea." Annabeth considered that. "Actually, you're right. I don't thínk anyone called it that when we were there. It's another name for Circe's Island." (pg 184) ... "Circe had four main handmaidens," Annabeth said. "The Aeaean nymphs. They were responsible for preparing her potions. I guess when the pirates burned down C.C.'s Spa--" "The naiads came to Manhattan," Grover finished. "And set up competing perfume shops. As one does." (pg 185)

I knew they were from Αἰαία! And Lore drop!

Whenever Annabeth joined the chat, the odds of us doing something idiotic went way down. The odds were never zero, mind you, because I was still in the mix. (pg 186)

"Annabeth joined the chat..." Bro, why. Why did you use that piece of slang?

With the help of one of the costume people, Annabeth had done her hair and makeup like it had been on Circe's Island. She looked incredible, but you don't have to take my word for it. The costume person's exact reaction was "You look incredible." Then she turned to Grover and me and said "Now, these two are are a challenge." We were dressed as Annabeth's servants/bodyguards/loyal gladiators? I'm not even sure, but we weren't rocking the look very well. Grover wore a gladiator's breastplate and a leather kilt sort of of thing, with a big plastic sword at his side. I got dressed like a retiarius--one of those Colosseum fighters with the weighted nets and the tridents. The trident seemed a little on the nose for me, but it wasn't my biggest complaint. My "armor" was basically an oversize loincloth with a thick leather belt, sandals, and a weird shield-sleeve thing on my left arm that reminded me of a pizza pan. This meant I would basically be walking around Manhattan in late October in my underwear. Annabeth added a big helmet with a faceplate so nobody would recognize me unless they literally got up in my grill. (pg 187)

I need art of these costumes

23. We Find the Lair of Evil Perfume

Annabeth is doing a ton of amazing work this chapter!

Annabeth responded, "WHOOOO!" (pg 206)

Annabeth, daughter of the Owl Goddess, hooted. It only took her 24 books and 5 years

I raised my hands--except I didn't have hands anymore. Where my arms used to be were eight thick purple tentacles lined with pink suction cups. One tentacle was curled around Riptide. I was so shocked I loosened my hold, letting the blade drop. "Oh.." I wanted to throw up. No offense to octopuses. I've had some great conversations with octopuses. But I didn't want to have their tentacles. My new appendages felt wet and slimy. Powerful muscles rippled under the skin. The suckers clasped and unclasped, smelling the air, searching for something to grip. "This is bad." (pg 207)

Well octo-Percy is... interesting

He was staring down at his legs and weeping. Where his furry goat hindquarters had been, there was bare skin, forward-articulating knees, and instead of hooves... feet. Five-toed feet not too different from mine. "Human," he sniffled. "That's the worst kind of beast!" (pg 207 & 208)

Oh, poor Grover. Also... very interesting "humans are the worst kind of beast"

Annabeth turned her head 180 degrees and shrieked at the nymph. "AWK!" (pg 208)

180-degree head turn from Annabeth!

Grover shuffed awkwardly toward Daedra. "How do you walk on these? They're so tender! Ouch. Ouch. Ouch." (pg 209)

We don't normally walk barefoot. And I want art of human!Grover

I saw a young woman in tattered brown robes. She carried a leather pack over one shoulder, loaded with medicinal plants, vials, salves, and scrolls. It was her life's work--all she could salvage when the Colossians chased her out of their city. She struggled up a steep mountain path, occasionally stopping to grip her stomach, crying out in pain. Tears streaked her face, smearing the kohl around her eyes so she appeared to have a black mask. (pg 215)

Gale Lore drop? Poor Gale!

I'd been wrong about Hecate. She hadn't turned Gale into a polecat out of jealousy. The reason was worse. She'd empathized. She'd lacked faith that Gale could survive on her magical talents alone. Hecate of all people knew how the world saw witches. She'd pitied Gale, admired her, and yes, maybe even feared her a little, but she could not imagine a mere human succeeding when she, a goddess, had failed. So Gale had to cease being human. (pg 218)

Poor Hecate too. Dam patriarchy & fear of the unknown

And no way did I want to be around when orange goo started dripping through Hades's palace ceiling. I'd met his plumbers. They tended to solve all his problems with fery whips. (pg 219)

The Kindly Ones aren't plumbers, Percy

I'll say it again: thank the gods for Halloween. I doubt any amount of Mist could have hidden Owl-a-beth and Octo-Percy from the curious eyes of mortals as we fled, especially since my tentacles kept slapping passers by for no particular reason. Because it was Halloween, though, most people would think, Wow, those costumes are incredible, and that third guy is fully human! Amazing! (pg 222)

Yeah, Halloween does a lot for hiding mythical stuff. Cuts both ways tho

Annabeth gagged. Her beak opened wide. Her owl eyes got even larger. Her crown feathers stood on end like blades. She brought her hands to her throat—the universal sign for choking. I panicked. Would the Heimlich maneuver work on a half human, half raptor? I only had octopus tentacles, but I hustled behind her and did my best to find her sternum the way my fourth-grade health teacher had taught us. I thrust upward into her diaphragm. COUGH! An owl pellet the size of a melon shot from her throat and bounced off the opposite wall. She doubled over, breathing heavily. When she straightened again, she was normal Annabeth—human face, human hair with the scent of her usual apple shampoo. (pg 225)

Coughing that up must've been painful. And I'm pretty sure the Heimlich maneuver isn't recommended anymore

Grover seemed to follow my thoughts. “Tomorrow is Halloween. There’s no way three people can fix this mansion before Hecate gets back. (pg 230)

Just ask your friends to help! They're coming for the party, just ask them to arrive early too

I nodded. “I don’t know what happened exactly, but if we’re going to try rebuilding this place with the help of ghosts, then we need to figure it out. Which means I need to talk to SEJ. Sally Estelle Jackson.” (pg 238)

His mum? Or an ancestor? I'm thinking his mum, but the timing makes me think maybe an ancestor

She smiled wistfully, the way she does when she looks at old photographs. “I haven’t since that day. My family made me wear them because I was seeing things…differently.” “Through the Mist.” She’d always been able to do that. Some rare mortals could, but I’d never considered how hard that would’ve been for her as a kid. “They were just trying to help,” she said. “They were worried. When other kids saw a mounted police officer riding down the street, I saw a pegasus. That kind of thing. We used to live near Gramercy Park West. One day, when I was riding my bike down the street, I saw that mansion, shifting and blending into the buildings around it. Those tombstone walls.” (pg 244)

Interesting... what ppl think of clear-sighted ppl

She swallowed. “Hecate ambushed me! She showed up on Olympus and…well, she asked me what I thought of you. I was shocked! She hadn’t spoken to me since 1914! I—I was desperate to impress her. And foolishly… I said you were quite competent.” “Thanks?” “I panicked! And now, if you fail, that means I failed. Oh, she won’t forgive me a second time.” “I still don’t—Wait.” I’m a little slow on the uptake. But when a puzzle finally starts coming together, I can usually finish it without having to bash too many of the pieces into place. “A second time,” I said. “Nineteen fourteen. That’s the last year Hecate ran her magic school. You were part of that?” (pg 247) She shrugged listlessly. “War. It’s always a war. Our students started taking sides, arguing with one another. It escalated from name-calling to violence to potion-flinging.” “Potion-flinging is bad.” (pg 248)

Ofc WW1 made the school close, and poor Εὐδώρη (Eudora)

I took one more look around the shattered great room. I felt like I was forgetting something important. (pg 258)

Locking the door, I'm pretty sure

Grover and I exchanged a panicked look. If Annabeth was admitting she’d made a mistake, we were in serious trouble. All heroes had fatal flaws. Annabeth’s was pride. She always aimed as high as possible, confident she could go even higher. Most of the time, she was right. But calling for help after one block? The situation had to be desperate for her to swallow her pride like that. Then I remembered why fatal flaws were called fatal. We couldn’t let her get worn-out so soon. She was the only one who could direct the ghosts to rebuild the house properly. “Let me take the torches,” I said. (pg 267)

Annabeth’s fatal flaw is pride, yours is loyalty, Percy. You taking them could go just as badly, with you not passing them to anyone else

My last shot was a miss. Black spots danced in my eyes. I crumpled to my knees, and the torch fell out of my hand. (pg 276)

Oh schist

I knew I’d forgotten something important—again. We’d invited our friends to a Halloween party tonight and never canceled it. You see, kids? Absentmindedness can save your life. The side panel door rolled open and costumed demigods poured out. Connor Stoll led the way, wearing a prisoner’s orange jumpsuit with fake manacles on his ankles and wrists. “Dude, your yard decorations are fire!” “They’re real!” I yelled. “Real ghosts!” More demigods emerged from the van—Clovis from the Morpheus cabin, wearing a nightgown, nightcap, and slippers, which was not very different from how he usually lounged at camp; Harley from Hephaestus, the youngest of our campers, encased in a Celestial bronze Iron Man suit he’d probably made himself; Valentina Diaz from Aphrodite, dressed in a black 1940s evening gown with white gloves, a broad-brimmed hat, and twenty different strings of pearls around her neck. Valentina scanned the ghostly horde. “Gross. Can we fight them?” “Yes, please!” Annabeth yelled from the porch. Our friends charged into battle. (pg 292)

I said his friends could help. Except they're helping with ghosts ig

And Rick, Clovis is a son of Ὕπνος (Hypnos), we don't have a Μορφεύς (Morpheus) Cabin

The horse freaked out and whinnied, Why am I flying? (pg 297)

Poor police horse

There should be a rule that goddesses can never come home before 8:00 a.m. Hecate blazed into the mansion at exactly 5:32. (pg 304)

Eugh, what a wake-up time

Sometimes folks at camp asked if I avoided eating seafood because I was the son of Poseidon and could talk to fish or whatever. I always answered that no, I ate fish. Have you ever talked to one? They don’t have a lot to say. Mostly it boils down to Are you food? Am I food? Eating them is the only way to answer the question. (pg 319)

We have an answer to the Percy-seafood question. Tho he'll probably be off calamari for a while

Obviously, I don’t consume the smart species like octopuses, dolphins, sharks, and manta rays. (pg 319)

Oh, so no calamari at all. Good to know

[ballsandbabes]

Rukawa Kaede x reader: Pretty Akward

Summary: A fun, flustered, and sweet love story featuring Rukawa Kaede and reader, with the Shohoku team's not-so-subtle support antics.

Note: y/n = your name // GIF is not mine

Rukawa Kaede was good at a lot of things.

Scoring. Dunking. Ignoring Sakuragi. Looking inexplicably cool even when half-asleep.

But talking to his crush?

Yeah, not one of those things.

You didn’t know you were the cause of his inner turmoil—you, with your quiet smile and your habit of hanging around the gym after school, sketching or reading or just watching the team practice. He noticed you every single time. And when you stayed after to tie your shoes or wait for a friend, Rukawa always—coincidentally—just so happened to stay late too.

You liked to be alone. Practising your dribbling. Shooting. Glancing at the hoop, like your life depended on it. He would stare at you, then pretending to look away like a robot short-circuiting.

What you didn’t know, was that whenever Rukawa stayed longer to "practice more", he practiced talking to you.

He admired your strength and iron discipline. You don't just love basketball, you're obsessed with it. Whatever you draw or read, it's about basketball. He discovered you for the first time late at night in the gym a few months ago. back then it hadn't really mattered to him. But then he kept catching you sneaking into the hall after teams training.

His curiosity got the better of him. He would watch you during your late training sessions for months and witness your progress. He had to acknowledge that you got pretty good pretty quickly. Sometimes he would like to storm into the gym and correct you.

In the empty gym. To thin air.

“Hey.”- …No, too short. Sounds rude. “Yo.”- Ugh. I’m not a rapper. “Hi. You look… foot - FOOD. No. GOOD. GOD. “Kill me.”, he said quietly to himself.

From behind the gym doors, the rest of the Shohoku team watched in a growing mixture of pity and secondhand embarrassment. The team had come back because Ayako had forgotten the key. The boys had decided to accompany them because of the late hours.

“He’s dying out there,” Mitsui whispered, as he glimpsed past the hall door.

“The guy can slam dunk with his eyes closed but can’t say ‘hi’ to a girl?” Ryota said, munching chips, laughing.

Akagi sighed deeply, as though carrying the emotional burden of the entire team’s romantic failures. “We have to do something. I can't watch this.”

Sakuragi, predictably, exploded. “WHAAAT?! THAT STUPID FOX HAS A CRUSH?! HE CAN’T! I CALL DIBS ON—” “Shut up, Sakuragi,” the whole team hissed in unison.

They devised a Plan.

-------- the next day-------------------------------------------------

Rukawa found a handwritten note stuffed in his locker. It read: “Confessing 101: Step 1 – Say something that ISN’T weather-related. Step 2 – Look at her, not the wall. Step 3 – DON’T WALK AWAY MID-SENTENCE. You got this. – Your Fairy Hoopmothers.”

He crumpled it, flushed pink, and muttered, “Idiots,” but he didn’t throw it away.

That afternoon, he stayed behind again. You sat near the bleachers, tying your shoelaces, when he approached—slow, hesitant, looking like he’d rather wrestle a grizzly bear than speak.

“Uh… hey.” He blinked. Okay, step one. You looked up. “Hi, Rukawa.” “…You look wall—WELL. I mean. You look good. Nice. Good.”

There was a silence so painful it almost echoed.

You blinked. “...Thanks I guess?”

He turned slightly red, visibly debating whether to run or die on the spot. Then, in a moment of miraculous bravery (fueled, no doubt, by repeated mental screaming from the invisible Shohoku peanut gallery), he added:

“I… like you. You’re… interesting to me. I mean—you’re not boring. You’re the opposite. Of boring. Which is… great.” He looked like he was trying to disappear into his own jacket.

You blinked again. Then smiled.

"Is that so?", you asked.

He stammers something about your incredible discipline, your progress and your talent.

"Have you stalked me?", you ask him, trying to put him on the spot.

"Ehr...", he dos not know how to respond to that. "Nice Kaede, you are such a loser, when it comes to girls", he talks to him self.

“I like you too.”

He froze. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You tilted your head. “Even when you call me ‘not boring.’ That’s a pretty strong compliment coming from you.”

Behind the wall, unknown to either of you, the Shohoku team watched through a crack in the gym door, clutching each other in stunned silence.

Then— “HE DID IT!” “YESSS!” “MY BOY!” Sakuragi screamed, “WHAT THE HELL!!”

You and Rukawa turned just in time to see Mitsui and Ryota high-fiving, Akagi wiping his eyes like a proud dad, and Sakuragi being held back by several players as he raged incoherently about betrayal and foxes and “true love.”

You looked at Rukawa, and he gave a small sigh—part frustration, part relief.

“…They’re idiots.”

You laughed. “Yeah. But kind of sweet idiots, it seems.”

And as the door slammed shut with the chaos retreating down the hallway, Rukawa looked at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“…Pretty awkward,” he murmured.

“But pretty worth it,” you said, and this time, he smiled first.

Especially for such a pretty view, you thought to yourself.

[sleptwithinthesun]

a personal (and very extremely late) fill for the🤞and 🥰 prompts on the spring prompts list, written for t/im d/rake from d/c c/omics. yes, i'm aware it's summer. however, i started this fic over two years ago and it needs to be done.

2K words, next part of the t/imber college au. hope you like it!!

"Look at me for a second?" Bernard asks, tapping the eraser end of his pencil against his notebook a couple of times, just to ensure that he has Tim's attention. It lands just to the right of his half-finished sketch of his roommate, who's typing a lab report up on his laptop on the other side of the library table. 

Tim complies, glancing up and making brief eye contact to show Bernard the slowly-emerging freckles scattered over his cheeks and the ever-present, bruise-like bags under his eyes. They've been getting worse lately, probably due to the arrival of the spring season and its various allergens, even though Tim started taking Benadryl towards the beginning of March. They're now a week into April, with allergy season in full swing.

Bernard's gaze sweeps over Tim's face, and then he squints down at his drawing. After a moment of deliberation, he goes back over Tim's lash line and carefully shades a touch lower and darker than he was previously. "Thanks." 

"No problem," Tim replies, coughing quietly into a fist a second later. It sounds chesty, same as it has been for the past few weeks, and Tim just keeps going, like someone's scratching at his lungs. Which, to be fair, is probably how he feels about the whole thing. He's been getting worse at night recently, waking both himself and Bernard up at early hours in the morning with coughing fits. 

There's not much either of them can do about it, though, and Bernard's not been sleeping well, anyway. Not to any fault of Tim; he's just been… wondering. About some things. Regarding Tim, sure, but not because of him. Nevertheless, he's been staying up with him until his roommate manages to fall back asleep congested snores emanating from his side of the dorm. 

Not for the first time since they'd arrived at the library, Tim suddenly drops his chin towards his chest, eyes pinching shut tightly before his shoulders give a minuscule jerk forwards. He barely manages a shallow inhale before the motion repeats twice more, and then blinks a few times, sniffling quietly into his sweatshirt sleeve. Also not for the first time, Bernard murmurs, "Bless you."

"Ugh, sorry, I don't think I'm dohh—" He cuts himself off with another silent double, and then a third pair for good measure. "Oh, fuck me," Tim mutters, a bit breathless. 

"Christ, bless you times... how many even was that, seven total? They're so quiet; it's hard to tell." Tim nods to confirm the number, his eyes bleary from sneezing as he rubs a knuckle against the side of his nose to quell the remaining itch instead of responding verbally. "Bless you times seven. Why do you sneeze like that, anyway?" 

Tim blinks at him, clearly confused. "Like what?"

"Like… you're completely stifling to the point where they're silent." Bernard fumbles to explain, trying to find the right words without sounding insane. "I don't know anyone who can do that without using their hands or something. It's kind of... uh, impressive, to be honest, but can I ask, why do you sneeze that way? Is there a reason, or is it just...?"

"I don't know," Tim says, then shrugs. "I never really thought about it. It's polite, I guess, to make them quieter. Doesn't bother anyone else."

And Bernard-of-several-months-ago would have simply been content to have even gotten an answer out of Tim in the first place, would have accepted his word without a second thought. But Bernard-of-now can see the little flicker in Tim's eye, the one that means he's lying to him, which makes no sense, because what does Tim have to lie about?

It's a sneeze. There's no backstory to it, as far as Bernard is aware of. It's simple, it's thoughtless, it's inherent. Sure, he knows that people can hold back their sneezes if needed, but at it's base, it's a reaction, and one that's hard to control. The level to which Tim can manipulate his own, though, speaks to something far more complicated than Bernard can even begin to form connotations to.

For now, he has to let it go. Everything about Tim is a mystery, and the code to deciphering him is written between the lines of Dick's offering of his and Jason's phone numbers. So, unless Bernard texts one of them to ask why Tim sneezes weirdly, which is quite possibly the most bizarre question he could even raise, he's on his own.

Don't let it be said that Bernard Dowd doesn't love a challenge.

-

Over the remainder of the week, Bernard keeps an eye on Tim as if he's a sentry assigned to stand guard over him. He does feel weird about it—almost stalkerish, which, honestly and a bit embarrassingly, isn't exactly new to him—but it's not like Bernard's trying to learn anything he didn't already know about Tim's personal life. He lives in the same room as Tim, for crying out loud. Objectively, he's not doing anything wrong. At least, that's how Bernard justifies it to himself.

He's aware that he's being all Bernard about it, looking too deeply into it when, in reality, it's probably nothing more than Tim preferring not to draw attention to himself. At the same time, Bernard can't help but feel as if there's something more to it. After all, Tim decided to hide the fact that he was missing a whole-ass organ for a semester; he truly wouldn't put it past Tim to somehow have a buried trauma about sneezing. It would only make sense for him.

To be perfectly honest, though, Tim is boring.

Bernard didn't notice it in their fall semester, when Tim was being avoidant for the most part and didn't trust Bernard enough to reveal anything about his personal life. Apparently, he wasn't missing out. Tim studies more than anything, and even when he's not studying, he's doing homework or reading or something equally uninteresting. It makes his observation of his roommate very dry.

Until the moment where he invites Tim to sit outside.

They're moving through the quad together, Tim having just attended his linguistics class and heading into a free period while Bernard's done with classes for the day. The April weather is gorgeous, with a nice breeze cutting through the heat of the day. It's so nice, in fact, that Bernard asks—

"Want to stay outside for a bit?"

Tim's steps pause for a moment, hesitating. "Why?"

Bernard can barely stop himself from staring in shock at him. Sure, he grew up in the city, but he spent every moment that he could in the park. "it's... nice?" he ventures. "Plus, you could use more sun."

"First, rude. Second, if you insist." Tim sighs, glancing around for a place to sit. "As long as we're not directly in the sunlight."

Bernard rolls his eyes. "Sure, whatever. Vampire."

Tim scoffs at him, following Bernard as they move to take a seat in the shade underneath a tree. He only seems vaguely annoyed, meaning that he does actually care, at least a little bit. They're not at the point yet where Tim's comfortable being jokingly annoyed or mad with Bernard, since Bernard did it to Tim once and ended up sending Tim into a spiral for the next day over whether he was actually upset.

So. His annoyance here is at least vaguely interesting.

"hn'x! ngt! hnk'tt!"

"Bless you," Bernard murmurs. Tim shakes his head and immediately goes to sneeze again, sitting up with his head tipped back slightly, eyes half-shut, mouth partly open as his breath hitches quietly.

"hh...hi'h? hHhh—" He's trying to hold it back and is failing miserably. "—hk't! hxxt! hn'gt! h'hHn'gt-sh!"

"Bless you."

"Why'd you want to be out here?" Tim asks, voice nasal. His head immediately bobs down toward his chest again, nose pressed into the crook between his thumb and pointer finger to at least give himself a semblance of modesty. This set is even more numerous than the first, each sneeze coming in rapid succession.

Bernard sits up straighter in alarm. "Uh... exactly how allergic are you to pollen?"

Tim's response is another rapid set of sneezes.

"You need to get better at putting your foot down," exclaims Bernard, grabbing Tim by his free wrist and hauling him upward as Tim sneezes again and again, each perfectly stifled and barely making any sound. The only reason, Bernard reflects, that he can hear them is because Tim's sneezing too much to fully have control.

"You're—gxt'sh!—telling me," Tim gasps out. Mockingly, he attempts to add, "You could use more su'h'nxt! hxt'ch!"

"Okay, Sneezy, let's get back to the very climate-controlled indoors," says Bernard, hastily dragging him toward the building.

-

Tim's lying down on his bed when Bernard walks into their dorm, three days after the incident, absently staring up at the ceiling. There's nothing taped up there—Bernard checked.

"You okay?"

"Fine," replies Tim. "Just... thinking."

Bernard sets his backpack down next to his bed, placing the binder in his hands down on top of his comforter to ensure he doesn't forget about the homework in it. "Anything in particular?"

Tim shrugs, which is his way of saying Yes, but I don't want to talk about it. Bernard had given up on trying to interpret all of Tim's nonverbal signals on his own and reached out to Dick the day after Tim's allergy attack; Dick had informed him that reading Tim was like learning a new language. He wasn't very communicative at best, even with members of his own family, and it took Dick years to figure everything out. Jason is still struggling, apparently, which Dick attributes to Jason being in college while Tim was adjusting to living with the Waynes. He's gradually been passing tips onto Bernard, trying to make his living experience a tad easier.

Uncertainly, he walks over to Tim's side of the room, stopping just short of sitting on the bed with his roommate. Looming over him feels like an equally terrible option, and Bernard just stands there for an awkward moment.

"This is a little creepy."

"You're one to talk," Bernard says before having the chance to properly filter himself. He's trying to get Tim to open up, here.

Tim huffs out a laugh, then sniffles quietly. "Just sit down."

Bernard does. Neither of them say anything for a long minute, with the silence frequently broken by Tim's soft sniffles as he continues fighting off the pollen in the air.

"You know you can sneeze, right?" he blurts out. Tim doesn't blink. "Like, around me. I don't mind, I promise."

When Tim doesn't respond, Bernard keeps rambling. "It's just that, every single time I've seen you sneeze you're stifling. No matter what. Even if you're alone in the room, you don't make any noise, and, like, it's worrying me. It's not, um, normal. Not that you're not normal, obviously, but—"

"Bernard."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Bernard rolls his head to look at Tim. His roommate is still looking at the ceiling instead of at him, but he's talking.

"I was..." He pauses, starts over. "My parents very much believed in the adage of children being seen and not heard. To them, my silence wasn't an expectation, it was a strict necessity for me."

"Tim..."

"For whatever reason, they included normal bodily functions in that." Tim scoffs, but it's devoid of any feeling, as if he's making the noise only because he's expected to show disapproval toward his parents. "Coughing, sneezing, anything like that was taboo. So, I learned to keep quiet."

"You know that's not okay, right?"

"I've heard that nearly a thousand times from Dick and Jason." Now, he turns to face Bernard. "I'm aware."

Bernard sighs. "Do you believe it?"

A moment of silence. Three different emotions pass over Tim's face, too quickly for Bernard to parse through them all, but something sad is certainly there. "I'm working on that," he says eventually.

"That's good," replies Bernard, and they fall back into silence before Tim sneezes adorably, much like a baby kitten.

"hk'sh'iew!"

"Oh my God."

"Shut up!"

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

Chains of thought

(Sooooo this is a tad bit of a mess but I felt the need to write it, just a peek into the relationship between the twins and Comet. As always, ugh I may come back and brush this up. Little bit of an allusion to violence, nothing really.. maybe some angst. This takes place during the war, before Earth. @quibble-auk :D)

-

Standing sentinel, easy and soft. They sit close, optics on either the door to their shared crawl space of a berth room. Or their brother. Sunstreaker sighed deep in his chest at the stillness of it all. Sideswipe was indulging in a data pad that had been downloaded with epics, old stories and legends he was lucky to have saved. All the other copies were probably lost after the archives had been melted and groped. While the glittering hall and it’s swathed passages had been burned, it was ransacked for physical treasures. All the art and soul left to die.

Sideswipe had been lucky enough to have the dented scratched pad as a gift from long ago, it was beyond precious to him now. He only read through the stories one at a time, never allowing himself to over indulge in the tales for fear he would lose a detail or grow tired of them. Not many noticed his gentleness with words, nor how that pad stayed with Sunstreaker’s old tin of brushes. Gilded and gleaming like its owner.

No, they assumed the twins were energon soaked grunts, berserkers, he even heard the word monster thrown once. When Sunstreaker felt himself fall too far from his feet, when the sun couldn’t reach him, Sideswipe would pull out that box and remind them both they had slivers of their old selves still alive. The Artist and the Reader, danced slow bashful steps with the Gladiator and Frontliner. Sideswipe’s optics twitched up as their third huffed softly in his recharge, though long ago they had found the term “sleep,” recharge was fitting enough.

Sunstreaker slowly checked over the youngest on the other berth, scanning his oddly grooved frame. Comet was curled tight within himself, resting from his latest reconnaissance that had almost outed him. Long hours and lack of food had put him in a ditch both mentally and physically. Tired wet optics and a gaunt look had told them everything when they had been reunited at their chosen coordinates. He had succeeded in finding what had needed to be found, locating vents on the underground base and their procedures on maintenance. Lots of sitting, and not moving. No organics existed on that rock of a base so that had left him with no choice but to be hungry. He still hasn't eaten since they returned. He had slept. Comet eater hadn’t twitched till now, tight in his ball. Some would assume that such a position would allude to discomfort, but to the twins it spoke of pure vulnerability. Face tucked into his chest and legs bent close, showed a certain tell that he was not as he seemed. Curled and breathing deeply while his brothers recharged flat on their backs. Comet groaned softly, moving to stretch one leg before rolling up again, now face down. Sunstreaker hardly fought back a smile turning back to his sketch.

Under one of his favorite pens was a soft scribble of Sideswipe enthralled in his Epic. Optics wide as if trying to will the characters out of the text. Below that, was the beginning of a doodle of Comet. Sunstreaker in bold strokes illustrated his young brother sleeping soundly. Sideswipe didn’t try to hold back a soft laugh at the groan that erupted from said organic. A sure sign the male was finally awakening. “Primus, are you choking on something?” Slowly, Comet rolled so his face was at least half visible, opening one optic. Sunstreaker couldn’t help but wince, wrinkling his faceplate, as Comet made a show of opening his wet double lidded optics, knowingly.

That shiny golden eye dilated on Sideswipe, who only smirked at his utter deadpan. “Did you finally try to take a bite out of Jazz? Probably got his visor stuck in your throat Commy.” Sideswipe nudged Sunny with his humor over the bond, Sunstreaker responded with a smirk. The wet optic narrowed, and with a tremendous sense of  damaged pride, joined Comet’s face in flopping back onto the berth. Sunstreaker shook his helm at the display, his brother’s joy and amusement over getting some sort of response out of their little brother flooding the bond. It was warm and bright with relief. Both of them would never admit it, unless to each other, but the organic tended to worry them

He had been hardly more than the equivalent of a newspark when they met him, shiny eyed and scared. It didn’t take long with their once soft sparks, and Comet’s complete and utter lack of malevolence. Their duo in the slums became a trio, and they had been holding on tight ever since. Sunstreaker was still shocked by it, at times when moments get quiet, them allowing that squishy meat shifter into their sparks. 

They probably couldn’t have done that now. 

No. He imagined himself as he is now allowing such a potential threat to live.

How the now Sunstreaker wouldn’t have hesitated to kill Comet.

 He wouldn’t have stuttered when the young thing had let out a sob, his helm falling back on the ground of that old mine, shiny eyes overflowing with fear and pain. Sunstreaker, if he was as brutal as he is now, would have run that blade home.

That thought made his pen stutter. 

Sunstreaker had been so lucky that the organic super predator had a good spark, had not been older. Not been utterly out of his processor with hunger yet. 

He had been lucky that the young mech he was, had been soft sparked.

That even though the damn thing had been inches from killing him, he had let go of Comet’s throat.

Sunstreaker sat with that odd train of dark thoughts, a look of brooding clouding his face plate.

He jolted as Comet rolled onto the floor with a thump, and let out a string of annoyed clicks as Sideswipe chuckled loudly at the male’s miscalculation.

His twin had sensed the dark turn of his thoughts and shoved another gentle reminder over the bond, that they were here and together. That’s all that matters.  Sunny allowed himself to relax slowly from his spiral as Sideswipe goaded Comet and tapped him with his pede. Comet took a claw to the appendage with a hiss, still attached as sideswipe lifted it.

The two bickered and batted at one another as Sunstreaker allowed himself to smile.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Hellooooo hope you're doing ok!

Could we not only have a glimpse of what Arranged!reader's childhood was like but also her and Bruce finding some common ground as well?

Half sick of shadows.

It was a sentiment that you understood.

As you knelt on the ground in front of your doll house. It was expensive and beautiful. A gift from your father when you were 5; and now it made a wonderful hiding place.

The dolls had long since been taken away. But- there were dozens of tiny chests, little closets, intricate details and hollow furniture.

"There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott."

You'd had to learn the words and now you mutter them to yourself. What you're grounded for, you couldn't say. As if it matters. You've been fooling smoke detectors and smuggling sketch pads for years. Whiling away the hours of solitude until someone remember that you exist.

And as you light a cigarette and inhale slowly, you wonder what the sisters would say. "Such an elegant lady," you snort.

Worthy of Bruce Wayne? Perhaps not. But you weren't Stupid. Falcone would love nothing more than to be able to hand you over to HIS son. To try and curtail his son- to force him to consider his future. But- ugh. Alberto. He was so... weedy. And his ego.

Ugh.

Egos were annoying. Men were annoying. And if it wouldn't kill your father, you'd almost consider taking vows- but. You weren't entirely sure you didn't feel attraction. Some men were almost pretty enough that you didn't care when they spoke.

[belleyellsaboutturtles]

Arrival

Sparky sensed it before it happened. They just wish they’d intervened sooner.

They’d been listening to their host talk about something while he sketched on his beanbag chair. They were not entirely sure what Michelangelo had been talking about, still getting accustomed to the mortal world and modern times, but listening to the child talk with such animated gestures and joy had been stoking a warm sense of fondness in Sparky’s heart. Their attention was only drawn away when they sensed a change nearby.

It felt like static, tingling and clinging to the air around them with a mystic energy Sparky did not recognize. It was enough to make the spirit become more alert and focus their senses more. The energy…felt old. Foreign. It did not match the signature of any of their enemies, but it put Sparky on edge nonetheless. They growled quietly, hackles raising.

His disquiet drew Mikey’s attention. The box turtle trailed off whatever he’d been saying and frowned, sending a questioning poke through the bond. What’s wrong?

I do not know, Sparky rumbled. His tail lashed behind him in agitation. There is an energy gathering here. I do not recognize it. Do you sense it?

Sparky didn’t so much see as feel Mikey’s brows furrow. Confusion trickled through the bond, but no skepticism. Mikey believed them, that meant. He just couldn’t see it himself nor did he understand what it meant exactly.

The box turtle looked around, scanning their visible surroundings with careful eyes. “I mean, I don’t see anything? Maybe it’s, uh… it’s…” He’d…he’d had a word in mind. He’d had a thought. It…what was it?

Michael? Sparky nudged him. At least, Mikey thought they nudged him. He could feel something. It was…it was warm. It settled over his mind like a soft blanket. It was here, but it wasn’t. It called to him, like a patch of sunlight on a sunny day.

He didn’t hear his pencil and sketchbook fall to the ground.

Too late, Sparky realized the mystic energy was not just clinging to the air around them. It was clinging to Michelangelo.

It was a spell.

If Sparky had a heart, it would have been beating wildly. As it was, their fire flared and crackled in their alarm, illuminating the mindscape with their worry. Michael! Michelangelo!

This was coming on too fast. Sparky could only watch through their host’s eyes as a silver light bloomed in their bedroom. It swirled and expanded until a shining portal hung in the middle of the room.

It floated silently, yet it called like a siren song to Michelangelo. There. There was where he was meant to go. The turtle stood, eyes encompassed by a silver glow and arms limp at his sides, not thinking for even a moment to question his actions or the events happening before him.

In fact, when Sparky pulled on the bond, the spirit was terrified to feel no response from his host. The child’s mind was quiet, lulled into a dreamlike state by the enchantment and completely unaware of what was going on. There was no surprise, no worry - not even confusion. It was like his host wasn’t awake at all.

A snarl ripped through Sparky. No one messed with his chosen.

But when they raced forward to front, they were blocked. It was like hitting glass. He could feel how close he was. He could feel Michael’s bare feet against the ground as the turtle walked towards the portal. He could smell the tea Raphael had brewed for them not half an hour ago. But he couldn’t. Get. Through.

The teenager was a step away from the portal.

MIKEY! Sparky cried, desperate for his turtle to hear them. This wasn’t safe, something was wrong-

He wasn’t heard.

Mikey stepped through the portal.

———

Mikey came to slowly.

He blinked languidly. He…had he fallen asleep? He felt like he was waking up from a long nap. A lingering feeling of warmth clung to his…skin? No, that wasn’t right. He could feel it, but… it wasn’t… on him. It was… uh… Ugh, his head was foggy.

The turtle raised a hand to his head, barely reacting when he accidentally slapped himself in the face aside from a quiet “ow.” He rubbed his eyes. How long had he been out? And…why was he standing?

Someone was talking. He thought. It sounded like it. Well actually it sounded like whenever the grown ups talked on the Peanuts, all muffled and distorted. The thought made Mikey giggle quietly. Oh man, he should show that to Sparky. They haven’t gotten to that yet. But wait, where was Sparky?

Mikey lazily poked at the bond. Sparky? W’az goin’ on?

MIKEY! A surge of relief swept over Mikey, strong enough to make the dazed teen stagger. He whined in complaint. Distantly, he realized whenever he’d heard talking was Sparky. That meant he’d been trying to talk to Mikey for…he didn’t know how long. At least thirty seconds.

The spirit in question reigned in their emotions until Mikey could feel his own again. At least, he thinks he could. He wasn’t sure how he was feeling. Actually, come to think of it… confused. Yeah, he was definitely feeling confused.

“Did I sleepwalk or something?” Mikey mumbled.

Or something, Sparky answered stiltedly. Mikey frowned. Sensing his question, the spirit sighed, then grumbled. Something happened. A spell. It memorized you and brought you somewhere. I…am not sure where, or who cast it.

Mikey blinked against his hands. He…didn’t remember that. The last thing he remembered was talking to Sparky about an old show he’d found. Space Heroes or something. After that… nothing.

Stomach churning, Mikey sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Okay. Okay, he’d been under a spell and he couldn’t remember any of it. That was freaky. Yeah he definitely didn’t like that, nope, nuh uh.

Sensing his host’s rising anxiety, Sparky was quick to send a thread of reassurance. The spirit rumbled softly. You are not alone, little light. We will figure this out.

Mikey shakily exhaled. Okay…okay, yeah. Right. He wasn’t alone. He had a super ancient and powerful fire spirit with him. It’d be fine. “Thanks, Sparky,” he whispered. The spirit purred in acknowledgement.

The turtle inhaled one more time to calm his nerves before lowering his hands. He opened his eyes and took in his new surroundings. He…was underground. Definitely underground. Crystals protruded from the floor and ceiling. Others glimmered within the walls. Maybe he was in a cave? In the distance, he saw buildings, and maybe some water. All around were other turtles, murmuring in alarms and confusion, seemingly as lost as Mikey was.

Not alone, Mikey reminded himself.

With that assurance in mind and Sparky’s protective at his metaphorical back, Mikey set off in search of answers.

———

A/N: an arrival ficlet for @tmnt-fandom-family-reunion! Mikey is freaked out and Sparky doesn’t like anything about this. Poor dudes.

[recurring-polynya]

Writing/Art Update 12.10.2024

Ugh, might as well get this over with. I wrote one scene. It was supposed to be, like, 300 words, and instead it came out to be 1,137. I got 200 words into the next scene after that and half an hour later decided I wanted to go in a different direction.

Working on this fanfic is like pulling teeth, but it's the kind of writing that was always going to be like pulling teeth. I do not want to do pulling-teeth-writing on writing that is supposed to be fun, but I don't mind doing pulling-teeth-writing on writing that I have put off because I knew it was going to be pulling-teeth-writing. Well. I do mind. I would rather do fun writing, but fun writing is not on the menu, so this is what we got.

With regards to the writing, I also spent time this week:

Wondering if it was inappropriate for me to write Rukia and Renji having straw rain capes and hats, which I felt were a thing they could reasonably construct themselves EXCEPT that if they could why doesn't anyone in the deep Rukon wear shoes, which they could also obviously construct themselves and then I got really mad about it

Spent 1000 hours trying to figure out what one eats in Inuzuri in the winter (millet, horse chestnuts and crab apples, but the list could get longer)

Decided I had mentioned District 77 too many times by number and that I had to come up with a name for it, which I did.

Did a little bit of research on winter trapping techniques, remembered that I am an incredibly squeamish person, and decided that maybe it was okay to stay vague on that

When I started writing this story five years ago, it had very, very little intentional world-building, and I don't actually want it to turn into a world-building story, unfortunately 🎵I am neurotic🎵 so it's not optional.

I'm also getting the hang of Ellipsus. I'm trying out making my notes document into a "draft" so that I have easy access to it from my main doc, and that seems to be working pretty well. It continues to be Fine. It's got its flaws, but it's not more annoying than GoogleDocs, and I feel like it's pre-enshittification, so updates will probably make it better instead of worse.

I have also been working on my Ukitake Week piece: I did got for an action pose after all. I'm done my detailed sketch--it's...okay. I'm not actually good at action poses! I don't expect I ever will be! I keep doing them, though...because...I don't know, actually! Because I like comics and I like shounen manga and I'm always grasping for the things I think are cool and it's my dumb hobby, it doesn't really matter to anyone but me, anyway. I did a couple of things for my art club, too.

Anyway, I'm hoping to finish that up by the 15th and maybe it would be reasonable to aim for writing two scenes this week?? We'll see!!

[vixensheart]

“Ugh.” Cherri flopped onto the floor beside him, sleep shirt already askew, and swiped at the bowl of popcorn Husk had balanced on his lap, scooping out a generous handful. ‘Course, kernels fell from her hand and scattered across the bed of blankets they sat on. She shoved half the handful in her mouth—spilling more onto her lap and the blankets alike—and munched noisily, face twisted into an irritated grimace. “Tell me why we spent, like, two hours talkin’ about a whole ring of Hell neither of us have been to or can ever fuckin’ go.”

Husk snorted and leaned over to pluck some of the abandoned kernels off the blanket. “Somethin’, somethin’, the sin of Wrath is both part a’ Hell’s hierarchy and somethin’ we gotta avoid.”

She shot him a glower. “I mean, I fuckin’ guess.” Cherri shoved more popcorn in her mouth and lurched for the remote, turning on the tv and flicking through the apps to pull up Voxflix. Which, always had Husk pulling a mild grimace, seeing the damn logo. But, there weren’t really any other options, because what was Hell without ironclad monopolies? So he kept his mouth shut and watched Cherri flick through her profile. She picked a stupid comedy thing—looked like a stand up special, something they often went for when they wanted something low stakes and easy to swallow—and chucked the remote over her shoulder onto the couch behind them.

The show kicked on. Some hellborn—a baphomet, Husk thought—stood on a simple, sleek stage beneath a mix of purple and blue lights. It reminded Husk a bit of some comedy sketches he’d seen in life, except the jokes were shittier. Though, maybe he was just too damn sober.

He tossed some popcorn in his mouth. At least the popcorn was good.

Beside him, Cherri shifted, tugging one of the many throw pillows to her chest.

“You ever think about all the shit you’ve done and like, how it fits into these sins, or whatever?” she asked, then, voice low and quiet and echoing with the sort of melancholy that came with nights filled with many regrets. Husk blinked, frowned. Because, well, shit. What a fucking question. He dropped his gaze to the overflowing bowl of popcorn in his lap.

“I’ve always thought too damn hard about all my regrets.” It was why he wasted decades chasing the bittersweet lies of reprieve from the bottom of a whiskey bottle. Husk sighed. “This all’s just added context, I guess.”

Cherri hummed. Her long and wild hair fell over her face, obscuring it from view, but Husk could see the lines of tension in her shoulders, her arms, legs. Laughter rang out from the tv. Husk’s ear flicked, fur prickling. His gaze flickered back to the flickering screen, where the comedian was telling some convoluted joke about imps that left Husk’s lip curling with distaste.

Racism wore a different mask, here, but Husk still saw it with all the clarity he did in life.

📖

Read the rest on ao3!

[lifenconcepts]

Traditional simply because it comes a lot more easier to me and I can mess about more :)

Since I was a child? Idk maybe 2016 or 18 I actually tried to make something palatable.

ZERO HAHAHXHXJS unless you count art class in primary or high school. They taught me nothing other than why graffiti is bad or what not.

eeehh no. I rarely do it tbh but when I do it’s probably most likely to be posted here.

Terrible looking men who look like they crawled out the sewers and are all emotionally soggy.

Mmmm anything? Honestly can’t really pinpoint what I hate or like drawing it honestly comes through with a muse.

Never !! XDXD (i definetely should (my anatomy is in shambles))

For fun ;3

LIke… 1 minute.

in my eyes, very!

A couple

Sure absolutely! Go ahead and yet I don’t have anything smart to say about it other than “I wanted to draw a goober, I drew a goober. Circle circle hair”

Eh I don’t really know

Id love to collab! But like, nobody ever invited me to do so.

I only ever do the sketches and a good sketch (as best as it can get with my lack of training) is about half an hour. Anymore and I get all sad that it’s taking so long to look presentable.

Eh about the same

Yes 😜

uhhhh everything apart from the face because that’s where I’m quite good at.

Anything that isn’t the same cookie cutter face plastered on each character. Also straight hair. Also the body? Also good tails. Also in a different style. Also-

Oo it’s a good question but I never really put it much thought. I presume eyes and messy hair since that’s what I can draw consistently, I like drawing it! Also animal paws.

no :(

reehehejdjjdnbxb I uhm.. I don’t know. I hope so! I think I am!!

Yeah honestly it’s just original art cause even when I want to I just can’t really put a character I love on paper all that well.

Eh? I uhm. No clue. I just feel really excited to see other people’s art? Not inspired or jealous or anything. I can go between artist & art consumer pretty easily.

Both? Eh depends on my mood that’s unconnected to the art. If I’m just in general a bit tired or happy then silence but if I’m pissy or apathetic and still want to draw then some music.

Sketchbook! It’s called that, litterally. Also use it to edit photos sometimes and ong it’s better than photoshop and SO much easier. Got tons of free elements and hey, it’s free to download. Lol!

Uhhhh idfk it’s like, whatever I am unconfident at then merge them once I have a good taste for things, but other than that, about 5-15? Just to be able to go back and edit the underside of something. Ugh

P… pen.

By crying and giving up! Obviously xD

Guilt I bare for not being able to express myself in any other way apart from creating.

Artist Asks!

Do you prefer traditional drawing, or digital?

How long have you been drawing?

How many classes have you taken?

Do you have a DeviantArt, personal website, or art blog?

What’s your favorite thing to draw?

What’s your least favorite thing to draw?

How often do you use references?

Do you draw professionally, or just for fun?

How much time do you spend drawing on an average day?

Are you confident about your art?

How many art-related blogs do you follow?

Is it okay for people to ask you about your process?

Do you prefer to keep your art personal, or do you like drawing things for other people?

Do you ever collaborate with others?

How long does an average piece take you to complete?

Do you draw more today than you did in the past, or do you draw less?

Do you think you’re justified in giving other people art advice?

What are you currently trying to improve on?

What is the most difficult thing for you to draw?

What is the easiest thing for you to draw?

Do you like to challenge yourself?

Are you confident that you’re improving steadily?

Do you draw more fanart, or more original art?

Do you feel jealous when you see other people’s art, or inspired? (Be honest!)

Do you like to draw in silence, or with music?

For digital artists: what program(s) do you use?

For digital artists: how many layers does a typical piece require?

For traditional artists: what medium do you like most? (Pencil, charcoals, etc)

For traditional artists: How do you usually start on a big piece? (Light sketch, colored lead, sketchpaper, etc)

What inspires you to not just make art, but to be a better artist?

[kmichiedreams]

Day 21: Minor Change

(sketch) ft. snake-man-tainted and weird-long-tongued-creatures-summoning Ino and long-haired-buff-medic-nin yet free-from-team-seven-curse Sakura :D

See how this all happens in Dreaming of Sunshine by @dosbysilverqueen !

Day 21 of @tricksterkatartthings ‘s #DosArtChallenge !