#I had this in my sketchbook for the longest time

[qquipart]

You cant save them all

[pepprs]

hold on a second it just hit me that marina is actually the artist ive loved most consistently for the longest amount of time (i think). it’ll be 10 years since i discovered her this october how absolutely insane

[pastelaspirations]

BRO, MAN. YOU'RE TOO POWERFUL. YOU'RE TOO POWERFUL, MAN, I CAN'T HANDLE.

I tried watercoloring once. Like one time when I was a kid. But I didn't realize it. Like, I knew the materials I was using were watercolor pencils and I think pastels?? It said so on the packaging, but I was too young to really know how to look up youtube tutorials or anything so I went into that crap blind.

Anyway, I drew this kitty picture for my mom's birthday and showed her. :D I thought I did really well, since it was my first time to try watercolor and everything. My mom realized and excitedly asked me, "Did you use water with it???"

...No. I didn't. You see, I thought watercolor was just... a name. Like, it was faint, watery colors that were supposed to resemble a dream or something, not like YOU ACTUALLY USE WATER WITH IT. I NEVER USED WATER WITH MY OTHER DRAWINGS, THAT WOULD RUIN IT.

So. I told her that. So she took a cup of water and a brush. Then she went over my kitty drawing. With it. You see, dear friends, my drawing was ruined. I drew the lines too close together and colored way more than I should have to make the colors actually show because, you know, they were watercolor and faint. So, when went over with water, it irreparably ruined the drawing that I spent hours on creating for my mom's birthday.

I, by extension, was an inconsolable mess. And that's the story of how I was traumatized by watercoloring and literally have never tried it again!! :D

Merry Christmas, everyone~

[aventurineswife]

Hello!! I saw that your requests were open and wanted to give it a shot! I love your works and I’ve been binging them lately. Please feel free to discard this for any reason.

Would it be okay to write about a male or gn reader who is in a very science related field (STEM, scientist, medical, engineering etc.) and loves their work immensely, but is revealed YEARS later on to actually have given up on an artistic dream? Like a reader who loved drawing/music/painting/etc. and was beyond headstrong about it for the longest time as a kid, all the way until they were in their senior year of high school and were hit with the reality of how difficult it’d be to gain the financial stability they needed in an arts career, versus the stem career…

And here they are, fast forward to the present.

I think characters like Kaveh and Aventurine have the best backstory to pair with this, but I’m more than alright with anything you’d like to try! If nothing else, thank you so much for putting your amazing writing here on tumblr for free!!! It’s creators like you that we all turn to at the end of the day to save us emotionally :D

Second Chances and Forgotten Dreams

Tags: Kaveh x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Self-Discovery, Creative Struggles, Supportive Characters, Reconnecting with Passions, Emotional Growth, Healing, Gentle Encouragement, Character Development.

Warnings: Mentions of Regret (Over giving up an artistic dream), Minor Angst, Emotional Vulnerability, Implied Pressure from Career Choices, Healing Process, Possible Mild Self-Doubt.

A/N: Hey, thank you so much for your kind words! That honestly means a lot to me. I'm really glad that my work has been able to connect with you and make a difference—it's always the goal! It’s anons like you who keep me motivated too. Thanks again for the love! 🤭💖🫶

Kaveh had always admired your sharp mind. The way your eyes lit up when discussing equations, medical advancements, or structural integrity fascinated him. Yet, despite the success in your field, he always sensed something was missing.

He discovered the truth by accident.

A forgotten sketchbook, tucked away on the highest shelf in your office, filled with beautiful, intricate drawings. Architectural designs, character studies, and unfinished landscapes—each page held the echoes of a dream abandoned.

Kaveh ran his fingers over the pages, tracing the lines with a reverence usually reserved for the most breathtaking buildings. When you walked in and saw him holding the sketchbook, your breath hitched.

"These… these are yours, aren’t they?" Kaveh's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

You swallowed hard, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"I loved art once," you admitted, exhaling as if saying the words out loud made the weight of your decision all those years ago more tangible. "I wanted to make a career out of it, but… I knew it wouldn't pay the bills. STEM was the safer choice."

Kaveh’s eyes, always filled with emotion, darkened with something between sadness and frustration.

"But safety doesn’t mean happiness," he said, flipping through the pages. "These drawings—they’re incredible. You could've—" He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. "You should still be creating."

You let out a bitter chuckle. "I don’t even know where to start again. I wouldn’t even know what to make."

Kaveh reached for his own notebook, the one filled with designs for structures he hadn't yet built, dreams he hadn't yet realized.

"Then let’s start together," he said.

That night, for the first time in years, you picked up a pencil—not to draft blueprints or calculate measurements, but to simply create. And beside you, Kaveh sketched alongside you, proving that art, once lost, could always be found again.

Aventurine had always seen life as a game of calculated risks, and you? You were one of the safest bets he’d ever made. Intelligent, hardworking, disciplined—exactly the kind of person who thrived in your field.

But when he saw you idly tracing shapes on a napkin one night, your fingers moving with absentminded precision, something about it made him pause.

"Didn’t know you were the doodling type," he mused, swirling his drink in his hand.

You stiffened before pulling the napkin away, stuffing it into your pocket as if it were something shameful.

That reaction? That was new.

So, being Aventurine, he started digging.

It wasn’t until weeks later that he found the old digital portfolio buried in your archives. Paintings, sketches, compositions—you had once been an artist. A real one.

When he confronted you, you laughed, but it lacked humor. "It was a childish dream," you said, waving it off. "STEM pays the bills. I made the right choice."

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, studying you the way he studied opponents at a high-stakes table. "Funny, I’ve seen people convince themselves of a lot of things, but that? That was the worst bluff I’ve ever heard."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off.

"You don’t regret choosing STEM," he said, "but you do regret giving up art entirely."

He leaned in, resting his chin on his knuckles, his sharp eyes unreadable. "Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll make you a deal."

You raised an eyebrow. "A deal?"

Aventurine smirked. "Start creating again—just once a week. No pressure, no deadlines. If you don’t love it anymore, I’ll never bring it up again." He extended a hand. "But if you do? Well, then you owe me a private exhibition of your best work."

You hesitated before finally shaking his hand.

"Hope you’re ready for me to prove you wrong," you muttered.

Aventurine chuckled. "Oh, darling," he said, a knowing gleam in his eye. "I’m counting on it."

Ratio never dealt in half-truths. Logic dictated all things, and as far as he was concerned, you were a master of your field because you wanted to be. That was the only reasonable explanation.

So when he found the old violin case gathering dust in your storage room, he was… perplexed.

"You play?" he asked, examining the instrument with clinical curiosity.

"Not anymore," you replied without looking up from your work.

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

You hesitated, fingers tightening around your pen. "Because," you said finally, "passion doesn't pay the bills."

For the first time in a long time, Ratio was at a loss for words. You were one of the most driven, intelligent people he knew. He couldn’t fathom you abandoning something you once loved so much.

"You still think about it," he noted, voice quieter than usual. "Don't you?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Sometimes."

Ratio wasn’t sentimental. He wasn’t the type to push people toward emotional revelations. But facts were facts.

"You are not simply a scientist, nor are you simply an artist," he stated. "Denying one part of yourself does not make the other stronger."

You frowned. "And what do you suggest? That I drop my career and start composing again?"

Ratio shook his head. "No. But I suggest you stop pretending that your love for art was irrelevant."

He pushed the violin case toward you.

"Indulge in both," he said. "Because denying something you love for the sake of practicality is, in itself, the most illogical decision one could make."

You stared at him for a long moment before reaching out, fingers ghosting over the violin’s worn surface.

For the first time in years, you opened the case.

And for the first time in years, you played.

[soradayone]

“Before she can get any farther, Rangi snatches her wrist, brings her glistening fingers to her mouth, and starts to suck them clean.

Kyoshi’s breath gives way to a choked gasp. Her mouth falls open, eyes wide with adoration and lust as Rangi swirls her tongue around her fingers.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56977657

This is by far the LONGEST I have ever spent on a drawing in such a long time. Honestly, I have to stop here because any more and I'll start becoming exceedingly critical when this was meant to just allow myself to practice incorporating color into my art with the intent to deepen it. I do want to segway into talking about this scene because to put it plainly: I was not expecting it. When I first read this, I had just finished Stay Close, Float Home and was still sort of in between a state of euphoria, inspiration, and disbelief. It was a lot, but I've already talked about why that is so I'm not going to elaborate further to save anyone reads this some time. So then I clicked on the author's profile to see that there were other works and I happened to click this one next about a few hours later (I saw the tags, I never clicked so fast in my life).

Honestly, this wasn't even the wildest thing to happen if you take into account what happened before this. For some reason, I didn't anticipate what would happen next because I was so focused on visualizing this that when I did read this part, I physically put my hand over my mouth. Flabbergasted, surprised, shock, whatever synonym you can think of, think of that because it quite literally took the breath right on out of my lungs and I don't think I've ever stopped thinking about it. And it's been, what, a little over four weeks now?

I have many more thoughts but I'd rather transition over to discuss how this started as a sketch in my sketchbook since it suddenly came back to my mind but then the sketch just wasn't enough. I wanted there to be the soft purples, yellows, and reds that I saw and felt when reading that passage specifically. Yellow was the biggest color for me in this illustration not only because the setting was a hot day, but because of how there was a song I had listened to over and over again when making this that SOUNDED yellow to me. The song is called Crème Brulée by David Archuleta and it's this very sweet, groovy, airy sound (it's also very breathy and sensual so you can see how it's kind of related). It's definitely not subtle on what it's about but it was such a perfect blend of sound and colors that made this piece so much fun. If there's anything I've learned about myself in this last month alone after getting back into art and music, it's that I didn't realize I listen to music in color (it almost feels like I can taste it sometimes haha). Anyway, this wasn't meant to be too long of a read but who am I kidding, I could talk about this all day because when you've fallen back in love with the art of creating, it's just this addictive feeling that just doesn't really stop burning. So I write this with the intention to remember it. So that when the eventual and inevitable artist block hits again, I can remember what it felt like to overcome it.

[lostintransist]

This Bunny Bites | Part 14

Part 1 | AO3

Your piercings rattled around his brain like nails in a can bumping down a hill. While disassembling and cleaning his weapons, he thought. Watching his tea steep, he wondered. Two in each ear he could see. He had messed with your hair the morning before meeting for the first time, so piercings higher on your ear can’t be something he missed. He had not seen a flash or a sparkle at your navel the day you had kicked them out of the club, or when you had given him a dance.

Price surprised everyone by announcing you would be coming over today to work on some basic self-defense skills. He leaned forward on his hands, using a chair as his balancing point.

Ghost looks up from where he had been zoning out on the couch. Johnny stills next to him. His sketchbook leaned against a propped-up knee. The lines looked like nonsense to Ghost.

“Dutson was handsy but he didn’t seem violent.”

Gaz lets a sigh out through his nose, he stands with his arms crossed near Price.

“Turns out the man had good lawyers and at least one judge in his pocket. We found several reports of domestic abuse and some assault and battery charges buried under crazy amounts of red tape."

Price speaks up again, “I had to pull rank twice and had to verify my highest security clearance to have access to the redacted records.”

“We can’t put Bunny in danger like that,” Johnny’s words were sharp, unbending.

The Johns shared a long look that rippled and roiled with the tug of captain, brother, trust me, save my sister, give a little, can’t lose Bunny again. Johnny gave way with a snap of the charcoal pencil between his fingers.

“I will be calling her to start some basic self-defense today,” John pushes on before his sergeant can interrupt as he is desperate to do. “Before she is near Duston again. I will need all of us to push a bit tighter to keep her safe from him. This black book we are being paid to remove from his ownership will be putting him and a lot of people away.”

He stands tall, pulling his phone from a pocket as he types in his sixteen-character password from memory. Price steps onto the back porch and pulls the door shut tight behind him.

Ghost watches as Gaz sits on the arm of the couch next to Soap, he rests a hand on the other man’s mohawk. The casual intimacy comes easy to Gaz.

“I wanna go blow something up.”

Soap’s voice reflected the darkness that hid in the irises of his blue eyes.

“Don’t know that blowing up Duston will get the results we are looking for,” Gaz pushed Soap’s head to and fro lightly.

“Sure would make me feel better knowing he has hands on my sister if I could blow them off when we are all done here.”

No one comments on the knowledge that Soap had done worse to men who deserved it less.

The door opening draws all their eyes.

“Alright muppets, she’ll be here in an hour. We need to get this room as clear as we can and get some mats. I am too damn old to be hitting the floor without adrenaline or a cushion.”

Johnny can’t keep his fingers from fidgeting or his feet from pacing. The path from the front door to the back was the longest unbroken stretch in the house currently. He wore it down.

He would try and get some time with you today after training. He couldn’t keep living in this limbo. Sometimes he caught you staring at him, the distance in your eyes replaced with pain and sadness. It tore at his soul. What was left of it at least.

Even God would regret sending him to Earth when He read the accounting of the things John “Soap” MacTavish had done in the name of Queen and Country. The only ones he regretted were the ones that left the chasm between the brother he was and the monster he is.

“MacTavish!”

Johnny knew his pacing pissed off his captain. Couldn’t help it.

A voice joined him in snapping back though.

“What?”

Same tone, cadence, annoyance in the single word. You had arrived while his back was turned.

Head snapping back to look at you, Johnny found your eyes already boring into his head. Seems no one had mentioned to the other you both kept the name to spite the man.

You set your keys in your purse, then both on the table in the front hall. He keeps staring at you as you let your eyes fall to focus on your task.

“I’ll wax one of your eyebrows off if you don’t stop staring at me, Jon Jon.”

The words are said with full intent, but the name? The evil nickname you had found weaseled under his skin as a teen made him want to weep. Maybe, just maybe he could salve the wound of his choices.

“I’m a much lighter sleeper than I used to be,” Johnny lobbed back lightly.

Settling a hand on the wall, you toe off your shoes as you reply.

“Abandoning your responsibilities will haunt a person I’ve heard.”

You don’t see the sticky explosive land and take out a chunk of the man who yearned to be your brother again. Brushing past the corpse still standing, whole to the eyes that cannot see beyond flesh, you are greeted by the group.

Self-defense training with specialized soldiers isn’t all that awful. You actually felt comfortable hitting them with some force. Especially your brother. In return, they grabbed you with rough grips, fisted your hair, and Ghost even pinned you against a wall a few times. Those times were when you pushed the limits a bit.

One hand on your throat and the other in a fist pressed against the wall. He is wearing a skull mask today, the peeling white paint on the chin begging you to pick it off with a nail. His eyes are dark, pulling you in with the gravity of a dying star. This close you can see the lighter tint to his eyebrows. The hair on the top of his head is what you would call ditch-water blond. You would bet good money even the lightest volume of bleach would lighten it right up.

“Were you blond as a kid?” The words pop out before you can think better of it.

Deliciously, Ghost tightens his fingers at your question.

“Why?”

Dropping your voice to a whisper you reply.

“Because when I imagine having your babies, I want to dream them up right.”

He drops his hand and steps back like there is electricity arcing off your skin.

“Okay, what the fuck?”

You smirk as his voice breaks on the last word. Glancing around you find Price watching you with narrowed eyes. You wink at him.

Kyle and Johnny had stepped out to go and get dinner for everyone. Johnny left sporting a black eye from an elbow you had sent to his face. It made the kid in you that cried for a brother feel like smiling. Even if it was a watery one.

Sliding your gaze back to Ghost you answer his question.

“Didn’t you know?” Tilting your head to the side and letting out a shark-like grin, “Self-defense isn’t all breaking bones. A lot of it is awareness — of how to push your opponent’s buttons. You have me against a wall because Duston will try and cop a feel sooner or later. While a line like that wouldn’t get him to back off I knew it would do wonders on you. And it did.”

Ghost looked to Price as if to say ‘What the hell do you want me to do now’? Price shrugged and crossed the room. He gestured for Ghost to step aside.

Waiting for Price to settle himself in the same position you decide on a new tactic. Callouses bump over the skin at your neck and Price leans close. A shift of your hips and you are near flush with him. Running the back of your knuckles up the inside of his arm you glance up at him with big, sad eyes.

Using the same quiet whisper that sent Ghost spiraling, you coo up at Price.

“Am I being punished, Daddy?”

“Fucking hell.” Price draws out the words like an executioner’s sword — slow, deliberate, and ineffectual nonetheless.

Snaking your fingers into the beard where chin turns into cheek you grip it tight and pull him forward as you lightly tap his nose with your forehead.

“Can’t fight as well if you can’t see.” You grin up at him, the sharpness of your teeth dulled by the fact this smile reaches your eyes.

A commotion at the front door ends the lesson they were trying to teach. Both you and Price return your hands to yourself but neither move away.

Johnny and Kyle, both with takeaway bags in their arms, slow as they pass the wall into the living room. Soldier-trained eyes catch the way Ghost stands ready to run, and Price with a bit more weight in his heels.

“What happened here?” Kyle’s eyes bore into yours as he asks.

While it irks you that he automatically blames you for this tension, it was your fault this time.

“Reminded these old dogs that watching your own back means a lot more than carrying a gun or a knife.” Pushing off the wall, you trail your hand along Price’s body. Letting your short nails catch in the bumps of his shirt where torso met stomach. “It’s about learning what makes your opponent tick and using it against them.”

“And where did you learn that?” Johnny drops his brown bag to the counter, the paper arguing its treatment. “The strip club?

Annoyance tugged your real smile from earlier into a sneer. Crossing the room you let the island counter stand between you and your brother as a barrier. Might slap him if you could reach.

“Actually, yes. I learned most of what I know about life and men and how to get ahead in those spotlights.”

“Swinging your arse around for money can’t be that hard.” Johnny aims the words like a fight-winning blow.

The hit lands, much to your chagrin.

“Fine, then eat up and we will see just how hard it is to ‘swing your arse’ for money.” Snatching your phone from your pocket as Johnny scoffs you dial up a friend. Raising your voice you address the men you know are watching, “And that does mean all of you.”

Settling the phone against your ear, you brighten considerably when the call is picked up.

“Sasha! Hey, how are you?” Her reply is as you expected. “Good, I am glad that problem got resolved with the landlord without too much fuss. Now the reason for my call; do you have a room I can rent tonight? I have four men,” Johnny glared at you for the amount of disdain on that word, “Who think what I do for a living is easy.”

Kyle, Price, and Ghost all trail into the kitchen, settling across the counter with your brother. They were his real brothers, the ones who would kill or be killed for him. Not you. Bile splashes the walls of your stomach, a tsunami of realization.

“Heh, yeah you know I’m good for it.” A pause where Sasha gives you more information about the new security system you might have to deal with depending on the time you arrive. “Stellar. Love you, I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“So what are our plans tonight?” Price asks, folding his arms across his chest. You smirk as you notice him rub them back and forth along the trail you left.

“We are going to see if the air force trained you how to shake your ass,” running your tongue along the points of your teeth you snap your mouth into a feral showing.

“Oh my, granny,” Kyle muttered to himself as he opened the bag he rested on the counter, “What big teeth you have.”

Only you laughed at the insinuation you might eat them alive.

Part 13 | Part 15

Bunny Masterlist | Masterlist

Cute divider from @/jimzittos

@leahnicole1219 @notsochillnerd @darling006 @harperstyles @lucienofthelakes @redkarmakai @demothers-empty-blog @cheese-pull @itsmeamysworld @fluffysmiko @w0ede @skeletonsucker @defronix @lilynotdilly @whisperwispxx @stinkii-boii

[itsnotsunnyy]

ghosts of us

pairing: jacob black x female!reader

word count: 3,3k

summary: they were building forever, until fate rewrote the ending. now she walks with memories, and he walks with someone new, but some ghosts never leave, especially the ones we loved the most.

content: parallel grief, angst, lost love, secondhand heartbreak...

a/n: this took the longest freaking time to write, but i finally feel like i did justice to the lyrics of ‘two ghosts’, which holds such a special place in my heart—especially knowing harry wrote it back when one direction was still a thing. anyway, i hope you guys enjoy <3

i still sleep on the left side of the bed. 

you haven’t been here in months, but the habit stuck, like everything else you left behind. your hoodie is still draped over my desk chair, half-folded the way you always did. the scent is fading, pine, smoke, your shampoo, but i can still find it if i try hard enough. 

i try too often. 

it’s strange how fast everything can fall apart, no warning, no goodbye. just a new name whispered in the forest and a silence so loud it split me in two. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

we met when i was seventeen and angry at everything. 

my mom sent me to forks to “cool down.” i had just dropped out of my first real job, dyed my hair blue out of spite, and started writing terrible poetry in the margins of my sketchbook. forks was supposed to be temporary. 

you weren´t. 

you were just… there. warm and loud and too good at fixing things. you teased me the first time we met, i was standing in the rain, trying to light a cigarette, failing miserably. 

“you know,” you said, leaning against your truck, “that’s not going to work in this weather.” 

i flipped you off and you laughed. 

the next day, i found a box of waterproof matches in the mailbox with a note: 

just in case you’re still trying to rebel. — j 

i kept them, even after i quit smoking. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

we fell into something fast. wild. consuming. 

you’d pick me up in the middle of the night just to drive until the sky turned pink. we’d lie in the bed of your truck, counting stars, not saying much. i loved that about you—you weren’t afraid of quiet. 

you let me draw you once. i made you sit still for an hour. you hated it. 

“i look too serious,” you said when i showed you the sketch. 

“you are serious.” 

you raised an eyebrow. “do i seem serious when i’m doing this?” and then you tickled me until i cried laughing. 

i taped that drawing to my wall. it stayed there long after you stopped showing up at my door. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

we were going to move in together. that’s the part i can’t let go 

it wasn’t a maybe. it wasn’t some distant dream we threw around on sleepless nights. we had a lease printed, boxes labeled, a list of what we’d take and what we’d leave behind. 

you wanted to be closer to the rez but far enough that you didn’t feel trapped. you said, “i just want space to be me, not the alpha, not the wolf... just jacob.” and i told you i’d follow you anywhere. 

i meant it. 

the night before everything changed, you kissed my forehead and said, “we’re almost there.” 

you didn’t look like a man on the edge of vanishing. 

you looked like mine.  

i thought we had time. 

i thought we had forever. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

leah warned me. she didn’t say it directly, but her eyes carried stories she never told. she’d catch you looking at me like i hung the stars and then look away like it hurt to breathe. 

one night, she finally broke. we were sitting on my porch, her legs curled under her, the beer in her hand untouched. 

“i know what it feels like,” she said after a long pause. “i loved sam. i still do, sometimes.” 

my stomach dropped. 

“emily,” i whispered. 

she nodded. “he didn’t choose it. neither did jacob. doesn’t matter, though. the result’s the same.” 

“did it ever stop hurting?” i asked. 

she shook her head. “no. but you get used to the weight.” 

after that we saw each other quite often. drawn to the same ache. 

two ghosts. 

we’d sit in silence, backs to the wind, hearts broken in parallel. 

we’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me. 

i never knew how true that line could feel until then. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

before her, we had everything. 

lazy afternoons tangled in bedsheets, walks through the woods where you’d shift mid-laugh just to make me scream, bonfires where you kept your hand on my waist like a promise. 

i remember how you’d trace shapes into my skin when you couldn’t sleep, mumbling things like “you’re it for me” and “no imprint, just choice.” 

choice. 

what a fragile, stupid word. 

i believed it. 

you did too. 

until she opened her eyes and the world rewrote itself. 

when you told me, your voice cracked. 

“i didn’t want this,” you said. “i didn’t ask for it.” 

but you still walked away, you still looked at me like i was suddenly something less. like she made you whole in a way i never could. 

“what am i supposed to do with this?” i asked. 

you didn’t answer. you just left. 

 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

my room is still full of you. your sweatshirt in the drawer. your handwriting on a note stuck to my mirror. 

you talk in your sleep. it’s cute. — j 

i never took it down. i think part of me hoped you’d come back, not because of the imprint. not because you had to, but because you wanted to. 

leah held me through the first night. she didn’t say much. didn’t need to. grief doesn’t always need words, it just needs someone to bleed with. 

“i hated emily for years,” she whispered once. “not because she took him. but because she didn’t have to lose anything to get him.” 

i didn’t hate renesmee. i couldn’t. she was a child. she didn’t choose this any more than you did, but that didn’t make me feel any less replaceable, any less forgotten. 

some days i wake up thinking it was a dream. that if i roll over fast enough, you’ll be there, smirking like always, eyes soft with sleep, arms ready to pull me close, but it’s just cold sheets and the echo of your breathing that lives in my memory. 

i should’ve burned the hoodie. 

i should’ve screamed, but all i did was cry. silent, shaking and small. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

leah and i started running together. not like the pack, just... human, just girls trying to outrun a storm that never ends. she tells me stories sometimes, about sam, about what she thought forever meant. 

i think she sees you in my eyes the way i see him in hers. two ghosts, both alive, both taken. 

sometimes we laugh about it. most days, we don’t. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

i saw you again last week. 

you were walking with her, the imprint. she had her hand in yours, tiny and glowing like the sun. you looked tired, older, but peaceful. 

you didn’t see me, or maybe you did and looked away. i wanted to hate you in that moment. to spit fire, curse your name and scream at the universe for taking everything i had and turning it into this, but instead, i walked away. because that’s what we do, the ones left behind. we walk away and carry what you forgot. 

you used to say i reminded you of the ocean. not just because of the way i moved, but because i was always changing, pulling you in, dragging you under, filling you with something vast and unnamable. you said you could drown in me and still want more. 

did you mean it? or was that just the boy in you talking, the one who didn’t know fate had other plans? 

sometimes i dream of starting over. a new city, new name, new version of me that doesn’t flinch at the word “wolf” or ache when someone mentions forks. but then, leah calls, and we sit in silence, connected by wounds only we understand. and i remember— we survived, not because we were strong, but because we had to be. 

we don’t get closure. not really. we just learn to carry the quiet, so that’s what i do. i carry you. every kiss, every fight, every whispered plan for a future that’ll never come. you were my almost. my almost forever, my almost home and maybe that’s all we ever get to be. almost. 

you didn’t choose it, but i would’ve chosen you. every time. even now. especially now. 

but now? now we’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me.  

[spinchip]

I stopped watching ninjago when I grew up, but I introduced my friend to it and she got obsessed even though she doesn't have any nostalgia. She annoyed me for like a year to rewatch it and I'm on season 6 rn, and I'm dying. I love zane so much. I've been thinking about him constantly. I made fanfic, I never write fanfic. I'm this close to picking back up pencils and drawing. How do you deal with obsessions with that robot? Because I do not believe that staring at an old minifig of him for half an hour while zoning out is the behaviour I want going forward

youre doing it, my friend. Write that fanfic. bust out that sketchbook! He's infecting your brain? Time to make that everyone else's problem too. inflict blorbo onto others. Knock Knock, hello, have you heard the good word? About character froim my shows?

Zane is a carbonated soda trapped in the shaken up plastic bottle of my mind. he makes me want to explode. i gotta unscrew the cap and teensy bit ever now and then and let off the pressure.

But theres also something so special about Zane that makes people crazy. i've had my Ao3 account for EIGHT years, the first 3years i wrote 11 fics total for several different fandoms. in 2020 i discovered ninjago and have published TWENTY THREE ninja fics to Ao3 (this is not counting the things ive written here and never cross posted !) My second longest fic i've ever written was for ducktales 2017 with 7 chapter and a total of 12,000 words.(unfinished. rip)

The fanfic that surpassed that? Never the Dark. A ninjago fic centered entirely around zane with 19 chapter and a total on 109 THOUSAND words. (Will be finished.) im not joking when i say i used to be so certain that i didnt have the dedication to write long-form fiction. I used to think i couldnt do it. Zane ninjago changed my brain chemistry !

you gotta get him out of your head you gotta man.

seriously, make that art. write that fic. post 100 million text posts or edits or whatever about your obsessions its the only way to survive.

when you post your first art or your fics you should absolutely send it to me. we'll celebrate the obsession together.

[priintiisor]

so! as i said last night i finished my sketchbook that i ve had for 2 years

and to finish it off i drew this!!

which is a redraw of my very very first drawings of pebbles from march 2023. which are also in this sketchbook. because this sketchbook is ancient (no puns intended)

featuring:

- the crappy pencils and markers that have been in my house for 10 years, maybe more

- the same colored pens i drew the original version of this with

- my sibling s copic markers

closeups because i m really bad at taking photos of my art

original version under cut becuase it s REALLY ugly (also more yapping)

you can see it..... i guess..... ignore the parts where there s obviously something covered up, i have nothing to hide except bad headcanons i no longer stand by

featuring the origins of "one of hunter s arms doesn t work" headcanon btw

uhhh improvement i guess 👍 not really, i just figured out how i want to draw scugs in the meantime lmao. also i drew that from memory so like. let s not judge past me s choices THAT much

anyways if you re thinking this has very bright colors, yes. i distinctly remember drawing that original version of this in school one day and thinking "how dare rain world be so depressing and simultaneously have such bright colors. how am i meant to draw angst about this pink little shit-" so naturally we must keep the obnoxiously bright colors

anyways i ve wanted to redraw this for the longest time so yipppeeee. rest in peace printi s sketchbook, nov 16th 2022 - feb 1st 2025. may the next one not last this fucking long

[iiotic]

Ink sans fluff headcanons

ask: hi in my humble opinion YOU (someone who from an outside perspective seems pretty awesome) should write ink / GN reader fluff headcanons. i feel like you have a good grasp on his character from what i've seen! - anon

tags: Gn reader, really just wholesome Fluff?? Ink being a sweetheart, not proff read.

word count: 0.6k

Okay let me start of with the fact that this guy cannot feel any emotions without his potions!! However I do not think that if he'd drink the pink bootle of paint he'd fall into the first person he sees. You would have to be chosen.

Ink would love a creative partner, who'd go with him on his lil' adventures!! You don't need to be as enthusiastic as he is just make sure to listen to his rambling.

This guy is completely new to this romance thing so you'll have to be patient with him. His love language is probably gift giving and quality time.

He'd ask a lot of question; what? Why? but as I said he's clueless. Of course, he had seen people dating in some of the aus but he never experienced it himself.

As I said if you're more of an artistic person, he'd support every move that you make. Constantly complementing your work. Would be extremely honoured if you'd draw him, paint him, make sculpture of him or give him a gift, like a braselet just for him!! Tears of joy, literally.

This silly would absolutely draw you so he'd sometimes ask if you'd pose for him. If you agree he's pleased, and if you don't? Well he'd draw you in secret. At one point you will find out, but who cares? However even if you'll agree posing for him he'd draw you in secret, just when you're doing normal things, being yourself.

Are you someone who dyes their hair? Amazing!! He'd ask you if he can help, he really wants to help. Don't expect for it to be perfect, though. He doesn't know much, nor anything.. Really. You'd have to teach him but I hope you don't mind? This skeleton would put a shit tone of rainbow in your hair so it that's not what you're into, you'd have to remind him that.

If you like to dye your hair yourself, he's perfectly fine with that too! He can help you with mixing the paint or give you some towels.

He has shit tone of sketchbooks dedicated just for you!!

Since he's really forgetful and has a short term memory he'd write important dates on his scarf. Like your anniversary or your birthday!! Forgive him if he'd forget, he's a bit scary in a silly way.

If you're away from eachothers for some times, he'd give you some little things that remind him of you. Nothing too big, though. Like something that you both only get, an inside joke between you or a really pretty flower.

If you're a cuddler then i must dissapoint you couse this guy can seat still for a long period of time!! The longest he will seat if he'd take a quick nap which is really really rare because I headcanon that he doesn't have to sleep??

The first kiss would be an incident or be really awkward. He's really really trying to be romantic, but can you blame him for ruining such an important moment? He's trying his best + it'd probably a great, funny and wholesome memory. That only you will remember

(a/n) sorry if this is short!! I really need to get used to writing for ink. I KIN HIM A LOT TBH.

[fayewoodss]

I've been thinking a lot about safe objects and how growing up I always needed something soft like a stuffed animal or a gimmicky purse (I had a turtle purse for the longest time), and then eventually graduated to books, sketchbooks, and pencil cases being my teenage/adult safe objects. Now, thinking about that in the context of Dream Team is so fun and I want to share my thoughts.

First off, I love the concept of Dream's custom made mask being both a safe object and a sensory object. While it was presented satirically at first, poking fun at the negative reactions to his face reveal, he still wore it with confidence and good humor, while also maintaining branding. It's no surprise that it's a great comfort to Dream as it literally masks his appearance and provides him a shield from onlookers, while also setting forth a fun and playful attitude. On the sensory object aspect of it, since it's made by the same people that designed the high quality Spider-Man masks, we've seen the face of the mask is a plastic mesh with enough clearance for being able to see, but it still lends some sensory deprivation in blocking out lights, and paired with his hoodie, blocking out sound. I know we all love to see his face, but I do love when the mask is involved even as a joke because their is something so personal and sentimental about it. Aside from the mask, I think his sword necklace and cat beanies can also serves as safe objects, and the sword could also double as a fidget. I don't wear a lot of jewelry, but I know that whenever I wear a necklace, it quickly becomes a stim toy. Finally, a lot of his OU wearable items can serve as safety objects, whether he's just representing the team at a game where it's expected to where team merch, or at home or out and about, as he's shown in videos, Snapchats, and even a few images from his childhood that were on the flash drive.

I haven't narrowed down one specific safe object for George because he is someone who collects a lot of objects and Penguin Pebbles (giving small and often thoughtful gifts as a token of affection or admiration). Rather than bringing objects with him wherever he goes, he usually ends up acquiring a new object. But I do think his wardrobe as a whole can fall into the realm of safety objects or comfort objects. His style has remained relatively constant to when he first started streaming with tee shirts and soft or loose fitting pants, only wearing jeans or tailored clothing when necessary. Nowadays he's solidified himself in wearing oversized cotton blend shirts and big loose shorts that typically seem to be a polyester fleece blend, which is typically thick but very soft fabric. Even when fishing in cooler temperatures (cool for Florida), he's in shorts and tee shirt. Expanding beyond his outfits, his socks are a clear comfort as he is very particular about the brand, style, and fit. He has shown he owns other socks, but those are all themed socks that seem to be more for a fun laugh than a casual wear. Finally, I think his sneakers/sneaker collection are a clear comfort, but more so in a special interest way rather than a full on comfort object. He is still very particular about what sneakers he enjoys, what outfit or event he wears them with, and how to take care of them.

In general, I think Dream is more consistent with his safety objects, often needing them to have some sentimentality to his personhood, whereas George can make a safety object out of a variety of things, but ties a lot of comfort and safety to special interests. Dream is more likely to bring a safety object with him and George is more likely to collect safety objects.

[desmond69miles]

The Catch

This is sort of a prologue to 'An Artists Eye'. It uses the same way of meeting/Élise and Bellec are still alive, but reading the previous fic is not necessary! This is supposed to be after the game (but obviously a different ending), it more so came out as a completly different timeline- what the hell it's fiction anyway

Arno offers to show you around the hidden assassin base below Cafe Theatre. He also offers a risky sexual time in a small, curtain-drawn study in the archives.

Warnings/Tags: Google translated French, GN reader (no descriptions listed), oral sex/blowjob, risky sex, getting caught, probably ooc Axeman but IDK anything about him (he 'flirts' with you).

Word Count: 3.4k (rounded up)

AO3 LINK: Here

Enjoy.

---

Arno Dorian was a man of many suits. He drank like a monster, risked his life daily in more ways than one, and fought like a madman. But, he was an attentive lover. Caring and somewhat good-natured when it came to you.

You were wary of Arno's regular disappearances and injuries once you started dating him, perhaps a little more worried than a normal partner would be. You weren't sure if his gambling was getting him into fistfights or if he got into one too many scraps with local drunks, but you could never recall a time when he didn't come back to you unharmed. 

At first, you’d thought him a thief or maybe a smuggler. To your surprise, he was neither (or both) but an assassin. You laughed at him then, giving him a look of disbelief, but when he stayed stone-faced, your look of humor soon turned into panic. 

“Arno,” you had said, “you cannot be serious. An assassin?” He gave you a slight smirk that you can still picture perfectly today and took your hands in his. “Yes, an assassin. I’ve been one since I was twenty-two.” He said it so plainly that there was no other truth besides that- a killer. You weren’t scared, though, and perhaps you should have been. You trusted him not to get himself captured or, worse, killed. 

Despite your trust, he did come home wounded quite often. The unexplained injuries suddenly made a lot more sense, especially the stab and slash marks from a sword--and, god forbid, a bullet hole once in a blue moon. While you weren’t thrilled about becoming skilled at suturing your lover, you got exceptionally good at it. In return, Arno affectionately called you ‘mon infirmière.’

My nurse.

“Arno,” you sighed nervously while threading a needle. “You know that you’re supposed to stick them with your sword, not be stuck by their sword, right?” He laughed and winced after, fists clenching at the two-centimeter-deep slash wound on his right side. “Oui, mon amour, I’m well aware. Sometimes, it’s a bit difficult while fighting three people at the same time.” You side-eye him then, tutting. “I have you, though, mon infirmière. You are much more gentler than Elise and not as scrutinizing.” 

You also missed him a lot, even when he was right beside you. The constant fear that he might one day leave and never come back haunted you.  Every time he returned in the dead of the night, you couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. You would thank him, your voice barely audible as he quietly removed his boots, careful not to disturb your sleep. 

It’s been six months since you’ve started dating Arno. Your worry decreased dramatically during that time. Partially because the longest missions Arno’s been on are only a few days to a week at most, partially because he’d always spend a day or two before that mission with you doing things he’d know would quell your stress. This time, though, he’d be traveling to Toulouse for three weeks: six hundred and seventy-eight kilometers, a day and a half carriage ride away.

Arno was going to leave in two days, and he had been spending time with you in between the preparations. You sat in a chair by the fire, scribbling around your sketchbook. Arno was gone—probably below Cafe Theatre or in the study—the only thing keeping you company was the gentle crackling of the flames and the songbirds chirping outside in the terrace garden. Summer was coming to its final stretch and starting to transition into fall. Leaves were turning into gorgeous shades of red and orange, the temperature just warm enough to leave without a coat, and the apple trees were blooming to make the perfect apple cider. 

A beautiful time of growth and change, and you’d be experiencing it with mostly Elise and your best friend (not that you had anything against Elise or your best friend; you did love them, but something about fall was so romantic). 

“Mon amour,” a disembodied voice said, “what are you drawing?” His hands rested on your shoulders, squeezing lovingly before he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.  “Eurasian jays,” you replied, moving your gaze from the crisp paper to your lover. He stole a chaste kiss and looked at your page of elegantly drawn birds. Arno recognized them as the bird that stole a piece of your bread a few months back, a smile drawing to his face. 

Arno sighed through his nose. “How are you?” he asked, his voice ever more soothing at this peaceful moment. “Alright. How is your work going? Are you still leaving in two days?” His slight noise had confirmed, although he did not speak, and he moved one of his hands down, carefully taking your sketchpad away and setting it down on the table next to the chair. 

“I have something that might put your mind at ease during my mission,” Arno said softly. “The Council has permitted you to visit our headquarters. You can meet my mentor and our fellow assassins. While you can't go there alone, I thought it might comfort you to see where I spend my time.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, quickly taking his hand as he helped you stand.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I weren’t certain,” he replied, reassuringly smiling. “There aren’t many people there right now, maybe my mentor or a few friends. We could go now if you’d like?” You chewed your lip briefly, pretending to ponder before nodding. “Alright, let’s go.”

Arno led you down the familiar hallways of Cafe Theatre, but this time, he stopped at a spot you had never taken much notice of before. With an odd-looking key that you’ve never seen before slotted into the lock, the dark wooden door swung open with a quiet groan. Inside was a dimly lit staircase that descended into a stone hallway with a red rug lining the middle.  “This way,” he said, taking your hand as he guided you into the dimly lit corridor.

The passage trailed downward, the air growing cooler and damper as you descended. The walls were lined with old, worn stone, and the faint scent of old books and earth made up the air. Arno walked with the confidence of a man who’d traversed these halls too many times to count, his gloved fingertips brushing against the bricks while his arm that didn’t wield the blade held your hand. 

Eventually, you arrived at the bottom of the staircase. The hallway was much grander than you had seen from the top of the stairs--curtains framing big paintings of what you assumed were important figures in the assassin world, numerous pedestals holding silver or iron statues, and a large red tapestry with a white emblem on it hanging from the tall ceilings, the Creed’s sigil. The room was illuminated by torches mounted on the walls, casting a warm, flickering glow that danced over Arno’s face and shadowed a beautiful gleam on him. 

Once the hallway ended, there was a room containing a long table surrounded by haphazardly pushed-in chairs. On all four sides of the room was another hallway, but the one in front of you led into a vast room resembling a courtroom. It was no less magnificent than the hallways—possibly a little more—such as the oak table covered in various maps and documents and the walls lined with weapons and other neatly organized tools of the trade. 

Arno turns to you with a gentle smile, speaking in a tone that feels a little too loud for the setting, “This is where I spend much of my time when I’m not with you. It’s not much, but it’s home.” 

You took in your surroundings with a deep breath. There was a strange comfort, as well as uncertainty and awe, seeing where Arno lived most of his life. You had talked about seeing the creed’s hideout when you first found out about his position, and honestly, what you saw now was not what you envisioned in your mind. When you think of Assassin, you think of torturing and other dark things. While you were sure it did happen, there was no hint of it here. 

True to his word, there weren’t many people in the hideout. In fact, there wasn’t a soul around. “Is it normal for there not to be people?” You ask, looking at Arno as he wraps an arm around your waist. “No. Usually, there are many people, but most of us are out on missions, and the council is out on a meeting with-” “Arno!” 

“Axeman, mon ami!” 

You turned your head to the right to see a man walking towards you, an axe strapped on his back. You rolled your eyes playfully at the ‘clever’ name of his friend. Axeman slapped his hand on Arno’s shoulder in a hello, his brown eyes meeting yours. “And half of us thought you made them up,” he jests, sticking his hand out for you to take and gently kissing the back of your hand. “How could I make someone so great up?” Arno smiles, and his arm briefly squeezes you closer. 

Axeman chuckles while running a hand through his pushed-back brown hair. “As much as I’d like to stay and chat with your lovely partner, I do have a mission to get to.” He gives you a small smile and Arno a playful smack again, turning to walk the way you came in. “Bellec’s around, so be on your best behavior.” 

Once his buddy left, your lover turned to you, giving you a frisky smirk. “Let me give you a tour,” Arno grabbed your hand again with a slight squeeze and led you deeper into the underground hideout, his hand warm even through the worn leather glove. “This way,” Arno said, pulling you to the left hallway. This passage was thinner than the others and dimly lit by candelabras placed every five feet, occasional carvings etched into the stone walls between large pillars. Large wooden doors started after the fourth pillar, and Arno took you to the second one on the right side, swinging open the heavy door and nodding you inside. 

“This is the main training room.” He gestured with a flourish, letting you step inside and look around. The space was huge, with mats covering the floor. Wooden dummies and targets lined two of the four walls, some riddled with throwing knives and arrows, some looking so broken it was just remembrance of rough training. Three assassins were sparring, one sitting down to the side drinking water and two practicing their knife skills. 

“Care for a quick lesson?” He teased, knowing full well that you weren’t one for battling people, instead gnats or annoying flies that buzzed around. “Maybe later,” you replied with a grin, “What’s next?” 

He followed you out and closed the door behind him, leading you across the hall into the next door. “Here is the armory.” The room opened to reveal wooden walls lined with weapons of every kind: swords, daggers, pistols, rifles, smoke bombs, bomb bombs, and, of course, things to maintain the hidden blade. Each was meticulously maintained and ready for action. “Most of us have our preferred weapons, so this is mainly for recruits or people who have lost a weapon. Pick any weapon, and it’ll have a story,” Arno said, following you inside.

His fingers brushed an ornate-looking sword, the beautiful engraving on the blade glinting in the candlelight. You reached out, touching a dagger with an intricate hilt next to the sword Arno was looking at. “What about this one?”

“Ah, that belonged to Thomas de Carneillon, an assassin in the 13th and 14th century,” Arno explained, “he tried to steal a sword of Eden, the same one that killed Germaine.” He gives you an inquisitive look and lets you wander around the round room, watching as you observe the weapons with a curiosity that makes his stomach twinge in an absurd kind of attractiveness. 

Once you circle the room and return to Arno, he offers his hand again and leads you out of the room and deeper into the hallway. “You’ll love this,” he assures, motioning towards the end of the hallway where a huge arch opened up to a library. “This is the south archive,” he said, smiling at your giddy smile. 

It smelled like old parchment, ink, and worn leather-bound books, a scent that engrained itself in your brain. Shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes, scrolls, and books lined the walls, going up to the ceiling where a giant metal chandelier hung. Maroon velvet curtains lined the arch, and when you slipped into the library, you didn’t notice Arno tugging the golden rope that held them back. The drapes made a soft noise as they closed, dimming the room just the slightest bit, and Arno watched as your fingers trailed over the spines of the books. 

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured. “You said that this is the South archive?” Arno hummed a ‘yes,’ coming up behind you as you pulled one of the smaller books off the shelf. He wrapped his arms around your hips and kissed your temple, scanning the book you opened. “This library isn’t the biggest one here, but this one is always empty, perfect for us.” 

Arno watched the trail of your fingertips against the worn paper, gentle like your fingers when you trail them over Arno’s back. His eyes followed your hand as you turned the page, forefinger and thumb pinching the page like when you pinch your nipple while he’s fingering you. He should not be turned on right now. 

“Arno,” you said, head turning to look at your lover behind you. His eyes caught yours, your pretty eyes that always glistened right before you orgasmed, and right then, he made up his mind. Before you could speak again, Arno had pressed his lips against your soft ones, maybe just a little too roughly, the leather of the book in your hands creaking with how hard you gripped it. 

His hand grabbed the book from your hands and placed it back on the shelf with a little bit of struggle. Nipping your bottom lip, Arno’s hands gripped your hips and slipped his tongue inside your mouth. He tasted like wine and something sweet--something him-- and god, you’d be lying if it wasn’t intoxicating for the both of you. When you did pull away, a slim bridge of saliva connected your lips and snapped when he licked his. You were suddenly very aware of the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into--his erection pressed into your behind and his needy hands wandering your body.

“We’re in the base,” you un-needily whispered, sucking in a small breath as his lips moved to your jaw and pressed a kiss just behind your jawbone. “Oui, but we are alone. No one is near us, and we’ll be quiet.” You shakily breathed as he continued to kiss along the side of your neck and fuck; if the thought of risk didn’t set a throbbing between your legs, you weren’t sure what did. 

With an enthusiastic nod, Arno grabbed your hand and pulled you to one of the curtain-drawn study rooms off to the side. As he did with the entrance to the archive, Arno pulled the rope holding the drapes back off and dropped it to the floor. The ambient candlelight under the curtains, the only light in the ‘private’ study room, set a surprisingly intimate aura as Arno’s hand cups the side of your face and kisses you again. This one was headier, making your mind swim as his other hand grabbed your butt, pushing your hips into his. 

Your hands that had been resting on his shoulders slipped down his chest and to his belt, one palming his obvious arousal and the other fiddling with the belt buckle. He groaned into your mouth, hips chasing your hand as you moved it up to help undo the buckle. His hands joined yours in a messy struggle, and once his belt was undone, you immediately sank to your knees. 

Arno swore--a short, breathy ‘merde’ that sent every single ounce of blood that was in your brain rushing south, and with that blood came a fleeting thought of how easy it was to get you to suck him off in a place with people. It wasn’t the first time that you had sexual interactions in a public place--far from it--but it was the first time that you’d be on the giving end. 

His hand came to rest on the back of your head as your fingers unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down with his undergarments just to free his cock. Even in the darkness, you could tell that he was fully hard, your hand that didn’t rest on his hip coming to stroke him teasingly slow. Your thumb swiped over his tip that dribbled precum, and his hips twitched with a soft groan that was nothing short of heavenly. 

You softly pressed your lips against his head and trailed them down his shaft, letting your spit dribble against his heated skin and slicking him up with your hand. His quiet groans and the schlick of your hand made up the space--an erotic opera--and finally, your lips slipped around his tip and gently sucked. “Dieu, fuck, don’t stop,” Arno groaned, hips rocking in time with the drawls and push of your head. After enough saliva drips from your mouth and down his cock you took him deeper in just so the head of his cock was resting against the back of your tongue. 

Arno moved both of his hands to the side of your head and gently held you in place, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones, and he began to thrust into your mouth. At first, his thrusts were shallow, but as your hands came to his thighs once again, Arno gave a chuckle and picked up his pace. You slid your tongue against the underside of him, and he let out a groan, one that was a little too loud. “Good job, mon amour, good job…” 

No matter how many times you took him in any way, there was never a time where he failed to make you so painfully aroused. 

“Suck,” Arno said, stopping his movements rather deep inside the constrictive heat of your throat and petting your head. And just like he said, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. His head thudded against the wall he had his back rested on, and, oh, that groan. Primal and needy and wanting in every sinful way known to man. “S'il vous plaît, continuez, putain, juste comme ça. Tu me prends si bien- si bien, fuck!”

His fingers threaded through your hair and gripped the strands, holding them tight as he rocked against your mouth. Arno was so, so close, you just needed to suck a little harder and-

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, ARNO?!” 

You immediately pull off of Arno, who seems equally surprised but, strangely enough, not embarrassed. You wiped the back of your mouth with your hand and turned around, face mortified at the silhouette of a man standing in the doorway. He shook his head and turned around, letting the curtain fall behind him, and you could still tell he was outside due to the shadow from under the drapes. Arno haphazardly tucked himself back into his pants and offered you a hand up off the ground. When he pulled you up, you gave him a look, one that said Arno, are you fucking kidding me? but all he did was chuckle and step out of the study. 

“Désolé, Bellec.” Your lover said, utterly unphased by the fact you had just been caught in a very precarious and intimate moment, and you heard a sigh from not Arno. “You never fail to amaze me, pisspot,” The man- Bellec- laughed. 

You stood in the study for a good fifteen minutes with your face aflame, too embarrassed to even walk out of the hideout. 

Thankfully the second meeting with Bellec was not when you were sucking Arno off and instead over wine (that doesn’t mean you weren’t a hot-faced mess with an embarrassed smile on your face throughout the whole thing, though). 

[tumblebagel]

can we see some of your favorite graphite works you've done?

Oh! Absolutely!

I’ll be honest, I just cracked open my sketchbook and pulled out what was the most presentable. None of this is, like, my official stuff that I did for my classes, because: While proof of skill, those works to me feel boring and hollow

Here’s the good stuff, pulp included

In order we have:

Mae Borowski! Had an idea for the longest time of making a sorta prequel series of art before Night In the Woods. Around the time of the Longest Night spin-off/minigame thing. Art got scrapped, but the college varsity jacket stayed in my brain.

Catgirl adventurer OC. Also never made it past concept. I had this whole magic system set up that I was pretty proud of. And if I’m honest, still holding on to 😅. Short version is this, Health level = magic cap. Magic level = stamina cap. Lose health and all your stats suffer.

The Spot. I just think this one’s sick

Fiona Windsor. An old D&D character. If you’re confused about the name, uhhhhhhhhhhhh… So I ended up choosing my name, like, a month ago? In spite of the fact that I’ve known I was trans for 7 years. Without knowing it, playing that character was like a beta test

Minecraft OC. Friendly shinobi, VERY sekiro inspired. Sadly the server I was playing on shut down RIGHT BEFORE WE GOT CHERRY TREES AND BAMBOO WOOD. AGH!!

Brisket :3

Fenic! The main character of a comic that I hold very dear to my heart, called Goodbye to Halos. If you haven’t read it yet, then you have one task for today.

My Sibling’s OC. We do “Art swaps” every now and then where we give eachother OCs and try to learn eachother’s styles. It’s a fascinating process because I am very cartoon brained, and they’re an art god amongst mortals.

My old PFP, :D

Art I did for one of my D&D players. Mad scientist artificer/blood hunter. His bastion hireling is a robot named Siri, and whenever we run a hireling-centered session, everybody’s phones go off, it’s great

[ciaomarie]

Part 6: What Then?

It's over kids! The longest and final chapter is done. Chris Storer & Co. are probably going to put our beloveds through it in S3, but until then let's enjoy our low-key angst and romance. Post Season 2, Canon-Compliant, swoony, girly, fluffy. A happy-ending obviously.

After 10 years of grinding himself into dust Carm’s body began to surrender. About a month after The Bear’s opening, he came down with a cold that turned into a low-grade fever, a bitter cough with lime green mucus, night sweats, and mind-numbing exhaustion. After two days Sydney and Fak showed up to his apartment and dragged him to the emergency room. It was pneumonia and dehydration. The young male doctor muttered that his lungs sounded just like his father’s, a 40-year smoker. Yes, pneumonia was the primary reason, but a man Carmy’s age should be in better shape. He was out of commission for a whole week. The regret of letting down The Bear crew so soon after the Friends and Family fiasco motivated him to make a couple changes. First, he allowed himself only one emergency cigarette a day, which he needed less and less. Second, he went outside on Mondays, when the restaurant was closed. If the temperature was over 30℉, he took the train or walked to a park. His favorites were Humboldt and the Garfield Park Conservatory. Today he had come to the latter with his sketchbook and pencils in his backpack. Since the renovation he had continued drawing.

As he went towards to his favorite bench, he noticed a slender woman walking ahead of him. Her height, long swishing braids and jacket were identical to Syd’s. He compulsively began jogging towards her. Before he could call out her name, the woman pounced on a tall lanky man in front of her, wrapping her arms around his waist. Carmen had the sensation of being pushed off a diving board unexpectedly, his stomach pitching forward, unable to breathe much less scream before slamming into the water like a brick. The man turned and picked up Sydney up, planting a kiss on her mouth. He spun her around and…she wasn’t Syd. Thank God.

Carm made his way to the bench and hunched over, his head in his hands. She wasn’t Syd he recanted over and over until the feeling of relief gave way to self-reproach. This time it wasn’t her, but one day it would be. Would he be able to live with that? Uncle Jimmy’s warning not to be an overthinking manichino flashed in his mind. It was time to do something. He took out his sketchpad and began thumbing through it, an idea beginning to take shape. Hopefully, it wouldn’t scare Syd away.

The following Monday Sydney was in her cousin’s salon getting her entire life. Her microbraids were taken out, her hair was washed, deep conditioned, her scalp massaged, and now she was getting box braids put in. They were accented with delicate gold hair cuffs. She drowsed in the chair, with an almost empty to-go container of jollof rice in her lap, as her cousin and another hair stylist quietly discussed the latest season of Love is Blind.

“Sydney babe, would you ever go on Love is Blind?” her cousin, Ashley, asked in a louder tone.

Syd startled and rubbed her eyes.

“Never. That’s insane.”

“I got a message on IG that it’s coming to Chicago. You live and breathe your job so when are you going to meet somebody? Maybe your soulmate is in one of those pods!”

“Why don’t you apply then? You could find “love” and get more exposure for the salon.”

“Same for you and your restaurant ma’am, but I have a man.”

“Since when?”

“Since three months ago. His name is David, he’s a chemical engineer and the son of you know, Ms. Jumoke, she goes to the African church on Mackinaw…St. Paul.”

“Yeah, I remember her. Her sister used to watch me when my dad worked nights.”

“Anyways, back to you. Are you dating anyone, or should I send you the show application?”

“I don’t think love is blind. Have you seen the people they cast? Nobody too unfortunate-looking gets on. It’s so shallow.”

 “Ha! You’re one to talk. You have a very distinct type…white boys with tats and muscles.”

“Ashley, there’s been two of them. Like, that’s not a pattern.”

“No, three! This boss, no “partner”, of yours, had Sydney written over him. The family never sees you anymore.”

“I came to lunch at uncle and auntie’s last month! Besides, opening a new business is like having a kid. You know this.”

“Sure, but when I had dinner at your restaurant and you introduced us, he complimented you for five minutes and then followed you to the kitchen like a whipped puppy.”

Sydney grinned biting her lower lip and covered her eyes. Her cousin stopped braiding and hugged her.

“Aww…my baby cousin is finally going to get some!”

“ASHLEY!” Sydney groaned pushing off her cousin’s arms.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but I am happy for you. He is sexy. That neck is thicker than a tree stump.”

Sydney who had just taken a sip of her sweet tea, spat it out all over the mirror.

“That’s on you, Ashley!” she choked out between laughing and coughing.

When she was able to contain herself, she tried to reel her cousin back in. Talking about romantic potential with Carmy gave her too much pleasure. If he was content with the status quo she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Nothing really is going on. We’re business partners and we’re pretty good friends and it’s probably best we keep it that way.”

“Yes, and he gave you an equal share in the restaurant out of the friendly kindness of his heart.”

“You know, I think he would do that, because I’ve put in so much work, but it did feel like it was something more, at least his Uncle Cicero or Jimmy seemed to think so.”

“Girl, watch out. His sister and an uncle like you!? Would you take his last name, hyphenate, or keep Adamu?”

“Ugh, I’m not going there with you! Shouldn’t you be done with my hair by now?”

“If you want it done right it’ll be 2 more hours. If you don’t…30 minutes?”

“Fine, take your time but please let me sleep.”

Sydney closed her eyes, admiring her self-control. She hadn’t told Ashley that Carmy asked her to come by The Bear this evening. He was reworking a few old dishes. The invite was made at the end of the night a few days ago while they were turning off the lights. She said yes as they pulled down the last switch and she couldn’t see his expression, but she heard him exhale loudly as if he feared she’d decline. Sometimes they meet up on Mondays to network with vendors or collaborate on menu ideas, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, she intuited he was hiding something again like when he and Nat surprised her with a share in the restaurant. This time she didn’t pester him for details, knowing that it was probably worth waiting for.

When Syd arrived home at 3:00 pm she could’ve folded laundry and watched an episode of Psych, but she decided to pretend this was a date; well, like she was preparing for a date. It was a long time since her last. She had entered the Convent of Failed Dreams after Sheridan. Then The Beef/The Bear became her world. The light blue cuffed jeans and stripped white and mint green button-down shirt she was wearing was more than appropriate for a food brainstorming session. However, Carmy’s mysterious attitude might be concealing more great news. She might as well look good when and if he had some.

She took a luxuriously long shower, shaved, and rubbed in her mandarin-scented body oil. Then she entered slowly sifted through her closet considering a red jumpsuit, or just nicer jeans and a blouse when her eyes fell on her marigold-colored shirt dress. It was knee length, comfortable, but chic and the color made her complexion pop. She paired it with a brown and gold oval buckle belt and brown flats because she might be standing in the kitchen for hours. After a short struggle she decided to keep the top two buttons of her shirt dress open. It was only a collar bone, not cleavage. Then she considered makeup. She hated wearing a lot of it; her skin felt suffocated with foundation. She did her brows, applied mascara, a little mineral powder, a smidge of highlighter on her cheekbones, and finished with the Fenty “Hot Choclit” gloss bomb her cousin had given her as part of a set for Christmas. Her new braids with the gold cuffs made the look even better and Sydney couldn’t help admiring herself more than usual in her floor-length mirror. She felt so delicious that she ordered an Uber rather than sit on the train. She would take it later or maybe Carm would give her a ride home.

Just before she could lock the door Emmanuel came up the stairwell, his face lighting up.

“My baby girl, you are stunning! Where are you headed?”

“Thanks, daddy. I’m just going to the restaurant. Felt like dressing up for once.”

“So, is it a staff meeting?”

“No, just working on some recipes. I gotta go. My Uber’s waiting.”

Emmanuel leaned against the door and nodded with a sly smile.

“Oh okay, I see. Tell Carmen I said hello. Have fun!”

Sydney’s eyes widened and she ran down the stairs waving goodbye. Her voice couldn’t be trusted.

When the car arrived at the restaurant, the sky was overcast, the evening darker than usual for the time of year. She let herself in and observed the layout. The lights were low, and the back center booth was set for dinner, with a single table candlelit. She could see Carmy in the kitchen already sautéing something. She was headed towards him when he looked up, seeing her through the window and rushed to meet her in the front.

“Syd don’t-” he began before he was immobilized by the vision before him.

Sydney was similarly taken with him and marveled at how often they were of the same mind. Carm was wearing a crisp button-down blue shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the shirt tucked into dark navy pants, and he had gotten a haircut. Somehow it made his eyes stand out more. The sides were moderately tapered, his hair on top remained almost as long as before, and one of his rogue curls was damp against his forehead. He was perspiring, apparently having been cooking for a while.

“Nice haircut”, “You look amazing” they began at the same time and laughed nervously.

Carmy started again, beating his trusty spoon against his palm.

“So, the food is almost done. Just have a seat over there and I’ll be right out.”

Sydney nodded, a little confused and excited for this change of plans. She sat in the booth and noticed the speakers were playing The Teskey Brothers’ “Take My Heart.” She leaned back and closed her eyes letting the lyrics wash over her, her emotions stirring with that sweet ache.

“Take the time to notice what you really need, 

You’ll find it’s a little more simple, than what you thought before,

But I can say for certain that I’ve got more than I ever had before,

By remembering the little things that make my heart warm.

So take my heart and cut it into two,

After all the only thing missing from me was you,

You’re all I want, you’re all I need, you’re the air I breathe,

Cause after all the only thing missing from me was you.”

“Hey, are you good?” Carmy asked  approaching the booth with their plates.

Sydney sat up and cleared her throat.

“Yes, I’m good. I really like that song. Reminds me of-“

 “Otis Redding?”

“Yeah.”

Carm carefully placed the plates on the table.

“Well, speaking of throwbacks, I made-”

“Pork confit with onions and rhubarb!”

 “Yes, and after we’ll have Milk and Honey.

Sydney bit the inside of her mouth trying to absorb what seemed to be happening.  Carm muttered something about getting their drinks and went to the bar for their club sodas. Sydney remained mute, not knowing if she should ask him what this meant now or let it play out. “Don’t get ahead of yourself”, she admonished her heart.

He returned to the booth with their drinks and encouraged her to start, rubbing his chin as she put the first bite in her mouth.

“That’s it Carmy. Maybe even better than the first time,” Syd purred the pork melting on her tongue and some of her anxiety with it.

He blushed and began eating too.

“It is pretty good. Eleven Madison Park taught me a lot.”

The meal was mostly silent except for the occasional ejaculation over some element of the dish. Carmy couldn’t help gazing at Syd, taking in each detail, and rejoicing in the whole. The dip above her collar bone that rose and fell whenever she swallowed, made his head swim. Her lovely face was absolutely regal framed by her new box braids. Syd’s brown skin glowed in the candlelight and a heavenly citrus scent emanated from her. Whenever her eyes caught his obvious staring, he was too filled with gratitude to look away. Sydney’s eyes were soft and filled with kindness for this dear, lovestruck man. He looked helpless. In moments like this she remembered her capacity to build or obliterate him at will.  “Go with the flow” she reminded herself.

After they finished the main, Carmy took their plates and returned, with dessert, Milk and Honey. Syd lit up at the sight and when she tried it a wave of surprise flitted across her face.

"Is that mango? I didn't taste it at first, but then it like...bloomed at the back. Wow!"

"I thought it could use a Sydney twist. You always grab the mango lollipops off Sug's desk."

She resumed eating her dessert. Carm noticed everything about her. She'd played the Teskey Brothers, once or twice while they cleaned after a service, comparing them to Otis.

The Milk and Honey was devoured too soon and just as she wondered what else was on the agenda, Carmy took their bowls and returned with a package tied with twine. He set it in front of her, hands trembling, and sat a little further away than before. Syd perceiving his anxiety didn't raise any questions. She untied the string, removed the wrapping paper, revealing a red leather hand-bound notebook. The cover was engraved with her initials. On the first page was one of Carmy's drawings. It was a curbside view of The Bear. Several lined pages followed, then a drawing of the grapes in bone marrow broth. This alternating of lined pages and his pictures continued throughout the thick notebook. There were more pictures of their recipes, the various designs of her head scarves, and some were of her in different attitudes. In one she was leading expo with the confidence of Napoleon, and another was a portrait, her chin leaning on her hand, with a faraway expression in her large brown eyes. There were several others, so perceptive that Sydney felt naked. Adored. The final picture was surreal. It was a profile of Carmy's head the entirety of which was filled with Sydney wearing a hopeful smile and the scarf and shirt she'd worn her first day at The Beef.

She couldn't stop looking at it, her index finger tracing the lines.

"Sy-d" Carmen croaked his voice thick.

Breaking.

She looked up to find red-brimmed blue eyes searching hers.

"Come here" she breathed and no sooner than she blinked he was at her side.

"Syd" he tried again. Hyperventilating.

"Say more", she gently commanded smoothing his hair back before taking his hand in her lap.

This disarmed him, and he grinned in surprise. That was his line.

"Okay."

Breathe

"I want you Syd. I want to be with you.”

Breathe

“I want to do everything with you or not at all."

Then for the first time he wanted to say the words that had been a weapon for most of his life. They either were forced on him or yanked from him. His mother thought those words meant meekly submitting to her abuse. For Mikey it was cutting him off, so he wasn't exposed to his self-destruction. He never got to say it all. Claire believed it was part of a script. If he would only play his role and ignore who they were underneath, those words would become true enough.

Now, he had a new idea about those words, and they were wrapped up in this beautiful, talented, funny, tender, generous, stubborn, loyal, woman. His friend.

Suddenly they didn't hurt. He continued leaning to rest his forehead on hers.

"I love you."

Sydney blinked slowly as if in a trance, tears dropping to their joined hands.

Carm didn't move, but his face was filled with concern.

'Syd, are you-" he started to ask. Then he was spinning.

Sydney kissed him.

His neurons habitually used to process grief, anxiety, and small doses of happiness, trembled with the unusual amount of joy coursing through him.

Sydney was delirious. Her only thought was, he loves me.

Carmy couldn't close his eyes. The curve of her soft cheek so near his made him want to cry.

Then he did, for Sydney said,

"I love you, too."

[sciderman]

Quick! Infodump about something!

HHH UH. UHHH. UUUUH. okay. okay. i'm going to info dump about what i did today and it's NOT going to be about spider-man. let me infodump about something else i got really giddy about today and that's the crystal palace dinosaurs.

i've wanted to visit crystal palace for the longest time but have never had the time to do it. so i woke up this morning RESOLUTE that today is the day. today is the day i'm finally going to see them. the crystal palace dinosaurs.

they were made in 1857 back before we had all of these archeological finds that completely changed the way we look at dinosaurs. look at these goofy guys. look at these guys.

they're just giant iguanas. i love them.

i got so, so unreasonably excited about these guys. and look at these wiggly guys. look at them.

i love this photo because there we have a still breathing dinosaur (the goose) sitting on top of a ridiculous interpretation what we thought a dinosaur was 150 years ago.

of course i was listening to the jurassic park theme song as i went, because the crystal palace dinosaurs were the blueprint. this was the first jurassic park, baby. oh yeah. oh yeah.

i drew the wiggly boy.

look at him.

yeah, okay i wasn't having a very good art day today and i was too giddy about the dinosaurs to draw anything good. but my favourite thing about my sketchbook is that it is so shitty. and whenever i flick through it again i smile because this crappy doodle means a lot to me. i remember how stupid giddy was when i drew this crappy little wiggly man. and that means so much more to me.

i loved this mural on the restrooms. these funky little guys.

i kind of am obsessed with our old inaccurate dinosaurs. i'm so obsessed with the little raptors in the london natural history museum because i remember when they were naked. but they put little feather jackets on them since we discovered dinosaurs might have been feathered. look at these guys in their feather jackets.

they just.. took these guys and put them in fursuits. im gongna cry.

here you go here is my little small fascination people don't know about and that is scientifically inaccurate depictions of dinosaurs. i think about the raptors in their little fursuits ALL the time. AAAAALL the time.

[inktailsaystuff]

Kaveh and Alhaitham Relationship Headcanons~

Tw: none

Pre-relationship~

Alhaitham was the #1 Kavetham denier

Kaveh was aware of his feelings and just kinda moped about it

Poor man thought Alhaitham didn't like him back so he would just be all sad

Alhaitham was in denial

He didn't even realize that he had been crushing on Kaveh for the longest time

He just thought that he had grown attached

Kaveh brings Alhaitham food whenever he goes out (THIS AINT A HEADCANON THIS IS CANON AND WE ALL KNOW IT)

Alhaitham's face is on like every page of Kaveh’s sketchbook

They bicker a lot but the moment Alhaitham thinks he's genuinely hurting Kaveh he gets all apologetic and switches topics

Because Alhaitham doesn't talk to people a lot Kaveh didn't really get jealous when someone flirted with Alhaitham

BUT ALHAITHAM- 

Naur this man was so down bad without even knowing it if someone got too “close” with Kaveh he would try to one-up whoever the offending person's intelligence

Everyone but Alhaitham can see how Kaveh is desperately pining after him

No one can see Alhaitham pining after Kaveh other than Nahida 

They just think it is an L for Kaveh and many people tell him to move on

(Kaveh does not move on)

When Kaveh gets too drunk and starts getting sad Alhaitham will “rEluCtanTly” console him.

Cyno and Tighnari have a bet on who will confess first because Tighnari heard with his massive ears Alhaitham consoling Kaveh while he was blackout drunk

Eventually Nahida steps in, after watching Alhaitham read every book in the library to try and figure out what his feelings are

Alhaitham denies the claims, and Nahida just is like: You gay. 

Kaveh confesses first and has this whole rant where he's like “I know you don't feel the same way and you can kick me out of your house.” 

Alhiatham just went “I like you too.” he won at life and was having an internal party

Cue awkward staring 

Alhaitham just kinda asked if Kaveh wanted to kiss and they did 

Dendro gays are official :D

Relationship~

They have separate rooms but despite that, Kaveh likes sleeping in Alhaitham's room since he likes being close to him

Alhaitham likes having Kaveh’s presence nearby

Alhaitham actually struggles to sleep if he can't feel Kaveh’s presence nearby 

When they get into an argument Alhaitham will steal Kaveh’s keys to force Kaveh to talk to him

Despite his appearance, Alhaitham requires at least one physical contact a day with Kaveh, aka buff abs man needs a kiss to function 

Alhaitham does not want Kaveh to move out, one time Kaveh mentioned it, and Alhaitham just flat-out said you're not leaving. 

Alhaitham doesn't do much physical contact but he just likes having Kaveh near him, like as long as Kaveh is within arms reach he is happy

They will have dates where Alhiatham reads and Kaveh draws him

Alhiatham fills Kaveh’s sketchbook more than ever 

Alhaitham likes looking at the drawings Kaveh made

Kaveh constantly gets hit on by other men because of how feminine he looks and Alhaitham just kinda glares

He wont say anything to get people to back off, he’ll just glare or move closer to Kaveh

Alhaitham is so soft for Kaveh its like wild and at the same time hes the biggest jerk to Kaveh

One of their love language is bickering, 

No you can't change my mind

They will nitpick each other's tastes but never go as far as to actually hurt each other's feelings

When Kaveh cries Alhaitham just throws all his brain cells out the window, now he is just fussing over Kaveh, holding him and whispering reassurances his brain turns to mush and the only thought is to make Kaveh feel better

If anyone other than Kaveh knew about this he would kill himself he never wants this to get out

Inktail’s Dendro bonus of a wedding plan~

They both get each other rings, well Kaveh makes his for Alhaitham, and Alhaitham just buys one.

Kaveh took on like a million commissions so he could get the materials for the ring

He has an entire sketchbook dedicated to ring designs

Alhaitham just gets a simple gold ring with their names engraved (it costs more mora than the rent)

Alhaitham proposes first and after calming down a Kaveh crying from joy Alhiatham receives his ring. 

While it is somewhat bedazzled and has a pair of jewels Alhiatham still wears it since Kaveh gave it to him  

Kaveh got a green jewel that matched Alhaitham’s boob gem 

Kaveh cried at their wedding, 

Alhaitham was internally combusting at their wedding

Nahida was the officiator

Collei was the flower girl

And Scaramouche was the makeup artist