#I also am not as scared to be showing off my art

[inky-toons]

The way my heart is racing every time I realize “you’ve improved a lot, cool now fix this..put this here..woah..did you just improve again?” Is INSANE like these differences just because I went “I don’t like that redo it” like sure it’s been two days and I only finished one sketch out of five maybe six, but wow. I’ll take it. Am I all the way satisfied? Never BAHAHA but I’ll take it I love it

I refuse to tag this just yet I don’t want to drop much of anything until the page is done im so so excited AHHH !! But a few more notes I like the way it’s darker in the updated one, I think it captures the Hispanic tone a bit more which I know doesn’t matter much but I dunno..I like being on point I guess plus the COLORS AAHHHHUGHHH so so much warmer and welcoming for the tone I was aiming for. And the brushes make all the difference because I wanted my very own brush style but I realized “that’s so restricting please…” so I redid it with the Studio Brush and now it’s my favourite brush. The shading on the hair is way better too, like this was all in one take and me just looking up refs and taking notes and not just going “whatever I’m done.”

Aaanyways finally got that off my mind, improvements improvements, I really like being able to be free out of my Spamton/Deltarune phase. It got a bit restricting when I wanted to draw something and I really like doing crude humour anyways which never fit the art I did for the game, but here I can make small suggestive pokes and huge leaps in gore and blood because that’s the show and I’m just SO happy. Who knew the premise of spamtons strings would literally apply to me while in the fandom. Plus the comedy and banter in the show fancies my tastes and I’m hyper all over again, I wish my friends met me in my beginning phase of deltarune hype because I was insanely hyperactive, but my art was NO…HSVWBWA so idk 🤷‍♂️

[sonicadventures]

idk this entered my brain the other night and wouldn't leave until i got out of bed and drew it

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

"I'm going to play Hades because I enjoy ancient mythology, an interest that was sparked by my access to stories from Greek mythology" she said

"Oh wow two blessings in one room" she said

"How cool, Artemis and Aphrodite, I hope this means that I get to see some insight into their relationship with each other in this world" she said

"Surely this will not force me to make a decision between two goddesses in a fashion reminiscent of the inciting incident to the trojan war" SHE SAID

[123countwithme]

So umm found Welcome Home and yeah.....

[doodlebeeberry]

Sometimes I think about how writing is received by the osc, particularly in comparison to art itself, and while I get that the community is for obvious reasons very visually driven, I feel like writing as a creative form just. Isn’t given as much credence. And I don’t mean this in a ‘pitting art/animation and writing against eachother’ kind of way, or in a ‘folks don’t care about/pay attention to the writing of a show’ way—both art and writing are important but different, and folks talk about good vs bad writing in shows all the time, at least. Rather, i think if your someone who buy n large just writes, your work is much more likely to be passed over, particularly if you don’t really write much fanfic. Folks just aren’t interested. Which is kind of a shame, honestly! It can be tricky sometimes to adapt objects to more literary storytelling forms, but imo it’s a fun challenge, not to mention that it opens the door to all sorts of different tools and angle you can use to tell your story. Not to mention that it can be more accessible than digital art and animation for some folks. Like. I want a novelized object show. Or something consistent of letters or news articles or an anthology of poems. I wish more regard wasn’t given to just writing is all, particularly in regards to original/non-fanfic writing

[angeltism]

when 99% of the content of one of uur fragments is weird icky stuff

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2 hangs on - you guessed it - a double meaning (and art). *Part 4*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The End?

This is major spoilers for season 3 territory. You have been warned. I'm also going to split this into parts because wow, I have so many ✨Clues✨! Friends, we have arrived at the prestige! Metatron come at me bro, catch these hands. Oh wait you can't, you always have your hands in your pockets...

People smarter than me have talked all about Aziraphale's magician outfits on this show, so I won't steal their thunder. Suffice it to say, The Metatron is wearing a weirdly dark coat and tie over his whole outfit. Which gives him a very only a white floating head look, but also keeps in the theme of ✨I am a magician✨. He's here to perform a trick!

I also won't talk a lot about him in the coffee shop because that's been done already. If we have learned anything from part 3, analyzing the coffee to death is what we are supposed to be doing, because He is distracting everyone with a benign object that we can inspect. So while he's waving this coffee around in the shop going "SEE I KNOW HOW EARTH WORKS" he's also doing something fascinating: Checking to see who recognizes him.

Weirdly, even though Aziraphael saw him in season one, and the angels all work with him, no one does right away. EXCEPT for Saraquiel and Crowley, who just saw his face not in person, but in a video tape of sorts up in heaven at Gabriel's trial by farce. And then something funny happens. Saraquiel is scared shitless and pretends to have 'forgotten' like Michael, but Crowley admits loud and proud that he does. Then Uriel gives THE BIGGEST SIDEYE I have ever seen on screen to Michael, as in "You don't recognize our boss? I am very afraid for what that means."

As far as I can understand, this is the reason the Metatron is here : "Are we in the version of events where I lose?" And the answer The Metatron gets after the question is : We are in the version of events where I have severely fucked with Michael, sort of fucked with the other angels, I have fucked with Aziraphale, and Crowley has seen me already in heaven. Now we're missing a lot of information as to WHY this specific answer is good for The Metatron, and how much Saraquiel knows, but it seems like he interprets this as an "I haven't lost yet, and I can still do my trick".

So now here we are, at the most important part of the episode, in my (and Aziraphale's) opinion. THE double meaning.

This line is insane. On the surface we have meaning 1) The Metatron is scolding over-zealous angels for meddling in this affair, and over reaching with their power, especially threatening to use the book of life on people. He's the good guy! But under the surface we have meaning 2) I HAVE THE BOOK OF LIFE and I have been using it on everybody in this room. If I don't get my way this time around, I will edit you guys again, and you will have done the right thing. And with that admission, Aziraphale severely twigs and becomes very afraid. From then on his voice shakes and he babbles, and he has trouble looking the Metatron in the eye. I'm willing to bet that this is the moment Aziraphale realizes what The Metatron just admitted: I am creating a version of reality as we speak where I change you and Crowley (and everyone else) so that you lose to me. A terrified Aziraphael goes off with The Metatron to have a chin wag. Now here's the trick.

We've already established that Maggie and Nina are here as stage assistants to The Metatron, so they need time to work on Crowley alone. If they talk to A/C together, like they would have without The Metatron's appearing in the scene before, better communication might have happened between them. He made Aziraphale disappear from the scene!

This does NOT look like the face of someone getting good news. We never heard what the details were besides inviting Crowley to the job promotion, so who knows what he threatened him with, but

This looks like the face of someone caught in a trap. So we are now seeing the prestige! We don't need that coffee anymore, that cup is GONE BABY. Aziraphale has been removed from the Nina/Maggie confession like a dove, and placed in The Metatron's dark coat pocket. Now he just needs to make our angel reappear in the scene the assistants have prepared for him and let him fail, thus completing the trick (uhg I hate it. So cruel).

I'm going to turn the final 15 into it's own post because this is already very long. Let's skip it for now, but we know our lovebirds get separated by heaven, and Aziraphale leaves. The Metatron breathes a huge sigh of relief in the elevator as he thinks his trick has worked, and he has won.

So it's finished now, and there's seemingly no way out. Aziraphale now knows what The Metatron meant when he communicated "I am creating a version of reality as we speak where I change you and Crowley and everything else so that you lose to me."

BUT! ARE YOU READY FOR THIS SHIT? BECAUSE IT HIT ME LIKE LIQUID JET FUEL. And I think it hits Aziraphale right here, (when he makes the creepy face after being hit with a beam of light i.e. realization)

That means that in the original version of events before all the edits, Crowley & Aziraphale won.

------

If you've gotten this far, thanks so much for reading. I'd love to hear what you thought, or even reblog it with your ✨Clues✨! Want to read more about the timey wimey business that we're gonna see in season 3, and why all this changes the final 15? Well I have *part 5* coming in just a bit. Parts 5 and The End are here! Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The End?

[arecaceae175]

Gratitude Part 2: Twilight

Summary: Eight times Sky receives a gratitude crystal from the chain plus one time he gives some away. Twilight's turn :D

I said I was going to wait to post these on AO3 BUT I changed my mind XD. So here's the AO3 link.

Part 1. Art for part 1!! Art for part 2!!

“Hyah!” Twilight yelled as Epona galloped past. 

A whoosh of air made Sky’s sailcloth flutter and the stomps of the goats barreling into the barn echoed in his ears. He scooted closer to Colin.

“So…” Colin trailed off uncertainly. 

Sky glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. He consciously tried to relax his muscles and make his body language as unintimidating as he could. 

“So?” Sky asked lightly. 

“You’re a hero too? Like Link?” Colin asked. 

“I am,” Sky said. He fought to keep the reluctance out of his voice. Colin didn’t need to be subjected to Sky’s true feelings about his place in the world. 

“From far away, though,” Sky said. 

“I’ve been to Kakariko! That’s pretty far,” Colin said. 

Sky smiled. “A lot farther than that.”

“Woah,” Colin said. 

One of the goats stomped past and Sky gulped. He pulled his sailcloth tighter around his shoulders for comfort and leaned even closer towards Colin.

“Are you scared?” Colin asked. 

“A little,” Sky answered with a chuckle. 

“What? How are you afraid of the goats?” Colin asked. 

“We don’t have big animals like goats or horses where I’m from, besides our Loftwings. I get nervous around them.”

“Oh. Huh,” Colin mumbled. “You must be from really far.”

Sky laughed and nodded. “Really far,” he agreed. 

Colin looked like he wanted to ask more questions, and Sky wasn’t sure how much Twilight wanted him to know, so he quickly changed the subject.

“From what your brother has said, it sounds like you’re a hero, too,” Sky said. 

Colin blushed and straightened his back. “I- not like Link. I’m not the hero, or anything. But I did save my friend, once.”

“Oh yeah?” Sky asked. 

“Mhm,” Colin mumbled. “I pushed her out of the way of a giant bullbos. It grabbed me instead of her.”

“That sounds pretty heroic to me,” Sky said. “And pretty scary.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Colin said. “Heroes don’t get scared. Link isn’t afraid of anything.”

Sky wasn’t willing to tarnish Colin’s image of Twilight, even if Sky knew his fears. More than once, Twilight had woken up panicked from nightmares and Sky was the one to comfort him. Twilight always worried over the others, so he tried to take care of them in whatever ways he could. And, most of all, Sky knew Twilight worried about his little brother. 

“I get scared,” Sky said. “Sometimes. But being brave is about doing hard things even when you’re scared.”  

“I wasn’t scared,” Colin said. His ears flattened against his head and the tips turned pink. His gaze was locked on the last goat running towards the barn. 

“I believe you,” Sky said. “Thank you for telling me.”

The slam of the barn door startled Sky. Twilight fastened the lock then turned Epona to gallop over to where Sky and Colin were sitting. They both rose to their feet and Sky clapped for him.

“All in,” Twilight said. 

“Yes!” Colin cheered. 

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Sky said. The tips of Twilight’s ears turned pink as he jumped off his horse with a wide grin.

“It ain’t hard, once you learn how to do it,” Twilight said, his accent thick. 

Twilight’s accent was stronger in the last few days of being in Ordon than Sky had heard throughout their entire journey. Sky wondered if he realized, or if it was subconscious. Sky also worried he was toning it down on purpose around them. He would have to make sure to ask Twilight about that, later. 

“Tomorrow, we should take Sky to feed the goats,” Colin said. 

Sky blinked in surprise. “What?”

Twilight grinned and slung an arm around Colin’s shoulder. Colin pretended to look annoyed, but Sky didn’t miss the way he leaned into Twilight’s side. 

“I’m not so sure about that,” Twilight said. “Our Skyloftian isn’t too fond of ‘em.”

“That’s why we have to show him how to feed them! They always let me pet them when they get their food,” Colin said. 

Twilight glanced uncertainly towards Sky, clearly torn between not wanting to push Sky and appeasing his brother. Sky swallowed his fear and pulled back his shoulders. 

“I’d love to join,” Sky said. “Besides, you won’t let anything happen to me. Right, Colin?”

“Of course not!” Twilight said. “You’ve got the two heroes of Hyrule right here! You’ll be perfectly safe.”

Colin beamed up at his brother as Twilight squeezed his shoulder. Sky held back an awww with monumental effort. 

“We best be heading back now,” Twilight said. 

“Oh! Oh! Can I take Epona?” Colin asked. 

“Sure you can, so long as you’re careful,” Twilight said. 

“Yes!” Colin said. He was able to pull himself into Epona’s saddle, though Twilight’s hands hovered just in case he fell. 

“Hyah!” Colin yelled as he flicked Epona’s reins. She galloped towards the gate and jumped over at the last second, then thundered down the path. Sky and Twilight followed at a much more leisurely pace. 

“Thanks for comin’,” Twilight said. “I like to give Fado the night off, when I can.”

Sky glanced over and saw the beginnings of a gratitude crystal forming over Twilight’s head. Sky felt a warmth spread through him. He knew how much spending time together meant to Twilight.

“Thanks for asking me to. I’ve never seen goats before,” Sky said. “And talking to your brother was nice.”

“Thanks for doing that, too,” Twilight said. The beginnings of the crystal pulsed, doubling in size. “He doesn’t meet strangers often.”

“He’s a cool kid,” Sky said. 

“You really want to feed the goats tomorrow?” Twilight asked. 

Sky shrugged. “Sure. Colin seemed excited about it. And I know how much you love your goats, farm boy.”

Twilight laughed and the gratitude crystal burst to life above Twilight’s head. Sky laughed along with him as the crystal floated down to his chest and filled him with his favorite feeling of warmth. Sky bounced on his toes and skipped a few paces, then bounced back next to Twilight. 

Sky reached out and grabbed Twilight's hand, loosely enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. Twilight was never one to deny physical touch, in Sky’s experience. Twilight squeezed his hand and gave Sky a wide smile as Sky swung their arms. 

“The goats may look big and scary, but they’d never hurt a fly,” Twilight said. “Just don’t try to take their food.”

“Noted,” Sky said with a happy laugh.

[themorningsunshine]

Be My Muse

Pairing - Aritst!Bucky Barnes x Reader (Childhood best friends to lovers)

Summary - Muse - A person or spirit that gives an artist the desire to create things

Bucky has been in love with you for years, but just can't get himself to say it. So, instead, he decides to show you.

Warnings - None, just fluffy fluff 

Word Count - 2.4k 

a/n - This is for @buckybarnesevents ‘s Connect 4: June-iverse event. Card Number - C4037 for the prompt C1 - Aritst. Thank you to the lovely @bluehourbucky​ for motivating me to actually finish writing this. 

"Come on, Buck. Just tell me."

You watched as the man you called your best friend shook his head, once again refusing to let out anything about his upcoming art exhibition.

"Oh, come on. Don't be this way." You didn't want to pressurize him, but he was acting weird about this exhibition for the past 2 months.

Every single time when he had an art exhibition coming up, he would ramble about it for weeks to you and you loved it. The way he was excited about what he had made and also the way his nervous ticks showed up always a week before the actual event, you loved every bit of it.  But this time, he hadn't spoken a word remotely related to it.

To top it all off, he had said that this was the most important exhibition of his life.

You were bound to be scared.

"Okay, what about this, you give me a hint, about anything, it doesn't even have to be the centerpiece, literally anything, and I will stop bugging you." You were practically begging now.

"Come on, doll. You are going to come to the main event. You can look at it then." He said putting your cup of coffee in front of you, is pretty much one of the only ways to distract your mind.

"See it then? With everybody else? Is that what I am to you, now, Buck? Just a person in the audience? I knew this day would come." You picked up your cup and with a dramatic turn walked out of the room.

Had you stood there for a moment longer, you would have seen the way Bucky scratched his thumb and bit his lips, two of his most prominent nervous ticks.

Only if he could tell you that you weren't just a person in the crowd. No, you were much more than that. You were everything .

He just had to wait.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

The day of the exhibition came sooner than he would have liked, but to you, it couldn't have been further away.

Bucky had been a little distant with you for the past week and you hated it. You hated it more than anything else in the world.

Usually, he would take you with him to carry out the errands related to the exhibition, 'cause he always got super nervous and you would be there to ground him. Like anchoring him back to the shore.

But this time, you had absolutely no idea what even was the theme of this exhibition. Every single time you offered to go with him for anything, he would always make excuses, and you were confident that they were lies 'cause when did Bucky start to go grocery shopping in the middle of the week?

In the almost 2 decades you had known him, ever since you were a kid, he had never hidden something this important from you.

To say that you were scared would be an understatement.

When you finally entered the exhibition, you were proud to see how many people had shown up. You had always known that Bucky would do exceptionally well as an artist and you had taken every chance you got to tell him exactly that.

As you were about to turn the corner and look at the first painting, you almost collided with a wall of muscle.

You looked up only to be met by the gaze of one of your closest friends.

"Steve, hey!!"

You saw as Steve tried extremely hard to hide the huge grin that threatened to spread across his face and you could swear you saw happy tears brimming in the corner of his eyes.

You squinted as you took a step to the side to let a man walk in, realizing you were blocking the way.

"Y/n, you need to come with me."

"Not now, Steve. It's Bucky's exhibition. I need to stay here."

"He has asked you to come with me."

You narrowed your eyes as you asked, "Are you sure?"

Steve nodded as he took your hand to try and take you away from the paintings.

Dread filled your chest. Did Bucky really not want you in here so much?

You follow Steve as he leads you toward an isolated door of the arena.

You turn to look at him and he signals you to get inside.

"Okay, if you are kidnapping me, I might as well let you know that no one is going to pay a single penny as ransom to you." You joke. You have been friends with Steve almost for as long as you have been with Bucky and you trusted them with everything.

Steve chuckles before replying, "Just go in, y/n."

You open the door and take a step in, only to realize that it's pitch dark. Before you can turn back to look at Steve, the door closes behind you.

You take a deep breath and call out, "Bucky? I swear to god if it's one of your stupid pranks, I'll kill you."

Suddenly, a small light gets switched on beside you and you turn to realize that it beautifully illuminates a painting.

You take a step forward towards it, only to realize that it is a sketch of an eye and it's beautiful .

You can see the way it shines with a glint even though it's just a sketch and you bring your hand forward to run it across it.

It is then that you notice the little note sitting at the bottom right corner of the sketch.

All the city lights combined couldn't shine brighter than your eyes.

Your lips turned upwards into a smile as you read the words. Even though you had absolutely no idea what was happening, it was a huge comfort to know that it was all Bucky's doing. You could recognize that handwriting anywhere.

You looked around hoping to figure out at least something, but all that the little illumination below the sketch showed you was that it was more probable than not a huge hall.

Not even a moment later, another small light was switched on just beside the first one.

It was a painting this time. A very old painting.

It was a small girl sitting on a swing hanging from the tree. A blissful smile on her face, carefree and oblivious to the troubles of the world.

When you noticed the bracelet that she was wearing, you took a step forward, squinting to focus on the painting.

It was you.

And then the memory of that day placed itself at the forefront of your brain.

"Come on, Buck." The little 11-year-old girl called out to the brown-haired boy.

He just shakes his head and refuses to move away from under the tree he is sitting, a sketchbook in hand.

"Why do you even like painting so much?" She had asked, crossing her arms across her chest, puffing in annoyance at his lack of response before walking away towards the swing herself.

A smile finds its way to your lips at the memory. It was about a couple of years after the both of you had met, and yet, it was as clear as day in your mind. Even after all the memories you and Bucky created together over the years, small - innocent ones like these from all those years ago never left your heart.

You look at it intensely for a long time. A couple of tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

It's been so long. You couldn't help but think. The both of you had grown up but never grew apart. There was always a connection, an instant pull that always brought the both of you back to each other, almost like how no matter how far any of you went, you never forgot your way back home.

After some time, you finally noticed the little note written in the bottom left corner of the painting, just like in the first one. But this one was different. This sentence was the one that would change your whole life for you. In the best way possible. It read :

The day that 12-year-old fell in love, without even knowing what love meant. All he knew was that he was going to love that girl with everything he had, till his last days and beyond.

Your breath hitched in your throat. He loved you.

Bucky Barnes was in love with you.

That's when it hit you.

Everything you have ever wanted. The only thing your heart has ever yearned for, was right in front of you all along.

The love that you had read about in books, the kind of love that swallowed you whole until there was no part left untouched, the love that you have looked for your entire life, has been right there. Right beside you. In the form of the oceanic blue eyes that had enamored you for the last 20 years.

You were in love with your best friend.

The realization doesn't hit you like a truck, or leave you gasping in surprise, it brings with it a sense of peace, a sense of everything falling into place.

You look around frantically searching for the man that you had loved all along without ever knowing it.

You loved him when he fought those bullies to protect Steve and got hurt in the process.

You had loved him when he had brought you cookies when you had gotten sick during Christmas, not being able to move.

You had loved him when you had supported him in his decision to do what his heart desired, in his journey of becoming an artist.

You had loved him when the both of you had said your goodbyes while leaving for college in distant cities when the tears had fallen from your eyes and on the ground and he had comforted you that your friendship won't fall apart.

You had loved him in the nights that were spent staring at the stars together, in the afternoons that had been spent watching movies, curled up beside each other, just the two of you.

You had loved him then, and you love him now and you were pretty sure you were going to love him till the world was nothing but dust.

A light suddenly gets switched on just beside the old painting, and this time too, it's you.

Painted years after the last one, it's you staring at the night sky, a soft, content look on your face.

This time, your eyes frantically search for the note, and sure enough, it's right there, at the bottom.

'Cause, darling without you,

All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough

Never be enough

You can now feel tears rolling down your cheeks, as your lips turn into the widest grin possible.

You turn around and as you do so, all the lights in the room begin to turn on, each revealing a painting of you. Taken in the simplest moments.

There is one with you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a pout evident on your face as you had tried to bake a cake for the first time.

There was one where you were sitting at the beach, staring into the ocean.

The one that you liked the most was the one in which you were sleeping contently, a blanket loosely draped over you, that you could swear hadn't been there before.

Before you can look at the rest of them, a voice comes from the corner of the hall and you turn just in time to look at Bucky Barnes himself.

Your smile grew wider if it was even possible and you almost ran off to embrace him when he started speaking.

"One day, you asked me why I drew. Why I felt the need to express whatever it was I felt through a canvas. I didn't tell you, then, but now I want to, doll.

It's you. It's always been you. You have been my muse, my pillar of support, my motivation to get up every morning, my need to paint because there was no other way I could express to the girl I was in love with that she was all I ever dreamt about. That she was everything I could ever want.

I love you, doll. I love you with everything I am and everything I'll ever be. There are a hundred ways this could fall apart, and trust me, I have thought about each one of them more than I should have. But if there is one chance that this could work, that I could be yours, not just in movie nights or weekly trips to the grocery market, but in every way possible, I want to take that chance. In slow mornings and in intimate nights, in tough days and in the celebratory evenings, I want you, I need you to be a part of all of them, doll because life just doesn't feel like life without you."

As if your feet had gained a mind of their own you ran towards him, circling your arms around his neck and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss was gentle, soft, full of need and unspoken feelings, of time lost, it was everything .

He pulled you impossibly closer to him, not wanting to ever let go.

Finally, when the both of you pulled away, still staying close with the widest possible grins on your faces, you whispered, "I love you too, Buck. So damn much." You say it so slowly, it feels like a dream to him.

You would one day shout out to the world how much you loved him, but for now, it was going to be your little moment. When the city of Brooklyn went about its day just like it did every day, two people who were irresistibly, irrevocably in love with each other stood there, holding each other, in the gentlest of embraces, embers of their love while keeping them warm, strong enough to burn the whole world down.

You stay there for what feels like forever before Bucky whispers. "Doll, be my muse?"

You look up at him, drowning in his oceanic blue eyes, only to reach home, before you whisper, "Forever."  

[terrestrialnoob]

Time and Information

She was walked through the halls of Bel Rev Prison by four guards down an unfamiliar passage. She was soon joined by a younger woman with blonde pigtails who was happily chatting to her escort until she saw her fellow prisoner.

“Oh my gosh! A new face!” She cheered in a heavy Brooklyn accent, “Better be careful or it’ll get blown to bits!”

The two were taken into separate rooms and there was a sudden jolt of horror at the chair in the center of the room. It looked far too familiar, straps and gaps for easy access to specific parts of the body – the soft, weak parts. It was similar to something she’d once made when she was younger, dumber, and too scared of the unknown – no, too scared of being wrong about the unknown to see what was right in front of her. She struggled against the guards, but one punched her in the gut and she was forcefully strapped down into the chair. She was warned not to move before there was a sharp pain at the back of her neck. She sat frozen as something was forced under her skin, she could feel it anchoring into bone. After that, she was unstrapped and furiously asked what they’d done to her. “They’ll explain it soon enough.”

She was lead out of the surgical room and into a large concrete room, with 2 metal crates. She spotted the girl from earlier standing next to one of the crates. She looked up at her from pulling on a red and black diamond patterned leotard over fishnet leggings. The girl waved and shouted, “You made it!”

She waved back to the blonde then one of the guards lead her to the other crate and opened it. Her eyes stared to tear at the sight of her old aqua jumpsuit. There were also her goggles, utility belt, respirator mask, and a handful of non-compacted weapons.

She followed the implicit instruction to change into her jumpsuit, and it felt like putting on her real skin on again. It had been so long, she was starting to see silver in her auburn hair that had grown so long her braid went all the way down to her back. But the suit fit, just like it always did.

“Awooga!” The girl cheered and shouted, “I’m not usually a MILF kinda gal, but you look tight.”

She almost laughed at getting catcalled by the other woman and even flexed her arm to show off her prison muscle. The two were soon lead to a new room and she saw three other non-guards in the room, all in their own colorful costume. A large man had on a bear-skin cloak over body armor while another seemed to be dressed up like an airline pilot. A humanoid tiger creature was also there, they were already wearing a sleeveless Chinese-style martial arts uniform.

“Boomer!” The girl shouted and waved at the airline pilot and he smiled and greeted her in turn.

“It’s good to see you Harley,” He said with an Australian accent, “who’s your friend?”

Before she could answer, a door slammed open. A woman entered; thick and sturdy who held herself like a pillar of The Acropolis, like if she fell, the whole of civilization would fall with her. At her side was a man dressed up in his own custom red, silver, and black body armor.

The woman stopped and glared at the prisoners like they were less than human and took time to memorize all their inhumanity before she spoke, “Ladies, gentlemen. For those who don’t know, I am Amanda Waller, head of Task Force X, an off the books strike team of convicts used as expendable agents working for the U.S. Government. You are now members of Task Force X. Succeed in your mission, and you’ll get time off your sentences. Any questions?”

“A few, ma’am,” She rose her hand.

Waller raised her eyebrow and nodded, but before she could ask, the man in the bear skin shouted, “The Bear fight for Mother Russia, not U.S. Pigs!” His accent was thick and he stomped his heavy boots up to Waller, towering over her in an attempt to intimidate. “I will not work for you.”

Waller glared up at him and waved at the door behind her, “Be warned, there’s a small explosive in your neck, and if you do any little thing I don’t like, your head will be blown clean off. Take one step out that door, and you’re dead.”

The Russian growled at her, then pushed past her. He took one confident step through the door - the explosion was bright but quiet, and eviscerated the man’s head in seconds.

Waller turned back to the others, “Did that answer any of your questions?”

“A few yes,” She smiled and gently rubbed her neck where the small lump was indicating which of her questions had been answered. Then she continued, much to the horror of the Australian. “Are the terms of this – arrangement negotiable?”

Waller answered before she even finished, “You can’t refuse.”

She nodded her head, “I assumed as much. But, there’s something I want more than time off my sentence.”

“Oh?” Waller gave her a scrutinizing look, the kind that a woman who’s always looking for a better deal has.

“It’s about my son. Last I saw him, he was being experimented on in a government lab. The thing I want is unredacted copies of the files. I want to know Every. Single. Thing. any research lab anywhere has ever done to my son. And his current location.” Her voice shifted from relatively polite to absolutely deadly; almost like she now blamed everything the government has ever done wrong on Waller as a representative. The man next to Waller seemed to flinch, but the two women didn’t break eye contact.

“Might be difficult, given that most of the facilities that would have that information were destroyed. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” Waller stared her down, or at least tried to. There was silence, and for a moment several people in the room expected a head to explode. But then Waller said, “Do the mission, and I’ll see what I can get from the guys in white.”

The woman who stood up to The Acropolis smiled dangerously as she said, “I’m sure a woman of your standing and reach can get her hands into any government office.”

Waller smiled back, “You flatter me, Ms. Fenton.”

“Doctor Fenton,” She corrected, “One doesn’t lose their education simply because they’re imprisoned.”

[yizmiu]

SITUATIONSHIP 〻ᯇ # lee heeseung

003. off the clock | smau + written (519)

IN WHICH ✶ y/n loved the idea of love, simply because she hadn’t experienced it yet. She hoped and prayed that love would come to her at the perfect time of her life where she’s mentally stable and ready for it. So when she suddenly gets attention from Lee Heeseung—she can’t tell if she likes this or not? This sudden attention, he was extremely sweet to her, way too sweet that it was suspicious. Given his reputation, Heeseung wasn’t the type to settle. So why was he all up on Y/n? and just why was Y/n enjoying it? She was confused with herself and her new situationship, maybe she’s just overstimulated by everything and scared to commit.

Y/n was working on her new collection in peace, with NCT blasting through her airpods, unable to hear anything from the outside world.

Meaning she didn’t hear the now familiar loud footsteps walking down the stairs.

Jay sighed as Heeseung was walking slightly faster than him, speed walking his way to greet the girl.

“Hi!” Heeseung said with excitement as he was now in Y/n’s peripheral vision. She shrieked, “You scared me!” her pencil smudged her design as she got scared.

“Sorry,” Heeseung chuckled apologetically. “What are you working on?” He peeked at her sketchpad.

“Something for my new collection—Jay, I need your opinion.” She turned around to meet the others back. “What is it?” Jay turned around, pieces of fabric in his hands.

“What do you think about these sketches? I’m going for something new, a sort of casual but something odd to make it pop.” Y/n showed Jay sketches of finished outfits.

“I like it, the funky socks will definitely make heads turn.” Y/n smiled at his feedback, ever since the two were freshman deep down she’s always admired Jay’s work of art.

“What are you working on?” Y/n asked, she’s been hesitant on asking so, but her curiosity is finally getting the best of her today. You can’t blame her, he’s been coming into the studio after hours with Heeseung following behind.

“New pieces for the fall, Heeseung is my model for the collection.” He nods his head towards Heeseung. “Y’know, Y/n, if you ever decide you want to release clothes for males I am always open to model for you!” Heeseung suggested as he slightly leaned against Jay’s table.

“Thanks, but I’ll probably ask my guy friends.” Y/n chuckles. “And besides, aren’t you always streaming?”

“True…worth a try I guess.” Heeseung smiles at the girl.

Heeseung tried his best not to interrupt the girl as she worked, he was bored out of his mind just standing there as Jay was dressing him up like a doll for hours.

“Y/n, what do you think about this?” Jay asked. Heeseung was wearing a knitted sweater with a bunch of different patches of colors and little details here and there.

“This is new,” Y/n was debating whether she liked it or not. “I know, I’m debating whether or not I like it myself.” Jay sighed. “Mrs. Jeong said I needed to go out of my comfort zone.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, Heeseung definitely makes it look good.” Y/n chuckled.

“Thank you, Y/n!” Heeseung exclaimed. “How’s your work going?” He asked, standing still as Jay adjusted the sweater on him.

“It’s good, I think I’m gonna head out though, It’s getting late and my friends are all hanging out at Seunghan and Soobin’s place.”

“Tell them we say hi.” Jay said as he picked out a needle from his pin cushion. “Of course.” Y/n said as she packed up her things.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Y/n put her backpack on and waved goodbye. “Goodnight!” Y/n smiled as she walked up the stairs.

m.list — previous — next

ᯇ ೀ jayjay note ; ALSO chat this is how i imagine the studio but cutesy light color

ᯇ ೀ taglist ( open ) ; @lilacnini @haechology @heegyuwrld @wonyoungsvirus @enhaz1 @sparklingsjy @skzeyeu @euncsace @hotsforikeu @simjyunnie @yenqa @eleanorheartschishiya @ahnneyong @teddywonss @parkwonbinluvr @k1ttylvr @doulcie @wonifullove @woninluv @ilyjxdz @dimplewonie @grah127 @missychief1404 @eclipse-777 @heelee-01 @aerivrs @amesification @txtbrainrot

[heartfullofleeches]

ICE CREAM MACHINE GHOST LORE-

i am so down for learnin more about R 👀👀

Especially the idea of them and fast food reader catchin up on stuff R didnt get a chance to do???

Chefs kiss for R or maybe just even regular smooches for R

R was born June 1st, 1981 and went missing on the 2nd of June, 2002. This is important to mention not just to give a timeline to his short period alive, but also because he was a huge Scooby-Doo fan and really looking forward the live action film coming out around that time [June 14th]

Fast Food Reader unwinds from a stressful day, and rewards R for good behavior (aka going one day without slapping their ass with a dish rag) by wheeling in the tv used for training tapes and popping in a copy of Scooby-Doo - chilling with R as they watch it. Grabs the blankets they keep in their locker and sets up a little fort in the break room with popcorn and everything. Being the saint they are, Reader may offer to let him use their body so he can enjoy the snacks himself, but R wants to experience everything with them and snatches some poor suckers body to use. Reader doesn't understand why any of their coworkers like them, but then they do shit like this that reminds R a little of what he used to be and fall deeper in love with them with the humanity they've restored in him.

If Reader ever shows him what's new Scooby-Doo they would try to kill him again because he wouldn't stop singing the theme song.

-

R watches from behind the counter as you push the tarp covered trolley into the break room. After cleaning up for the day, you've been in and out of the room without saying much to him or answering his questions. The slam of a locker door and your shoes clicking across the hard floor draw you back to his spot as you fling your bag over your shoulder. You present the item retrieved from within, picking off the plastic film wrapped around the box.

"Hey, I'm done with work and still have a couple hours on the clock. Wanna watch this movie with me? Brought it for you."

"For me?" The confusion in his tone is genuine - still laced with that snarky tone he's known for. "What's the occasion? If you wanted to take me out on a date you could've been a little more romantic with your approach."

"Don't play dumb. You've been muttering lyrics to hex girls songs since I started working here when you think nobody is around. Took a while to figure out where they were from, but it's from a Scooby-Doo film so I thought you'd be interested in watching one with me."

R inspects the box art closer. There is something vaguely familiar about the girl with the orange sweater. Had a crush on someone just because they had the same square glasses and brown hair. That lovable, scared-cat mutt and his equally as jumpy human companion. He and his little brother used to have week long fights to see who got to be who for Halloween... They've taken on a different look, but they're still them. And he's still him. The same young adult who lept over the moon when he first saw that poster hung on the wall of his local theater.

"Got some popcorn and junk in the back. You can use my body for a minute if you want some. Try to make me strip in front of the bathroom mirrors and I will call an exorcist."

"While I appreciate the offer, there's no need." Leaping over the counter, R zips pass you and straight for locked front doors - phasing through the glass and into the body of the understandably terrified customer you chose to ignore as you closed up early. Their eyes briefly widen with fear before glossing over. R stretches, popping the stiff joints in his new body as he rounds the building - leaping through the still open drive through window. He strolls over to you, flashing that wide smile that looked bizarre on a living human face.

"I'm sure I'm better looking as I am, but this body doing anything for you?~"

"Whatever - let's just go."

His stolen heart leaps as you take his hand and pull him along with you to the back. It continues to pound in his ears as you enter the bathroom and take your seat on the floor, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him in the little fort you made using chair and old tablecloths. You take a blanket left on the floor and throw some of it in his lap as you pick up the remote.

"Comfortable?"

Reese looks down at his legs. He looks over at your hand still in his and squeezes it tighter. He fainty remembers the warmth of a high school crushes touch, but there's something different about it this time. The angry swarm of butterflies he felt in his stomach then are calm in the same way his mind is whenever he hears your voice.

"Yeah... I am...."

[silverbirching]

SO WE'RE EXCITED ABOUT HADES 2, RIGHT

At least we had all better be, while I'm waving this broken bottle around.

Look guys I'm a Classical mythology wonk. And I don't mean like, "hey I read the Percy Jackson books, they were neat", I mean when I close my eyes before I sleep I pray to every god who might conceivably be listening that Linear A gets deciphered in my lifetime. I mean I've got a giant metal print of Circe Invidiosa by John Waterhouse in my bedroom. I mean that if you make the mistake of mentioning Hadestown in my presence you have unwittingly activated the trap card of "Sam talks about his string-and-sandwich board conspiracy theory about how Persephone was a terrifying eldritch queen of the dead and the entire greek world was scared shitless of her, so maybe knock it off with all these tender waifs in flower crowns, artists of the last two thousand years for two solid hours."

(The Percy Jackson books are extremely neat, btw)

So cut to 2020, the year of shit, and here comes a game from one of my favorite studios of all time, about one of my favorite subjects of all time, and it's gorgeous and deep and full of stupid gay drama and the art melts my eyeballs and the voice acting (true to Supergiant tradition) is basically indistinguishable from foreplay. So I played it. I played the absolute balls off of it.

AND THEY'RE MAKING A SEQUEL, HOLY SHIT

so the Thing about Chthonic deities is the underworld really creeped the Ancient Greeks out, so there's not a lot of writing about them that has survived to the present day, since if they were worshipped it was usually by mystery cults or more in an avoidant "please please please don't notice me I've been a good boy please" kind of way.

Hence why our favorite bisexual softboi dreamboat Zagreus doesn't really feature much in the mythology, except he was probably an offshoot of Dionysus and usually got synchronized with him, Hades himself, or Mycenaen Poseidon. They make a joke about this in Hades, btw (they make a fucking JOKE SONG about in in Hades).

BUT DID YOU KNOW ZAGREUS HAD A SISTER!?

Her name is Melinoë, and she's also cited from very limited sources, but I want to show y'all the brilliant Apostolos Athansssakis' translation of one of the view sources we have, the Hymn to Melinoë:

I call upon Melinoë, saffron-cloaked nymph of the earth, whom revered Persephone bore by the mouth of the Kokytos river upon the sacred bed of Kronian Zeus. In the guise of Plouton Zeus tricked Persephone and through wiley plots bedded her; a two-bodied specter sprang forth from Persephone's fury. This specter drives mortals to madness with her airy apparitions as she appears in weird shapes and strange forms, now plain to the eye, now shadowy, now shining in the darkness— all this in unnerving attacks in the gloom of night. O goddess, O queen of those below, I beseech you to banish the soul's frenzy to the ends of the earth, show to the initiates a kindly and holy face.

My guess would be is that Supergiant will not have her be the child of Zeus under false pretenses (there's sources that indicate Zagreus is also a child of Zeus) but still. Dope. Rad as hell. Zag's baby sister is a twin-bodied goddess of nightmares and I am excited a normal amount.

Also Apollo is gonna be in this one, you guys.

Look at this magnificent pain-in-the-ass. I can already tell you he's going to be 10,000% annoying, and I am completely here for it.

[pandorascripts]

I absolutely love your writing. I can ask for a yandere wednesday with a fem reader who is innocent and doesn't realize wednesday obsession, and when the reader try goes on date wednesday stops her

Ruins

warnings: yandere, obsession, mention of xavier thrope (I hate that man sm).

pairing: yandere!wednesdayaddams x reader

summary: wednesday cant stand the thought of someone tainting you before her, so when xavier tries to do it before she can, wednesday snaps. note: this is one the shorter side, maybe more of a drabble, but it’s one am and I’m a wee bit tired :^)

——————

Love. It was a truly odd thing when putting it out of context. If Wednesday told someone that she’d like to ruin you, taint you, break you down until you were as dark and deprived as herself, Wednesday would find herself in quite the unfortunate predicament. But if she was to say she loved you, wanted to show you everything she could do to you that would take away what most men find attractive in a woman — that being her virginity — people would surely agree, maybe event applaud her for the behavior. After all, it was similar to a man’s desire to ruin whatever he could get his hands on. 

Then again, there was something about your naiveness that had Wednesday melting like butter for you. The way you simply didn’t understand that her love for you was brutal, and dark, and completely wrong in the minds of normal people. Although, Wednesday never was truly normal, was she?

As she held your hand in hers, her mind raced with many different possibilities of how tonight could go. She could destroy you, make it so you could only ever dream of her touch, but she could also simply enjoy your innocence. Wednesday chose the latter, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t test it. She thought of ways to ask you on a date, to finally let you know of her love for you, but that all flew out the window at your next words. 

“Xavier asked me out,” you stated, shrugging as if it wasn’t a  big deal. 

Wednesday tensed, every part of her body trembled as she gritted her teeth. Why was Xavier nearing you? You were hers, Xavier had no right to touch her property. God, how she hated thieves. 

“You okay, Wednesday?” you asked, gently squeezing her hand. 

She shuddered. “Don’t go out with him. He’s a waste of your valuable time and simply a waste of space.”

You frowned, gaze returning to the packed halls of Nevermore. “Well, I dunno, he’s got some good traits, right? Like, he’s cool at art, and he’s not a total jerk —“

Wednesday cut you off, practically seething. “You will not be going on a date with him. My decision is final.”

She felt your hand slipping out of hers, a confused look plastered on your face. Wednesday scanned your features, realizing it wasn’t confusion at all. It was fear. Wednesday had made you scared of her. 

Desperate to save herself, she muttered some half-assed excuse. “Xavier’s only using you to get over Bianca. They have always had an on and off thing, and I just cant bear to see you hurt.”

You gulped sadly, nodding your head. Wednesday sighed, your hand was back in hers, right where it should be. 

A moment of silence passed between you two before you broke it. “Thanks, Wednesday.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Wednesday looked down in shock, her shoulder gaining extra weight. There laid your head perfectly on her. She sighed, her eyes fluttering closed. Wednesday took in the smell of your vanilla perfume, the  scent completely intoxicating her and making her even more mad. She let out a heavy breath once more, moments like these were amazing. Just the peacefulness, and her desire growing along with her insanity. Not a single worry slipped through Wednesday’s mind. Only love for you, and everything you loved, swirled around her brain. 

Wednesday sighed. She’d played with the naïve part of you for too long. People were starting to get bold, and she couldn’t have thieves ruining you. Not when she so desperately needed to do it first. Wednesday was going to absolutely destroy you, and she decided that it was going to be very soon. 

[impala-dreamer]

Who We're Pretending To Be

A Story from the YOU Universe

~Joe finds himself getting too close to one of his grad students and he fights the urge to fall completely.~

Joe Goldberg (Jonathan Moore) x F!Reader

5,019 Words

Warnings: NSFW.

A/N: If you've not seen the Netflix show YOU, this may not be your thing. Still a great story, but it helps to know the show. Also, if you've not seen the show, I suggest you get right on that because it is AMAZING.

Set between Seasons 3 & 4. Slight spoilers for s4, but not really. 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

The classroom seems cold today, like there’s something missing. It’s distracting. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s off, but there’s a charge in the air like something’s about to happen; as if lightning could strike at any second.

I don’t mean proverbial lightning, as none of my students seem to have grasped any of the contextual undertones of the book we’re discussing, but actual, live lightning. If I opened the windows behind my desk just a crack, a bolt would sneak through and bury itself in the base of my skull. Maybe that’s what I need- a jolt of electricity, something to break me out of this fog that crept up around me and climbs forever higher threatening to suffocate me.

I think I’d take the lightning to the skull over suffocation, but we don’t always get what we want.

I’m perched on the edge of the desk when the door opens and Y/N comes rushing in.

Suddenly, all of my attention is on her.

She’s never late. Never rushing, always at least ten minutes early for every appointment, every class. She seems- off today, as well. Perhaps she can feel the imminent lightning strike as well. Wouldn’t that be funny? I find a kindred amongst these idiot grad students who can’t even seem to end this horrid debate.

“I am so sorry, Professor Moore.”

Y/N’s voice cracks a bit, which in itself isn’t very unusual. She’s one of the quieter students I’ve encountered, and the only American in my current circle of acquaintances. Her accent is faint, as if she’s attempting to hide it from her schoolmates. She’s been here a while, I can infer; sprinkling in local slang and adding letters to words where back home there would be none. She’s trying hard to fit in, but why? Why not be herself?

“I got held up by-”

I hold up my hand and smile softly. “It’s fine, Y/N. Please take a seat and try to catch up.”

For fuck’s sake, she’s only twenty minutes late, but it looks like every second has weighed her down like lead.

The others pick up their debate and I sit back a bit, cross my arms, pretend to listen. This teaching thing isn’t as hard as everyone makes it out to be. Occasionally, I toss out an idea and let them run with it. Sometimes, I pay attention, mostly I don’t. Mostly I’m thinking of You. Of how beautiful You looked at that art show, of how You gasped when you saw me like You couldn’t decide if You wanted to run to me or away.

From the corner of my eye, I see Y/N timidly raise her hand and You are temporarily pushed aside. She keeps her hand up but close to her chest, as if the very act of asking to speak is somehow terrifying.

How can someone so brave be so terrified to do something as common as speak in class? She’s clearly not a scared person by nature- she moved across an ocean to attend university when she could have gone for free back home to whatever state college she decided to attend. I’ve peeked at her transcripts- she’s smart. Not win a genius grant or a full ride smart, but smart. Why is she so nervous?

I smile and a bit of her nerves seem to quell. Her shoulders relax an inch and she smiles back.

“You know you don’t have to raise your hand, Y/N,” I tell her, laughing gently to put her at ease.

She dips her chin and then looks up with the most beautiful gaze I have ever seen. Her lashes flutter upwards in slow motion, the darkness of her pupils expand, pushing nearly every fleck of color away except the gemlike glow cast by the stained glass window over my head. She smiles and her lips shine like glass. Soft, pink, beautiful glass. I can’t look away and yet I absolutely have to. Thankfully, she speaks and I can act like I’m moving away to sit in my chair and not to get away from her.

“Sorry,” she says, sweet voice sweeping over the room. “I just didn’t want to jump in because I was late but-”

“But you have something to add,” I finish for her.

Her eyes float back to me and the atmosphere shifts. The foreboding of a lighting strike vanishes and the room seems to warm up. Quickly, I sit and scoot the chair close to the desk, set my elbows on the top, clasp my hands near my lips. I can’t stop staring at her.

She nods. “Yes. If that’s alright.”

There it is again, the tiniest speck of British on her tongue. How long has she been living here, and why? It can’t just be for school. She’s too interesting for that. She dresses to blend in; muted colors and clean jeans, her hair always swept back, face free of plastering makeup or too much color. There’s only ever that pink gloss and a gentle brush of mascara. It’s as if she doesn't know how beautiful she is, or perhaps, she doesn’t care.

Or was she one of those kids who never really got any attention until they blossomed but by then it was too late to fit into their personality?

She chews her lip nervously and shyly looks away from me.

No, she knows. She knows how beautiful she is, she just isn’t one to flaunt it; doesn’t need the attention. Or is that how she draws them in?

She’s already talking, but I can’t hear a thing she’s saying. I can hear her voice, that honey like glaze she adds to things when she’s speaking passionately, but the actual words, the meaning- I can’t follow a damned thing. I’m too busy trying to figure her out.

You flash through my mind for a moment; a sweet memory of a smile in the library when You didn’t think I was looking.

What is it about a smile that says so much without words? Does it show who we really are or who we’re pretending to be?

“I just think that love shouldn’t be so easily condemned.”

Y/N’s comment breaks through my thoughts of You and I clear my throat, straighten up in my chair, focus.

Across the room, Nadia rolls her eyes, clearly disagreeing with Y/N’s interpretation. “This isn’t love, it’s obsession. The two can’t and shouldn’t be intertwined.”

Y/N bites her bottom lip and shakes her head.

What does that lip gloss taste like? Berries, perhaps… No. Stop it. Focus.

“I disagree.” Y/N sits forward and tucks her hands below the table. “Love is obsession. Obsession is love. It’s not a tautology, no, but you can have one with the other. If you’re not even a little obsessed with the person you love, is it really love at all?”

My mind is zinging, my ears ringing. Does she truly believe that, or is it all for the sake of debating Nadia? They’ve been at war most of the semester, but this seems truthful, deep.

The bell rings before I can recenter and add anything. I give my head a little shake and stand up, the chair rolling back behind me.

“Class dismissed. Great job today. Lively, wonderful discourse.” I fake a smile at the rest and then settle on Y/N.

She’s taking her time, hanging back as she gathers her things. She stuffs a notebook into her bag and the pen she’s been using rolls away from her.

“Crap.” She lunges across the table for it, but it’s too close to the edge, too far from her reach.

I drop down at the last second and save it from a dusty fate of rolling across the floor. “Gotcha.”

She’s staring when I stand up. Our eyes meet and she doesn’t shy away, but looks even deeper somehow. A smile lifts her cheeks and my pulse quickens.

No.

She holds out her hand and there’s a fleeting second when I want to trace my fingers across her palm, feel how soft and warm she is, but no. I toss her the pen and turn, trying to get her out of my head.

I have more important things to do than become a tired cliche. Some professor falling for a student. It’s an outrageous thought, and besides, I don’t need Y/N, I have You.

I hear the zipper close and a chair being pushed in. She’s leaving.

She lingers in the door and turns back to me with a sweet smile. “Have a good weekend, Professor.”

Her tone is so genuine, so kind that it nearly knocks me backwards. I can’t remember the last time anyone has truly wished me a good time. It’s such an overused pleasantry, so common and boring, but not when she says it. Not when she smiles at me like that, with her eyes still and focused on me.

The warmth spreading through me is real as well and I can’t seem to push it away. “Thank you,” I managed, barely able to stand let alone return the sentiment. “You too.”

The rest of the day goes by quickly but it feels like forever. Two more classes, two more groups of students droning on about what the author really meant, when none of them, not a single one seems to be able to read between the fucking lines. None of them can step back and see the whole picture, capture the meaning as a universe unto itself and not just a line in black and white on an otherwise blank page.

Y/N could read between the lines. Y/N would understand the sum of it all. She would get it.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her.

On my walk home, I think about You. Wondering what You’re up to, where You are tonight. The sun is setting, dragging the sky down into a deep pink and I wonder if You are seeing the same colors where You are. Someday, we’ll sit together on an island in the Pacific and see what that sunset looks like. Would You paint it for me, I wonder…

Y/N crosses my mind for a moment as I gaze at the light reflecting off a window as I pass. Would the sunset hit her shining lip gloss in the same way? Would the pink deepen with the sky? Would she smile if she caught me staring, back away if I leaned in to drag my thumb across her juicy, pink bottom lip?

No.

Darkness has settled and I haven’t moved to turn on a lamp. I’m stuck, glued to my sofa, my hands nailed to my thighs. I keep my eyes open for fear of seeing her face, but bouncing around the room looking for a distraction is only giving me a headache. I need to get out. I need something to do. I need-

A knock at the door.

Who would be knocking at my door at nearly ten o’clock at night?

Curiosity pulls me off of the couch and I switch on the lights as I head to the door. The peephole is clouded as fuck, but I can see her outline. My stomach tightens, my shoulders tense.

What is she doing here?

Her hand raises to knock again, but I unlatch the door before her knuckles hand. I find her dangling in the air, her startled face the most appealing thing I’ve seen in ages. Her eyes go wide, her jaw drops just enough to give me a peek at her tongue. Quickly, she rights herself and shies her gaze away. She chews her lip and I notice the pink gloss is gone, replaced by a deeper red.

Everything about her is different tonight. Her hair is down and fresh, her eyes are lined in black and the color blended above brings out the prisms in her eyes. Her clothes are strange as well: a short skirt, tall boots, a blouse that’s too tight to hide anything. There’s a gold string around her throat, something old, a gift perhaps from a dead relative, or a chance find at an antique shop. She would like diving through boxes of discarded wares looking for treasures, wouldn’t she?

Or maybe I’m just distracted by her appearance. Maybe I should stop trying to pick her apart and send her far, far away.

I’m not that man anymore. I’ve changed. I’m good. I have to be good for You.

It’s been too long since either of us has said anything and the fact of it is hanging in the air between us like some kind of glowing, awkward sign.

Thankfully, she speaks.

“Um… Hi.”

It isn’t much, but it breaks the painful silence.

I smile, confused but curious. My ultimate downfall.

“Y/N. What are you doing here?”

I should say something about it being inappropriate, something about contacting me only during office hours, but she knows. That’s not why she’s here. I can see it in her eyes.

Her hands are tucked behind her back, I notice. She’s holding something, not just shoving her tits in my face, although, I can’t say that I mind. She sees that I’m looking and turns to the side a bit to hide it more.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, calming herself, steeling her nerves. Why is she so nervous? What secret is she hiding? What plan has been brewing all day in her head?

That’s it, isn’t it? She was late this morning, distracted and timid because she was planning to come here.

I should be flattered, but I’m too intrigued by her boldness as she slides past me into my flat.

“I know this is highly inappropriate,” she says, the confession like a song on her lips. “But… I… Well…”

Her nose scrunches up in the most adorable way while she searches for the right words. It’s endearing and makes me want to sit for hours and listen to her talk, discover exactly who she is and why.

I’m still standing in the open doorway, I realize, so I move aside and let it close. My back presses into the door and I hold my tongue, letting her get to the point.

She’s struggling, dancing around it in her head.

I want to crack open her skull and watch the thoughts spark through the gray matter like shooting stars.

“If you’re worried you’ll get in trouble,” I say, trying to get things moving, “you won’t. I’m just wondering why you’re here and how it is that you know where I live.”

She laughs and digs her tooth into the corner of her lip. “I’m not… stalking you or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

I almost laugh. Almost.

“Nothing that nefarious,” she goes on. “But I did do something bad.”

The nerves seem to fall away from her the more she speaks and her demeanor changes. Her voice deepens ever so slightly and her hip pops to the side as she looks me over. Is she… flirting with me?

“I doubt you’ve done anything newsworthy, Miss Y/L/N…”

She takes a step forward and her lips pucker gently.

She is flirting with me.

“I hope not,” she says with a little laugh. “You see, I work part time in the admin office…”

I didn’t know that. I don’t know a lot about her. So many things to uncover, so many artifacts to dust off and examine.

“OK…” I push off from the door and take a step towards her. She counters, stepping backwards, guiding me to follow.

“And, well, I accidentally was looking at your files and-”

“Accidentally?”

She presses her tongue between her front teeth and smiles, eyes falling across my face. “Accidentally on purpose,” she clarifies. “I was… curious.”

“About me?”

Another step closer but she doesn’t move this time, letting me close the space between us by a few forbidden inches.

She sighs sweetly. “A little, yes.”

I dip my chin and look up, lifting my brows in question. She pulls in a quick breath, clearly enjoying the look I’ve given her.

“OK, maybe a little more than a little.”

One more step and I’m closer than I’ve ever really been to her, except just now when she invited herself in. I take a breath and she smells warm like vanilla, sweet like honey. The fantasy of berries on her lips falls away and I suddenly want to bury my face in the crook of her neck and do nothing but breathe in her scent, feel it invade my senses, infect my bloodstream.

Her chest heaves with a heavy breath and her eyes grow a little darker. She wants me.

“Maybe a lot curious,” she whispers, lifting her chin and blinking slowly.

Is she daring me to kiss her? Can she feel the lightning between us? Dare I?

No. She’s a student. She’s off limits. She’s not… You.

She must notice my hesitation and steps back a pace. She clears her throat. “Anyway. I saw that it was your birthday today.”

It’s not my birthday. Not my real birthday, anyway, just the one on the fake passport with the fake name and real photo.

I smile because I have to. “It is.”

Whatever she’s hiding behind her back shifts between her hands. “And, well, it’s presumptuous of me but I’ve never heard you talk much about friends or family and… you don’t wear a… ring. I just… Well, I know how hard it is to be a world away from what you know, and this city isn’t exactly kind in general, so…”

She’s rambling and I don’t ever want her to stop. Her voice ebbs and flows over me like a sultry tsunami and I can feel my fingers twitch, my blood rush through my system faster and faster.

“I just don’t think anyone should be alone or forgotten on their birthday so-” Finally, she reveals the mystery behind her back and holds out a green glass bottle. “I took a chance that you were a scotch man. At first I thought wine, but I know nothing about wine, and the guy at the shop said this one was good, so… Happy birthday, Professor.”

She hands me the bottle and without thinking, I take it. It’s not expensive by any means, but it’s the gesture that counts. She doesn’t let go right away, holding it with me, as if she can communicate her desires through the blown glass.

“Thank you.” I smile, let my finger brush against hers. “This is… very thoughtful.”

She lets go but doesn’t move otherwise. Her eyes are locked on me, her stare so pure.

I have to get her out of here.

Y/N shrugs and smiles, so confident now, so sure. “It’s nothing, really. I don’t even know if it’s any good.”

Her meaning lingers and I nod, gesture to the sofa as I start to peel off the seal on the top of the bottle.

“Join me for a glass?”

She bites her lip again and I nearly lose it.

“Love to.”

The scotch isn’t terrible but it’s not great. More like something you’d grab if you were just looking to get drunk, not necessarily gift someone you’re trying to impress.

Is that what she’s doing here? Trying to get me drunk? Surely, she knows she’s impressed me long before today. The looks between us in class, the lectures directed almost entirely at her have not gone unnoticed, but this, this is different. This is dangerous. She is dangerous.

The sofa suddenly feels too small. We sit close, drinking and chatting about life in London. She tells me about her family back home and how she had to cross an ocean to escape a misspent youth and an abusive father figure. I lie my way through a few answers but mostly, I let her talk.

The more she drinks, the looser her tongue gets, the freer her gestures. More than once, her hand falls to my knee and even though I should, I don’t push her away. Even though I should stand up, take her glass, ask her to get the hell out of my house, I can’t. I can’t do anything but stare at her lips as she speaks, drown myself in the tone of her voice, memorize the shape of her ears, her nose, slope of her shoulder. I’m lost in time with her and even though I know the clock is careening past midnight, I don’t care. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to move. I want to be frozen in this moment with her. I want to die in her arms but not before…

“Professor?” She laughs gently, loose and relaxed from the alcohol. She leans in, her shoulder pressing against mine. “Are you even listening to me?”

Honestly, I have no idea what she’s been saying, but I can’t let her know that. I shift a bit, turning towards her. There’s barely room left for the Holy Ghost, as they say, but I doubt he’d begrudge me a little closeness, especially on my- on Jonathan’s birthday.

“I’m listening,” I whisper, captivated by the way she’s glowing. “I’m always listening to you.”

She squirms a bit and smiles behind her glass, takes another sip, downing the rest. There’s a drop of amber gold on her lip and it takes every ounce of restraint in me not to sweep it away with my tongue.

She pats the back of her hand against it and the moment is gone.

“Ya know, you’re one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. And I’m not just sayin’ that. You really are. I get you. I see you, Jonathan Moore. I see inside you.”

She slurs a bit, but not enough for it to be considered a crime if I touch her. That’s all I want to do, just a simple touch. Just to feel how soft she is beneath my fingers, how smooth the curve of her cheek.

Ripping myself away from the impulse, I take the glass from her hand and set hers next to mine on the coffee table. “I think you’ve had enough, Miss. Y/L/N.”

Her hand lands on my chest, right in the very center of me. Can she feel my heartbeat? Does she know how much I want her?

“You can call me by my name, ya know,” she says, dropping her chin and smiling. She’s so close that it would take but a tiny nudge to taste her. “Everyone just calls me Y/N/N.”

This is insane. She needs to leave. I need to slam the door behind her and never open it again.

“Y/N/N.”

Her name falls from my tongue like an incantation and her eyes go hazy. She leans closer, her breath fanning over my lips.

“Say it again,” she asks, nearly begging, “please…”

Fuck, this isn’t good. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I need to- Fuck, what does it all matter? She’s beautiful and interesting and smart and sitting next to me barely dressed and all she wants is me to whisper her name. What’s the harm?

“Y/N/N.”

The spell falls over her and I know it’s too late to back away. Her eyes fall closed and she leans in, pressing her crimson painted lips to mine. She exhales, pushes herself into the kiss, lets out a tiny moan.

She feels so good and it’s all I can think about. She pulls back and I lean in, needing more. My arms wrap around her, stealing her away. She melts against me, opens her lips to my tongue. The vanilla on her skin mixes with the scotch on her tongue and I’m blown away.

“Professor…”

If feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but I can’t stop tasting her, can’t stop breathing into her with every ounce of air in my body.

I let her go for a second, thinking she’s changed her mind, but no, she’s even more ready than I am.

She stands up, fits her knees in between mine and slowly unbuttons her blouse.

My eyes are huge, I know it. I must look like an idiot but I can’t help it. She’s here, beautiful and curvaceous, teasing me, undressing for me. It’s all for me. She’s here for me.

The blouse floats to the floor and she looks down at me, a hint of previous nerves returning. Her bra is pale pink and covered in lace. Something so pure and innocent covering up something I would kill for.

I would, I realize. I would kill for her.

She wiggles out of her skirt and her hips are distracting. I want to touch, to feel my bones crushing into hers, to sink myself deep inside just to see what it’s like, to know her, to feel all of her.

“You like?” she asks, innocence ringing in her soft voice.

What happened in her past that would make her ask such a thing? Who hurt her so badly, who crushed her self esteem to the point that she wouldn’t be able to tell if I was enjoying her delicious display?

“Of course. You’re… absolutely stunning.”

I can’t say more or I’ll break. I reach for her and she slides into my lap, locking her thighs around mine. She presses down on me and my cock responds, all blood and logic rushing down to push back at her ass.

She wraps her hands around my neck and bends to kiss me. Her fingers tangle in my hair, she curls them, tugs gently, testing, enjoying. Her kisses deepen and her hips roll. I’m about to lose my mind.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first day of class,” she moans, scraping her nails across my scalp.

The sensation is intoxicating and my eyes roll back a bit as she tugs hard. Her right hand is locked in my hair and her left is dragging down my chest. I should stop her. I should stand up. I should…

“Fuck.”

Her hand sneaks into my slacks and she scoots back onto my knees for better access. I can’t even think straight as she rubs at my cock. Her hand is soft, warm, firm. I know I’m moaning, but I can’t help it. I might just die here beneath her.

Her tongue glides across my lips. “So hard to sit in class and not dream about fucking you…”

Something snaps inside of me and I let go. I grab at her tits, peel the delicate lace down and pinch her nipples hard until she’s crying out and arching against me.

“I can’t even read anymore,” she admits, nearly breathless as my lips seal around her left nipple. “Every page makes me think of you. I can hear every word in your voice. I- oh God-”

I bite down just enough to stop her train of thought and I look up to see a blank, beautiful stare.

“I want you,” she whispers, lips never quite closing after.

Fuck. This is what I was trying to avoid. This feeling, this hunger inside of me. This need to fall into someone else, this treacherous lust that forces me to act.

“Please…”

Her hand falls to the nape of my neck and it’s so delicate, so tender that I break.

Wrapping my arms around her, I stand and twist, flipping her over onto her back. She gasps and reaches for me, kissing through the shock while I tug the slacks from my hips. She yanks at my shirt, fumbling with the tiny plastic buttons, licking at every new inch of exposed flesh.

“Want you inside me so bad,” she sings, nearly praying as if I’m some ancient god on high that can make all her dreams come true.

I don’t know about all of them, but this prayer, I can answer.

I tear the lace from her hips and fall down over her, crushing her into the old sofa. Her breath stops for a blessed second and I swear I can hear her heart racing through the silence. She runs her hands across my shoulders and down, curling them around my hips while spreading her legs wider.

“Please… Please… Please…”

Her whine is pathetic but I can’t get enough. If I had it in me to drag this out, to tease her for hours, I would, but the scotch has clouded my head and the sight of her strung out and desperate makes it impossible to wait.

She inhales hard when I sink into her. I can feel myself falling but I press my hands beside her head and hold on as best I can.

She feels like heaven.

Or the closest thing to heaven I’ll ever know.

Wet and warm and tight, I can feel her throbbing around me. Every thrust is like magic, making her shiver and squirm and tighten up even more. She clings to me, nails digging into my arms, mouth searching and thirsty for more.

“Jon-”

I almost go insane. It’s not even my name, but it feels so right on her lips that I wish it was.

I feel her orgasm; her body clenching down on me and pulling me in deeper. It’s so hard not to scream her name at the top of my lungs. Nearly impossible not to stay here forever.

I fall down, shove my face into the crook of her neck and thrust a few more times. I know it’s over too soon, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

She rakes her hand through my hair, gently this time, and finds my lips, kissing me sweetly.

“Hi,” she laughs when our eyes finally focus and find each other through the afterglow.

God, she’s beautiful. So giving, so loving, so perfect in a million different ways that it’s actually breaking my heart.

I smile and peck her lips as I go soft inside of her.

“Hello, You.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

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[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; astarion

requested by ; mod / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; baldur’s gate 3

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; astarion ancunin

outline ; “dating headcanons for astarion”

note ; i have never played this game and am going completely off of the clips and guide videos i’ve been watching pretty much nonstop for the past week so apologies if my characterisation is at all shaky in this piece

warning(s) ; brief references to canon torture, self worth struggles, and other related angst — but otherwise mostly fluff!

when it comes to being in a relationship with you — a real relationship, that is, and not the act he was putting on to try and manipulate you at the start of your journey as a group — astarion is, for lack of a better analogy, very much so a fish out of water

and, thankfully, that’s not something he’s ashamed or scared to admit to you, so the early days of your relationship are filled with a lot of trial and error as you navigate your new dynamic and he adjusts to being permitted to make his own decisions and set his own boundaries

some things definitely come easier than others for him — namely verbal shows of affection like using pet names for you or being playful or flirty whenever you’re together; things that are more instinct than anything else, but no less genuine in their use

as one might expect, astarion does also use quite the variety of pet names for you — to the extent that your friends have a running joke about him not actually knowing what your real name is (which he always refutes with about as much sass as one might expect) — with his main terms of endearment being ones that he settled into using early on like ‘darling’, ‘beautiful’ (or ‘handsome’ if that is your preferred term), ‘my dear’, and, when he’s being a bit of a tease, ‘my little treat’

actual physical intimacy, however, is a much different story given his rather unfortunate history with his body and how he was forced to use it by his tormentor

of course he knows that you’re different, that you’re not like cazador or his ilk, but that doesn’t make those old habits any easier to break, nor two hundred years of trauma easier to shake from his mind — love and patience can only go so far, after all, and those memories and their effects on him won’t just vanish overnight

so, naturally, that means that adjusting to physical touch unrelated to sex is a very slow process for him — though he’s thankful to have you there with him throughout

there are a few things that he learns he really quite enjoys and makes that abundantly clear to you when you’re together: kisses, gentle touches to the hand, and hugs, mainly

oh and his kisses are truly marvellous once you help him accept intimacy unconnected to sex — they’re soft and sweet but no less passionate for it, starting off with a brief peck before he turns his head and gently (oh so gently) grasps your chin or cheek or neck and pulls you closer to him, almost as if you’re melting into each other as the kiss either deepens or makes way for a string of chaste pecks before you eventually pull apart for whatever reason

he also always makes sure to sooth any places he’s bitten with some apologetic kisses once he’s had his fill (as well as plenty of compliments on your person and about your blood)

his other favourite places to kiss you are either on your hands or wrists (the gentleman that he is): the insides of your wrists, the tips of your fingers, each of your knuckles in sequence, the backs of your hands, your palms when you cup his face in your hands — truly the list is endless and he delights in finding new ways to fluster you and make you smile

shit talking and gossipping amongst yourselves is extremely common and astarion has mastered the art of saying just the right thing about someone he doesn’t like just loud enough for you to hear at the perfect time to make you laugh (or try your best to cover said laugh if you’re currently talking to the subject of said shit talking)

when it comes to sleeping arrangements, astarion just loves being held (but not too tightly so he still has the freedom to get up and walk away for whatever reason if he needs to), but the specifics of the position don’t really matter to him — he’s just as happy to have you laying on his chest, or him on yours if you’re larger than him, as he is to cuddle you on his side (though he does secretly prefer to either be the little spoon or to have his face level with your chest when you’re both on your sides as it makes him feel safer, though it will take him a long time to ever even consider admitting to that)

he is naturally very protective of you and has been known to pull a dagger on anyone he deems as a threat to you — which is very beneficial in combat scenarios or situations where you are actually at risk, but a bit inconvenient when you’re trying not to draw any attention to yourselves and the issue is just some drunk that can’t keep quiet (still not good and something that should be called out, but perhaps not worth having to leave the town you just got to early as to avoid getting charged with yet another crime)

he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself whenever you’re unwell for whatever reason (especially if it’s something a healer can’t contend with) because it’s been centuries since he’s experienced any sort of illness so he can’t even really empathise with you about your situation — he tries his best, of course, but it’s easy to tell that he’s really out of his depth

no matter how long the two of you have been together, astarion still melts whenever you ask his permission to do the smallest of things (like asking if you can kiss him or hold his hand, for example) — but he melts even more when you accept when he declines for whatever reason becaus the novelty of being respected and loved without expectation or conditions never really wears off for him and he appreciates it all just as much as he did the first time