#anyway time to go sketch his other uniforms

[twsted-potionologist]

The PNGs for bunny boy are finally here! (i finished them months ago) I did try to emulate TWST's style of rendering hair and... ehhh? Close enough, but i really didn't know what i was doing lol (and i did try to render the dorm jacket but i hated it the pattern is so annoying)

since he's based on Oswald the Lucky Rabbit (specifically the Epic Mickey version not the old cartoons) i uh... didn't really have a lot to go on for his unique magic? so i just did a Jojo thing and named the magic after a song and then made sure the spell was extremely specific so that it can't be used often, and also wrote the first and only time he's used the magic.

[quatregats]

May I present for your consideration...Jack Aubrey but he’s the manager for mediocre non-league side Sophie FC

[konaiiro]

AU if Ian is in the military and Mickey is inevitably waiting for him. 

Started as a sketch then i got carried away. For A.U.gust (Hosted by @gallavichthings). Some accompanying drabble bc I fell in love when drawing them:

The last time Ian Gallagher was back home, he was doing time at Cook County for breaking parole. Only for a couple months, but Micky had missed the man by a week when he had left for another tour. A failed drug test had just costed him more than he was ready to pay. Ian had come to visit him anyways, wore his camouflage gear with badges and all; the security guards always loved a man in uniform. Still, it hadn’t been the same through the glass. So close he could see Ian’s chest rise and fall, his dimples sliding on to his face with amusement as Mickey had ranted on about his cellmate - so close to touch but all he could do was pretend until the fifteen minutes were up. 

This time, Ian hadn’t even told him he was in town - only finding out when he opened his front door with a beer in hand with a singlet and boxers on. “Hey, Mick.”

He knew his face must’ve looked stupid because Ian cracked up before going in for a hug. Micky let him, not giving a shit about his family inside and folded his own arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He had never gotten changed so quickly, desperate to get Ian to himself, as the man lounged on his bed and pretended he wasn’t watching Mickey by fiddling around with the decade-old kunai knifes. They stopped for booze and a pack of smokes on the way. After a quick makeout against the alley wall, the two of them continued on, pushing and shoving to give each other a reason to touch. It didn’t really matter where they went, as long as it was just them where Mikey could do more than take glances at Ian’s army issued cargos. He looked good - ginger hair shaved on the sides, his shirt fit snug, skin tanned as much his pale Irish genes let it. There was the scar too - a slash across his cheek that won’t fade completely. Ian hadn’t mentioned it, so he wouldn’t either. 

They dumped their haul on a secluded bench and drank a disgusting whiskey-and-orange juice combo. Ian said it was good enough, but Mickey blamed that on the moonshine shit that he must’ve usually had on hand in the middle of trying not to get shot. They didn’t talk about his tours, in the same way they didn’t talk about court mandates or prison or deals gone wrong. The closest was if there was a stupid story to get a laugh out of each other. No point in talking about all the fucked-up stuff in their lives - they’ve only got until Ian has to leave again. The two of them drank some more, smoked a bit, kissed, jerked each other off until Ian turned around, placing the barely alive joint into Mickey’s mouth before bending him over the bench. They had a lot to catch up on. 

Before this last tour, Micky had been in prison. Two tours ago, they had first held each other in Ian’s childhood bedroom, knuckles split and bodies bruised from the brawl with Terry. He tried not to think about how his life was now segmented into pieces by the brief lapses of Gallagher being back in town - even if it was true. Micky thought about the inevitable homecoming party for Ian at the Alibi tonight and tried not to think about how two weeks was not a long time at all. 

[forasecondtherewedwon]

trading paper dolls

Fandom: Masters of the Air Rating: T Word Count: 2228

Summary: Tired of the pin-up girls, Alex draws Buck Cleven in a similar style, never intending for the sketch to fall into the hands of Bucky Egan.

“You even lookin’ at that paper? Ain’t seen you look at that paper in five minutes.”

Alex smiled to himself as he redirected his gaze to the sketch he was working on. Macon was right: he hadn’t been looking. He didn’t need to. He’d done half a dozen of these sketches already since getting forced into this camp and they were all the same—a collection of curves. Eyes, cheeks, lips. Shoulders, breasts, waist. Hips, thighs, calves. Little round rear, if the request came with a specification for that kinda thing. He had his style. He could draw pin-ups in his sleep.

“I thought your neck didn’t work,” he reminded Macon without twisting his own to look up at him in the higher bunk. “Guess it works just fine for snoopin’ over my shoulder.”

“‘Snoopin’’?” Macon echoed, sounding affronted. “Bullshit, snoopin’. Ain’t no privacy here to violate, Alex. You don’t want me to be able to see over your shoulder, you better go sit on the roof.”

Alex released a soft snort and kept sketching. His latest connoisseur of provocative art wanted a brunette. That was easy enough; Alex added a quick outline of hair—more curves—and shaded it in.

“You get tired of that?” Macon asked a few minutes later. Apparently, he’d abandoned the book Alex had brought him.

“Why, you get tired of the smokes these boys are payin’ me to draw ’em?” Alex shot back.

“Not drawin’—drawin’ that. Your little paper dolls.”

Paper dolls. Alex hadn’t thought of it like that. (He liked Macon too much to be insulted; even if he had been insulted, it wouldn’t be enough to put even the smallest dint in the loyalty they had to one another. Nobody was going to watch out for them like they’d watch out for each other.) The drawings were sweet, in a way, with the coy smiles and O’s of surprise on the girls’ mouths, with the way their delicate fingers twirled telephone cords and pressed with childlike thoughtfulness into their dimpled chins. They belied what the boys who asked for them claimed to want: somethin’ sexy to look at while they pulled themselves off whenever they were alone. Or felt alone. Or even felt alone enough.

No, Alex knew what he was really giving them: a little reminder of tenderness. Tenderness even above femininity, because only one guy had asked him to draw a gal in something see-through, another in a negligée (Like Rita Hayworth in Life, he’d said), and the rest had just wanted to see anything that wasn’t a uniform. Props? A tray of muffins coming out of an oven, a basket of kittens, a field of wildflowers. Things that spoke of home comforts and abundance, that evoked softness and pleasing scents. If these drawings of his were like paper dolls, it made sense, because the boys were playing with them—playing make-believe. And so Alex didn’t mind that he’d done six of these already. It made the white boys happy. It passed the time. It kept him and Macon in whatever pitiful item counted as a luxury on this day, this week. If Alex were to be here as long as some of the boys had been here already, he figured it’d help having something to occupy his mind.

“Not yet,” he said, and drew a pair of sunglasses dangling from the girl’s hand, then put a look on her face like she knew you’d watch her bend down to pick them up when she inevitably dropped them. “Anyway, what else would I draw?”

“Pin-up Hitler?”

They both cracked up.

“Alright, alright,” Macon said as their laughter trailed off. “How ’bout these boys?”

Alex lifted his pencil from the paper. That was another one done.

“Our boys?” he checked distractedly, examining his work.

In the silence that followed his words, he could just about hear Macon rolling his eyes.

“The boys in this bunkroom,” Alex corrected.

“Yeah. Think you could draw ’em?”

At this, Alex swivelled around to look at Macon, eyes narrowed and unimpressed.

“Of course I could, but I shouldn’t.” Expression clearing, he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Don’t you want them to like us? Trust us?”

“Maybe I don’t like or trust them,” Macon replied. Alex sighed, then Macon added, “I never said show the drawings. Just do it for our entertainment, shit.”

“And what are you paying me in for this entertainment?”

“In the promise that I won’t snitch to the white boys that you doin’ pin-ups of ’em,” Macon said, chuckling.

Alex grinned and shook his head.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well, you know. If you ain’t too busy.”

They laughed harder this time, until Macon swore and laid back, rubbing his neck.

Alex did think for a while. He sat there thinking, then got up and walked over to the window to take a look at the bleak view as he thought some more, then sat again. His pencil was there on his bunk. He had more paper. The other guys from their bunkhouse weren’t about—walking someplace, or scheming, maybe. Buck Cleven had let Alex in on the general idea of a breakout, which was significant, but he knew he was still a newcomer, still on the outside.

It was that frustration that made Alex pick up the pencil. It was the fact that Buck had been the only one to initiate a conversation with him that made Alex choose him as his subject. He just knew his face best, had looked at it openly while they’d talked. Round eyes, full mouth. Not so different from his regular paper dolls.

When Egan and Brady wandered in, Alex calmly slipped the sketch of Buck behind the commissioned drawing of the brunette with the sunglasses. When he got the chance, he’d hide it someplace better, but he doubted there was a more suspicious group on earth than his fellow kriegies; if he tried now, it’d give them reason to distrust him, and if they discovered what he was attempting to conceal... it would be hard to explain.

He retraced lines he’d already drawn, darkened the girl’s hair. Brady and Egan were playing cards on the other side of the room. Alex was thinking about casually lying back and pulling out a book he might tuck the drawing of Buck into when DeMarco swung through the doorway and announced Nazis were ordering men out of the neighbouring hut to toss the rooms.

If he hadn’t had to help Macon down from the higher bunk, Alex might’ve had time. If he could’ve done more than flip the pages over, they might not’ve been noticed. If he hadn’t submitted to Egan’s authority as a superior officer and let him be the last out of the room, ensuring the rest of them got out safely, Alex might not’ve worried as he stood outside in the cold, waiting for Egan to follow them out. Waiting, it seemed, for too long before Egan stepped out and the Nazis shoved past him on their way in.

When it was over, Alex walked back inside to find that one of the pages he’d left on his bunk was no longer there.

—

Bucky leaned against the side of the hut, fingering the folded paper in his pocket. He’d creased it in half quickly, and the edges didn’t line up, giving his fingers something to worry as he stood there, mind swooping and turning like one of the planes the man to whom the paper belonged flew.

It hadn’t been nosiness driving Bucky across the room once DeMarco, Brady, Jefferson, and Macon were out. It hadn’t been mere curiosity. Bucky knew Buck had spoken to the new guy, Jefferson, about helping them work out the topography surrounding the camp. Bucky’s fear, when he saw those pages left behind, was that one of them might have featured some kind of map. And then all their gooses would’ve been cooked. The Nazis would’ve known they were thinking of escape more seriously than a distant fantasy that involved a place to get a steak dinner instead of the crap food that barely kept them alive. Rifling swiftly through Jefferson’s pages was self-preservation—the preservation of the whole group of them. Bucky hadn’t expected to find what was now in his pocket.

Looking at it made him less sure of how to feel, and so he kept teasing himself instead, stroking the edges of the page without taking it out of his coat. Part of what he felt was relief; since it wasn’t a map Jefferson had been drawing, there had been no close call. It also meant Jefferson wasn’t stupid, hadn’t left anything so valuable, so incredibly damning, sitting out in the open like a present for their jailers. But that line of thinking got tangled up with another of the emotions the paper provoked in him: impulsive, hot-headed fury that Jefferson would do a thing like that, would draw Buck like that. Bucky wanted to demand Jefferson tell him who the hell he thought he was to put that down on paper. Only, a confrontation would’ve escalated immediately into a scene—Bucky didn’t trust himself to handle it coolly, not this—which would likely mean having to explain exactly why he was so angry with Jefferson. Buck would see the drawing. Onlookers would see a fracture in their group and think they were weak. It was no fucking good, and so Bucky stood there touching the paper until he couldn’t stand it any longer and, after glancing up and down the corridor between the huts, slipped the page out for further scrutiny.

It was a good likeness; Bucky had known it was Buck right away. If he fought back all the other complex feelings he had about it, he could appreciate that Jefferson had a talent. Bucky cast his gaze around again, then permitted himself to enjoy the drawing on the basis of its artistic merit alone. That was certainly the shape of Buck’s face. Those eyes could belong to no other. He could see what Jefferson had intended with the pose—Buck’s chest thrust forward, his ass pushed out—but it wasn’t as exaggerated as many pin-ups Bucky had seen, and there was still a recognizable Buck-ness in the set of the shoulders, the way the forearms crossed and rested on the bent knee. Jefferson had put Buck in the room they called the library, one of Buck’s shoes planted on a chair as he stared unflinchingly at his observer, those eyes that could belong to no other set in the face with a shape Bucky knew well. And the mouth. The mouth was unmistakably Buck’s too. Like this, Buck could acknowledge what a pretty mouth it was, how swell it would’ve looked on any female pin-up model, but how right it was on the face of his best friend.

Bucky swallowed and refolded the paper. He undid his coat just enough to stuff the drawing into the breast pocket of his shirt, a little closer to his body, a little more secure, he told himself. He possessed no plan for what he’d do with it. Buck, of course, could never see. Jefferson sure as hell wasn’t getting it back; Bucky decided that having to wonder what had happened to the drawing would have to be sufficient punishment for having the nerve to do it in the first place. In a tight moment, Bucky knew he might have to eat the paper. He might have to chew and swallow, forcing Buck’s confident stare and plump lips down his throat. He would hold this depiction of Buck inside himself, break him down and digest him. No one could take it from him. No one would know.

He sniffed and flicked a finger across the end of his nose. He strolled along in the shadow of the hut and, just before stepping out into the pale winter sunshine, pressed his hand to his chest over the place where the drawing rested. No one would know.

Conscious of the need for his shoes to not wear out in case the ideal escape conditions presented themselves, Bucky kept his steps light as he crossed the dirt yard. One of the guards was watching him and Bucky offered a sarcastic smile.

“Beautiful day, huh, Fritz?”

He kept walking until he found Buck. It seemed he was always walking until he found Buck.

They were not yet out of things to say to one another, and there were always new silences to not fill. They could talk close—what petty grievances did they have about the smell of Crank’s socks, the way Murphy had started chewing his fingernails?—and they could talk far—making up baseball scores for the teams back home. Bucky was comforted by their talk, by the undemanding presence of Buck at his side.

Buck was talking to Jefferson, and when Bucky sidled up, he slung an arm around Buck’s shoulders, feeling the paper in his pocket crumple slightly. He looked at Buck as he carried on speaking like Bucky was no interruption. He watched Buck’s lips move, listened to the low, slow, sure sound of his voice. Feeling Jefferson’s eyes on him, Bucky shifted his gaze and stared back. I’ll keep your secret, he told Jefferson with a lift of his eyebrows, and you keep mine.

[crystaldoodler]

A very long post of doodles relating to @theminecraftbee ‘s smallishsona AU (sorry for the tag again). I think of this AU while wandering Tartarus, so, I’ve had a lot of time to think. This post is really long and has a lot of rambling so, I’m putting it all under the cut. I’m sorry world I have too many words and rambles in me

First up, character designs!

I used primarily their mc skins for design, with only a few rl things thrown in. But, I didn’t bring them up so the colors are off a bit.

Starting off with Joel:

He’s following the persona protagonist tradition of mostly wearing the school uniform correctly, but with some minor embellishments. I’m still debating whether or not to add more, but w/e. His signature color is green.

Then Skizz and Impulse:

The greatest dichotomy of time to design, Impulse I knocked out on the second go, but I’ve done many iterations of Skizz and I still am not satisfied with this design. The ripped sleeves looked too out there (to me, at least) but nothing else seems to work so I settled for the shirt under uniform shirt look. Something I struggled with that these two emphasize is making them look like teenagers, and what they look like, and also keep to the anime style, and also my own incompetence with drawing facial features so It’s something all of these lack in. Impulse is yellow, and Skizz is blue.

Scar and Grian are next up, Scar’s facial Scar is from summoning his persona, because he stabbed himself in the face lol. Not much to say about these guys, I settled on orange for Scar and red for grian, which I am still struggling with beacause mumbo:

is ALSO red. So I guess they are just, both? red? If you look at the party select screens in persona though, the characters have pretty strong color coding, so I guess I’ll figure something out. If anyone is still reading: help. Anyway, mumbo wins the award for wearing the uniform the most normal (except for the tie)

Last but not least, Gem!

She’s wearing a longer skirt than the usual uniforms and also some big-ass boots. Also, she’s a sea monster thing? So, I was thinking, staring at SEES cool new uniform things and thinking about the Phantom Thieves and how cool their outfits are and realized the persona games have at least some design change to separate their daily looks from shadow hunting. Even if it is only glasses in p4 lol. So, I thought maybe weapon holsters? but, that seemed a little too generic. So! I decided to combine how I normally draw the hermits (and a lot of the fandom does) as having non-human traits as the big things setting their combat looks apart. It is both a) fun to draw, b) creates an eye catching and distinctive design for combat and c) is really funny. I thought it was funny so I drew a comic about it:

and here’s a sketch of what everyone looks like and also the transformation gives them very distinct eyes, for no reason other than I think it looks cool:

mumbo is a normal human btw (or at least, he appears to be)

Welp,that’s all I got. If I look at these drawings any longer I will hate them so here they are, yippee. Also, Bee/OP, sorry for exploding; I am into persona and hermitcraft right now so this AU is like a perfect storm to give me brain rot.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi hi ~🙋‍♀️

May I please have a scenario for female reader x Sev with Ambrosia and Yellow Orchid where she's kind of (obsessed) an admirer of his, sketches him and writes VERY STEAMY romance stories about him in a journal/sketchpad to try and "curb her cravings for him" because she's shy and worried he won't like her back or heaven forbid might think she's a creep, buuut~ he comes across it somehow x'D and yeh, please make it nsfw or at least steamy if you can, but go with wherever your inspiration leads you of course! Please and thank you either way. ;v; P.S. If this is too boring/uninspiring; I'm happy to send in a different one. No worries.🥰

The Journal

Summary: You work IT for the GAR, and through that you met Sev, the actual love of your life. Only, because he doesn't know you exist, you spend your time sketching and writing sippets about him. One night, he sees your journal.

Pairing: Clone Commando Sev x F!Reader

Word Count: 1840

Prompt: Ambrosia - love is reciprocated, Yellow Orchid - New Beginnings

Warnings: Some smut, some spice

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted? I kept starting it and then having to change things to make the plot work.

You bit your lower lip as you read over the sentence you just wrote, considering your word usage critically. It’s always important to make sure that the words flow properly, even though you’re the only person who’s ever going to read it.

What you’re doing is weird.

It is. You know it, but you can’t help yourself.

After all, it’s not like Sev would ever deign to look at you…let alone do anything that you fantasize about with you.

Which means that your own release is by sketching scenes, and then writing the scenes that you sketched.

It’s awful and humiliating. But since it’s just you, and since you’re so very careful about making sure that your sketchbook is always safe, then you don’t mind half as much as you normally would.

You critically eye the words again.

Sev slides his hands down your sides, whispered praises falling from his lips as you sink down his hard length, his pupils flared with arousal-

Ugh. It’s garbage. 

Utter trash.

You erase some of the words, consider for a moment, and then write them again.

It’s still trash, but your brain doesn’t seem to have the right words at the moment. Maybe you need to take a break. You set the protector over the pencil drawing, and snap your sketchbook shut, and you slide it into your work bag absently.

Maybe you’ll have the words after a long night of night shift work.

Probably not, you have to replace and update all of the computers on base tonight.

You quickly check to make sure that your uniform is clean and neat looking, and then you grab your bag and your datapad, and you head out the apartment.

You live close enough to base that you can walk, and, honestly, you couldn’t catch a cab at this time of night anyway. Not to mention, the walk helps clear your mind and prepares you for the night you’re about to have.

As soon as you’re on base, you make your way to the office all of IT has to share, set your bag on your desk, and grab your datapad. Your office mate Holly, the other member of IT who drew the short straw for the overhaul, greets you with a tired smile.

“Are you ready?” She asks as she pulls her long blonde hair into a tail.

“Does it matter if I’m not?” You ask with an amused grin as you stick a pen in your hair.

“Not at all,” Holly replies with a laugh. “Come on, I have the key to where they’re keeping the new computers.”

“I don’t suppose the boss told you what to do with the old computers?” You ask dryly as you trail after her down the hall.

“He said, quote, “you know what to do you stupid girl” end quote.” Holly replies with a roll of her eyes, “So I’m guessing we need to stack the old computers where the new ones are.”

“Makes sense.”

Holly leads you through the winding halls, until she stops at the storage room door, and she checks her datapad. “Um…here, this is the one.” She waves the keycard over the panel and keys in the door code, and you push the door open and peer into the room.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“There are a lot of computers here.” You say with a sigh.

Holly peers over your shoulder, and she sighs as well. “We might as well start loading up carts.”

Three hours later, you’re alone in the IT office, working on disconnecting the computers and hooking up the new ones, when the door opens. “IT is closed for the night,” You say, your voice muffled since you’re under a desk. “Oh, come on, disconnect you stupid piece of-”

“I know,” The deep voice of Sev startles you enough that you pull yourself out from under your desk, “I was just coming to check on you, since Miss Holly nearly fell off her ladder.”

“Oh. Well I’m not doing any of the ladder work, I have a thing.”

“A thing?”

“About heights. And falling.”

He chuckles, “Reasonable,” He looks around the room, “You need any help with anything?”

“...can you put that box on my cart for me?”

Sev chuckles again, “Yeah, I have you mesh’la.” He picks up the box, which has an old computer in it, and moves it to the cart, bumping your desk as he does so.

Just as Sev turns to leave the room, he pauses. “Huh, looks like someone lost their journal.”

“Journal?” You glance at him, and then pale when you see your sketchbook in his hands, “Ah! Wait! That’s mine…and it’s personal-” He flips open the journal and you feel a hot flush of shame.

With him wearing his helmet, you have no way to know what he’s thinking, though you’re not sure you’d be able to tell even if he wasn’t wearing his helmet. 

“I…I can explain-” You offer weakly, but you trail off, because you don’t have an explanation. Not a good one, at least. 

Sev’s shifts slightly, and you have the feeling that he’s staring at you, “Can I hold onto this?”

“I’d…rather you didn’t.”

“What if I promise that I’m the only one who will see it?”

You hesitate, “Are you confiscating it?” You ask anxiously.

“No.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, “I promise you’ll get it back in the same condition as it is now.”

“...okay.” The sketchbook vanishes into one of his many pockets, and then Sev is gone, and you are stuck trying to finish the overhaul while knowing that the man that you’ve been crushing on, and fantasizing over, now has access to all of your fantasies.

Needless to say, you’re a little anxious.

Three days later, you’re still really anxious. 100% because Sev still hasn’t returned your sketchbook to you and while you were worried before, it’s been ramped up. A lot.

So when you get a visitor when you’re working on a commission for someone, your heart drops. 

You check to see who’s there, and when you see Sev, you get even more nervous, your mind running though dozens of different scenarios, all of them worse than the one before it.

But, slowly, you open the door. 

“Um…Hi.”

He’s dressed in casual clothes today, and while normally that would be something for you to enjoy, you’re far too anxious to actually enjoy it.

He gazes at you for a moment, “Can I come in?”

“Ah, yes. Sorry,” You move to the side and he steps into your apartment. You shut the door behind him, and then nervously step around him, “Can I get you something?”

Sev is quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering around your apartment. It’s covered in various pieces of artwork that you’ve done, and then he looks at you and offers you your notebook. “Sorry it took me so long to return it.”

You take the journal back and fold your arms around it, “Um…you’re not…mad?”

“No.”

“Uh…that’s good, but why?”

He folds his arms over his chest, “Why would I be?”

You glance down at the notebook, and then back at him, slightly lost, “Uh…you did see some of the things I sketched, right?”

“I did. I looked at all of it.” Sev replies, and then a slow grin crosses his face, “Like I said, it’s in the same condition you gave it to me in. But, I did add a page, you should take a look.”

You watch him suspiciously, but open the journal, flipping until you find the loose page he’s talking about. It takes you a moment to recognize what you’re looking at, but then your face flames.

It’s you. And him. With him balls deep inside you.

You turn your wide gaze up to Sev, and he smirks, “What, you thought you were the only one with seemingly impossible fantasies?”

You glance back at the picture, “Seemingly impossible?”

“Sure, why would a pretty thing like you be interested in a mere clone?”

Your head snaps up, “I have never thought that! Ever!” 

Sev smirks and takes a step closer to you, before he carefully flips to another page, where a nearly identical picture to the one that he sketched sits on the page, “I know that now. You didn’t get my tattoos, but that’s okay, you’ve never seen me shirtless. Yet.”

“Yet?”

His gaze is very intense, “Yet.” Sev agrees, “Unless you’d rather wait before we make any of these,” He taps the journal, “Come true.”

“I think I missed a whole part of this conversation,” You finally say.

Sev chuckles and takes your journal from your hands, tossing it on the table in the middle of the room, and then he pins you against the wall with his arm folded over your head. 

He lowers his head so that you can feel his breath against your skin, “I’m saying,” Sev murmurs, “That I feel the same way about you as you feel about me.” Your lips part, “And I’m saying that I want to make all of those fantasies come true.”

He lowers his head so that his lips are right over yours, “What do you say, sarad?”

You blink at him, and then lean up to catch his lips with yours.

You feel him grin as he presses against you, and then he nips your lower lip and soothes the spot with his tongue. 

Sev kisses with the same intensity that he does everything, and you’re not really surprised when you feel his hands dipping under your clothes to caress your bare skin. 

He lifts you with ease, and encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Where’s your bedroom, sarad?” Sev asks, his voice a low rumble.

“Down the hall, first door on the left.”

Sev catches your lips with his again as he walks down the hall and pushes your bedroom door open. He lays you down on your bed and follows you down, kneeling between your spread legs, before he breaks the kiss.

He pulls his shirt off, and immediately pulls your hands to his chest, and you take the opportunity to explore him with great enthusiasm. He kisses you again as you explore him with your fingers, realizing that you’re going to need to wait before you can explore him with your eyes.

“Before we go any further,” Sev murmurs against your lips, “I want to know-”

“Yes?”

“Is this going to be a one time thing, or is it going to be a relationship?”

It takes you a moment to process the question, “Why?”

“Because I’m going to fuck my girlfriend a hell of a lot differently than I’m going to fuck a one night stand.” Sev sucks a mark high on your neck, “Take your pick, sarad.”

“I’d like to be your girlfriend,” You say through a quiet moan as he sucks another mark onto your neck.

Sev grins, “A good choice.” He tugs on your shirt, “Strip, sarad. I’m going to make you feel amazing.”

[quillandink22]

A dick winters imagine please

Like one where winters has loved the reader since tocoa and the two are best friends. The war is over and they are in Austria and he asks her to go for a morning swim. The two get close and he confess that he loves her and she loves him to. Like fluffy.

This has literally been on my mind all day since I read it. I hope my writing does it justice. Points is one of my favourite episodes. A girl can't help but appreciate Damien Lewis shirtless. Anyway, heres my take on your prompt :)

Treading Water

It was early morning. You had planned to sleep in, given that for the first time in what seemed like forever, you had nothing in particular to do. This should have been a relief, but the silence felt like a precursor to the screams for a medic you were hardwired to follow. Even now, in the tranquil embrace of Austria, your body hadn’t seemed to grasp the fact that it was finally safe. The men, for the most part, were safe too. Your job, at least for the moment, was done. But still, you couldn’t quite sleep in. You couldn’t allow yourself to relax.

You woke with the birds each morning, dressed in your uniform with the medic’s badge strapped to your arm, and headed to the lake. Clad for war, yet carrying only a sketchpad and pencil, you were a paradox. By the time the sun rose, you were nestled on the banks of the lake, sketching or attempting to sketch the world around you. You’d never seen such beauty. The way the lake stretched out almost endlessly, its crystal-clear waters reflecting the sky above. The alpine slopes rose in the distance, jagged rocks contrasting with the soft blanket of pine needles that covered the soil at the edge of the water.

It was peaceful, a state you’d grown to loathe but were trying to readjust to. There seemed to be plenty of adjustments to make. But jumping into the Pacific war zone had put a stop to any plans you’d started to make about going home. In truth, you had no idea what life would look like now. You had changed so much in the past three years. Was it even possible to go back to the way things were? To the person you once were?

"We seem to have the same idea."

You jumped slightly, too preoccupied with your drawing and thoughts to hear the approaching footsteps. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you," Dick spoke, slightly awkwardly. He stood just as awkwardly, back pin-straight, perhaps a habit ingrained in him.

"No, it’s my fault. I was miles away," you offered, settling yourself. You dropped your art supplies gently to the ground. "Going swimming?" you asked, gesturing to the towel draped over his shoulder. You couldn’t help but appreciate his outfit. It had been a while since you’d seen Dick in anything other than his uniform. His white T-shirt clung to him, highlighting the body he’d forged during training, though you could tell he’d lost weight. You all had these past few months. Still, he was nothing short of perfect in your eyes, though you had never told him that out loud.

"Thinking about it." He smiled before dropping down beside you. His long legs stretched out before him as he made himself comfortable on the blanket you’d laid out beneath you. "So this is where you’ve been hiding. It’s nice. Pretty," he said, his eyes watching you intently.

"I’ve just needed some time to think, I guess."

"About?"

"Everything," the word left your body almost as a sigh. "The last three years. The future. I don’t know, I feel like my mind’s going a mile a minute."

"I know the feeling," he spoke softly, leaning back to watch the lake, his mind clearly drifting away.

"Yeah?"

"Nix offered me a job."

"That’s good, right?" You smiled, genuinely excited that at least one of you seemed to be sorting their life out. Yet you could hear the apprehension in his voice.

"You think?" He tilted his head back to you. It struck you how close you’d become these last three years. How much he valued your opinion. "I’m not sure I’d be any good at it. I don’t know anything about fertilizer or business for that matter."

"You’re joking. All those people to boss around," you teased. "You’ll be in your element."

"Careful," he warned with no malice, the corners of his lips curling into a smile. You loved his smile. It was almost infectious. You’d long since made it your mission to make it a regular occurrence. To see his dimples or the little creases on the bridge of his nose when he laughed.

"I’m kidding. Well, not really." You nudged him with your elbow, an act of measured intimacy. "You should take it. Go settle down and leave all this war business behind you. I would."

"How many points are you short?" He looked more stoic now, the realization perhaps only now hitting him.

"Too many. I was never injured, and they don’t tend to award female medics medals." You shrugged it off like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t the thing that kept you awake most nights. "Tab offered to marry me for points, but I’d still be short." You joked, trying to lift the mood. There was nothing he could do about it. If you had to jump, you’d jump. You’d take up the mantle of medic again and watch over your boys.

He didn’t laugh; perhaps your demeanour didn’t match your tone. He was too good at reading you.

"Fancy a swim?" he suddenly offered.

"I'm not dressed for it," you replied with a laugh, your attire making it plainly obvious. "You go, I’ll still be brooding here when you get back." Another joke that seemed to fall flat, given the concerned look he sent your way.

You pulled out your sketchpad once more as he headed to the end of the pier. Pencil in hand, you intended to continue the landscape you’d begun, but it quickly became impossible when Dick pulled his shirt over his head. He looked over his shoulder, undoubtedly to make sure you hadn’t brooded yourself to death.

You offered a lopsided grin, praying he was far enough away not to see the blush rising in your cheeks. Your heart seemed to stop and speed up simultaneously. It was ridiculous—he was one of your best friends, had been since Toccoa. He was one of the first to accept you as you were, reassuring you endlessly when Sobel seemed hell-bent on kicking you to the curb. Even as he climbed the ranks throughout the war, he was always there for you. The men often thought him shy—he hadn’t earned the nickname "Frosty" for nothing—but you never saw him that way. He was, in many ways, your rock, never more so than in Bastogne.

In those frozen woods, you lost bits of yourself, lost men you regarded as family. Never before had you felt so useless as a medic, so helpless. There were times when the thought of lifting your body from your foxhole and running towards a scream terrified you so much you froze. You couldn’t face another body, another man begging to be saved when you knew you couldn’t help—that no medic could. In those dark days, you sought him out. He’d offer you coffee, or what passed for it, and just listened. He’d put an arm around your shoulders, pull you close, and tell you stories from home, of his family. You never told him how much that meant, how it had saved you. Fear held you back—fear that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from telling him how you felt, from telling him you loved him. He was your best friend, and losing him, even now when you felt stronger, was too much to bear. It was too big a risk. So, you remained quiet.

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

Dick turned for a split second to check on you. It hadn’t occurred to him that you wouldn't have enough points to go home. How foolish of him to assume. No wonder you’d been distant since the announcement that Easy Company was destined for another jump. It didn’t seem fair; he’d seen how hard you worked, how you pushed yourself to the bone to look after the company. The toll it often took on you. The thought of you jumping again without him there to watch out for you terrified him.

He dove off the pier, the cold water shocking his system. It was colder than it looked, and he liked that; it usually helped clear his mind. But you remained fixed in his thoughts. You always did. Ever since you stepped into Toccoa, you occupied his mind more than he cared to admit. He hadn’t had the courage to speak to you until the rumor spread that you were involved in a possible appendectomy on Sobel. He’d asked you straight out, equal parts curious and awed. He hated Sobel, still did, but he’d never have chanced something like that, as much as he might have wished to. You just smiled innocently, with a twinkle in your eye that said the opposite. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fallen for you in that moment. In truth, he’d been falling for you ever since. But he outranked you and worried that starting something more than friendship would risk your position in the company. He refused to lose you. Nix had called him out on his lack of action several times, joking that Dick was a coward where you were concerned. Maybe he was right. Perhaps it wasn’t just rank but fear of rejection. He didn’t fear much, but losing you was something he refused to allow.

He resurfaced for a breath, only to hear the sound of a splash. It drew him from the rhythm of swimming. His feet and arms now treaded water as he watched your head surface. Your hair was plastered to your head, making your face stand out more, highlighting your natural beauty. He knew he was turning red; he could feel the burn in his face, the heat rising to the tips of his ears. You had stripped down to your underwear. Though he couldn’t see you clearly, he couldn’t stop his mind from filling in the blanks. Worse still, you were swimming straight for him, effortlessly cutting through the water.

"I got sick of brooding," you said, beaming as you stopped a few feet from him, treading water to stay afloat.

"Right, well, swimming helps... you know, with brooding. Clears the mind." He rambled on, hoping you’d stop him before he drowned himself in embarrassment. "I..." he started, unsure of what to say as his brain blanked. Awkward silences were never something he’d associated with you. He saw how confused you were, watching him with that expression you reserved for wounded men. Perhaps you thought he was having a stroke. Instead of speaking, he raised his hand and flicked water at your face.

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

Jumping into the lake half-dressed was probably a stupid idea. You didn’t know why you did it. Well, you did. God, it was a bad idea. He looked at you like you were crazy and splashed water in your face. When you finally regained your eyesight and saw his terrified expression, you laughed—laughed like you hadn’t in quite some time.

"If it’s a battle you want, Major, it’s a battle you’ll get," you teased confidently. You gave him no time to register it before blasting a wave of water in his direction and swimming away at speed. It took all your self-control not to laugh and inhale half the lake in the process.

You were just about to chance looking over your shoulder when a hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you back towards him. His hand met your shoulder, dunking you momentarily under the water.

"Oy," you protested when you resurfaced, only to have more water thrown in your face.

"If you’re jumping, I’m jumping," he suddenly said as you wiped the water from your eyes.

"What?" you blurted breathlessly.

"The Pacific. If you jump, I jump."

You were still treading water, realizing just how close you both were. His red hair was a mess, beads of water trickling down his handsome face.

"I can’t ask you to do that."

"I’m not asking your opinion. I’m telling you my plans." He smiled, his mind set in stone. You knew it from the determination that shrouded his face.

"Dick..." you began, ready to tell him to go home, to take his points and get clear of the mess you’d be facing. You wanted him safe, even if that meant he wouldn’t be there with you.

"I love you."

You couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said. His hand moved slowly to rest on your bare waist. "I have for a while. You don’t have to say it back. I wouldn’t expect it. I just needed you to know."

Your eyes locked, and time stood still. Everything that held you back slipped away—all worries and doubts long forgotten as you swam forward. You gave him little warning before your lips met his. For a second, he didn’t move, too shocked. But then you felt his hand pull your waist closer to his. His lips, softer than you expected, moved against yours as your arms wrapped around his neck.

His hands roamed your back, leaving a trail of warmth despite the cold water surrounding you. You felt his heart pounding against your chest, matching the rapid beat of your own. Every touch, every sensation, was magnified in the quiet intimacy of the lake. You pulled back slightly, just enough to see his eyes, full of relief and passion. He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile and the words you needed found your lips.

"I love you," you replied, your voice confident and sure as you leaned in for another kiss, this one even more tender and filled with promise.

[littlewestern]

What was your design process for Pilot? I really like the little detail of the silver leaves on his collar.

Sure thing! So Pilot's design is an ongoing, evolving thing (as all my designs inevitably are) but he's existed for over a year now and I've drawn him so many times since then it's a little hard to remember what the idea at the beginning was like, but I will do my best!

Before we get to the outfit, I do want to talk a bit about his basic character and how I worked it out because it's a little amusing. I remember thinking very strongly at first that I wanted to lean away from the sleek, silver, speedy streamliner personalities I'd seen elsewhere. Coming from ttte, the fast engines in that series tend to be haughty and overly proud of their speed as if that were the only measure of an engine's usefulness. I wanted to turn the wheel hard away from that type of characterization so I decided right away that I wanted Pilot to be humble, down-to-earth, and well-aware of his limitations. (This turned out to be a great instinct, as it fits extremely well with the engine's backstory, though I didn't know that at the time.) So right off the bat I knew I wanted something that communicated a certain level of approachability and... almost a guilelessness, I suppose. Someone who you could play for a fool, but why would you when he's so sweet?

I had also decided that Pioneer would be silvery and old-fashioned, so I wanted to go in the opposite direction for Pilot, dark hair and eyes to offset Pioneer's lighter appearance.

I had also just come off binging House MD.

I think this is a great example of why its important to become familiar with your own creative process and how your influences manifest in your work as an artist. This won't help you avoid the embarrassment, but at least you can get out ahead of the cringe accusations lol.

Anyway, once I had a firm template in mind for the type of character I was writing, then I could drill down on the specifics. I leaned into the Robert-Sean Leonard look hard and started pulling from other actors who had once been cast for their boyish good looks but were starting to age out of them.

(Left) More Robert-Sean Leonard and that breezy flyaway hair he's just a little too old to be rocking. I also definitely stole Pilot's furrowed eyebrows from him, but this was mostly because the way the E5 windows lean, they always look mildly worried!

I was also enchanted by Tom Hulce's (right) open but slightly world-weary and harrowed look, and I nicked those deep under-eye bags for my train too. Pilot's nose is based on the E5's impressive snoot, but also mine, which bows out in the middle and I think gives my face... personality! The silver streaks in his hair came from the idea that all Zephyrs, given enough time, will go completely grey. Pilot hasn't gotten there yet, and he'll probably be able to stave for a long while. Service life keeps you young, and Pioneer went grey prematurely.

Okay, with that out of the way: On to the outfit.

The E5s are a great class for their distinctive, themed names. Silver Pilot and Silver Mate are... Well, in retrospect, they're probably based on naval terminology (Why not 'Captain' & 'Mate'? I don't know). I didn't know that at the time, and honestly lacking his B unit, it doesn't super matter. He's an aviation Pilot now, although through the inevitable design drift and desire for quicker sketches, this often gets lost or forgotten, but that's on me. The idea of his uniform is still canon unless I change it, I'm just lazy and I like to draw him in casual outfits!

You can see the aviation influence right away. I didn't want to use a specific airline's uniform, so I kept most of the design elements vague. I opted not to go for the doubled-breasted coat, as it felt too formal and I had given Pioneer a double-breasted already, though he's since lost that as well (I gave it to the submarine instead lol). I also hadn't yet designed the Zephyr pin that would later show up on Pilot and Pioneer's uniforms in later drawings, so the double-wing pin was ad-libbed. It looks like this, and is based on the old Zephyrus Burlington logo.

The leaves on the collar are laurels, and are a nod to his train's Greek and Roman mythology naming, even though by the time of the E5s it had mostly been lost. Pioneer also has them, being the first of the Zephyr trains.

Also note their nose herald pins. I actually own this pin myself, because I didn't realize it existed as a real pin you could buy when I drew these. The three stripes below the tie are a visual nod to the E5's distinctive black nose stripes, red in the 60s but corrected to their original 40s black sometime in the 90s when Pilot started doing excursions off IRM property.

A few changes I've made since these drawings I made in 2022: In retrospect Pilot's sleeves should have four stripes, not three. Also, his cap is gone from most of my later drawings, but Pioneer also has a cap he just doesn't wear often. Hats are warm, easily lost, and generally not worn indoors. I envision the cap to be for special museum events.

All this old art is making me cringe. Here's a more recent sketch to show you how far we've come.

Thanks for the ask!

[whoreforhorror]

Can i request Hannibal with a reader that works for the SCP foundation and their job is to hunt down dangerous SCP’s and capture/kill them?

(If you aren’t familiar with SCP’s they are basically just monsters that break the laws of physics lol)

I’M SO HAPPY YOU REQUESTED THIS!!! I love love love the SCP Foundation and all of the lore! So to combine one of my favorite characters AND one of my favorite universes????? Heaven. I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Anyways, I really hope that you like this and it fits what you were asking for! Thank you so much for requesting and feel free to ask for something at any time!

Hannibal with and S/O who works as a field agent for the SCP Foundation

Hannibal wouldn’t know exactly what it was you did for a long time. The SCP foundation takes its secrecy seriously, and you know it. For a very, very long while, all Hannibal knows is that you're a type of bounty hunter for a very large, powerful organization. He respects your privacy. Sort of. He’s not going to continually ask you directly for details about your work but he’s going to get every piece of information he can from other methods.

You’re going to come home injured often, and he’s going to be increasingly concerned. He insists on wrapping and bandaging everything, regardless of whether or not you can do it yourself. He’ll give you massages if you need them and will prepare a bath for you (with oils, salts, and candles) at least once a week. 

If you’ve been gone several days or even weeks on end, he’ll plan a large and elaborate meal because he knows you won’t have had the chance to eat properly. He’ll take into consideration your favorite foods and what he makes the best. You’re in for one of the best meals of your life… every time.

He really does care about you and having to patch you up several times a week, combined with his vague knowledge of your job will push him to try and get you to quit. He makes so much money on his own and you could live in the lap of luxury without having to work another day in your life. Of course, quitting any job in the foundation isn’t as simple as turning in a two weeks notice, so you couldn’t take him up on the offer if you wanted.

He found out the full of your job when you had an overlapping case. Hannibal and Will were working on catching a new killer, but the case made little sense when trying to connect it back to a person. The mannerisms of the killer are strange and the animalistic brutality is unmatched. The foundation got involved, and they decided that Hannibal could be useful. They let him know just enough to understand that they weren’t looking for an ordinary person. 

The foundation had you working with Hannibal directly and he was infatuated with watching you in your element. He had only seen you in domestic life and the aftermath of your work at the end of the day, but to see you on the job and so focused was like watching Michelangelo create his newest masterpiece. He’d watch you every moment he got, memorizing every detail that he could.

After the case was closed and the newest SCP was caught, Hannibal wasn’t much more comfortable with your job in general but he was a bit more content knowing what you were hunting. Now is when he’d lay on the tactics to find out more about different SCPs that you’ve hunted and interacted with. After getting a peak behind the curtains, he wants to see the whole picture. 

He’ll draw different SCPs if you’ll describe them to him. He’d dedicate an entire sketch pad to both you in uniform and the creatures you tell him about. He thinks you’re so incredibly hot in your gear. His soldier, protecting him and the world and still coming home to him in every free moment. His personal hero. The SCPs are cool too, of course. (Being honest, it’s basically a sketch pad filled with drawings of you at work with a couple of SCP drawings in there as well.)

He might try to sweet-talk you and the higher personnel to be able to interact with or at least read the SCP files. It’s more than likely, with his high professional and socialite status, that he could find a member of the 05 council if he really put his mind to it. He’s a very smart man on a mission and he will get what he wants.

He’ll also be able to help maintain your mental health after knowing a bit of what you go through. The SCP Foundation is punishing on the mind at the best of times, especially for a field agent, so it’s not like you don’t need his help. Really, having access to your own private therapist might just make you one of the most mentally stable people on the foundation payroll.

Also, you’re going to have to be in shape to hunt these SCPs and he is so willing to watch you work out. It’s a guilty pleasure of his and he’s not going to say just how much he likes to see your muscles at work, but he’s not going to be able to be very subtle about it. Give him an extra flex now and again, as a little treat of course.

If you ever get severely injured while on the job, he’s going to demand that you leave work at least until he deems you fully healed. He’ll pull every string if he has to and will find every member of the 05 council if he must. You are the most important thing in the world to him and he won’t risk losing you. He’ll also double down on trying to get you to quit, using just about every tactic in the book. 

[mourn-and-watch]

Some time after the Blight ends, they're invited to Redcliffe. There's going to be a statue in their honour, the letter says, made by one of the best Fereldan artists — and it needs their approval for some reason. A formal one, of course. “At least they didn't pay Orlesians. Let them stick to their fancy chateaus,” Alistair says jokingly, but he seems excited — and Keeris, well, not that much. She doesn't tell him about it anyway. He deserves to feel like a hero for once. Statues and celebrations and all.

It's nice to see Redcliffe rebuild though. It's nice to see anything rebuild — no more darkspawn and barricades, no more walking corpses and burning roofs. Former wastelands are green and full of blooming spring flowers that cover the ruins of something that cannot be restored anymore, completely destroyed houses and fallen mill wings that no one had time to take away; it's a beautiful sight. She'd better stay here instead of going to the castle. She's, frankly, sick of the castles — and they are probably sick of her.

People inside are still friendly, though. Cheerful even. Keeris sees the shade of nervousness crossing Eamon's face when he shakes her hand, but it's not unexpected, really — he couldn't be that fond of her, not after what happened at the Landsmeet, she's aware of that.

The Fereldan sculptor, on the other hand, is very proud and just can't stop talking — about the greatness of his project and how honoured he is to work on it and set the Heroes of Ferelden in stone. Before he bows his head, he gives her a brief look, a strange one for sure, almost terrified — Keeris doesn't know what to make of it nor she wants to try.

Then, he shows it. The art, the concept. It's a big, big piece of paper full of little sketches and drafts and one glorious drawing of a statue in the middle of it.

For a moment, no one says a word.

“What is that?” Alistair asks and his voice sounds genuinely baffled. There are tones of anger in it, loud and clear. Keeris slightly squeezes his hand.

She's not surprised at all.

The statue is a man and a woman in Grey Warden uniforms standing in pretentiously heroic poses. A man resembles Alistair very well, with the same features and even the way he holds his shield. It's almost like him, really, just lifelessly stony grey.

A woman is slightly shorter than him: her features are smooth and pretty, her braided hair is long and wavy, scattered by the wind, and her ears are flat. Her face is so strangely, unfamiliarly bare.

Oh, it does make her angry, furious even. Just a little. Even if she shouldn't care.

She shouldn't care, a girl with vallaslin and sharp features and sharp ears and hair too short to cover them.

“Somehow,” she says calmly, looking Eamon straight in the eyes, “I didn't expect less from your kind.”

They argue. Alistair and Eamon, mostly — she herself wouldn't waste time on it nor she thinks it would change anything, but now they can't go away and loudly shut the door.

Eamon says something about his gratitude. Something about the gratitude of his people and how they all cherish both of them here. Something about the cruelness of the world around. Something about the vile, vile people, who are obviously not there, but they will come and they will not tolerate an elf standing in the middle of their beautiful human town. They will not let it be.

Of course, they won't. She saw the alienage in Denerim. She saw what Anora did to it after she gave her a crown and was proclaimed a friend. It always ends up like this. All the promises and gratitude — they never matter. She learnt it the hard way.

“Then,” she says finally, “Don't make it. Don't place it here. If not for my people's sake — don't lie to your own at least.”

Nobody dares to object.

They leave in awkward, unpleasant silence: no farewells, no partings. They don't even stay for the night at Redcliffe. Alistair keeps repeating he's sorry, that he never wanted it to be this way, that he was sure his uncle would do better than this — Keeris laughs with just a little bitterness in her voice. He shouldn't be sorry. She was the one who took his statue away, wasn't she? He promises they will get a nice, proper one. Maybe somewhere in Amaranthine.

Another letter comes, informing them it is going to be a griffon. A beautiful creature, a symbol, a compromise, it says. None of them respond.

When they get to Redcliffe a couple of years later, there it is, standing in a square. No faces, no names and no shameless lies.

People here still recognise them. They wave their hands when they pass by and promise to buy them a beer if they happen to be around. An elven servant in the crowd blesses her path with Mythal's name. A young girl throws her a flower crown.

They do not put portraits in the archives of Weisshaupt after all.

At least there is no woman who never was.

[nakachuchu]

CHAPTER TWO: SUMMER CAMP

In the Dark series

SYNOPSIS: You make a new friend at summer camp.

READER: gender neutral

WORDS: 1.4k

WRITTEN: 01/20/2023

The rest of your sophomore year was full of news reporters flocking outside your house and pitiful glances toward you as if you and Kira had been best friends.

You were more classmates than friends, let alone best friends, but you didn't tell it to the media that way. After all, you wanted as much of the publicity for yourself.

The only other person who got as much publicity as you was Ghostface. That was the name the media decided to give him after you explained to the police what the mask looked like and a sketch was drawn out.

You joined a cheer team nearly two weeks after the incident, and some of the cheerleaders were from your school too. You had to buy new uniforms and go to tournaments, and you felt a bit bad for your mother, but you knew you'd pay her back and take care of her one day.

However, to better your resume, you decided to become a trainee counselor at summer camp. It was a volunteer position, but it would look great on your resume.

Regrettably, you weren't able to travel across the country with your cheer team for competitions that summer, but it would save money for you in the long run.

If anyone could hear your inner thoughts and true agenda, they'd either think you were Ghostface or that you were a fucking bitch. Honestly, either one would work out for your future.

You had to wear a red shirt that said "TRAINEE" on the back in all white caps, while actual counselors — the ones who got paid — wore highlighter green shirts that said "LEADER."

"My name is Kamo Noritoshi and you'll be shadowing me for your session, which should be in your binders."

Another trainee was with you, following Noritoshi, so you assumed he had the same session length as you.

"My name's L/N Y/N and I'll be here for four weeks."

"Itadori Yuuji and I'll be here for eight weeks!"

"God, you're here for the long run," said Noritoshi. "We're gonna be getting familiar, so first names are fine. Listen, these kids are our lives when we put on these shirts. We protect them, but also discipline them. You gotta get a good balance. If you shadowed Todo over there — that big monkey-looking fellow — he'd drill into your head some shit about letting the kids do whatever they want. You do not want to do that."

You nodded. "Understood. Is the buffoon your friend?"

Noritoshi rolled his eyes. "Yes, unfortunately so. Anyways, your first task is to punch in your time in your binders and then come back to me. After that, just do as I say, but most of the time, just talk to the kids. Don't look so shy. Binders should be in the staff cabin."

You nodded, while Yuuji saluted him. The two of you walked together to the staff cabin, hiking up a small hill.

The camp was in the forest, but it was only a two-hour drive from your house. You had to take the bus to get to camp since your mother had work, but she said she would be able to pick you up after your camp session ended.

You would be staying with the trainees in another staff cabin, while the campers stayed amongst themselves based on the group they were in.

"Y/N, what year are you?" asked Yuuji.

"I'm gonna be a junior after the summer. You?"

"A sophomore," he answered. "I just moved here and I'll be transferring to Jujutsu Tech."

You raised an eyebrow. "That's my school."

"No way!"

"Mhm. Well, good luck. My school's a bit...off."

"What do you mean?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

You smiled and leaned in. "If you convince the leaders to do s'mores over a pit tonight, I'll tell you."

He blinked, then grinned. "That sounds like a bet to me. I can do it. No problem."

You returned to your normal posture. "You seem like a confident guy. Well, Itadori Yuuji, I hope your confidence can convince the leaders."

"It's worked out for me so far," he said confidently as he opened the door to the staff cabin for you.

"Thanks."

You grabbed your binder that was labeled with your name, then put in the time and date you arrived.

"To a good summer together, Yuuji," you said.

"To a good summer," he responded.

The first day of training was easy-going but difficult at the same time. Playing games with the campers wasn't too difficult since Coach Utahime made you condition even harder than that, but dealing with random outbursts from the campers was a bit scary.

Thankfully, Noritoshi took care of those since he was the one who was actually certified to deal with any physical and emotional outbursts that a camper would have.

You learned that Yuuji was extremely athletic. You couldn't believe your eyes at first. He looked so skinny underneath his clothes, but he must have been lean enough to dodge dodgeballs and leap over any obstacle without breaking a sweat.

Todo and he began an odd friendship, constantly competing with each other.

"Y/N, guess what?" Yuuji questioned.

You were sitting on the grass underneath a tree to catch your breath from playing with the campers in the sun.

"What?"

"After the kids go to sleep, the staff and trainees are gonna do s'mores over a fire!" he whispered excitedly.

"Seriously? Did you actually manage to convince them?" you questioned.

"I asked Todo and he was cool with it," explained Yuuji.

"Who knew your weird friendship with him would come in handy," you replied. "Well, thank god for that because I really want s'mores."

Later that night, once the campers were situated in their cabins, the staff and trainees created multiple small fire pits, then made small groups around each one.

Your circle consisted of Yuuji, Noritoshi, Todo, and Momo. With a marshmallow on a stick, you began your story — due to Yuuji insisting.

"Have you heard of Ghostface?"

"No," all three men responded.

Momo rolled her eyes. "The murderer at the high school nearby, right?"

"Mhm."

"Wait, there's a murderer?" Yuuji questioned.

"Hush. I met Ghostface. You see, I was walking through the school grounds. It was pitch black and I couldn't see a thing. My friend had gone missing from the homecoming game and I went looking for her."

The three boys were captivated by the story, while Momo seemed to already know the outcome of the story.

"I went into the locker room and called out her name. There was no response. I didn't hear a single thing, but when I rounded the corner, I saw her. She was cut open and her intestines were spilling out like a gutted pig. The killer, Ghostface, was crouching next to her and playing with her intestines."

Noritoshi put his marshmallow down. "That's disgusting."

"Shh! What happened next?" Todo questioned.

"He saw me, stood up, and walked closer to me. I walked back and he stopped. Suddenly, he turned around and scooped up the intestines before throwing them at me."

"Oh — Come on," complained Noritoshi.

"Using my screams and shock as a distraction, he rounded the corner and ran away. I dropped my friend's guts and stumbled out to the football field, crying out for help. The police came later, but the killer was never caught. The end. That's the story of my college, Yuuji. Good luck."

"Sounds pretty cool to me," said Yuuji.

"Was it all true?" Todo asked.

"Do you read the news?" Momo asked.

"No."

"Do you read at all?"

"No," he answered.

Momo sighed. "Of course not."

The four of you shared more stories throughout the night, but eventually, it was time to head to bed. You stomped out the fire and returned the snacks to the kitchen with Momo.

“You didn't seem scared,” she said as she put back bags of chips into a cupboard.

“Of what?” you asked while washing your hands.

The two of you were on opposite sides of the kitchen, backs facing each other. The light was flickering in and out every other minute.

“The story you told. The very true story you lived.”

You turned off the faucet.

“I had a lot of time to process it,” you replied. “Being scared won't help. It's over now.”

“Is it?”

When you turned around to ask her what she meant, you learned that she was right behind you. You flinched in surprise and stood there for a moment before she shrugged and walked away.

“Nothing,” she said as if she had read your mind. “Lock up when you're finished.”

NEXT CHAPTER: THE BABYSITTER

[randomoranges]

some little prince au one-shot silly idea from last week.

this is like, pre prince-au haha

To Be

As was often the norm, after a long day of training and lessons, once they had eaten, Calvin went to lounge in Étienne’s room. The young prince’s quarters were bigger, better lit and more comfortable than his own and Étienne liked to keep his space warm and inviting.

He stretched luxuriously on Étienne’s larger bed after shedding the outer layers of his uniform and stared up at the familiar ceiling. For as long as he could remember, he and Étienne had been joined at the hip, getting into all sorts of mischief together. Étienne had shown him how and Calvin had gladly followed.

It helped, obviously, that Étienne was the prince, and the youngest one at that, and so the scoldings were always gentle. And even though Calvin knew that one day he would serve Étienne’s eldest brother, who would one day be crowned king, for now, he could stay by his friend’s side.

Étienne joined his side moments later and Calvin spared him a glance as he got settled. The light from the window caressed the prince’s features and Calvin felt his breath still for a moment. Étienne looked – beautiful under the pale moonlight that blended with the golden light of the candles that were still on.

Then again, Calvin had often thought that Étienne was pretty – not that he’d ever told him. But, he was, from the curls of his brown hair that framed his face just so, the green of his eyes often bright with humour and the sincerity of his smile, Calvin had fallen slowly but surely for his friend.

“Please tell me your day was better than mine,” Étienne asked him after complaining about his own. For as much as he liked learning, everyone who knew the prince also knew that Étienne preferred to immerse himself in his art or the company of others.  

Calvin tucked Étienne close to his chest where it felt like the most natural place in the world for him to be in this moment and relayed the highlights from training, while the prince played with his hair as he often did when it was just the two of them. It felt nice, this proximity to Étienne and he’d never given it a second thought over the many years they had known each other.

“You should come to the next training sessions,” Calvin encouraged him as he tried to do every so often. Étienne grimaced at that, making him laugh quietly.

“No thank you; it’s absolutely muddy out there. I don’t see why anyone needs such barbaric skills anyways.” He added with evident disdain, making Calvin roll his eyes at the comment, fond despite everything else. It was no secret that the youngest prince of the palace was far from a fighter and could rarely be persuaded to attend any training whatsoever much to the chagrin of the king and of the head of the king’s guard.

“Will you come and watch at least?” Calvin knew that he could get Étienne to come and watch him on occasion, if the weather was nice. Sometimes, he would even sketch the drills the knights would go through and Calvin was always secretly impressed by what Étienne showed him afterwards.

Étienne made a noncommittal shrug, “I was thinking of riding into town tomorrow after my lessons; I need a distraction.”

Calvin nodded, he knew what the prince meant by that. Whenever Étienne got a little restless, he would visit the town and mingle with the people. Sometimes, he would even spend the night at the inn with whomever had stricken his fancy. Calvin had also known for years now that Étienne preferred both the company of men and women, and really, it was no secret.

Still, every time the prince went out, Calvin thanked the stars that they lived in peaceful times and that the royal family was well loved by the locals. That, or at the very least, he did not have to worry as much about Étienne staying out of the castle.

However, Étienne’s potential trip into town brought forth another question to Calvin.

“Can I ask you something?” He started, putting the words together in his mind before he chickened out. It was a rather personal question and even though he knew Étienne wouldn’t judge or make fun of him for it, there was still a bubble of fear that wedged itself inside of him.

Étienne shifted so that they were facing each other, as if sensing that what Calvin had to ask him was serious, and then motioned for him to go on.

“What’s it like to kiss a man?” He said ever so quickly while holding his breath and hoping for the best. He knew his friend wasn’t going to laugh at him for asking, but he did still wonder what Étienne’s reaction was going to be.

The prince blinked, as if surprised, and then a soft smile came to his lips, while Calvin tried to remember what it was like to breathe.

“I’d say it’s pretty much the same as kissing a woman, except sometimes, some of them have lots of facial hair and it can tickle.” He paused, making sure he hadn’t missed any extra information worth relaying to Calvin. “Why do you ask? Is it something you’d like to try?” He added as if giving him the invitation he needed to pursue his plan.

Calvin’s eyes widened slightly and he looked away, suddenly shy. He didn’t know why Étienne wasn’t one to normally be mean for no reason. Even if the prince wouldn’t indulge his little folly, he wouldn’t mock him for it.

“Maybe…” He finally admitted, daring at the last second to look back to Étienne and maybe he was imagining things, but he swore he saw a flicker of something run through the greens of Étienne’s eyes.

“Well, in that case, aren’t you just in luck. I happen to have some experience in that field.” Étienne shifted once more and Calvin found himself with an armful of his favourite prince, pressed close to one another, while his heart sped up quite a bit. Even in his wildest of dreams, it never went quite like this.

This was very different from any other time they had lain together, late at night, talking when they should have been asleep. This felt more intimate even if absolutely nothing had happened yet, but the potential for a shift was ever so present. They were on the brink of something big and Calvin could only pray that whatever happened wouldn’t ruin what he already had with Étienne.

Étienne cupped his face and the warmth of it against his cheek made Calvin’s body heat up all over. He leaned into the contact, marvelling at it and anticipated what would – could – hopefully would happen next.

For a moment, the prince simply caressed his cheek with the pad of his thumb and the action was soothing as well as grounding. Calvin could imagine the paint speckled thumb against his cheek and even though the prince had never touched him this way, the image of his thumb flecked with paint was familiar enough, reassuring even. This was Étienne, after all. His best friend. The boy he had grown up with. It would only be fair and make perfect sense that Étienne would be the first boy he would want to kiss.

It was finally Étienne who closed the last of the distance between the two of them and pressed his lips to Calvin’s first, nearly taking him by surprise at the sudden shift.

Calvin wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but sure enough, just like Étienne had told him, it was pretty much the same. And yet, it was also so very different, for Étienne’s lips had been foreign to him up until this very moment, a far away fantasy, and they proved to be soft against his own. Just as Calvin started to register the shape and feel of them, the kiss was over and Étienne pulled away.

Too soon, in his opinion. There was so much more to commit to his memory.

“See what I mean?” The prince asked, voice ever so caring and soft.

“I think I need to try again.” Calvin seized his opportunity and moved in as Étienne laughed quietly, more than pleased to welcome him back. This time, they met halfway, Étienne parting his lips for Calvin’s eager tongue and this, by far, was much better. Sure, Calvin had had a dalliance here and there, but he felt as though he could spend a lifetime kissing Étienne and it still wouldn’t be enough.

He loved the way Étienne held on to him gently, one hand caressing his cheek, and when they pulled away, Étienne looked at him as though he was his most treasured artefact. Calvin brushed his thumb over the prince’s kiss swollen lips and returned his easy smile. They both laughed, a private affair between them, before Étienne pulled him back to him for another eager kiss.

Calvin felt alive and bold from the way Étienne clung to him, breathy little moans escaping his lips that were like music to his ears. He dared let his hands travel down the length of Étienne’s sides and only wondered briefly why it was he had waited this long to kiss his beloved prince. Étienne was so responsive to his touch, going as far as to twine their legs together to be closer still and Calvin wanted even more.

“Étienne,” He said, breaking the moment. Étienne looked at him, face flushed but pleased and Calvin knew right then and there that he’d want this for as long as possible.

“What’s it like to lie with a man?” He whispered, using his earlier question, lips near brushing against Étienne’s, teasing him really.

Étienne looked at him, surprised, but evidently pleased by the question, “I’d say,” He started voice thick with evident want as he licked his lips in anticipation, and Calvin silently thrilled at the fact that he was the reason for putting Étienne in this state, “That it’s a wonderful thing and I’d be more than happy to assist you with that,” he murmured back, before he gently pushed Calvin on his back in order to clamber on top of him.

Calvin grinned, admiring the view of his gorgeous prince, here with him, in all the senses of the word.

FIN

[skratchytheclown]

Making MT

The character that went through the most changes over the years (by far) is MT himself. I could write a whole essay about the process of getting MT to the look he has now.

I'll just point out a couple of things here:

First are the eyes. MT's eye colors changed a lot throughout the years.

They seemed to have become more and more yellow over time. At first, I had the idea that MT was made out of multiple animal parts just "frankensteined" together. I gave him one blue eye and one brown eye, both from different creatures (not heterochromia). I remember that his right eye was not connected correctly, which meant he was blind in one eye. (you can kind of see that in this image)

Later on, I got a bit lazy when drawing it (the first sketch here is more of a simplification to just show the colors), so I just put an X on his right eye to show that it was faulty. I also remember that I yellowed the eyes a bit to make it look a bit less bright and lively.

Later, I decided to change the eye colors because I just thought MT's design could use some more uniformity. I wanted to pick a color that was already in Topper's design for MT's eyes. I decided to go with yellow eyes to match his bowtie. That's all there was to it. I also just got rid of that X for some reason. Probably because I thought it wasn't needed because it was supposed to represent MT having two different eyes? The next two designs were just stuff I made in close succession (compared to the other stuff). At this point, I pretty much gave up on the organic eyes, and replaced them with artificial ones. This was probably also the time where the original MT story was scrapped for the one with Silvea that everyone knows about, so the whole "frankensteining" thing wasn't an option anymore. I was just scrambling to find out how his eyes would look, and how they worked. I had a lot of drawings where his eyes were slightly different.

It also looks like four different people drew all of these. I guess I just liked to mess around with different artstyles back then (just for fun/the challenge. I wasn't trying to "find my artstyle")

I ended up liking that bottom-left one the most, which eventually led me to making MT's eyes the way they are currently.

The second thing I wanted to talk about is MT's "glow". I'm sure you remember seeing at least one image where MT was "lit up". Like this one, for example:

(and this)

MT glows in places where most of his power source is stored/being used. It was a trait he had for a while now, but apparently when I first came up with that idea...

...he was blue.

I actually forgot all about this fact until I recently saw the concept sketch (above). I changed it to red because that fit his overall color scheme better. He already has a bunch of colors, and adding blue on top of all that seemed like too much. Blue and green (MT's main color), are analogous, but red and yellow were already on his design, and red and green are complementary anyway. The red also still works with MT's hair color. (figuring out MT's colors really is.. something, isn't it?)

I also didn't think it made much sense for MT's abdomen and the base of his ear to be glowing.

There's also this version, which is just when MT dims his lights voluntarily to make it easier for him to sneak up on people. It also allows people to talk to him for longer periods of time without their eyes burning from his bright yellow eyes.

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: Wonder and Beauty

I’ve had to dump a surprising number of Kindle samples in the past year-plus due to pure ugliness. I find this more than a bit bewildering. Yet sample after sample I’ve run across, if they’re not in first person present tense (argh), riddled with typos in the first few pages (why), or have a main character whose only acquaintance with morals would have been the dictionary, if they’d ever read a dictionary....

Weed out all that, and there’s still way too many books out there apparently focusing on ugly. Not the characters’ physical appearances, although that shows up too. But diving into and obsessing over the absolute worst parts of the society, setting, or world the character is dealing with. Monsters exist? Cue the most gore-filled kills of innocents the writer can splash on the page. Character is abandoned as a young child? The writer drags up every nauseating detail on the city dunghill/dump he’s abandoned on and the disgusting things he has to do to survive. (Most of which, BTW, would in real life leading to the kid dying of dysentery or worse within a year, not surviving over a decade.) Politics are ruthless? Every person we meet has either stabbed the main character in the back already, is about to, or was plotting to in the future but only laughs now because someone else beat them to it. Prostitution and slavery are elements of your world’s society? (As they have been in most places and times, historically.) Every female character (and some males) will be raped, threatened with rape, or working with the panderers. And even if the first few pages avoid all of that, odds are the character is bemoaning their horrible situation and using foul language to do it.

Rrrraaaaaauggggghhhh.

This is bad writing.

The point of the first few pages of a story is to hook your readers. To make them sympathetic to the main character, curious about the world, and interested in knowing What Comes Next. Ugliness shuts all of these down, hard.

First, sympathy. Sympathy is feeling with the character. It is not feeling pity for the character. Sympathy is what happens when, say, Sarah Kelling has to deal with a massive debt, the grief of being a widow, and enough legal matters to choke a paper shredder - and decides she’s going to get through this anyway. On determination, bluffing, knowing how to cook on a penny-pinching budget, and fast feet if she has to. She’s not going to sit there and whine about how horrible she has it, she’s going to make a plan and fix what can be fixed.

Reader reaction: “Yes! You go, girl! If I were in that situation, that’s just what I hope I’d be able to do!”

Second, curious about the world. If the writer hits us over and over with either how ugly things are (horrible spaceport sex and drug dives, dunghills and sewers, seriously) and/or attributes everything beautiful like silks and precious metals to arrogant, power-mad, smarmy nobility, then why should we want to learn anything more? We already know there’s nothing wonderful here. Whereas in Sarah Kelling’s Boston we hear of pleasant rooms with high bookshelves, worn red velvet curtains, and a fireplace; of a lady employed as a maid (in part for a paid room to rent) with a uniform in bright orange, topped by a cap of frilly velvet and long orange streamers; of window-boxes that would be full of carefully-tended flowers in summer, now brightened for the holidays with greenery and red ribbons. And that’s just physical beauty. We also hear of universities, mountain-climbers, fortune-tellers in tearooms, and a host of other interesting characters sketched out even in just a sentence or two of humor. That Boston is a city where people live, and sometimes live quite happily. It invites us to explore.

Last, and certainly not least, interested in what happens next. If in the first few pages I’ve seen a character abandoned by his parents in horrible circumstances, committing an act of bravery only because he’d end up framed for murder if he wasn’t, and then after a time-skip betrayed by the same group of people all over again who deliver him into the hands of slavers... yeah, no, I give up. He says he has a wife and kids to get back to? Gee, that would have been so much more effective if you’d ever shown them in the first few pages. Now? Don’t care. Bye.

As opposed to the widowed Sarah Kelling, who starts the story determined to run a boardinghouse and just keeps going, even once her landlady duties expand to trying to figure out which of her boarders might have committed a murder. Every chapter brings a new complication, and an attempt to resolve the last one; some more successful than others. You stay up way too late reading onward, because okay, how’s she going to figure out this one-?

Stories need beauty and wonder. Characters need it, or they’d have no reason to go on. And your readers need it. Get it into the story. All of the story.

Now pardon me, I have a few more samples to dump....

[wiffhuff]

My dude is as skinny as a cheese string

Anyways wow!!! 2 for 1 deal today!!! I felt like if I didn't post Doug and Lao relatively together, I'd get struck down by lightning or something ^^

I liked to think Lao has even longer hair than he does canonically cuz he has given up trying to deal with it. I stuck with giving him a sleek type hair cuz it's probably greasy eUGH. That's def why he tied it, cuz imagine being slapped with it lol

Do not ask what happened to his tie, he does not know as well and frankly does not care.

Had him wear his uniform shirt unbuttoned since he's a rebel and that's kinda the trope in anime. As well, he usually is wearing some random shirt and changes it every couple of days.

My fav part is def his non-uniform jacket he always wear. Unfortunate you cannot see the back design, but it does have a Pathfinder logo :)))) I added some elements of his canon fit to make it semi-inspired.

He got piercings!!! But only simple ones :> You can't even see his right ear so no one notices most of the time.

Notes:

-Doug is one of two people who can convince him to go to school. The other is Lin, but Lao only sees her by chance. Students have seen Doug nagging Lao on his phone, or literally dragging him into class.

-He's all edgy not because wife and kid died (Chenshi would not even exist in this AU), but because he's a hormonal teen who feels like he knows everything. So an edgy idiot.

-Elma and Lao are not on good terms with one another. Elma feels upset with him all the time since she feels he can def excell (See little sketch of angry Elma up there for context). But Lao doesn't bother most of the time if as long as he passes his classes.

-Despite him not caring, I still feel like he gets somewhat good grades. He atleast gets enough good test marks to make Elma raise her eyebrows.

-Yuppers Charmaine exists, but she's in a different school (idk if it would be too tropey to have her school and the [Blade Academy/XCX school idk the name] to be rivals). People are kinda surprised that Lao fell for her since she seems aesthetically the opposite of him (Bubbly, charming, sweet). But I'd like to characterise her with a "You can't fool me" vibe to explain how she is able to wrangle Lao. She def does not put up with any bullshit, and Lao is kinda charmed by that.

-I'm still thinking what sport/physical activity he should do outside of school. It would be silly if he did Kyudo (Japanese archery) plus it would def be so cool to draw him with a bow!!! I know Kyudo clubs exist in some schools, but I imagine Lao didn't join since he likes doing it as his OWN activity.

-In that silly trio friend group I mentioned, Lao is the enabler of the stupid shenanigans the guys get into. Or more of the catalyst I'd think. Like he would go try to jump the school gate, Doug tries to stop him, Frye joins in, and somehow they all got stuck up on the roof of the school building

Translation notes:

Left: Lao secretly reading some stuff on his phone with the caption "Checking his phone in class" and Doug behind him saying "Psst. Dude do your test!". A pissed off Elma sketch with a convo going on: "Lao, did you do alright on the test?" then Lao says "Meh I missed a few marks so only a 98" and Elma said "Huh??" as she holds her test with a 96%. Lao listening to Lin talking about the things happening at her school. A nametag on a girl that says "Charmaine" with her saying "Oh hey Lao, you're hanging here again?" then Lao doesn't respond out of nervousness, which prompts her to say "You good?".

Right: SIde view of Lao that points out his "eternal eyebags". An inaccurate arrow shoing how long Lao's hair is with a caption saying "Hair is about to reach his butt". A showcase of "Lao's fit" consisting of: "Opened dress shirt", "Non-uniform shirt (Whatever he finds in his room", "Baggy pants", "Sneakers". Bottom picture depicts the backside of Lao's main jacket.

[chaos-has-theories]

Going insane a little bit abt selkie marcia au combined w silas+marcia friends au which I don't even know if u care abt. And I know I COULD make an actual post abt it but I don't want to SO uh. Silas+sarah r friends w marcia in this au. Silas bc one time he was over at her place when they were younger (like she was. 8 and he was 14) and picked up her Coat to move it and she panicked and started crying and as soon as she told him what was going on he went OH SHIT. and never touched the Coat again. Silas is the only person besides like. Her mother that knows she is a selkie and she complains abt it to him a Lot right up until he leaves school at 17 and they stop talking to each other as much and then at all. And then she shows up at the heaps at age like. 15 after she left home and is like uh :) hi :) and silas offers to let her stay for a while and she's like I can't what if ur wife finds out abt me :( and he goes oh its fine shes a dryad. And so marcia stays w silas+sarah for a little bit before she can get her own room in the ramblings. Except her room is right next to their room anyway so she's basically still living with them for the next few years. And also marcia+sarah sometimes have tea and talk abt being Mythical Creatures and eventually they r just. Friends <3 more than once silas has come home to find a literal seal having a nap on the floor bc marcia was too lazy to light the fire but was cold. Simon has vague memories of her from when he was rlly little but he doesn't rlly process it as marcia overstrand extraordinary wizard he just remembers her as. Maybe his babysitter? And those memories r mixed up with ones of getting to play with a seal which clearly isn't right so maybe they aren't even real

I DO care about it that is sweet :') Marcia & Silas begrudging but incredibly close friendship means so much to me and !!! cuddly Marcia which is somehow what my brain conjures the moment she has fur.

So I gope you don't mind bc I immediaely had to sit down and hastily sketch all this

Baby Marcia in her coat

Teenaged Marcia showing up at the Heaps and pretending like it's FINE it's not a big deal she just needs a place to stay (*huge eyeroll*)

Sidenote she's wearing her first apprentice uniform above because I am now having excessive feelings about Marcia essentially trying to replace her selkie coat with a different significant outfit, and a cloak to pretend like she totally didn't have to lock a part of herself away

DRYAD SARAH means everything to me now. They are hanging out. They are gossiping about you

AND A BIG CUDDLE PILE. Seal Marcia on Silas' carpet... and she says she hates Maxie but she never pushes him away when she's transformed. Plus one of the boys. I want to say Nicko (early attachment to sea creatures) but timeline-wise it's probably poor confused Simon <3