#and i supposed to be working and not procrastinating

[serenadeonacanoe]

Honestly, I'd piss him off on purpose. Chapter 2:

Pairing: Namjoon x Original Female Character

Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, too tired to beta

Tags: Artist!Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae are the best flatmates, Enemies to Lovers I guess… more like brats to making out in the storage unit, OFC is an idiot.

More chapters on AO3

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Even the sound of my own nails rhythmically tapping on the counter was annoying me. To be fair, it didn’t take much today to blow my fuse, which had never been particularly long in the first place. But after a week of being belittled by old white men and working endless hours of unpaid overtime, I’d about had it.

Welcome to the art world. You know well before you enter that the hours are brutal and the job market is more than frustrating, but you love art. You’ve got good organizational skills, you’re resilient, charming when it counts, and you tend to romanticize things even when you know you shouldn’t. It’s too late to turn back now.

"That’s why I don’t use an agenda or notebook. If something’s important enough for me to attend, I simply won’t forget. I know you youngsters are all about bullet journaling and expressing yourselves by mapping out your lives, but really it’s just another way to procrastinate instead of getting to actual work."

For a second, I considered throwing my damn notebook in the buyer’s face, but that probably wouldn’t have helped my CV or the new job I’d have to look for starting tomorrow. At the very least, I should’ve screamed at him a little. Mainly that I didn’t care. That I had PMS. That my shitty shower in the shitty apartment I shared had broken and no dry shampoo in the world had fixed my hair this morning. That goddamn it, how the hell was I supposed to remember every phone number, every call my boss had to take, every art handling transport I’d organized if I couldn’t write it down somewhere.

Instead, I smiled. Died a little inside. Complimented him on the gift of his exceptional memory and asked whether he’d like another cup of coffee.

“What a dick.” Samantha murmured, more to herself than to me, once the guy had finally left. It made me snort under my breath. She usually didn’t say much, but when she did, it was straight to the point.

In the end, it didn’t matter that he was a dick. Didn’t matter that everyone at the gallery thought the art he’d bought from us over the last few months had been neither smart nor impressive purchases. Just expensive. And flashy.

“Doesn’t matter now.” I said with a sigh, glancing at the clock. It was Friday night and we were about to close. Since it was my birthday on Monday, I’d taken two days off, the longest break I’d had all year, and I was looking forward to being the lazy slob for a few days I was maybe always meant to be.

In silence, we answered a few last emails, tidied up the desks and counters so that potential buyers coming in over the weekend wouldn’t suspect anyone had actually been working here. A white desk. A huge iMac on it. That was all they needed to see. Folders, pens, and apparently especially agendas had to be hidden away in drawers.

At five to eight, I threw on my coat and Samantha gave me a tired smile. Probably happy for me. Just exhausted.

“Have fun then? Don’t get too wasted?”

“Oh…” I grinned, smug. “You have no idea. Gonna take a bottle of Moët with me from the bar and drink it in my bathtub after eating a huge pepperoni pizza by myself and dancing to only the finest of '90s Euro Trash.”

I couldn’t help it, I felt it necessary to give Sam a little demonstration, waving my arms up and down while swaying my hips in a way I probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t had even a small audience. Or maybe two?

A quiet scoff behind me made me turn around fast, slowly lowering my arms. Sam bit her lower lip, and there I was, standing like an idiot in front of HIM, of all people.

Men didn’t have to be old to annoy me. Or white. Yes, those were usually the ones that pissed me off most, but no one had managed to do so quite like Kim Namjoon lately.

And now he was standing there, looking me up and down, stopping at my hair. The crazy, too-much-dry-shampoo-because-the-shower-broke hair.

“Nice.” he said, then looked over at Sam.

“I’d like to take a last look before Sunday’s opening, if that’s okay?”

I stood there, shoulders dropping, completely ignored.

“Uhm, actually, my babysitter has to leave in about an hour and I’ll need to be home by then.” Samantha replied, impressively calm.

“Of course.” Namjoon said with a slight smile. “Anyone else still around? Chris, maybe?”

Of course, Chris hadn’t been in today. It was Friday, and unless important guests had announced themselves, the gallery owner didn’t come in on Fridays.

“I’m afraid not. But maybe Charlotte has a few minutes?”

Well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I felt a little betrayed.

“Wouldn’t want to keep anyone from their important Moët-Pizza-Dance Party plans.” Namjoon said before I could get a word in. His voice dropped to that hushed, deep disapproval, and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his rather expensive-looking coat. Silence. Then he just walked off toward the room where his exhibition had been set up all week, showing without saying it that I’d be staying, whether I liked it or not.

“Well, thank you for pushing me under the bus like that. Really appreciate it.”

“I’m so sorry. But I was serious. I can’t lose this sitter. She got Jamie to eat vegetables. Vegetables!”

Samantha was suddenly in a rush, grabbing her jacket and purse, showering me with promises to make it up to me. We both knew that wouldn’t happen and it wasn’t necessary. Staying late was normal. I just hated that it had to be today. And because of him.

I heard the door close behind Sam and stood there for a second before putting my bag down again. Usually, I would’ve followed the artist, asked if I could help somehow, but nah… My ego was bruised up enough already - especially remembering the little dance. I closed my eyes.

Fucking hated the guy. Always had. Well, not quite.

I’d thought he was cool for about five minutes when he first came in. We’d heard about him for a few months before. I think I’d even seen pictures of him at some point, but those were nothing compared to seeing him in real life.

He came in all cheekbones and an all-gray outfit, quick pace, observant gaze. Incredibly hot. He also completely ignored me.

That's how it started - a bruised ego. He couldn't know that it was my weak spot.

I had studied art and its management, but often felt more like a glorified secretary. My colleagues and I were doing all the behind-the-scenes work while Chris strolled in for a few hours, reaped all the money, and got the recognition. I knew this wasn’t unique to the art world, but it still got under my skin... I’d imagined life in my late twenties to be a bit more glamorous than living in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city... spending Friday night waiting for some rude artist dude to finally leave so I could lock up.

But what I probably hated most about him was that I admired him. Purely for his art. Really. Even the way he acted like I didn’t exist every time he came in didn’t stop me from admitting that - at least to myself. The stories behind his massive collages were clever, well thought-out. And even without knowing the context, the aesthetics alone were stunning. His work reached into something deep, and standing in front of it, I always had a hundred questions. Whenever he brought in a new piece, I was the first to sneak a peek in the back before it got hung.

"I don't get why you have such a problem with him. He’s just... quiet. I think he might even be shy. Stop being so sensitive and just ask him out already." I had almost strangled Sam for that comment a couple of weeks ago. Stop being so sensitive. What did that even mean? Words like that made me want to cry and scream at the same time, which would, of course, be perceived as even more sensitive. But when had being numb become something to aim for? I didn’t say anything because I liked Sam, and I knew what she meant. At least I thought I did. That maybe I wouldn’t care so much if I wasn’t actually attracted to Namjoon. I’d never said it, but she knew. She knew that if I didn’t care about something, I didn’t waste my time on it. But if something pissed me off? Yeah, there was usually more to it. I hated that she could read me that easily. Still, he was a dick. And I still just wanted to go home.

He took his sweet time. After an hour, I walked up to him, a little speech prepared about how he could come back first thing tomorrow. But when he turned around, he just lifted a hand between us like a barrier and turned away again. I hadn’t seen he was on the phone. "No, it’s nothing. Just one of the gallery employees." he said. And okay... if I wasn’t about to explode before, I definitely was now. I stood there for a moment, fuming, then walked back to the office area. My hand shook as I began switching off the gallery lights one by one. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as I’d hoped, but still felt good. Two minutes later, only the light above my head and the one by the door were left on. I figured I’d at least show him which way to go - he clearly needed help.

When Namjoon stepped out from one of the darker corners, he looked even more annoyed than usual. He squinted at me, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. "Seriously?" he shouted, nearly walking into one of the flyer shelves. Not the first time I’d seen him do that, so maybe it wasn’t the lighting’s fault.

I felt oddly triumphant. By the time I had my coat on and turned off the last two lights, ready to finally lock up, Namjoon had just about made his way to the door. He was still on the phone, standing right in the open entrance. I gave a little groan when he didn’t even notice me standing behind him... or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Instead of clearing my throat or trying to squeeze past him, I just placed my hands on his back and gently pushed until his feet hit the pavement and he turned around. For a second, he looked like he was about to push back. Or trample me.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" His voice was hoarse, his eyes dark. God, he was hot. I hated him so much. "You." I replied, deadpan. Then I turned back to lock the two bolts on the door and punched in the alarm code. I couldn’t help but feel smug - apparently, he knew my name. I pictured him staring at the back of my head, flustered. Couldn’t be sure though. All I knew was that when I turned around, he was still there, arms crossed over his chest, mouth set in a straight line, watching me.

"Do you always act like that at work, around people who could get you in trouble?" He had a point. He could get me in trouble. But I was too fired up, my heart racing. "Is that a threat?" "An observation." "Only around the ones I don’t like." "Cool." "Great." "Enjoy the dance party. Sounds shit."

And with that, he turned around and walked off, coat flying open in the wind. Unfortunately, it made him look cool. I ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM. I didn’t say another word, just walked off in the opposite direction - only to realize minutes later that my car was the other way. Still, I kept walking for a bit before turning back. It took a while to calm down. Only cuddling up with my cat in front of some trash TV finally did the job. But by then, I’d realized something I wasn’t sure I liked. Yeah, I thought he was a prick. And yeah, I should’ve just played it cool. That would’ve been smarter in a lot of ways. But I’d also kind of... enjoyed myself. In the most fucked up way.

Seeing that stern look, that intense way he loomed over me... yeah, I’d piss him off on purpose. Literally.

[overactive-sweat-glands]

Richie felt his respect for Paul go up on their shared dislike of networking.

“Well. Of course talking to people about film and design would be better. Not that they can’t be wrong in their opinions. Girls never have any good taste, though. Always wrong. Easier just to ignore them.” He mumbled, hands fidgeting at the edge of the blanket. “I mean, Legally Blonde is a shit film. But every girl I listen to seems to adore that. That’s one of many horrible film opinions!” His voice raised slightly in his annoyance, but none of it was directly aimed at his uncle. His eyes briefly shuffled as much as they could over to Paul without moving his head, blinking as he listened to the man’s supposed secret. “You actually get busy at work? I thought you were just procrastinating all the time.” He questioned lightly.

He seemed to brighten up at Paul’s compliment, about not needing Jargon to talk to people. He mumbled a thanks in return.

“What did you do at camp, when Jerry was running it? Because I haven’t and will not go, I’ll only find out from you. Or maybe someone at school mentioning it and I’m eavesdropping, but I’m trying to drop that habit of just listening into random conversations. Because I found out that isn’t normal and is normally frowned upon.” Richie would’ve picked up his eavesdropping habit from some anime and ended up mimicking it, thinking it was something people normally did. He nodded. He didn’t listen to Jerry whenever he could. “Where is the camp even located? I’ve tried asking him before and he vaguely says forest, or something. But not anywhere specific in Hatchetfield.”

His mind briefly drifted from the cookbook to a vaguely similar topic. Richie swiftly brings it up to mention. “I think you’d really like this one anime, it’s about cooking fantasy monsters and all that. All the food in the show looks absolutely delicious. It’s like you almost wish for the food to be real, but it’s made out of supposed dragon-meat or something sillier.”

Shuffling up to the door, Richie adjusted a sleeve with a hand. His shoulder rolled, keeping a small duffle bag’s strap on. He’s brought a few items over, that’s what the bag was for. He’s greasy and sweaty, the typical for the young man. His hair’s sticking up more today, losing the battle to try and tame it.

A hand raised, going to knock at Paul’s front door. He then wiped the hand against a pant leg, to rid of the sweat.

— [ @overactive-sweat-glands ]

The door was quickly answered as Paul hurried to the door, not wanting to keep his nephew waiting. How long had it been since he last looked after him? Not babysat, Paul reminded himself. Richie was far too old for that now. But since his dad was going away on business for a few days, he didn't want Richie on his own for that long. While Paul was fairly sure that Richie was a smart kid who could take care of himself, he wouldn't want him to be forced into doing so. Paul wouldn't have wanted him alone for that long either way, and he was happy to have him stay. Especially considering what Ted told him about what his own little brother was dealing with at that school...

His thoughts aside, Paul quickly opened the door and smiled at the teen.

"Hi, Richie!" Paul smiled, doing his best cool relative voice, while also not sound pedantic. It was a delicate balancing act, and honestly didn't change too much from normal. But there weren't many people he put in such effort with. "Come in and set your stuff down. Ready to have some fun?"

[synelven]

my take on an arcane university au (jinx and ekko are top of the class)

[why-the-heck-not]

me, a responsible being, working on the coding project as I should vs. me, a dysfunctional shithead, getting distracted by reading about brains (once aGAIN damnit (it's my favorite "I need to study my field but bc I should do that it's an impossible unthinkable feat now, so I'm reading about something else to fool my brain I'm still being productive"-topic))

[kayawolfhorse]

When Gem first startles upright, she’s not sure what had awoken her. The tower is dark and the night hums, and her bed is tantalizingly warm. However tempting it is to slink back beneath the covers, her fingertips prickle and her curiosity grows. She can’t just leave the greater mystery at large.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her brain seems to clear with her vision, and the sound outside sharpens: howling.

Stepping out onto the half-balustered walkway is like throwing her door open to the sea; she’s at once engulfed. The shadowed forest below her reverberates in every direction with the call of the wolves hidden within, and the strength of it, muffled no longer by her tower’s walls, sends a chill down Gem’s spine. Their song is all-encompassing, and each voice that sings it is as unique as it is indistinguishable from the rest. It’s beautiful; it’s haunting. She couldn’t parse out how many wolves there are if she tried.

The summer breeze is gentle against Gem’s arms as she stands and listens. It's unlike anything she’s heard before, incomparable to her dogs’ excited yips or warning growls. If she were to assign it human emotion, she’d call it somber in tune, and near-joyous around the edges. Something at the base of her throat pinches, and she resists the urge to howl back.

The call crescendos in its final chorus; in its wake, the voices begin to taper off. A few lone howls hold the melody after the rest are through, and though it’s impossible to tell from whence exactly they come, Gem swears they’re somewhere across the river that divides her and Impulse’s base from the alien biome across the way. Turning towards it, she freezes.

Her fingers fumble on the straps of her elytra. Her pajama pants billow between her frantic movements. She just barely remembers to slide into her boots—without socks, much to her chagrin—before leaping off of the tower’s lip.

Pearl comes further into focus the closer Gem gets, and her form is all-too familiar, all-too foreign; it’s Pearl. She’s wearing a scarlet cloak that Gem doesn’t recognize, and the parts of her face that aren’t obscured by shadow are made sharp beneath the pale light of the full moon. She’s standing in the middle of the bridge as if she’s waiting for the others to arrive for a meeting. Her grip on the railing beside her is tight.

Her lip twitches when Gem’s boots meet the cobbled deck, but her head remains bowed.

“Pearl?” Gem ventures. Finally, Pearl looks up. Her eyes are marred by darkness and framed in red.

“Hi,” Pearl says, and her voice is rough, like nails scraped along the bark of a tree. Gem had missed her so much.

“‘Hi’?” Gem demands. There’s a typhoon swirling in her chest. She forcefully shoves it down. “You’re gone for six weeks without a word of explanation—Impulse too, for the matter—and when you randomly show up in the middle of the night, all I get is a ‘hi’?”

Pearl smiles slightly, hesitantly, like she expects her lips to be cracked. “Figured it was a good place to start.” She tilts her head in a half-shrug. Her hood falls behind her ear and exposes a trail of crimson that makes steady tracks around her jaw.

Belatedly, Gem realizes that she’s reaching out, and decides to go through with it, touching a fingertip to the shell of Pearl’s ear. Pearl flinches. The storm at Gem’s core stills.

“Pearl.” The roof of Gem’s mouth turns dry. “Pearl, you’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” Almost distantly, Pearl drags the heel of her hand through the blood that trickles down her neck and pulls it back to inspect it.

“Should I call someone? Should—Pearl!” Gem leaps forward as Pearl brings her hand to her mouth and licks the blood smeared on her palm. “Why would you do that?”

“Had to… make sure it was mine,” Pearl mumbles. She’s swaying on her feet. Gem can’t decide if she should reach for her again.

“Why wouldn’t it be yours?” Gem asks, bewildered. “You’ve been up to some weird things this season, but blood isn’t one of them.”

“We bled the same,” Pearl says. “My heart wasn’t my own.”

“Who’s ‘we’, Pearl?” Gem’s properly concerned now. Pearl can’t be dazed from blood loss after so little spilled—is she wounded elsewhere? What else would explain this… off-ness?

“Nobody important,” Pearl says. Her breathing is ragged. She looks as though she’s about to fall over. “He abandoned me. Everyone did.”

Gem catches Pearl as she stumbles. Pearl leans into her, hard. Gem clutches beneath her arms and around her back.

“I was alone, Gem,” Pearl whispers. “It was just me and Tilly. Now she’s gone, too.”

“You’re not alone here,” Gem says. Softness is not something that comes naturally to her. She tries anyway. “I’m here. The others are, too, I’m sure of it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Pearl says. “They cast me out.” A pause. Her teeth flash in the darkness. “I killed them.”

Gem doesn’t doubt that. She doesn’t doubt that, wherever Pearl and the others went, death held a heavier note than it does on Hermitcraft. Pearl is different than she was two months ago. Gem can work with this.

“I’ve killed, too,” Gem tells her. “We can talk about it tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“Tomorrow.” Pearl slowly nods. “You won’t leave?”

“I won’t leave,” Gem promises. “I’ve got tea and bandages in my castle. No offense, but you look terrible.”

“I’m sure I do,” Pearl says. Humor graces her tone like color returning to pallored cheeks. Gem squeezes her. Pearl rests her head against Gem’s hair.

The blood that lines Pearl’s face is dried and flaking. Drowsiness tugs at the back of Gem’s mind. There’s water to be boiled and leaves to be seeped.

Together they stand in the quiet night and hold each other’s warmth.

[veinsfullofstars]

👑 Sworn Partners ⚔️ 

(ID: Kirby series fanart of King Dedede and Meta Knight being cute and in love. Top panel - bust shot of DDD scooping MK up into his arms, smooshing the flustered knight against him in a great big hug as a little flurry of hearts bursts from them. Middle panel - bust shot of DDD holding MK in his arms, gazing down at him with an easy grin as the knight pushes his mask to the top of his head, a fond smile on his face as he gazes back. Bottom panel - bust shot of DDD and MK leaning in together to meet in a kiss, eyes closed and faces flushed, the king holding his knight tighter, the knight gently cupping his king’s cheek. More little hearts hover around them, the biggest just above their heads. In all panels, DDD's crown and MK's armor are - as usual - touched with white highlights and dusted with sparkles. END ID.)

Sketch started some time early 2024, render started 03/18/24, finished 04/15/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24.

[cubicpeebles]

????.??? - PUBLIC

Big Sis Moon, Five Pebbles, Seven Red Suns, No Significant Harassment

BSM: I have put Ruffles into a little costume! Aren't they adorable!

FP: It is a pleasant surprise to see you taking part in events that used to be celebrated by our creators.

FP: And yes, the costume is adorable.

SRS: Putting our companions into costumes is a nice idea. I think I'll try that as well!

BSM: Oh dear.

NSH: Hah!

BSM: I am going to remove the costume now. Ruffles looks... uncomfortable.

SRS: The messenger looks quite charming all dressed up!

BSM: Aww!

NSH: I've found a costume. I'm gonna try putting it on the beast... Wish me luck...

FP: Shall I join in on the festivities as well?

FP: I doubt I will have much luck concidering the uncooperative behaviour of the Ruffian.

BSM: You should try!

NSH: HAHAHA!

NSH: Look at this thing!

NSH: Agh! It's biting!

SRS: Oh my.

FP: This is not going very well.

FP: It is growling at me very loudly.

NSH: Come on! You can do it!

NSH: Don't be scared Pebbsi ~

FP: You are not helping. And do not call me that.

BSM: Please be careful...

FP: Well then. That did not go as planned.

BSM: Oh no!

NSH: Well there goes the Overseer!

SRS: Perhaps you should refrain from attempting to dress it up again.

FP: I agree.

[crystallizsch]

Tsum Prefect....pls🥺👉👈

ANON. PLS. how dare u,,,, MORE TSUM BRAINROT????????

jk jk here she be :3

anyways i assume you’re talking about yuusha bc of my most recent tsum post hngdhsfjdhk and i just went beyond the ask bc this was on my mind even before 😭

I JUST CAN'T PULL THEM APART CAN I THIS IS A CURSE

anyways im including these four too bc ive been neglecting yuuna

these tsums just give me so much life omg

[trebuchet151]

"I had to know if I imagined things. And then I found your arrest records, you were just a kid…but the picture matched."

"Who...whose records did you find?"

Wanted to fill out a more detailed stat template and got carried away. The discord had a fun mugshot drawing prompt and it inspired me

[indilaras]

howdy, captain

ID: a drawing of Dani from Rolling with Difficulty (Per Aspera campaign), in her Season 5 design. She is standing with her arms to the side, tilting her head and looking at the viewer. Part of her coat obscures the lower half of her face. Wisps of blue flames surround her. She is mostly in shadow. The background is a dark blue with a noise effect. End ID.

[taepomme]

in my biography Al Pacino and Paul McCartney are brother

[neo-wolfe]

YOUR 7 DAY FORECAST

Comic about weather reporting during the apocalypse and hope or smth

[fitzrove]

i have two academic identities: one is most geniusest prodigy ever that's soo monumental and going to change everything everywhere with this one paper alone

and another one is incompetent circus clown about to fail out of clown school😭

[redbootsindoriath]

You guys haven't yet met the last two protagonists in my main WIP trilogy. The ironic part is these were the first two characters I came up with for the story...

There, now I have the whole collection on the blog.

I'm still doing character design stuff so I don't know if these are exactly the final looks for either of them, but they're close enough to what I'm going for right now that I don't mind posting them.

[theunconcernedembalmer]

I just so happened to have this shitty comic drawn because I'm currently insane over these two specifically

featuring my other bastard @the-bloodline-embrace

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

ive been a little quiet lately since i was busy drawing the indian fgo girls in sari, but i finally finished!