#casually reblogs my own art

[meltedhorror]

Screen of death. . .

[zhongrin]

— a short and casual genshin impact otome game.

⟣ 𝕕𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕝𝕠𝕒𝕕 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖 ⟢

┊ (Windows 🪟, Linux 🐧, or Mac 🍎 only!)

◇ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬? ◇

Just a simple something I had in mind for a Genshin otome game... I have 0 attention span, 0 time, and 0 knowledge to write and build a full-fledged 3D game with intricate stories, plot, and mechanics. This is just a simple visual novel with a streamlined plot and partial voices. You should be able to complete everything in like... 30 minutes long in total. Might be less, even.

◇ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ◇

The game will contain the following: established relationship, FLUFF, comfort, lots of pet names, suggestive themes, lots of kissy sounds on some routes, implications of violence (not towards player), a sprinkle of protective behavior

◇ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ◇

Zhongli, Xiao, Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Itto, Kazuha (Zhongli is selected by default because who doesn’t love geo daddy???)

◇ 𝐰𝐡𝐨'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫? ◇

This is a very self-indulgent project, hence the dialogues were written with fem!player in mind. It will contain suggestive themes, so please be aware of that before downloading / playing!

◇ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲? ◇

Yes, it's totally free - in fact, I do not accept payment.

◇ 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲? ◇

Click the link to download the appropriate file based on your OS. Only Windows, Linux, and Mac are supported. No, I won't release it on other platforms.

Open the game, and you’ll find that it’s pretty straightforward. Customize your profile, select your love interest, then start the game.

There are no wrong answers and the love interest can be changed anytime (just go back to main menu and select the character’s picture on the right side).

◇ 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬? ◇

You can personally send links to this post / the game’s itch.io page to your friends via DMs, but outside of that (reposting), NO. For example, posting about this on Reddit is prohibited.

◇ 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞? ◇

This is a super casual project.

Scripts are not proofread. Probably lots of grammar mistakes.

Novel format without narration (full dialogs).

There are no actual sprites, just official art and something akin to a speech bubble to cater to the characters’ changes in ‘expression’.

There are voices, but only partial - mostly just grunts, chuckles, kisses, and stuff. I’m using JP voices EXCEPT for Itto because Max Mittelman is a gem. No, I will not add other languages' voice versions.

Sound cues and voices are quite important for this game so I recommend using headphones.

Depending on when you open the game (morning, afternoon, nighttime, midnight), your currently selected love interest might greet you differently.

To reiterate, there are no wrong answers.

Selecting all talk/act options for a character will unlock a small event where they'll give you unique gifts.

I lowkey have so many ideas on how to expand on this in terms of gameplay and options but let’s be real here it probably won’t happen lol why can’t my brain be this creative when it comes to work

◇ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐮𝐬??? ◇

No... That said, anyone can literally say that. Please be responsible for your own actions.

I have also released other games on the same itch.io profile, so this isn't my first rodeo. Feel free to check the reviews on those before making your decision if you're wary about downloading!

◇ 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ◇

hyv please don't sue me i gain 0 dollars for this and i just wanna simp in peace

⟐ 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜 🄸 𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑.𝚒𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎 🄸 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ⟐

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ do not repost or share without permission. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

[bluegiragi]

I hate to ask this cause it feels stupid but I dont wanna do a bunch of research on whatever the recent cod mw fandom discourse is,

but I saw the reblog of someone accusing you of supporting people who write sexualized pedophilia and that really is personally my only """"moral"""" with nsfw shit, (I'm a patreon subscriber and ig I just wanna know where my money's going) is THAT true?

i used to follow an artist who, 5-6 months ago made racist art featuring gaz and soap in a slave context, which I didn't like, retweet or interact with in any way. they also made under-age art of ghost soap, which I also didn't interact with . people on twitter called me out yesterday, for retweeting (months before this incident) other art they'd made as evidence I stood by/encouraged/was an avid fan of all these tropes. The art I retweeted wasn't either of these previous examples of art, but one where ghost and soap were sleeping in a bed together, as adults, peacefully. I can't emphasise enough that I have not interacted with this artist at all, for over six months. The callout in question has framed me as a close friend of theirs when, in truth, our total timeline of interactions could probably be counted on one hand, and I haven't interacted with her in so long that I genuinely forgot I was still following her.

The crux of all is this is that I did not unfollow + block this artist earlier on when the racist art was posted months ago, and then I retweeted a fic tagged with "non-con" (ghost gets soap off in a context where he can't really properly consent, they're in front of a crowd of strangers and they have to fuck, but both parties are into each other) written by a friend as I wanted to support their writing.

The pedophile claims are because I retweeted a fandom bingo post that defended loli-con without reading all the squares properly, and then immediately un-retweeted it when I properly read it. All in all, the post was on my account for maybe a few minutes.

The zoophile claims are because people say i support someone who wrote zoophilic fic and called people slurs, and I genuinely don't know who they're talking about there.

The anti-asian racism claims come from the original accusers in the callout thread thinking that I made Horangi's eyes in the monster!AU sensitive as a way of making fun of Asian eyes. The real reason is because he's a cat hybrid in that AU and cats are sensitive to light.

I tried addressing all this in a casual way earlier on in a misguided attempt to sort things out more 'civilly', and responded to an ask talking about my "support" for the artist who drew the slave Gaz art by saying the fanart in question was tone deaf and in poor taste. It wasn't enough for some people, so I'm happy to say it clearly- yes, it was racist, and the reason why I didn't want to be more aggressive is because I didn't want to extend all this mess by throwing this artist directly to the wolves - I genuinely believed them at the time when they said that wasn't that their intention, and think they should've deleted the post at the time, but not unfollowing was a decision that I made. I know now upon reflection that it was naive of me, unwarranted and frankly irresponsible to take a stranger at face value and believe they had good intentions, when the act of not deleting the post in question was evidence of a lack in remorse. In the moment, I'd thought back to my own personal experience with a friend of mine who used an asian slur in my company, who later sincerely apologised and legitimately cleaned up his act after I gave him a second chance. It informed my choice to not unfollow at the time, but there's a difference between someone you know irl for months and a stranger on the internet you've interacted with a few times. I shouldn't have coddled them in my response, and I'm sorry for not treating it with the severity it deserved. It was callous, and stupid, and indicative of internal biases that I ever thought it was a light enough offence to "see through", and I deeply deeply apologise. I promise from the bottom of my heart to do better.

That's everything so far. I didn't unfollow an artist when I absolutely should've, which i'll always strongly regret. I also retweeted a properly-tagged fic on my clearly 18+ nsfw account. I've undone both of those actions now. I hope this can be the end of it.

[gyuuberryy]

a love affair in colour

pairing: art tutor!jay x princess!reader

synopsis: as a princess exploring her artistic passions, you’re drawn to jay, your mesmerising art teacher whose lessons stir more than just creativity. what begins as a quest to master your craft quickly becomes a whirlwind of tension and forbidden desire. with every brushstroke and shared moment, the line between teacher and lover blurs. but when societal barriers and personal doubts threaten your connection, will you both find a way to embrace a future together, or will your love remain a beautiful but fleeting masterpiece?

genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden relationship, comfort

warnings: kissing, lots of tension, mentions of status difference, angst, a little suggestive

note: i used my experience in art to detail all the content related to it so bear with me if it seems a little modern, i don't know much about how they did art in the olden times. also jay just constantly raises my standards??? i love that man so much he's so husband material it hurts TT enjoy reading!

word count : 11.1k

royally yours masterlist | prev:heeseung | next: jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you’ve always been drawn to art. as a child, while other princesses were learning courtly etiquette or practising diplomacy, you were sneaking into the gardens to sketch the trees or hiding in your chambers, fingers stained with ink as you copied paintings from the castle’s grand halls. but those were mere indulgences, fleeting escapes from the rigid structure of royal life.

when your parents noticed your growing talent, they encouraged it—as a hobby, of course. something to amuse yourself with between diplomatic meetings, public appearances, and the pressures of royal expectations. but for you, art was never just a pastime. it was a passion. an escape. a way to express the parts of you that didn’t fit into the carefully curated image of a princess.

so, when you told your parents you wanted to pursue art seriously, it was met with initial resistance. a princess has duties, obligations, responsibilities. but you persisted, and eventually, they relented. if you were going to study art, they wanted the best for you. that’s how jay came to the palace—an accomplished artist in his own right, though he came from modest beginnings. he was hired to help you master the craft before your trip to paris, where you’d study under the finest artists in the world.

jay’s reputation preceded him. he was known not only for his skill but for his ability to bring out the best in his students. when he arrived at the palace, you were both eager and nervous, unsure of what to expect.

your first meeting was in the grand studio, a room that had once been your sanctuary. now, as you stand by the window, gazing out over the palace grounds, you feel the weight of what’s to come. you’re no longer a novice; this isn’t just a casual hobby. this is the beginning of something serious, something real. and the thought of it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

the door creaks open behind you, and you turn to see him—jay. he’s younger than you expected, though older than you by a few years. his clothes are simple, a stark contrast to the luxury of your surroundings, yet he wears them with a quiet confidence. his dark hair is tousled, as though he’s just come from a long day at work, and there’s a certain intensity in his eyes, a focus that makes your stomach flip.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low.

“please, just my name,” you say quickly, hoping to dispel some of the formality that hangs between you. “if we’re to work together, there’s no need for titles.”

he straightens, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “very well,” he says simply. “shall we begin?”

you nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves as you lead him to the easel set up near the window. it’s been prepared for your first lesson, a blank canvas stretched taut, waiting for the first stroke of charcoal or paint. you’ve done this before, hundreds of times, but never under the watchful eye of a teacher like jay.

“before we begin,” he says, setting his bag down on the table, “tell me why you want to do this. not because you have to—because you want to.”

his question catches you off guard. you’d expected him to dive straight into the technical aspects of drawing or painting, not to ask about your motivations. but there’s a seriousness in his tone that tells you he’s not just asking out of curiosity. he wants to understand. he wants to know you.

“i’ve always loved art,” you admit, folding your hands in front of you, feeling a little exposed. “it’s the one thing that’s mine. in a world where so much is decided for me, art is where i get to choose. it’s... freedom.”

jay nods slowly, as if weighing your words. “art is freedom,” he agrees quietly. “it’s expression. it’s telling the world who you are without saying a word. but it’s also discipline. and commitment. if you’re serious about this, i’ll push you. i’ll make sure you’re challenged. does that sound like something you’re ready for?”

your heart beats faster. his intensity is palpable, and it’s hard not to be swept up in it. “yes,” you say, though the word comes out softer than you intended. “i’m ready.”

he regards you for a moment longer, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. “we’ll start with something simple,” he says, handing you the charcoal. “i want you to draw me.”

you blink, surprised. “draw you?”

“it’s a good exercise,” he explains, moving to stand a little distance away. “if you can capture the essence of a person, you can draw anything.”

your fingers tighten around the charcoal as you sit at the easel, facing him. it feels strange, having him as the subject. his features are sharp, defined, but there’s something else—an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to concentrate. you take a deep breath and begin to sketch, the sound of the charcoal scratching against the canvas the only sound in the room.

it’s not easy. his face is a study in contrasts—strong jawline, soft eyes, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he watches you work. you find yourself getting lost in the details, trying to capture the exact curve of his lips, the shadow beneath his cheekbone. but the more you focus, the more elusive it becomes.

“you’re overthinking it,” jay says suddenly, breaking the silence. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you. “you’re focusing on the parts, not the whole. step back. see the bigger picture.”

you try to follow his advice, but his presence behind you is distracting, and the scent of him—earthy, with a hint of something fresh—fills your senses. your heart beats faster, though you try to ignore it.

jay steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “here,” he says softly, reaching out to guide your hand. his fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through your body, and you almost drop the charcoal. “loosen your grip. let the lines flow.”

you do as he says, though your heart races at his nearness. his hand lingers over yours for a moment too long before he pulls away, but the connection between you doesn’t fade. the air feels charged, as if something unsaid hangs between you.

when you finish the sketch, it’s rough, imperfect, but there’s something there—a spark of life, of emotion. jay leans over your shoulder to examine it, his expression unreadable.

“better,” he says after a moment, his voice low and approving. “you’ve captured something real here.”

you look at the drawing again, trying to see what he sees, but all you can think about is the way his hand felt over yours, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a secret.

as he moves to gather his things, you realise that this is just the beginning. the first lesson. but already, something has shifted between you. something neither of you can name yet, but it’s there—in the shared glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken connection.

and as jay turns to leave, promising to return for your next lesson, you can’t help but wonder if this is really just about art—or if something far more dangerous has already begun.

the days following your first lesson with jay felt like a strange new rhythm. art had always been a deeply personal escape for you, something that existed in the quiet moments between royal duties, but now it had become something more. each session with jay stirred something inside you—not just the desire to improve, but a spark of something you couldn't quite name.

jay had been nothing but professional, his focus always on your craft. but beneath his calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent, a kind of intensity in the way he looked at you during your lessons. it was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, like the brushstrokes of a painting hidden beneath layers of paint.

today, as you enter the studio, you feel it more than ever. the room is bathed in soft light, the kind of glow that makes everything seem warmer, softer. jay is already there, setting up supplies on the table, his back to you. you watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his hands move with such precision and care.

“good morning,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice comes out softer than you intended, the room swallowing the sound.

he turns, a brief smile crossing his face. “good morning.” there’s a hint of warmth in his tone, but as always, it’s controlled, measured. jay has never been one to show too much emotion, though lately, you’ve caught glimpses of something more.

“i thought we’d try something different today,” he says, gesturing to the large canvas in the corner of the room. “i want to work on your observation skills.”

you nod, intrigued. “what do you have in mind?”

instead of answering immediately, jay picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room, angled toward the sunlight. he then takes his sketchbook and charcoal, positioning himself in front of the chair but far enough away that there’s space between you.

“i want you to sit,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away. “i’m going to sketch you.”

the request catches you off guard. “me? but... shouldn’t i be the one practising sketching?”

he smiles faintly, shaking his head. “today, i want you to feel what it’s like to be the subject. to understand how the artist sees you.” he glances at the canvas, and then back at you. “it’ll help you observe the world around you with more empathy, more connection.”

the thought of jay watching you, studying you so closely, makes your heart race. you’ve always been behind the canvas, never in front of it. to have his eyes on you, not just in passing but with the intention of capturing every detail—it feels strangely vulnerable.

but you trust him. there’s something about jay that puts you at ease, even when you’re unsure of yourself. so, you sit in the chair, adjusting your posture slightly, your hands resting in your lap.

“relax,” he says softly, his voice gentle. “you don’t have to pose. just be yourself.”

you try to do as he says, leaning back into the chair, though your heart is beating a little faster now. the room is quiet except for the faint scratch of his charcoal on the page, and you’re acutely aware of his gaze as it moves over you—your face, your hands, the way the light falls on your hair.

he works silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you find yourself watching him, trying to read the expression on his face. there’s a softness there that you hadn’t noticed before, a kind of careful attention that feels almost… tender.

for a while, neither of you speaks. you’re not sure how long has passed—minutes? hours? time seems to lose its meaning in this space, as if the world outside the studio doesn’t exist.

“so you want to pursue art huh?” jay’s voice breaks the silence, and you blink, surprised by the question.

“yes” you reply, shifting slightly in the chair.

he doesn’t look up from his sketch. “why did you choose art? out of everything you could have pursued?”

the question is one you’ve asked yourself many times. you think back to your childhood, to the afternoons spent sneaking away from your tutors to draw in the gardens, the way art always felt like a safe space in a world full of expectations.

“i think… it’s because art lets me be free,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “in everything else, i’m the princess. i have to be perfect, poised, controlled. but with art, i can be messy. i can make mistakes. it’s mine.”

jay pauses, his hand hovering over the sketchbook for a moment before he continues. “freedom is important,” he says quietly. “especially for someone like you.”

there’s something in his tone, a weight to his words, and you wonder what he means by that. does he understand what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations? to want something more, something beyond the roles you’ve been given?

before you can ask, jay looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started sketching. his gaze is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s more like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that no one else ever has.

“you have a natural grace,” he says softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “but it’s more than that. there’s something… untamed about you.”

your breath catches in your throat. no one has ever spoken to you like that before. not with such quiet certainty, as if they’ve seen beyond the surface of who you are.

you don’t know what to say. the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name. you shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, but jay’s expression remains calm, thoughtful.

he tilts his head slightly, observing you with the same intensity he’s had since the beginning of the lesson. “there’s more to art than technique,” he says, his voice low. “it’s about connection. about understanding the person you’re drawing, not just how they look, but who they are.”

his words stir something inside you—a sense of being understood in a way you’ve never experienced before. you’re not just a princess in this room, not just another student. you’re you, with all your complexities and contradictions, and somehow, jay has seen that.

it makes you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and yet there’s a comfort in it, too. you’ve spent your whole life hiding parts of yourself, but with jay, it feels like you don’t have to.

finally, he sets the sketchbook aside, standing up and crossing the room to where you’re seated. he doesn’t hand you the sketch immediately, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s unsure about showing it to you.

“you can tell a lot about a person by how they draw,” he says quietly, standing in front of you now, his gaze unwavering. “but you can tell even more by how they let themselves be seen.”

your pulse quickens, the weight of his words settling deep within you. it’s not just about the sketch anymore—it’s about everything. the way you’ve been navigating these lessons, the way you’ve been letting him into your world, piece by piece.

he holds out the sketch to you, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his, a fleeting touch that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

the drawing is beautiful. he’s captured you in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. there’s a softness to your expression, a quiet strength in the lines of your face, and yet… there’s something else. something deeper.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the lines with your fingertips. “i’ve never seen myself like this before.”

jay watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. “that’s because no one’s ever looked at you like this before.”

the words hit you like a gentle wave, their meaning sinking in slowly. you glance up at him, unsure of how to respond. there’s a new tension between you now, but it’s not the kind that comes from desire or rushed feelings. it’s deeper than that—a connection, a shared understanding that goes beyond mere attraction.

for a moment, you sit in silence, the sketch resting in your lap as the light from the window shifts slightly, casting long shadows across the room. you can feel the change in the air, but neither of you moves to break it.

and as jay steps back, giving you space, you realise that this—whatever it is—will take time to fully unfold. you’re not rushing toward anything, but there’s something between you now, something real and undeniable.

but for now, you’ll let it simmer. there’s no need to rush. not yet.

the days have passed like pages in a book, each art lesson with jay slowly building a tension that you feel in the very air of the studio. his presence is constant but controlled, his touch fleeting yet always careful. you’ve found yourself looking forward to these lessons more than you’d ever anticipated, though not only for the sake of art. something else draws you here each time, something that’s harder to admit even to yourself.

when you arrive at the studio today, the familiar scent of paint and canvas greets you, mingling with the crisp morning air. jay is there, of course, already preparing the materials, his back to you as he arranges brushes and bottles of linseed oil. the sun filters in through the tall windows, casting long beams across the room, turning everything into shades of gold. today feels different, though you can’t quite pinpoint why.

he turns as you approach, offering you a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good morning," he says, his voice as calm and composed as ever, though you think you detect a slight hesitancy behind his words.

"good morning," you reply, your heart already beating a little faster. the last few lessons have been charged with a new energy, a subtle yet undeniable pull between the two of you. you've tried to keep your thoughts focused on the art, but with each session, it’s become harder.

jay steps over to the large canvas he’s set up for today’s lesson. "we’re going to work on technique," he explains, holding up a palette of mixed colours, the vibrant hues blending like a sunset in his hands. "i want you to feel the texture of the paint, how the brush moves against the canvas. it’s all about control and release."

you nod, though the concept seems easier said than done. painting has always been more of a challenge for you, especially when it comes to finding that balance. jay, however, has a way of guiding you through each step without ever making you feel inadequate.

"let’s start with the basics," he says, handing you a brush. his fingers brush against yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a spark travel up your arm, though you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

you position yourself in front of the canvas, trying to steady your breathing as you dip the brush into the paint. the first few strokes are tentative, careful. you focus on the movement of your hand, but your mind is distracted by the weight of jay’s presence behind you. it’s as if the air in the room has thickened, every sound, every movement, magnified.

jay watches in silence for a few moments, then steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body behind you. "here," he murmurs softly, his voice right beside your ear. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he places his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. the touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shockwave through your body. your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact—his hands on your hips, the warmth of his chest just inches from your back.

"relax," he whispers, his voice low and calming, though you can hear a slight strain in it, like he’s carefully keeping something in check. "you’re too tense."

easier said than done. you can barely think straight with him so close, let alone concentrate on the canvas. but you try, forcing yourself to take a breath, to focus on the task at hand. jay doesn’t move away. instead, he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing your back as he moves his hands from your waist to your arm, guiding your wrist as you hold the brush.

"feel the paint," he says, his breath warm against your ear. "don’t fight it. let it flow."

his hand wraps around yours, firm but careful, and he moves your arm in a slow, fluid motion. the brush glides across the canvas with ease, the paint spreading in smooth, even strokes. his touch is light but deliberate, and you find yourself following his lead, your body responding to the way he directs the movement.

"you’re doing well," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "just like that."

the room feels smaller, the air thicker, as if the space between you is shrinking with each passing second. you try to focus on the canvas, but it’s impossible with jay so close. his presence is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re acutely aware of every shift, every movement.

"you don’t need to force it," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "let the brush move with you."

you nod, though your throat is too dry to speak. the closeness between you is intoxicating, and you can feel the tension building with each breath you take. jay’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the pull, the unspoken connection that seems to have grown stronger with each lesson.

he guides your hand in another slow stroke across the canvas, but this time, the brush slips slightly, leaving a streak of paint that’s a little too heavy. you let out a soft, frustrated sigh, but jay only chuckles, the sound low and warm.

"don’t worry about perfection," he says, his voice rumbling in your ear. "art isn’t about being perfect. it’s about feeling."

his hand lingers on yours a moment longer before he lets go, stepping back slightly. the sudden absence of his touch leaves you feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath you has shifted. you exhale a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and lower the brush, your heart still racing.

"good," jay says, his voice a little more distant now as he moves back to the table. "you’re getting better. it’s all about control and release, but it takes time to find that balance."

you nod, though your mind is still reeling from the intensity of the moment. you’ve never felt so aware of your body, of your own reactions, as you do when jay is close like that. it’s as though he knows exactly how to touch you, how to guide you, without ever crossing the line—but just barely.

you place the brush down on the easel, turning to face him. jay is busy cleaning the palette, his face unreadable as he focuses on the task. but there’s something different about the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

"thank you," you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled between you. your voice sounds a little shaky, but you hope he doesn’t notice.

he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flickering away. "it’s my job," he replies, but there’s something in his tone—something almost… uncertain.

the silence that follows is heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that has been growing between you for weeks. you can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his hands linger just a little too long when he helps you. it’s as though you’re both standing at the edge of something, but neither of you knows how to take the next step.

finally, jay sets the palette down and steps back, putting a little more distance between you. "we’ll keep working on this," he says, his voice returning to its usual composed tone. "you’re improving, but there’s still more to learn."

you nod, feeling a little breathless, though you’re not sure if it’s from the painting or from the closeness you just shared. "i’ll keep practising," you say, though the words feel almost trivial in the weight of the moment.

jay gives you a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good," he says softly, before turning back to his brushes. "we’ll pick up again tomorrow."

you linger for a moment, watching him as he carefully cleans the paint from his hands, his movements precise and controlled. and as you leave the studio, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you, something that neither of you can ignore for much longer.

the pottery studio feels different today. the atmosphere is heavy, thick with anticipation, but you try to ignore it as you sit at the wheel, your hands already messy with clay. the wheel spins slowly beneath your fingers, but no matter how many times you’ve tried, the clay refuses to cooperate, collapsing into a lump before you can give it any real shape. you groan in frustration, watching another failed attempt crumble under your touch.

“take your time. it’s all about feeling the clay, not controlling it,” jay says softly from behind you, his voice calm but carrying that familiar undercurrent of something unspoken. he’s watching closely, his presence as steady as always, but today it feels more intense—like a subtle hum in the air that makes the space between you vibrate with tension.

you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. "i don’t think i’m getting this at all," you mutter, staring down at the shapeless mound on the wheel. pottery has proven to be a far bigger challenge than painting—there’s something about the unpredictability of the clay that throws you off balance.

jay steps closer, his footsteps almost silent on the studio floor. "you’re too tense," he observes, his voice low and measured. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he’s already moving behind you. the air shifts as his body nears, and suddenly, you can feel the heat of him pressing close. he slides onto the bench behind you, his legs on either side of yours. the intimate position makes your heart race instantly, your pulse quickening in response to his proximity. his chest brushes your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything other than how close he is.

he pauses his movements. “is it okay if i sit behind you like this? i may need to touch your hands as well.”

you nod at his soft words, “yes that’s alright.”

the studio feels smaller, the world outside forgotten as you’re enveloped by his presence. you can feel the solid warmth of his chest against your spine, the way his thighs gently cage yours. every point of contact feels electric, the tension simmering between you palpable.

“relax,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, low and soothing. his breath brushes the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you’re trying too hard to control it. you have to let the clay respond to your touch.”

his hands move to cover yours, his fingers sliding over your clay-streaked knuckles. his touch is firm but gentle, guiding your hands to the wheel as it starts spinning once again. the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours sends a ripple of awareness through your body, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hands over yours.

"feel the clay," jay instructs, his voice quiet but filled with intent. his breath is warm against your ear, and the proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. "it moves with you. let it guide you."

his hands press lightly against yours, directing your fingers as they glide over the surface of the clay. the wheel turns slowly beneath your palms, the soft texture of the clay smoothing out under the pressure. you try to focus on the task at hand, but the sensation of his body against yours—the gentle weight of his chest pressed to your back, his legs framing yours—is overwhelming. the world narrows down to the feel of his touch, the sound of his steady breath so close to your ear.

"you need to feel the shape," jay continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. his hands move with yours, guiding your fingers as they dip into the soft clay. his touch is deliberate, patient, and it feels like he’s not just teaching you pottery, but something deeper, something far more personal.

your hands move together as you both shape the clay, your fingers sliding inside the hollow of the vase. the action is slow, almost sensual, and the suggestiveness of the movement doesn’t escape you. the pressure of his fingers over yours, the way his hands direct yours in shaping the delicate interior, feels too intimate, too deliberate. the tension that has been building for weeks now feels almost unbearable.

your breath quickens, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. jay’s chest presses more firmly against your back as his hands guide you deeper into the clay, shaping it from within. his fingers dip, mirroring yours, and the act of molding the vase becomes something far more intimate than you could have ever anticipated.

"just like that," jay whispers, his voice huskier than before, his breath hot against your ear. his hands slow, his fingers lingering on yours as you move together. the wheel spins quietly, the clay yielding to your touch, but it’s hard to focus on the art when the closeness between you feels like it’s about to explode into something more.

you can feel every movement of his chest against your back, the rise and fall of his breath growing uneven. the heat of his body is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the clay. your pulse is racing, and you’re certain he can feel the way your body trembles slightly under his touch.

suddenly, you realise you can feel his heart. it’s beating erratically against your spine, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. the awareness crashes over you like a wave—he’s feeling it too. the tension, the pull between you, it’s not just in your head. his hands tighten slightly over yours, his chest pressing more firmly against your back, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world is tilting.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible with him so close, with the weight of his body grounding you while simultaneously setting you on fire. your fingers dip into the clay once more, but all you can feel is the warmth of his hands over yours, the way his presence fills every corner of your mind.

jay’s breath hitches, barely audible, but you hear it. you feel it. the tension between you has been simmering for weeks, and now it’s at a boiling point, undeniable and heavy.

after what feels like an eternity, jay finally pulls his hands away, the absence of his touch leaving you cold and disoriented. his chest moves away from your back, and he stands slowly, as if he, too, is struggling to shake off the intensity of the moment.

"good work," he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost strained. he steps away from the wheel, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to regain his composure.

you remain seated, your hands still coated in clay, your heart still racing. the silence between you is thick with everything unsaid. you can still feel the echo of his hands on yours, the warmth of his body lingering against your skin.

finally, you glance over your shoulder, your eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some indication of what he’s thinking. but jay’s expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the now-complete vase on the wheel.

"you did well," he repeats, though his tone is quieter, almost distant. there’s something unresolved in the air, something that neither of you dares to acknowledge aloud.

as you stand, your legs unsteady, you can’t help but feel that something between you has shifted irreversibly. the line you’ve both been walking for weeks feels dangerously close to being crossed, and the question now is whether either of you is ready to take that step.

the last day of your art lessons starts with a sense of melancholy that you try to push away. you know that this will be your final session with jay, and although you’ve learned more than you could have imagined, the thought of no longer spending time with him feels like a loss. he greets you at the studio with his usual warm smile, but there’s something different about him today—a lightness that wasn’t there before.

“we’re not staying inside today,” jay says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i figured we’ve done enough of that. you’ve been using my supplies, so i thought it’s time you get your own.”

you blink, surprised by the suggestion. “you mean we’re going shopping?”

he nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “you deserve your own tools. besides, i want to show you my favourite spots.”

the idea excites you more than you’d expected. it feels intimate, personal—like he’s sharing a part of himself with you outside the confines of the studio. and so, you follow him out into the bustling streets, the city alive with activity as you walk side by side, the sky overhead a muted grey that promises rain.

the first shop is a small, unassuming place tucked between two larger storefronts, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if jay hadn’t pointed it out. inside, it’s a treasure trove of art supplies—shelves stacked high with paints, brushes, and sketchpads of every kind. the scent of paper and wood fills the air, and you can’t help but feel a little like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the endless possibilities.

jay moves through the aisles with ease, clearly at home here. he picks up brushes, testing their weight in his hand before handing them to you to feel. “this one’s perfect for detail work,” he says, holding up a fine-tipped brush. “and this,” he adds, pulling out a thicker, more rugged one, “is for broader strokes, more expression.”

you watch him as he speaks, his voice low and sure, and you find yourself more captivated by him than the tools he’s showing you. there’s something about the way his hands move with such confidence, the way he seems to understand the soul of each item, that draws you in. it’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, one that’s less restrained, more passionate.

he catches you staring, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “what?”

you quickly look away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumble, pretending to examine the brushes in front of you.

but you can’t hide your growing admiration for him, and you suspect he knows it. he moves closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he reaches for a set of soft pastels. “try these,” he says, handing them to you. “i think they’ll suit your style.”

you take the pastels from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. you swallow hard, trying to focus on the colours in your hand rather than the way his touch lingers in your mind.

from there, you move to the next shop, a slightly larger one filled with canvases of all sizes and shapes. jay pulls you toward a display of stretched canvas frames, explaining the difference between cotton and linen, the various textures and how they interact with different mediums. he talks with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile, his passion contagious.

“pick a few,” he says, gesturing to the rows of canvases. “you’re going to need a variety if you want to keep experimenting.”

you nod, feeling a sense of freedom in the choice. as you select your canvases, jay hovers nearby, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly watching with a quiet intensity that makes your skin prickle. you wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s just as aware of the subtle tension that’s been growing between you over the weeks.

the third shop is more modern, filled with high-end supplies—gorgeous palettes of oil paints in jewel tones, sleek metal easels, and handcrafted wooden boxes for storing brushes. it’s clear jay has saved the best for last, and as you wander the aisles together, he shows you some of his favourites, his voice soft and reverent as he talks about the craftsmanship behind each item.

“i’ve always wanted one of these,” you say, running your fingers over a beautiful wooden palette, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft light. “it’s almost too nice to use.”

jay grins, standing beside you as he watches you admire it. “you should get it,” he says, his voice warm. “every artist needs something that feels special, something that inspires them to create.”

his words send a shiver through you, and you glance at him, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. the quiet intimacy of the moment, standing together in the softly lit store, surrounded by the tools of your shared passion, feels heavy with something unspoken. you nod, slipping the palette into your basket, trying to shake the fluttering in your chest.

as you leave the last shop, your arms full of bags and supplies, the sky opens up, releasing a sudden torrent of rain. the drops fall fast and heavy, soaking you within moments. you yelp in surprise, pulling your hood over your head, but it’s no use—you’re drenched almost immediately.

jay laughs, a rich sound that cuts through the noise of the rain. “looks like we’re in for it!” he shouts over the downpour, his hair already dripping wet as he holds a hand out to catch the rain.

you can’t help but laugh, your spirits lifting despite the sudden storm. the two of you stand in the rain for a moment, looking at each other, before jay suddenly grabs your hand.

“come on!” he says, pulling you into a run.

you follow him, laughing breathlessly as you race through the rain-soaked streets, splashing through puddles and dodging other passersby who huddle under umbrellas and awnings. the bags of art supplies jostle against your sides, but you barely notice, too caught up in the exhilaration of running with him through the storm.

the rain comes down harder, drenching you completely, your clothes clinging to your body and your hair sticking to your face. but none of it matters—you’re both laughing, the world around you a blur as you sprint through the narrow streets, your hand still held tightly in his.

jay pulls you into a narrow alleyway, ducking under a stone archway for shelter. it’s barely enough to shield you from the rain, but you’re both out of breath, giggling uncontrollably as you lean against the cold stone walls.

you’re both soaked, your clothes dripping water onto the ground, but the warmth between you is undeniable. jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down his face as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the dampness of your clothes. you’re pressed so close to him in the narrow space that you can feel the tension building, the awareness of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

jay’s laughter fades as his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. his gaze softens, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more serious, more intense. you’re both still, the rain beating down around you, but inside this tiny archway, it feels like time has slowed.

he reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, and the simple gesture sends a shiver down your spine. his hand lingers by your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch even through the coolness of the rain.

for a moment, neither of you say anything, the space between you heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. you can feel your heart racing, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes drop to your lips for just a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans in.

the kiss is slow at first—tentative, as though he’s testing the waters. his lips brush against yours softly, almost delicately, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. the rain, the city, everything fades away, and all that exists is the warmth of his mouth on yours, the softness of his kiss.

your heart stutters, your body frozen for a split second before you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest. the kiss deepens, and the tension that’s been building between you for weeks unravels in a rush of heat and longing. his hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, pressing into him as though you can’t get close enough.

the rain falls around you, forgotten, as you lose yourself in the kiss. there’s a desperation to it, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll ever get this chance again. it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’ve been holding back spills out in that single kiss.

when you finally pull away, breathless, jay rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as though he’s afraid to let go. you’re both panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, but you can’t seem to move, can’t seem to break the connection between you.

the kiss lingers in the air, an invisible thread still tying you to jay even as the rain continues to fall. his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and quick, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. for a moment, everything feels right, the world outside forgotten, the storm cocooning you in your own little universe.

but then something shifts. you feel it in the way his grip on your waist tightens briefly before loosening, in the way his eyes darken, filled with a sorrow that cuts through the joy of the moment.

he pulls back, just a fraction, enough to put space between you but not enough to break the connection entirely. his gaze drops to the ground, as though he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“we… we can’t,” jay whispers, his voice heavy with regret.

the words hit you like cold water, the warmth of the kiss suddenly feeling distant. “what do you mean?” your voice is soft, confused, almost pleading. you take a step closer, unwilling to let him slip away. “jay, what are you saying?”

he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, his shoulders tense. “you know what i mean,” he says quietly. “you’re a princess. you belong to a world of crowns and thrones, and i… i’m just your art teacher.”

you shake your head, the rain beginning to soak through your clothes, but you hardly notice. “i don’t care about that! my parents wouldn’t either. jay, this—this connection we have, it’s real. you can’t just pretend it isn’t.”

his eyes finally meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same longing reflected in them. but then he looks away again, his jaw tightening. “maybe your parents wouldn’t care, but i do. i won’t let you throw away your life for me. you have responsibilities, a future. i can’t be the reason you turn your back on all of that.”

your heart aches at his words, at the way he’s trying to protect you even as it tears you both apart. you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “you’re not asking me to give anything up. i’m telling you what i want. you. you’re what i want, jay.”

he looks at your hand in his, and for a second, he doesn’t move, as though he’s frozen between what he wants and what he believes is right. “you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “you’re used to a life of luxury. i can’t give you that. i won’t let you settle for less.”

the frustration bubbles up inside you, mixing with the hurt. “it’s not about that. it never was. do you really think any of that matters to me if i’m not happy?”

jay’s gaze softens, but the doubt lingers in his eyes, a shadow of the barriers between you. “i need time,” he says, his voice pained. “i need to think about this.”

you bite your lip, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “take all the time you need. just… don’t take too long. please.”

he nods, his face filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. then, like the gentleman he is, he steps closer, offering you his arm. “let me take you home,” he says softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that only deepens the ache in your chest.

the walk back to the palace is quiet, both of you wrapped in your own thoughts, the sound of the rain the only noise between you. his arm around yours feels protective, grounding, but it’s bittersweet knowing that he’s still holding a part of himself back.

when you finally reach the palace gates, jay pauses, turning to face you. the light from the lanterns casts a soft glow over his features, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

“goodnight, princess,” he says, his voice gentle, though there’s an unmistakable distance in his tone now.

you look up at him, wanting to say something—anything—to make him stay, to convince him that this is worth fighting for. but the words stick in your throat. instead, you nod, forcing a small smile despite the heaviness in your heart.

“goodnight, jay.”

he gives you a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away, the rain continuing to fall as his figure disappears into the night. you stand there for a long time, watching him go, your heart aching with every step he takes.

as you finally turn and walk inside, the warmth of the palace feels stifling compared to the cool rain outside. the emptiness left in jay’s wake presses down on you, and the realisation that you might not see him again for a while hits you like a blow.

in the days that follow, the quiet is suffocating. you try to fill your time with painting, with other lessons and royal duties, but nothing seems to lift the weight pressing on your chest. each moment stretches on, and the palace, usually filled with the comfort of familiarity, now feels hollow without him.

your parents notice your change in mood but don’t pry, their knowing glances suggesting they’re aware that something more than art is on your mind. still, you keep jay’s name on the tip of your tongue, unable to speak it without feeling the ache of uncertainty.

and so, you wait. you wait for a letter, for a word from him—anything to tell you that he hasn’t let go, that he’s still thinking about you as much as you are about him. but with each passing day, the silence only grows louder, the doubt harder to ignore.

what if he doesn’t come back? what if he decides you aren’t worth the risk?

the thought makes your heart tighten painfully. you sit in your art studio, staring at an unfinished painting, the brush limp in your hand, as you wonder if jay is fighting the same battle within himself.

it feels like an eternity has passed since that rainy day, since that kiss that felt like the world shifted. and now, all you can do is hope that he finds his way back to you before it’s too late.

the days stretch long and quiet after that night in the rain, and the distance between you and jay feels more unbearable with each passing moment. you keep replaying his words, the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed you—like he wanted to hold on forever but didn’t know if he should.

you throw yourself into your art, hoping the colours and brushstrokes will distract you from the weight of his absence. but the empty space he’s left behind is hard to ignore, especially as you finish the final piece you’d been working on for weeks—a vibrant painting of a parisian street, your future awaiting you there.

paris. the word itself sounds like a dream. the trip is supposed to happen soon—your long-awaited opportunity to study art in the heart of a city known for its creativity and beauty. it’s everything you’ve worked toward, yet now the thought of leaving without jay feels hollow.

what was once the pinnacle of your aspirations now feels incomplete. you had imagined this adventure, this new chapter of your life, and pictured jay being a part of it. but now, with his silence lingering between you, you’re uncertain of whether he’ll still be there when it begins.

sitting at your desk, you stare down at the blank parchment, the quill hovering in your hand. you haven’t spoken to jay since he walked away that night, but you can’t bear to leave for paris without reaching out, without giving him one last chance to understand how much he means to you.

the words come slowly at first, but then they start to pour out, your emotions and thoughts spilling onto the page.

dear jay, it feels strange writing to you after all this time—after all the moments we shared that now seem so far away. i’ve been thinking about what you said that night, about how we come from different worlds, about the future you think i deserve. but you need to know that none of it matters to me if you’re not a part of it. i’ve wanted this trip to paris for as long as i can remember, to learn from the best, to immerse myself in art and culture. it’s something i’ve dreamed about for years. and yet, now, as the day of my departure gets closer, all i can think about is you. i don’t want to go to paris and leave you behind, wondering what could have been. you’re as much a part of my passion for art as any paintbrush or canvas. you’ve shown me new ways to see the world, to express myself, and i’ll always be grateful for that. but more than that, you’ve become someone i can’t imagine my life without. i know you think i’m giving up too much, that i’m risking my future. but my future isn’t just about royal duties or titles. it’s about choosing the life i want—and i choose you, jay. i wish you could see that. paris is calling, but so are you. i can only hope that when you think of me, it’s with the same longing that fills every moment of my days without you. i hope that when you think of our time together, you’ll realise that this isn’t about status or sacrifice—it’s about love. i’ll be leaving soon after my birthday, but before i go, i need to know: will you come with me? or will i have to leave you behind? with love, [your name]

after sealing the letter, your heart is heavy with both hope and fear. you send it to jay, knowing that the next move is his. each day that passes without a response stretches the wait longer, the ache of uncertainty growing.

you try to stay busy with preparations for your trip, packing supplies and finishing your artwork. your parents notice the change in you—the excitement for paris dimmed by something you can’t quite bring yourself to share with them yet. they ask if you’re nervous, if you’re ready for the adventure, and you smile, telling them what they want to hear. but deep down, all you want is to hear from jay.

paris is just around the corner, but so is the decision you’re waiting for—the choice that could change everything.

the ballroom is a swirl of colour and laughter, filled with nobles, artists, and well-wishers all gathered to celebrate your birthday. the chandeliers above glitter like stars, casting a golden glow over the elegant space, and the music weaves through the conversations like a living thing, light and joyous. your parents spared no expense for this occasion, not only to mark your birthday but also to celebrate the upcoming adventure to paris.

it’s your birthday ball, but your mind is elsewhere, your heart tugged toward a memory that refuses to leave. you stand in front of your painting, the centrepiece of the night, hanging proudly on display for all to see. nobles and artists alike gather around it, marvelling at the vivid colours and delicate brushstrokes. you nod and smile politely as they offer praise, but inside, your thoughts are distant, wandering to a day not long ago when everything felt simpler.

the painting is of the marketplace—a bustling, lively scene full of energy and warmth. it’s the day you and jay had gone shopping together for art supplies, the day you let yourselves be ordinary, blending in with the crowds. the colours are bright and rich, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market: vendors calling out, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of coins clinking and people bartering for goods. in the corner of the canvas, nestled in the shadows of an alley, is a small, quiet space. it’s where you and jay had shared a moment away from the crowd, a stolen minute of peace amidst the noise, where the world had seemed to slow just for the two of you.

every brushstroke is infused with that memory—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft brush of his hand as he reached for yours, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you in that hidden corner of the market. it was a day that felt like freedom, a glimpse of something more, something forbidden but undeniably real.

“your highness, it’s simply breathtaking,” someone says beside you, pulling you momentarily back to the present. a noblewoman in an exquisite gown stands at your side, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at the painting. “the light, the detail… it feels as though i’m standing there in the market myself.”

you nod and smile, offering a polite thank you, but her words barely register. all you can think about is him.

the weight of his absence has been heavy, pulling at your heart with every passing day, each one more difficult than the last. and now, on the night of your birthday, as you prepare to embark on a new chapter, all you can think about is the chapter you left unfinished.

you glance at the painting again, tracing the familiar lines of the marketplace, the hidden alley. that was the moment you knew there was something between you and jay, something more than just student and teacher, more than just friendship. it was the moment you allowed yourself to hope. but now, standing here alone, you wonder if that hope was misplaced.

and then, through the hum of voices and the soft strains of music, you hear it—a voice that sends a jolt through your entire body.

“you captured it perfectly.”

the sound of his voice makes the air around you seem to freeze. your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. slowly, you turn toward the source, and there he is—jay, standing just a few steps away, his eyes locked on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something deeper, something raw.

for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. after weeks of waiting, of wondering, here he is, standing before you, his presence filling the space that had felt so empty without him. he looks different tonight—still himself, but dressed in a way that blends with the formality of the event. yet, there’s something in his posture, in the way his dark eyes flicker between you and the painting, that betrays the turmoil he’s been carrying.

“jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you, as he always does.

he takes a step closer, his gaze shifting to meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappears. the ballroom, the guests, the music—it all fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, suspended moment.

his eyes soften as they take you in, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something that makes your heart ache even more. “you remembered,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the painting. “the marketplace. that day.”

you nod, your throat tightening. “how could i forget? it was…” you pause, searching for the right words, but nothing seems adequate. “it was perfect.”

jay’s gaze lingers on the painting, as though seeing the memory play out all over again. his lips part, but no words come. instead, he takes another step toward you, his presence so close now that you can feel the pull between you—the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface for so long.

“i’ve been thinking about that day,” he says, his voice low and rough. “about us.”

your heart hammers in your chest. “and?”

his eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—regret, longing, and something you can’t quite place. “i thought i could stay away. that it would be easier, safer, for both of us. but i couldn’t.” his voice wavers, just slightly, and the vulnerability in it makes your pulse race. “not tonight.”

you swallow, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. the distance between you feels unbearably small, but also impossibly vast. he’s here. after all this time, he’s finally here. but the question still lingers, heavy in the air between you: what happens now?

just as you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions that have been burning inside you for weeks, jay steps closer, his eyes locked on yours. the noise of the ballroom fades even further into the background, until all that’s left is him. and in that moment, with his gaze so full of emotion, you know that nothing has been forgotten. every stolen glance, every brush of hands, every whispered word—it’s all still there, between you, as real and undeniable as ever.

the night may be full of celebrations, but the only thing that matters is this: jay is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.

the grand ballroom continues to pulse with life around you, but the world feels quiet in the cocoon of jay’s presence. you haven’t even fully processed the fact that he’s here, standing in front of you after weeks of silence. his eyes—deep and full of an emotion you’ve longed to see—are fixed on you, as though he’s drinking in the sight of you, afraid to blink in case you disappear.

the weight of his absence, the unanswered letter, the uncertainty—it all rushes to the surface, but you force yourself to stay grounded in the moment. you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but before you can, jay takes a step closer.

“you never stopped painting,” he says quietly, nodding toward the marketplace painting, his voice filled with a mix of awe and relief. “you’ve grown even more since i left.”

his words are a gentle balm to the ache in your heart, but they only skim the surface of what you truly want to know. you swallow hard, the emotions too thick in your throat to speak.

your breath hitches. “why didn’t you respond to my letter, jay?”

there’s a beat of silence before he looks away, the rawness of his feelings flickering across his face. “because i didn’t know if i was strong enough to walk away again,” he admits. “and i wasn’t sure if i could give you the life you deserve.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i care about that?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words. “i just wanted you, jay. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between you until his presence is overwhelming. “i couldn’t respond, because i knew that if i did, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming back to you. and once i did, i’d never want to leave. but you… you have paris, you have a future.”

“and i want you to be part of that future,” you say, your voice stronger now. “i’ve had weeks to think about this, jay. i’m leaving soon, and i need to know where we stand before i go. please, just tell me how you feel.”

jay’s eyes flash with a storm of emotions—hesitation, fear, and something deeper, something that has been bubbling just beneath the surface. he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing yours, the touch sending warmth rushing up your arm. “i’m terrified,” he admits in a voice so soft it makes your heart ache. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and i don’t want to ruin it.”

“you won’t,” you say, stepping closer until your hands are fully entwined, your pulse quickening as his warmth floods your senses. “i don’t care about titles, status, or what anyone else thinks. you make me feel alive, jay. that’s all i need.”

his grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems like he’s grappling with the depth of what you’re offering. his breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, as though he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re a princess, destined for greatness, for a life most people can only dream of. i’m just... a man who paints.”

you step even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. “and that’s enough for me. more than enough.”

for a split second, he looks at you as though he can’t believe you’re real. but then, before you can say anything more, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, but in the best way, and as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, you feel the tension that’s been building between you melt away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you close. “for leaving. for making you wait.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the relief of finally having him here. “you’re here now,” you murmur against his shoulder. “that’s all that matters.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your arms as his dark eyes meet yours. and in them, you see everything—the love he’s been holding back, the fear, the hope. “i love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve loved you since the first day we met, and i’ve been fighting it ever since. but i don’t want to fight it anymore.”

your heart swells at his words, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. “i love you, too,” you whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you say the words out loud for the first time. “i always have.”

the smile that spreads across jay’s face is like sunlight breaking through clouds, and before you know it, he’s lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in a burst of joy and laughter. the world around you spins with him, but you don’t care—because for the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right. everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

when he finally sets you back down, your feet touching the ground once more, his hands stay on your waist, grounding you in the moment. his eyes, full of love and warmth, search yours, and for a second, neither of you speak. you don’t need to. the silence is filled with everything you’ve both been waiting for.

“i want to be with you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i don’t want you to lose yourself for me.”

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not losing anything. i’m gaining everything i’ve ever wanted.”

jay’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looks at you, his gaze full of the future. “paris,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re still going?”

you nod, your heart racing at the thought of what’s to come. “i am. and i want you to come with me.”

he hesitates, just for a moment, as though the reality of what you’re asking is still sinking in. but then, his smile grows, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i’ll come with you. we’ll go together.”

your heart leaps at his words, the hope you’d been holding onto finally blossoming into something real. paris—together. it’s everything you’d dreamed of, everything you hadn’t dared to believe could happen. but now, standing here with jay, it’s all within reach.

“we’ll see the world,” he says, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “we’ll paint, we’ll live, we’ll—”

“we’ll be happy,” you finish for him, your smile widening as you lean into his touch.

he nods, his forehead resting gently against yours. “yes. we’ll be happy.”

and in that moment, as the ballroom buzzes with life around you, as the painting of your shared memory hangs on the wall behind you, you know it’s true. you and jay—together, free, and full of love. the world is yours, waiting to be explored. and with him by your side, you know that this is only the beginning.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future stretches out before you like a blank canvas, waiting for you to fill it with all the colours of your love, your passion, and the adventures you’ll share. together, you’ll paint a life full of beauty, one brushstroke at a time.

and as the night fades and the dawn of a new chapter begins, you know—this is your happily ever after.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ �� .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl @yuniesluv @isa942572 @academiq @missychief1404 //the ones in bold could not be tagged for some reason. im so sorry guys tumblr is acting up :(

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?

female anatomy for reader (no use of y/n, gender-neutral pronouns)

nsfw, fluffy smut basically word count: 1900~ english is not my first language. if you spot any mistakes (especially grammatical), any typos/misspelled words, or if you have any advice for me in general: please let me know. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

art cr: @arcanescribbles

"Have some mercy on yourself," you mumble, wrapping an arm around his slender waist, and its thinness has you puzzled and somewhat concerned again. He doesn't hesitate. Allows you to place that weary head on his shoulder, to nuzzle into the crook of his neck — a pleasant relief in the guise of your heat, of rhythmic breath tickling his slimline skin.

"You can't work that much,” you remind him, trying to hide the evident worry behind a light-hearted chuckle.

“Have you ever heard of a proper greeting?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow, and his deft hand quickly grabs yours to do a thing that never fails to make your heart shrink: has you melting at the feeling of his dry, warm lips on your knuckles yet again.

“Hug is a proper greeting,” you protest with a slightly offended scoff, burying your nose into the gorgeous mess of his hair — all unkempt strands and a sturdy scent of something pleasant, yet not exactly definable.

“Not when it comes with scolding,” Viktor releases your hand, the touch of his lips lingering on your skin, and he turns around, forcing you to break the embrace for a second — which you do reluctantly. But now you get to face him, and it certainly feels like a much bigger win.

A win and another reason to give him a lecture. Viktor initiates eye contact, runs a hand along the perfect curve of your hips, hoping that his gentle touch is a good enough distraction from his terribly deep eye-bags — so treacherously confirming your concerns about his sleep schedule (or the lack of such, to be precise).

"You've gotten thinner," you state with a sad frown, looking Viktor up and down. "And you need a nap," you continue, tangling two fingers into his hair. "And a bath.”

“I’ve missed you terribly, and that’s the first thing you mention when I finally have you in my arms?” Viktor cooes, staring at you with a guilty smile — your love-sick genius, always exhausted yet so unexplainably handsome in his own special way.

You scoff again, wrapping your arms around his neck and gently pressing him against the desk — a small gesture of care that allows his body better support without the cane.

“Have you eaten today?” you carefully ask, watching his expression closely.

“Maybe,” he grudgingly answers, and his amber eyes are lancing right through you in the dull light of his lab — tired, attentive, pretty.

“I don’t like that answer." Your voice is a sweet purr against his skin, and he winces as you slide a hand down his chest, fixing his vest for him.

“You’re being incredibly annoying today,” he informs you, pressing a quick peck to your lips. A brief one, barely palpable, too fleeting to give you a proper taste. “Perhaps I should appease you.”

“If you want to appease me, a kiss like that won’t do.”

“Demanding, are we?” He quirks an eyebrow, casually sitting down at his desk, squeezing your waist in a playful attempt to pull you onto his lap. But you don’t move an inch. Not until he kisses you properly, at least.

He gets the hint. Gently grabs your chin, pressing your noses together — kissing the right way this time, deep and slow, with his tongue brushing your bottom lip before slipping into your open mouth — it’s almost lewd when that small motion steals a surprised moan out of you. A kiss of a hungry, fervently missing his lover man. Your man.

“Better?” His question is rhetorical at this point. He knows he left you amazed and dizzy once again — your messy breath is giving it all away. But Viktor wouldn’t be Viktor if he hadn’t asked. The incorrigible tease at his best behavior.

“Much better.”

You give him the reassurance he’s been seeking, adding the missing touch to this affectionate gesture by nuzzling into his embrace, and he hums, satisfied with the solace you’ve brought him so easily with the mere power of your presence.

“So… is my darling appeased now?”

“Relatively.” You laugh, and a self-assured smirk plasters smugly across his face. “It won’t save you from having dinner with me tonight though.”

“Is that so? Well, I appreciate the effort, and the fact that you came here just to visit your sick, touch-starved man, but I’m afraid I still have work to do—“

“I’m not here just to visit you,” you cut him off, as one of your hands slips off his neck straight to cup his sharp knee. “I’m here to collect you. I’m stealing you home with me.”

“Oh no.” He cracks an exaggeratedly offended expression, but judging from the still present on his face grin — he’s actually rather pleased with your intentions. “Being abducted definitely doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.”

“That’s right.” You nod, nudging him softly. “I’ll even hold you hostage if that’s what it takes to bathe you and get you into bed.”

“But what a horrific torture!” he pulls away, slamming a hand against his chest with a low giggle — it lands on his sternum with a muffled slap, right where his thudding heart is. “How ever will I survive that?”

“I believe your fate is inevitable, so you better just accept it.”

“How unfortunate,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, and you gasp, allowing him to lay his cheek against your chest. “Can’t wait to end up in that bath with you,” he whispers, and you hitch in breath, your shaky hands stop massaging his scalp.

“Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?” you tease light-heartedly, feeling his grip tighten around your waist.

“Me.” His response is firm and simple, yet still maddening enough for you to go weak in the knees. Apparently, his nap is being delayed again.

***

Bath with Viktor is a death sentence — a long and squirming one, of countless orgasms and moans loud enough to wake up the whole Piltover. You tried, you really did, to talk him out of it, to make him wait until at least after dinner, but he’s stubborn and knows damn well that you can’t resist him. So all your warnings about how he needs some rest first were muffled mercilessly by his tongue buried deep inside you. At this point, you’re not even sure whether he’s really that into devouring you, or if he’s just trying to prove you wrong, to show you that he’s never tired when it comes to eating you out.

He has you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, legs resting on his covered in crescent nail marks shoulders, and you tug, tug, tug on his hair as he tongue-fucks you through yet another insane release. If only he could smile right now, which was obviously impossible in his position, he would definitely give you the most provoking signature smirk. So you mentally thank his passion for giving head, since it’s the one to blame for his inability to destroy you even more with those grins and his witty dirty-talk right now. He has you right where he wants you: with your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, with your slick getting quite literally everywhere — his tongue, his chin, some on his chest, even. And when you slam your head against the wall, light-headed and breathless, he knows it’s time to do a particularly vicious thing — to suck on your abused clit so hard he might as well just suck the damn soul out of you while he’s at it.

Too much. Overwhelmingly so. And those sweat drops forming on his forehead, and the way he digs his wet fingers into the soft flesh of your legs, and the way he laps up so thoroughly—

“Gonna cum.” You gather the last strengths in your possession to mumble an illegible warning and the skillful bastard between your thighs only picks up pace, leaving you wondering how his tongue is still intact after all that frantic motions inside your cunt. But the technique is rather impressive. You stare at him, wide-eyed and with your lower lip bitten. His sinful gaze meets yours with a guttural rattle when you grip a strand of his dark hair so hard your knuckles turn white. You want to tell him how good his mouth feels, how indescribably hot he looks kneeling in the bathtub, how attractive his skin glistens right now, in the warm water. But the words are unnecessary. Your precious cussing as you come undone on his agile tongue is the best existing compliment to him.

So you deliver. He coaxes the third orgasm out of you. Leaves you throbbing, making one of your shaking legs slip off his slick shoulder into the water with a loud splash. He licks the remnants of you tauntingly slow off his swollen lips, watching your every convulsion closely, and he’s so proud of himself that it almost re-turns you on all over again.

“Look at you.” His sultry whisper reminds you that his ability to be a smartass is back.

“Viktor—“ You suffocate, grabbing his shoulder to hold on for dear life, so you don’t fall out of the tub completely. He chuckles, carefully pulling you back into the water, thoughtful as always, like the gentleman he is. Well, if rearranging your guts with that tortuous tongue and thick cock could be considered something gentlemen do, of course.

He tastes like you now. His tongue is somewhat sour, much puffier in comparison to yours, and it’s not that animate anymore — he pushes it into your mouth rather lazily, evidently worn out by the intercourse.

“I thought the purpose of this bath was to get me cleaned, not dirty,” he whispers with a filthy giggle, wiping your slick off his chin. You roll your eyes, admitting that the single thing stopping you from biting him for that joke is a complete lack of energy. Admitting that he’d just one-upped every single man you've slept with before. Once again.

“Oh, fuck you.” You giggle back, nuzzling into his chest, and it feels so gentle — the lust is gone and the only thing left between you two is pure affection; divine, immaculate, expressed through the softness of your body and the sharpness of his.

“I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t sound tempting, but I don’t believe you’re in a state to do that, my love,” Viktor teases, but you don’t talk back. He left you witless. Too fucked out for your own liking and just perfect for his. “Do you think you can make it to the kitchen?” he asks, pointing at your wobbly legs.

“Yeah.” You hesitate for a second, reluctant to get out of the warm bath. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Viktor shakes his head, and his response dramatically increases your urge to pinch him. That wasn’t the deal!

“No. Not a chance, you’re not skipping dinner again.”

“But I’ve already had dinner. Well. In a way,” he whispers, as the corners of his mouth curl into another insufferable smirk, and it takes a good ten-second uncomfortable pause for you to understand the pun.

“Eating pussy is not an actual meal,” you frown, pulling away.

“And that’s so unfortunate, don’t you think? At least that way, I’d never skip them…”

“Viktor!”

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

When They Know They're In Love ~ Hotarubi Edition

I will be doing the other houses and will link them here once they're posted (I only have Obscuary and Mortkranken left). I hope you like this and if you did, please feel free to send in requests for what you'd like to see.

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Characters: Subaru Kagami, Haku Kusanagi, Zenji Kotodama x gn! Reader

Frostheim | Vagastrom | Jabberwock | Sinostra | Hotarubi | Obscuary | Mortkranken

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How do the characters know they're in love and what will they do when they realise?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Subaru is going into absolute panic mode the moment he realises he has feelings for you. There’s no way this can be happening.

I think he would realise when he sees you interacting the Lyca or any of the ghouls from Obscuary.

Seeing you, a normal human, interacting so casually with ghouls even more dangerous than usual makes his heart flutter.

But I feel like Subaru struggles with self confidence so he would be convinced there’s no way you could like him back.

It would take him a long time to confess to you off his own back. Maybe Zenji, Haku, or Lyca can help the process along…

Haku is a lot more open with his feelings than Subaru. He knows what he’s feeling and isn’t afraid to tell you.

I feel like it would almost be a love at first sight thing. He sees you and falls straight away but it takes him some time to realise the depth of his feelings.

He seems like the kind of person to give out compliments and flirt with a lot of people. Which completely backfires when he decides to court you properly.

There’s part of you that’s not sure whether he’s being genuine or not so he has to work extra hard to convince you that he does actually love you.

He’ll give you a lot more genuine and non-flirtatious compliments. If he’s going to make you fall for him as well, Haku knows he’s got to build something real.

Zenji is such an interesting case because he absolutely knows he loves you but he doesn’t really know how to go about pursuing a relationship considering his condition.

I see him as someone who falls in love very easily but not in a bad way. He just sees the beauty in everything.

But when it comes to you and your appreciation (in his eyes at least) of art, and especially his art, it’s different. He really does love you with his whole heart.

He’ll definitely lay it on think, writing songs and poems for you and leaving love letters in your bag for you to find later.

No, all he can do is hope you can find it in you to love him back, even with the challenges in your path.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey, did you enjoy this? If you like my writing, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi page! This will allow me to make some money off my writing, something I enjoy doing.

ko-fi.com/justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms

Important Note: Please only donate if you are financially able to. If you are currently in a position where you can't donate, a like, comment or reblog will mean just as much.

[aclassitag]

Announcing Krem Week!

#kremweek2024 — 22-28 July 2024

background art credit: @xfreischutz [link to original post]

*text prompt list under the readmore

This year will mark 10 years since the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition! In celebration of that anniversary and the game that gave us our first trans character, here is a prompt list - and dates - for any who would like to participate! All sorts of creative content is accepted so long as they are not A/I generated. (See examples below)

*If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead, that is also fine!

Please read the guidelines!

If you have any questions, reply to this post and I will do my best to answer :)

Prompt list:

1 — Anniversary 2 — Euphoria / Expression 3 — Casual / Formal 4 — Family / Love 5 — Respite / Fight 6 — Play / Satiate 7 — (Free space!)

Guidelines:

Use the tag: #kremweek2024 (@ this blog is fine too) — If you want to portray Maevaris Tilani instead of Krem, that is also welcome! Please @ me so I can rb :) For non-Tumblr folks that somehow got here: You may post submissions, please link your socials. You may choose one of two prompts in a day or do both. You may also combine as many prompts as you want from any or all of the days into a single work, just mention it somewhere.

Types of content allowed:

Illustration and writing are the most obvious forms of art allowed, but they're not the only ones! Literary arts fanfics, drabbles, poetry, plays, lengthy headcanon/meta posts (for headcanon and meta posts, minimum of 100 words+) Visual arts doodles, paintings, graphic design, photoshop memes, photography, animation, tiktok skits, abstract, fiber arts (embroidery, knitting, etc), ceramics Audio art fanmixes(curated playlists), original or cover songs Other crafts are also welcome! e.g. culinary, resin, woodworking, etc etc ..essentially, whatever type of art it is, I'll accept it so long as it falls within rules and is related to Krem or Maevaris :) For things that are more abstract, do include an explanation of your thought process on how it relates to Krem. E.g. you made Krem's Seheron Fish Wrap or Rice Pudding, take photos of your cooking, and post that (with the explanation that it is Krem's recipes) - that's an acceptable submission! You're allowed to explore different mediums everyday! You don't have to stick to one form of art for the whole week. I will be attempting to schedule reblogs in the 'prime time' for engagement, and in the interest of fairness, things like headcanon posts, fanmixes, and WIPs will not take priority in that time slot over fully rendered illustrations or complete fanfics. They will still be reblogged, but scheduled for other time slots.

Content Rules:

No A/I generated content. (Specifically GenAI content) As above, any and all forms of art is welcome. It must be human made, and by you. The whole point of working off a prompt is to explore a creative process, anyway - do yourself a favour and just enjoy making something! It doesn't have to be pretty! No reposting of other people's works. This must be your own creation. Obviously, no transphobic content. No harrassing others over their specific headcanons - be it in regards to any trait or quirks that come with being a person. People come in all sorts of wonderful variety, please respect that. In addition to above: No whitewashing, racism etc. Please note that Krem is not pale-skinned in canon, and I will not be reblogging content of him being portrayed as pale. 18+ works need to be labelled. On this blog, its tagged as "#adult art". Please add content warnings as appropriate. (E.g. portrayal of binding with bandages should have a warning label of "cw: unsafe binding", etc.) If your post/submission is lengthy, please insert a read more. This helps readability on the dashboard. Progress / WIPs are fine too!

General tips:

First and foremost, do what you are able to! Don't feel pressured to complete a full week if you need to take care of yourself first. Some people work on the prompts before the week even begins, and only post it day of. You are not required to do this, but if you really want to fill something for each day, this helps reduce stress day of.

Mod things:

The mod isn't from the Americas, so due to timezone differences, there may be a delay in reblogging people's works. Either way I will not reblog the moment that it's posted in order to screen properly. Posts will be queued between 30mins-1hr apart, if there are multiple entries being submitted at the same time. All submissions will also be requeued after a week for later perusal :)

[my-unorthodox-life]

okay can i vent for a minute? get real personal with all y'all?

i've been a tumblr user since i got my first tablet at age 12, over a decade of having at least one active blog (usually more) so it's safe to say i've both gotten my fair share of hate and found ways of using this app to benefit me and keep me detached from this hate

currently i have 4 active blogs, my main where i do the typical reblogging and updates on my fanfics, this one where i post like a proper blog and reblog jewish things that matter to me, my mental health recovery blog where i talk about my eating disorder and ptsd, and my adult one where i reblog fun sexy stuff and chat about the struggles of dating as sex positive people with trauma.

all very important to me and all have various levels of anonymity when it comes to knowing about me as a person. some have my name, some a nickname, one just my age. plus various tidbits so people know what to expect from my posts and what we can chat about, basic blog rules essentially

in the past few months as antisemitism has gotten more and more common place i of course get more anon hate, i don't turn of inboxes since i do get nice stuff from time to time, and that's kind of the territory of running a blog (i had a trans rights one in the age of kalvin garrah, i think i'll live)

out of those four blogs the one that gets the most antisemitic messages, i mean full paragraphs of truly vile ramblings that read like a nazi fever dream, is the one for my mental health recovery. a blog that i block all but mutuals on, meaning either a stranger or someone i've interacted with is sending these messages

i've started replying to them, cause i feel if they want to be mean and make a fool of themselves i might as well let everyone see (poor guy keeps sending me weird reviews of "my" wattpad fics. i've never had a wattpad account but this doesn't seem to stop him), but what gets me is that blog has the least personal information on it. no name or nickname, no hobbies or interests listed, nothing about what i do for work beyond "pet care", and the only mention of my religion or politics was one post that joking about how my mental health often gets worse around the high holy days (very demure, very mindful)

and yet that's the blog that gets straight up death threats, not even disguised as anything else, just straight up calling me a pig who deserves to burn. not the personal blog where i've posted about israel and palestine, or about dating while religious, or hell even this one that might as well be a "i'm a sensitive jewish minded person! thoughts?" blog.

no the one blog that people feel safe harassing is the nondescript recovery and relapse blog. that's where people feel comfortable.

and it makes me sad, not because of what was said, but because it *was* said. that there's people out there comfortable enough in their bigotry to go up to someone and spew vile hate like it's nothing, but only of course if they can't put a name or face to the person they're talking to

what this reminds me of is when i was in high school i had an art teacher who didn't stand for antisemitic jokes, and there were a lot in my school. one day a kid just asked him "Mr.Dexter, are you a jew?" and his response really stuck with me. he said "It doesn't matter, maybe I am, maybe I used to be, maybe my wife is. But you shouldn't not say mean things just because you don't want to get in trouble, you shouldn't say them because you know it's wrong. If you didn't know, you wouldn't ask."

and i think that really sums up all these trolls i've seen running through jewish blogs or even ones that casually mention it, they know it's wrong but the aren't saying it to a jewish face, they're just saying it to the idea of judaism

these people wouldn't walk up to you on the street and look you up and down and say half of what they feel comfortable typing, but here where they can not only hide their face, but seek out a target that has hidden their own they've found a way to give themselves free reign to say and do whatever they want. to them it's not a person on the other side of the screen, it's the strawman caricature of a jewish person, out here just for them to yell at to get whatever anger they have out of their system

of course there are some people who would say truly despicable things to a random person on the street, but cmon is that person really on tumblr hunting through buzz words to send hate?

anyways i know the compassionate thing to do would be to pray for them to heal what's hurting them so bad, but yanno what, they can suffer a bit first

[doodle-girl]

*cracks knuckles* Okay folks (@arkaix)

DOAI Possum Ramble 2 Electric Boogaloo: The Office

So basically if you already got what’s to know about the Modern Prometheus AU, then you most likely know about the whole “Lankmann feeling the eyes of the writers of this AU”/“If Pastra isn’t writing this story, then who is?” thing. Well, as shown in the last coupla reblogs of this thread, one idea is that we (the DOAI tumblr fandom) are basically all doing our fandom craziness in some kinda big office setting where we’re able to peer into the AUs we make via eyes, those eyes appearing somewhere in the world when we’re observing.

Cut to like an hour or smth later after @corrupteddoodles and I went ham in dms about worldbuilding >:]

Welcome to the DOAIblr Offices; where your ideas become a reality outside this one™️ (art and caption by @corrupteddoodles )

So basically what’s to know is that the inside of the building itself doesnt really follow the rules of reality all too much, it’s just doing it’s own thing to go along with our own craziness. Each member of DOAIblr has their own hallway of sorts, representing ourselves as creators. Some people’ve already started designing their own hallways!! Each hallway has doors (number of doors varying per person) leading towards different office spaces (which will be talked about a bit more later) representing the AUs we’ve created. If an AU has multiple creators, the door will manifest in several hallways.

The Sitcom AU door is pretty much a wildcard and is basically in everyone’s hallway, as that doesn’t really have a “creator” and is a big hodgepodge of everyone’s ideas and stuff (@purplechaosguardian sparked the original idea for it but being completely honest this au doesnt truly “belong” to one or a few people, it’s kind of a big group effort). It might as well be its own hallway with how absolutely huge it is.

I like to imagine that if an AU isn’t revealed to the public just yet (i.e @blazefirefox ‘s swap au as seen in her hallway), then to anyone who isn’t a creator the door kinda looks like what a door in Encanto looks like before a Madrigal kid gets their gift, if you’ve seen that movie. To a non-creator, it’s basically a regular door radiating with creative energy, if you listen closely you can hear small barely intelligible whispers of lore and ideas. Until it’s revealed to the public, only the creator(s) can see what the door really looks like, and only the creator(s) can get into it.

Getting into the offices themselves, the insides are basically amalgamations of different elements of the AUs themselves, all of them having different sheets inside for character refs and character sheets and lore and etc etc. For some decor examples, the inside of the Williams Foundation AU office would most likely be bathed in green and have various gadgets and etc for sciencey stuff™️. The Ragstra’s Show AU office would most likely resemble the backstage of a theater, with some mannequins/dolls and thread strung about.

What’s important to note is that each and every office has an Orb™️ in the center, representing the AU itself. The orb in the sitcom au basically takes up half the room with how big it is. (One thing to note: the orb for the Modern Prometheus AU starts to crack once Lankmann realizes the 4th wall/the writers)

The orb also acts as a way to “observe” and peer into the AU, said observing being how the eyes manifest into the world of the AU. Of course, the eyes shouldn’t be visible to the characters of the AU. *casually uses this as an opportunity to show off some of my own wip eye designs* *I plan to do more but this is what I did so far lmao*

These are all based on respective sonas/representative ocs ahehe (Idk what color the Tigera eyes would be but the Ark eyes are supposed to be teal lmao I just pulled it from a wip sketch) (Also purplechaosguardian doesnt have a sona iirc so in my mind theyre just Big Fuckin Purple Eyes heh)

Also this isn’t necessarily worldbuilding important but I think it’s fun to note: A potential scenario in the Modern Prometheus AU where someone accidentally no-clips out of the office and into the AU since the fourth wall is already breaking and someone has to come get them so there’s no more existential crises lmao

Aaaaaaaand that’s all I can think of for now!! As you can see we have once again spiralled into infinity with an idea and had a blast with it the whole way through :] 👍 This idea is definitely still in development and open to all to add ideas to, of course, as has been this whole thing for a while hehe <3 The possum is done with it’s screaming for now and shall be here if you need it again later o7

[saltydkdan]

Hello Salt man! You seem like an unhinged enough weeb for this question:

I’m going to be the president of the anime club in my highschool this year and have no fucking idea what I should do for activities and shit.

Any ideas? If not, that’s perfectly fine too!

(Also thank you for reblogging my Peppy drawing it made my day ^^)

No problem! I loved the art

I think it’s pretty obvious for an Anime club to watch Anime, however that shit is basic, and I have some unhinged ideas.

Trivia (the least unhinged)

—Make a trivia game on PowerPoint, or on Kahoot that feature questions based on various popular anime. Get specific and weird for the harder questions.

Anime Debate Club

—(be careful with this one because depending on the group it may get heated lol)

—At the end of a meeting, choose to random anime characters

—Tell members that they can pick sides on which of the two would win in a fight, then between meetings, bring together their arguments for why, they have to have actual citation and examples of the character’s powers, or reference specific canon material

—Bonus points if one of the debate teams puts together a PowerPoint slideshow on a character’s power set, or the other characters weaknesses

—Have a judge award points for valid arguments, but have them be cracked out of their minds about it (For example, awarding points to “Comedy” characters, like if an Osumatsu-San character surviving a Ki blast could be funny? That’s a point towards them. LMAO)

NOTES: Obviously the characters chosen cannot be Goku, Vegeta, Saitama, or in general overpowered characacters. Also, having completely fucking insane match ups, or wildly specific match ups is recommended. Like Bobobo VS Dio Brando from Jojo. Or General Tao from Dragon Ball VS Gojo.

If the fight is extremely one sided, just make a list of all the ways that one side would fucking dominate because that shit is fucking funny LOL.

Weekly Book Club but for anime

—This isn’t really “unhinged” but I recently did a manga book club with friends weekly and it was super cool to meet up and discuss the chapters of a particular series and such

—You can do this for anime and assign a set number of episodes, OR do manga and provide a way to read it online

—Rotate out series every so often so people don’t feel like they’re focusing all their attention to a single series the entirety of the year

—This could be a fun thing to do casually between meetings and to talk about a little at the start

Pitch your favorite

—Have people make a short presentation on PowerPoint to pitch their favorite series that’s 3-5 minutes each, or whatever depending on how many people you have

—If you wanna make it funny make it so they HAVE to include both Pros, AND Cons about it. (Like for One Piece: PRO would be the amazing worldbuilding, and a CON would be that Oda cannot draw women)

Make an Epic OC

—Force people to design OCs for a specific series for that week. If they can draw and want to, they can draw them. If they can’t draw? Make it a stick figure, or a shitty drawing a child would make. And have them make a small write up about the character and their powers.

—This can easily be taken seriously, or just have them make an overpowered self insert, all of it is fine

Anyway that’s all my ideas! Hope this helps or inspires some of your own unhinged ideas

[szlez]

Against a wall - now with a fanfic!

Dean & Cas

A bit more of Dean's panty!kink here, here, here, here and here 😉

Reblogging, since now the art is accompanied by an amazing fic written by my incredibly talented friend ani_ona 😘

Dean's head was turned away when Castiel pushed the door open. And honestly, even if it wasn't, there hadn't been enough time for him to react. So he did nothing, just lay there on the covers of his bed, one arm casually under his head, the other resting on his stomach. Cas noticed the hand was rising and falling along with Dean's breath. He stared for a while at the wide, strong palm with a little scar on the thumb and always clean and tidy cut nails. No matter what, wendigo in the woods or grave digging all night, Dean always took care of his hands. Cas liked that about him.

If asked, Sam would tell him, that this was part of the job hygiene, learned the hard way, and not without some casualties. But Castiel never thought of asking Sam.

So Castiel was busy watching Dean's fingers, and it took him a while to realize, that he himself was being watched too. Dean's gaze darkened, or maybe it was his face paling a little as he was looking straight into Cas' eyes. Something about his posture changed to less relaxed, fingers on his stomach were rising and falling slightly faster as his breath quickened.

That was when Castiel recalled that damn discussion they'd been having from time to time. The concept of privacy, personal space, and all those things Castiel really didn't get and didn't bother to learn about. He hadn't knocked before walking in, so now he briefly closed his eyes and braced himself for yet another slightly annoyed speech. He didn't like being told off. On the other hand, he did enjoy observing Dean in those moments – looking so commanding and in charge, his back straight and voice firm. Castiel imagined him using this tone talking to misbehaving children if he had any. The angel had to make a conscious effort to suppress a smile. It wouldn't be appropriate in the current situation.

But this time Dean didn't say anything about privacy. In fact, he didn't say anything at all, still looking at Cas with anxious eyes as if expecting a blow. That was strange and unpleasant. Why would Dean think that Castiel might do anything like that to him? The angel frowned and took in a view of his lover in the dim light of his bedroom one more time. Lying on his back, not wearing much clothing except for his favorite old t-shirt and… And… Oh. That was something new.

At first, Castiel thought that the lingerie was simply too small for Dean. He needed a second to realize his mistake: it didn't look like anything he encountered in any male underwear drawer. They were pink panties, for ladies, with a little bow in the middle. That was interesting. Involuntarily, Castiel moved slightly forward to look closer at the shape the undergarment took on Dean's body.

Audibly shaky breath made him pause. Dean was still looking at him, frozen, his gaze intense and somehow… scared. Castiel connected the dots. It was something about this underwear that made Dean so guarded. But why? He searched through information concerning human culture he had gathered over the years.

Humans were extremely sensitive when it came to their gender. Mistaking someone's sex for another was almost always offending and embarrassing. So maybe this was it. Castiel sighed. He would never understand what the fuss was all about. Male, female, something else, who cares? Plus, he clearly remembered wearing a female vessel some years before, and it was… nice. Soft and delicate in some parts and firm and powerful in others… Such a potential, though looking so fragile and light.

If this was what bothered Dean, Cas had to tell him… But Dean spoke first.

“I hope you don't mind…”, he started but trailed off.

Cas was still studying the panties, which seemed to fill out in the meantime… Finally, his vessel's hormonal system helped. After several moments of awkward silence, he realized that his breathing quickened as well, and it was uncomfortable wearing so many layers… Suddenly, without thinking about it, he knew what to do and what to say.

“Not at all.” He smiled and slowly licked his lips before adding, “Would you accept a little help with…” He cut himself off, pointing to the object of interest.

Dean looked down at himself, then back up at Castiel and smiled. It was a genuine, slightly mischievous grin that was so rare on his face that Cas caught himself staring again. It made Dean look younger and less tired, and Cas swore to himself that he was going to bring it on Dean's lips as often as possible.

Before Castiel was done thinking, Dean was up, closing the distance between them. He put his hands on Cas' shoulders and helped him shrug off his trench coat and jacket. Then he proceeded to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. Cas smelled Dean’s hair and put one finger under his chin to make him look up. Once their eyes met, the angel closed his lips around Dean's mouth and slid both hands down his back to finally grab his buttocks and feel the panties that proved to be silky in touch. Slow circular movements resulted in Dean gasping into Castiel's mouth and pressing himself closer to his, now naked, chest. The angel hummed low and broke the kiss. Dean took in a gulp of air, and the sound of him exhaling against his ear sent shivers down Castiel's spine. Sliding his hands back up, under Dean's t-shirt, the angel felt firm muscles and well-formed shoulder blades. He traced their shape with his fingertips, and it was Dean's turn to tremble. When the t-shirt joined the shirt, tie, and jacket on the floor, Castiel made an attempt to remove the rest of his clothing. He had some difficulties with his belt, too distracted to remember how the damn thing worked. Then he felt Dean's fingers on his hands, and for a moment he forgot about breathing, hearing only the rush of his blood and seeing dark dots before his eyes.

When he recovered somewhat, he felt fabric sliding down his thighs and a carnal sense of freedom. Dean hummed approvingly and murmured into his ear, following the pattern Castiel set:

“I will be happy to help you as well.”

Hearing a playful smirk in his voice, Cas pushed Dean onto the nearest wall and busied himself kissing every inch of his neck, feeling the heat of a human body and those manicured fingernails scratching his back.

After a while, Dean opened his eyes and cupped Castiel's face in both hands. His kiss was firm and steady. As was his body when he turned around nimbly in Castiel's arms, pressing his back against the angel's chest and resting his cheek on the wall. He glanced at Cas over his arm, waiting. Castiel sobered immediately.

“Dean… you sure…?”

“Sure.” Came the firm answer promptly. “Would you…”

And Castiel did.

[vasito-de-leche]

so remember when we were all wondering what's with the r1999 character profile page?

the "an arcanist's work displayed in the 19xx"

and with their length x width dimensions

and how our chosen character in our home page retreats to being a painting in the background

anyways...in one of the new game infos in the loading pages (which has a very short window of reading time so it was hard to catch), it was said that:

there was a strange phenomenon of people turning into paintings that they can't find the cause of

based on what we have so far i am not liking what bluepoch could be implying in that loading page 🥹

For those who don't know or haven't seen it yet, they're talking about the following loading screen (ty to Tale's lore server for providing these!)

I just assume that these details are part of the whole artistic theme within the game, like how each Chapter is named after a real book, all the references to artistic movements and so on and so forth. As well as Vertin's role as the Timekeeper─she's meant to record and keep evidence from different eras, which sounds to me like a job for an art collector, conservator or restorator! So it makes sense to me that the people she saves are seen as art pieces.

Besides, the suitcase/Wilderness is a very vague, mysterious place. It's a literal pocket dimension that just seems to do its own thing and follow its own rules. I'm willing to casually accept that, sometimes, people turn into paintings for no apparent reason because it's a LITERAL pocket dimension that pulls people from time and space.

If I think reaaally hard ... Maybe you're implying that the people within the suitcase are doomed to become paintings eventually, because they're in the wrong era?

But that makes no sense, because there's hundreds of other survivors within the Foundation, Manus Vindictae and Apeiron so far who survive just fine─and Chapter 05 revealed why some places are immune to the "Storm."

Any potential arguments to support this theory don't hold up from my perspective, either. For example, the idea that the arcanists Vertin pulls from the spinning wheel in the middle of the lake are different from people who survive the "Storm" through different means (siding with either the Foundation or Manus, or by being in Apeiron, these are the only examples we have so far), and therefore they don't count, so they could be affected in different ways. This doesn't hold up, because Vertin pulled Sonetto, someone from the same era as her, into the suitcase through the spinning wheel. Whereas Regulus, who comes from an entirely different era, was just pushed inside. And yet, both of these characters turn into paintings anyway when you select them on the main screen.

So I don't think I understand the "implication" you're talking about and why you wouldn't like it? But please, feel free to elaborate on a different ask/reblog/reply, etc etc! I'd love to know!

[kurishiri]

14 . . . main story

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— cw: obsessive, stalkerish, kind of controlling behavior.

The art dealer from the ‘Bernard Company’ arrived at Lord Elbert’s manor the next day.

Of course, the people here did not hold a shred of doubt that the person they welcomed in the manor was simply ‘Lord Elbert’s work partner.’

(To be honest, facing him directly now that I understood that he was a member of the ‘Bernard Company’...)

(...is really painful.)

Acting as Lord Elbert’s assistant, I was to accompany him in this deal.

When I thought of how he was a member of the organization that had tried to kill Daisy, my chest became more heavy every time I gave a superficial smile.

Lord Elbert was indifferently talking with the art dealer...

(But Lord Elbert is probably also hurting as we speak.)

The memories we had shared together the day Daisy had passed only more strongly confirmed this.

(He looks as he does any other day, but... perhaps, the reason why is because he had become too accustomed to the pain.)

Art dealer: All of the pieces before you are rare goods of top-class quality. You probably won’t be able to get them anywhere but here.

The art pieces and jewelry the dealer brought with him were lined up in a row, and clearly in high spirits, he questioned Lord Elbert.

Art dealer: Well, might there be pieces befitting that of a count?

Elbert: ......All of them.

Art dealer: Excuse me?

Elbert: Leave them all here, please.

With just a short glance at the pieces lined up before us, Lord Elbert had made his decision.

Art dealer: ...I see. I did have an inkling you’d say so based on the party and also some rumors I’d heard in passing, but goodness gracious.

The art dealer seemed to be scheming something, and his eyes narrowed like a razor beneath his silk hat.

Art dealer: It appears you are quite obsessed with beauty too, no?

Elbert: ...‘Too’?

Art dealer: Well, seeing that I do consider you a true collector, I would like to make a proposition.

The art dealer adjusted his seating and lowered his voice, almost as though he were divulging a secret.

Art dealer: Next time, the top of the Company, Gabriel Bernard,

Art dealer: will invite honored guests from outside the country to hold an auction.

(...!)

(When he says ‘top’——he must mean the head of this criminal organization.)

Art dealer: The special showcase is a rare blue diamond of over 60 carats, regarded as the most beautiful in this world and beyond.

Art dealer: And I would like to extend an invitation to you to attend that auction. How about it? Is it to your fancy?

(...Which means, he’s been accepted as someone ‘invited to their domain.’)

Accepting the invitation would unmistakably be a crucial development to the mission given by Her Majesty.)

Elbert: ......Alright, I accept.

Art dealer: Ahh, I’m glad! I will send the invitation to you at a later date.

Art dealer: Well then, please sign here for the payment.

When the negotiations were finished, Jeffrey, who had been waiting next to us, approached and led the art dealer out of the lobby.

The moment he was out of the room, suddenly, I casually looked toward him.

Jeffrey: ...

Our eyes met for a mere moment, I felt something lingering.

(He probably doesn’t take to me well. In fact, it’s natural for him to think that way...)

This morning, I visited Lord Elbert early.

I didn’t want him to go through what he did yesterday while changing clothes.

(At the very least, while I’m here, I don’t want Lord Elbert to go through things that caused him pain.)

If it was for that, I didn’t mind being the object of someone’s hate.

Elbert: The world’s most beautiful jewel, he said...

E: ...What is that, I wonder.

Those few words seemed to spill out in a murmur, drawing my attention back to Lord Elbert.

Kate: I... can’t help but be curious about it, too. But it’s surely something very pretty, I would think.

Elbert: ...If you say so, then it might be the case.

His golden locks of hair covered the edge of his eyes, which themselves seemed like jewels, as he looked up, as if imagining what such a gem could look like.

(Something like a 60-carat diamond... is beyond my imagination.)

It could be something so beautiful that it would make everything I ever laid my eyes upon so far seem like a blurry haze.

(If Lord Elbert saw something like that... he might end up not wanting me anymore.)

He might think that his thoughts of me being beautiful, of wanting me, might have been a misunderstanding.

(But, if it would help relieve Lord Elbert’s pain, then maybe that would be for the best...)

(...but, still, I would be lonely, if it really turned out that way.)

I shook my head at the words whispering from the back of my mind.

(What am I thinking?)

(I want Lord Elbert to feel that ‘it’s okay to not have to collect beautiful things anymore.’)

Elbert: ...Kate.

Kate: ! Yes!?

Elbert: ... [surprised]

My voice had come out more loud than I intended, and Lord Elbert widened his eyes in surprise.

Elbert: You had gone quiet, shaking your head, and I thought you might feel unwell...

E: ...Is something the matter?

Even after he had said that he ‘wanted to have me,’ as if I were some object in his eyes,

he had extended that consideration I always knew he had within him to me, as if it were the most normal thing to do... and it hurt my heart.

Kate: Thank you for your concern. I was just thinking about some things.

Elbert: Is that so... then that’s good.

E: ...

E: ...Were you thinking of something, other than me?

Kate: Eh!? Umm... it... does have something with you, too, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: ......I see.

Lord Elbert seemed to accept my answer as it was, and his expression softened a little.

Elbert: We have no more business here in the manor... so let’s return to the castle today.

(I see... it must be because he had grasped the chance to infiltrate into the Bernard Company.)

(So, there is no reason to be here in the manor.)

Kate: Okay, I’ll start preparing then!

If it meant we could get out of here sooner, I had no complaints.

(If it’s Crown Castle, then Lord Elbert will be safe there, and... we probably won’t be together, just the two of us, as often.)

(If so, then I’ll have more time to think a little more calmly about a way to end this cycle of atonement.)

Kate: Well then, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll meet you in a bit.

Elbert: Alright.

Alfons: ......

—— Neutral POV ——

When the door closed behind Kate’s retreating figure, and the sound of her footsteps grew more distant,

Alfons, who had posed as a spectator during the negotiation, opened his mouth to speak.

Alfons: ...What a sore miscalculation on my part.

Elbert: ...What do you mean?

Alfons: I’ve told you time and time again that Kate is not beautiful.

A: So, why did you say something like you wanted to have her again?

Alfons asked out of simple curiosity, and in response, Elbert turned toward the door from which Kate had left.

Elbert: ...I don’t know.

E: Just that... I thought she was, beautiful—

E: —so, I must have her.

Those eyes become clouded over by a dark, heavy obsession.

Alfons: ...Is that so.

Alfons, as if having given up on something, let out a resigned sigh.

Alfons: Well then, shall I prepare something like a glass casket for you?

As if he were looking on at a play while knowing its ending, his chin rested on his hand, his elbow on the armrest of his chair.

—— Kate’s POV ——

We departed from the manor before twilight, and we returned to Crown Castle the next morning.

Victor: My dear Elbert, Alfons, and Kate! How are you enjoying your first breakfast at the castle in a loooong time?

V: Hm... oh? What’s this I see now?

(Ahh... I feel like I know where this is going...)

V: If my eyes do not deceive me, it seems Elbert has become completely smitten with Kate.

Harrison: I’m not sure I’d call that ‘smitten’... It’s more like...

Alfons: Why, of course, Lord Elbie is trying to win her heart over.

(Um, I mean you’re not wrong, but you’re not right either...!)

While retorting in my mind, I glanced beside me.

(This morning, when I finished my routine and left my room, Lord Elbert was there waiting for me,)

(and he invited me to breakfast, together with him...)

And so now, I was sitting next to him, with his eyes on me, as I ate breakfast.

Elbert: ......

(It’s not like this is the first time I’ve felt Lord Elbert’s eyes on me...)

(but it’s the first time he’s looked at me for such a long time... maybe...)

Kate: Um... do I... have a bed head or something...?

Elbert: No... you don’t. You look very pretty.

Kate: T-thank you. Then, can I ask why you are, um...

‘looking right at me,’ is what I wanted to ask, but my words got stuck.

Elbert: ...Because, I want you to think about me as much as possible.

E: ...So that you can’t think about anyone else.

Kate: Ah, uh... I, see...

Elbert: Mn...

All of a sudden, the flavor of the food seemed to dull.

(I know that everything he does is to ‘have me’. I know that...)

(...but, if someone I liked told me this...)

(I would be so happy... I wouldn’t need to hear any reason...)

Trying to hide my reddening cheeks, I cast my eyes down, pretending to be absorbed in cutting the asparagus, but...

Alfons: That’s the spirit, Lord Elbert. The countdown before Kate breaks down is starting.

Kate: !? Alfons...?

He seemed to be egging on Lord Elbert with those words, and I couldn’t help but look up at him.

Where in the world did the Alfons who warned me to stay away from Lord Elbert go?

He was sitting across from Lord Elbert, and he smiled at me as if seeing through me feeling shaken.

Alfons: Unfortunately, it appears you are already beyond the point of no return...

A: So I thought, why not have you entertain me, then, as a spectator, now that it’s come to this?

(...I see, so it’s like that.)

(He means that he won’t warn me, nor will he try to stop Lord Elbert anymore...)

(I ended up ignoring his warnings, even after three times, so I can’t blame him for turning the other way, but this was such a sudden change of attitude that I couldn’t help but feel baffled.)

Elbert: ...Kate. Look here.

Kate: Uh...?

I could hardly say anything before Lord Elbert cupped my cheeks with both his hands, turning my face toward him.

Elbert: ...You, looked at Al longer than you have at me.

Kate: ...That’s not it...

Elbert: It is...

(Um...)

I couldn’t take the power his peerless beauty had on me in close proximity, and so I closed my eyes shut.

Elbert: Why are you closing your eyes... open them, please.

Kate: I-if you step away from me, I will...

Elbert: ...You won’t look at Al?

Kate: I won’t, I won’t anymore, so...

I felt his hands withdraw from my cheek, and I opened my eyes again.

I tried to calm my very quick heartbeat, and when I looked back at those blue eyes,

Elbert: ......

A satisfied smile played on Lord Elbert’s lips, and I thought my breath was going to stop.

(To think I could have time to calmly think if we weren’t together... how naïve that was of me.)

Being sought after like this by Lord Elbert... there was no way I could be calm.

Victor: I have to say, I’m kiiinda getting a little jealous of them. Don’t you agree, Harrison!

Harrison: Hey, don’t grab onto my shoulders. I’m trying to eat here.

The playful exchange from beside me brought me back to my senses.

(The subject... let’s change the subject...!)

Kate: C-come to think of it, are you not going to eat, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: ...? Eat what?

Alfons: That is a bit of a tasteless answer, Elbie. Of course, whatever else could she be referring to but herself?

Kate: No, I meant breakfast.

Elbert: ...Now that you mention it... I had forgotten.

After looking at the breakfast before him for a while,

he pierced an apple slice with his fork, and brought it up to his lips in a graceful motion.

(An apple...)

Kate: Lord Elbert, do the apples today taste good too?

I remembered the day we went out to eat lunch together, and I asked him before I could think.

Elbert: ...Yes. ...It’s delicious.

(‘Delicious’...)

With just that word alone, all of my nervousness and unease disappeared like the waves pulling back to the waters,

leaving my heart filled only with a warm happiness.

(It’s not as though I understand what’s in his heart from those words alone...)

Like that day, he had said the apple was delicious, and I was so happy that a broad smile formed on my lips.

Kate: ...I’m glad.

Elbert: ...

(I got so distracted by him seeking me out, that I almost lost sight of what was important.)

(I... wanted Lord Elbert to smile.)

I reminded myself to not get distracted, and continued eating. When I did, Lord Elbert started to eat as well, little by little, next to me.

Kate: This asparagus is really good. It’s really sweet.

Elbert: ...Mn.

And then, around the time breakfast was going to end peacefully, Victor spoke to me.

Victor: Oh, yes, Kate. Once you’re done eating, could I borrow a bit of your time?

Kate: ...? Yes, sure.

Elbert: ......

—— Time skip ——

Kate: A ‘midterm report’...?

Victor: Yes, that’s right. It seems you’ve been writing a lot of memos as the Fairytale Keeper, so I thought it was about time, you see.

Kate: Alright then. I’ll turn in a formal report.

(...Hm? Wait a minute. The things I can report on...)

After I said yes, I realized that the only topic I could really report on was Lord Elbert.

Kate: Um... actually, I’m sorry, but I don’t really know anyone else aside from Lord Elbert that well...

K: I barely know Alfons as things stand now...

Victor: Yes, that’s fine. You can just write about Lord Elbert then.

V: Also, there is no need to rush, so take things at your own pace. Anyway, that’s all I had to say. Sorry for calling you in so suddenly.

(As Fairytale Keeper, my job to record the ‘sins of the Cursed as was determined by their fates’...)

(...That was the condition for me to return to my normal life.)

‘The Cursed are fated to meet a tragic end’——

I remember hearing that before.

(And, if I remember right, Alfons had said Lord Elbert’s Curse was...)

(‘The Greedy Queen.’)

With a bow, I was about to leave the room, but then I turned back toward Victor.

Victor: What is it?

Kate: ...I’m, a little curious.

Kate: About what Lord Elbert’s tragic fate is, based on the Curse of the Greedy Queen.

Jet black eyes had me apprehended.

For a moment, as if being covered by a veil of night, the room grew silent.

Victor: ‘Never feeling satisfied or fulfilled, he will end up with nothing.’ That is his Cursed fate.

(Never feeling satisfied or fulfilled... he will, end up with nothing...)

Kate: Thank you... for that.

As if swallowing a stone down, my heart grew heavier.

His Cursed fate was like a verdict, that I could do nothing to bring Lord Elbert out of his deep, dark sadness.

Elbert: ...Kate.

When I left the lounge, Lord Elbert was waiting for me, leaning against the windowsill.

Kate: Lord Elbert...! What’s wrong?

Elbert: I was waiting for you. ...Because, I want to spend as much time with you, as possible.

It was as though that was the most natural response in the world, and I felt my heart throb sweetly again.

(This is, to steal my heart... in order to have me.)

(That’s... how it should be... and yet...)

The love I had tried to keep a secret in my heart whispered in my ear, and I couldn’t help but to feel there was more meaning to his words than that.

Elbert: What were you talking about? With Victor.

Kate: About my job as Fairytale Keeper. He wants me to turn in a midterm report.

Elbert: I see......

Kate: What about you, Lord Elbert? What are your plans for today?

Elbert: Nothing, in particular. ...Until the auction, like you, I have a little bit of paperwork to do.

(If I said ‘then let us do our jobs,’ then I would be able to get some time to think alone.)

(We had just returned from the mansion, so I... don’t want to leave Lord Elbert on his own.)

Kate: Then, let’s relax together today. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?

Elbert: ...If I can be with you, then I’d be happy going anywhere.

E: But, it would be nice if we could go... to a place where no other person can come between us.

Lord Elbert stared intently at the lounge door.

(...Is he, seriously worried about me being called by Victor...?)

I could feel something similar to envy in his gaze, and I felt a little excited.

(How nice it would be, if this was a simple jealousy though...)

I put a lid over such thoughts, and instead I thought about what I was going to do from here.

Kate: So, maybe we shouldn’t go out in the city.

K: If possible, I’d like you to be able to have fun, but...

K: ...what do you enjoy doing, Lord Elbert?

Elbert: ...Enjoy...?

He made a face as though he had never even thought about it, and seeing that hurt my heart.

His own happiness, and his own enjoyment——just how much had this person before me deprived himself of those things?

(I would like to spend time somewhere warm, and bright...)

(...to the point there was no room for sadness to slip through the cracks.)

Kate: ...How about, a picnic? I know of a wonderful flower field with very few people.

Elbert: ...A flower field... with very few people...

E: I feel that would make me... want to carry you away, and have you to myself...

E: But, if that’s alright with you, then——let’s go.

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˗ˏˋ full masterlist ´ˎ˗ 🍎✨

🏷️: @magicalkoo (leave a comment, send an ask, or dm me saying you want to be added to the tag list if you want to be tagged!)

[rikerxworf]

°☆. Ready for take-off?

Get ready for Worfriker Week 2024! The whole week from November 4th to 10th is dedicated to creating fanwork that includes Worf and Will Riker from the Star Trek franchise.

There are two prompts to choose from each day. They are as follows:

DAY ONE (November 4th): dress uniforms | poetry

DAY TWO (November 5th): sick bay | missing scene

DAY THREE (November 6th): Klingons | away team

DAY FOUR (November 7th): “I will go with you!” | poker

DAY FIVE (November 8th): sparring | hurt/comfort

DAY SIX (November 9th): music | “I need you by my side!”

DAY SEVEN (November 10th): free choice of your own ♡

Please tag @rikerxworf​ in your tumblr creations so that I can reblog them. There is also an AO3 collection available to post your work there.

.

What kind of fanwork can I create?

You can create anything, as long as it includes Worfriker and one or both prompts for the day you’re posting on. That includes fan fiction, fan art, edits, collages, photography, videos, playlists, recipes etc. There is no upper or lower limitation/ wordcount for your work.

Do I have to participate on all days?

No, but you can! This is a very casual event.

What if I can’t post on the day of the prompt I like?

As I said, this is a very casual event. The AO3 collection will stay open for a little longer after November 10th, and I will reblog your tumblr post even if it is late. Real life happens, that’s totally fine!

Must I follow the prompts?

Yes, that is a requirement for this event. You are free to skip a day if you don’t like the prompts. If you like both and can’t decide, no problem! You can just as well create fanwork that fits both prompts for the day you’re posting on or even create two fanworks, one for each prompt.

Must my creation be TNG-related?

No, your work can take place in the timeline of any Star Trek show, book or movie, or even completely outside of established canon/ in an AU. No requirements here, anything goes!

Can I create explicit fanwork for this event?

You can, as long as you are over the age of 18 and tag your post accordingly.

I have another question…

Don’t hesitate to send it to @rikerxworf​ here on tumblr!

[loge2718]

Guilty as Sin? 💙

Thrawn x Reader - A song fic!

Song: Guilty as Sin? - Taylor Swift

Summary: Moving to Lothal for a promising job that was given by the Empire was a bold move for you. Here in Lothal, you felt lonely. Until a certain Grand Admiral came into the picture. You wanted something more than casual. But, does he want it to? 

Tags & Warnings: No smut, just mentions of sex, slight angst at the end

A/N: I didn’t specify the reader’s gender here but, since this is purely a self-indulgence fanfiction and the art that I made for is also purely self-indulging, I imagined the reader here is female.

Word count: 1.6K

Y'all... I have not written any (fan)fiction in such a long time, so, apologies in advance... I'd be posting the video and the art that I made for this fic in a different post, in case you don't like the fanfic and just would like to reblog the art you can find it here (X)

Out of all the people in this planet, out of all the people in this outer-rim, out of all the people in this galaxy. You are in a situationship with him.

That ran through your thought as he traced his finger around your upper thigh. It feels like he was writing something, that you were not so sure. Perhaps something in his language?

What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh Only in my mind?

He is, of course, the alien that rose through the ranks of the Imperial Navy like it was nothing. The Grand Admiral. Mitth'raw'nuruodo from the Unknown Region. Or as he lay beside you, cuddling you in a desperate embrace… Just Thrawn. You wish you could stay in this moment forever, this will be the death of you.

One slip and falling back into the hedge maze Oh what a way to die

-💙💙💙-

Thrawn, the man you met in an art gallery here at Lothal. You arrived at Lothal just a few months prior, still adapting to your new job, new surroundings. Your family and friends are all the way in the mid-rim. You moved here because the Empire promised you a better paying job. However, with that decision, it left you stranded in Lothal, alone. In a way, you both are similar. 

There you were sitting in front of a painting by a local artist hundreds of years ago. So focused on the painting, taking in every detail. Subconsciously, you started to zoned out with everything that was going on with your mind.

Moving away… Moving away has been difficult for you, you were born and raised in your homeplanet, you even got your full education there. The empire promised you a decent job with a good amount of money, but the catch was, the job was located in the outer-rim in a planet called Lothal. So far, the promise has been kept. Though, it did not hide the fact that you were lonely, very lonely.

"Do you like the painting?"

A smooth voice snapped you out of your trance. Yes. You did like the painting, it is relatable, you said. However, you continued, describing the one of the paintings that you were fond of from your home world. The one you often visit in the gallery, with family, friends and even ex-lovers.

"Interesting take" He said

"How about you, what do you think about it?" 

And with that, one thing led to the other. First, it was just a simple introduction, Thrawn, he introduced himself and so did you. Then, the conversation went on for hours, and a couple different places… One of them was your newly owned bed. To say that he was amazing in bed was an understatement.

He understood you. He understood your body, he listened to your body. His touch felt like a warm fireplace on a cold winter night. His kiss felt like Heaven for the longing sinners. Each movement of his felt like waves crashing in the sea, bringing you closer and closer to shore.

You felt like this could be a start of something, or just a one night stand. Nevertheless, that was an experience, a really good one indeed. Even so, you didn't know who he was. He was just another man you brought home that night. That being said, Thrawn. his name still echoed in your mind on some sleepless nights.

A few days later, at the grand opening of the Empire-owned factory where you were assigned as a project manager, he was there, accompanied by the Governor of Lothal. He was in his stunning white navy uniform. Ah so he works for the Imperial Navy, you contemplated. His uniform was also complemented with gold shoulder plates and… a Grand Admiral plaque. A Grand Admiral, you thought to yourself. Unbelievable, You have managed to sleep with him. One of the strongest, most influential and most adored people in the empire.

You must be… His voice came to a blur as he greeted you and introduced himself and you . That would not be the first time. Grand Admiral, it is nice to be acquainted with you, you replied. The days went on as usual, your higher up was luckily busy that day, so you were the one who was assigned to give the Grand Admiral a tour.

You were relieved at first, thinking that he would break the facade. However, that seems to be false. His voice stayed cold to you. He was really cold to you. As if you didn’t moan his name over and over a few nights ago. His demeanor was that of a stranger, even when you two were alone touring the freshly built factory. You understand that it is protocol, but it was torture. Before you knew it he departed, you thought that would be the last time you would ever see him.

Until it was not. 

Not long after you arrived home you were surprised with your doorbell ringing. Strange, you thought. You were not expecting a visitor nor are you familiar with your neighbors yet. One look at the door feed got you sprinting to your front door. There stood Thrawn. He stepped in, and without saying a word he passionately took your lips in a deep kiss. 

As the both of you broke the kiss, Nice to see you again… you said with a hint of sarcasm, but alas smiling. Then, he took your lips again. After all that, he carried you to bed. Surely the second time with him would not be as mind blowing as the first? No. You were wrong. It was, as a matter of fact, better.

"Thrawn, I thought I'll never see you again, especially after today…" you said while you were laying on his chest. 

He disagreed. He said he would love to continue seeing you, being with you. This arrangement was of course with an exception. Nobody else has to know that we are intimate. he emphasized. That statement was not a surprise for you. That's easy enough, a price to pay being in bed with the notable Grand Admiral. you thought.

I keep recalling things we never did

You reach for his lips in response and agreement to his words. You were right, this one night stand did turn into a friend with benefits type of situation. But did you really want that? Or did you hope for something more?

Messy top lip kiss

A month or two have passed since you two made that agreement. Other than your apartment, he had brought you to a few different places. Lothal's only 5-star hotel was one of them, the cabin he owns in the far corner of Lothal was the other and even his personal Lambda shuttle. This little meetup of yours got you excited every time you saw his flagship - the Chimaera above the capital. His ISD in the sky of Lothal meant that he would be meeting you soon.

How I long for our trysts

As it was your day off, your neighbors, the one you got close with, started to be suspicious and started to question you. Who is the Pantoran you kept seeing? She asked. Nobody, he is just a friend. You answered immediately. 

A friend would not have gifted you flowers. A friend would not kiss your forehead and lips before he left. A friend would not have fucked you so perfectly, so intimately. He would not have cared for you so gently too after sex. Yes. Just a friend. You repeated, reassuring yourself. You really wanted something more, did you?

Without ever touching his skin How can I be guilty as sin?

Later on that afternoon, as the Chimaera looms over the capital. He came to visit you. This time was different, this time he brought you flowers, not just any flowers that he often gave you. These were the flowers native to your homeplanet. He explained he had some work to do there, and might as well give these flowers to you, since he knows that they are dear to you. Thank you, Thrawn. you said as tears were forming in your eyes. You quickly ran inside and put them in a vase before jumping in Thrawn’s speeder. 

Then, as per usual, he took you out for dinner first, continued by walking you to his hotel suite that he rented for the night. That was before everything snowballed into the unholy amount of things you both did in that hotel room.

He sent me 'Downtown Lights' I hadn't heard it in a while

Out of all of the people in this entire universe, you are with him. Laying in bed with him, receiving tender kisses throughout your delicate body. His finger tracing every inch of your skin. Stay the night with me, Thrawn. You begged. He murmured something that wasn't basic. You did not understand him at all, but his body language said it all. 

He could not stay. 

He pulled you closer and murmured something else, kissed you on the forehead. Your peace was disturbed by a chime from his comm. The chime turns out to be an emergency call. Earlier to that he thought he could stay with you for at least another hour. However, that plan was cut short. He got up, tidied himself and in a blink of an eye, he is gone yet again.

Your thoughts came rushing through your head like a gust of wind, as tears started forming in your eyes. Could we ever be more than this? You sobbed softly to the empty room. From the kisses he gave you, to all the good times you both had, to flowers he gave you from your homeplanet. 

Could Thrawn and you be more than this?

Am I allowed to cry?

[letterstoear]

Ikemen Vampire inspired jewerly!!

To be perfectly honest, I didn't have the intentions of selling any of these pieces when I made them. However, I thought it would be nice for fellow fans of the game to enjoy jewelry inspired their favorite suitor. Plus, these designs were just too pretty to hold them captive for myself.

Find my shop here: Check out my shop here: Shop — Letters to Ear (squarespace.com)

With each design I tried to incorporate a bit of the suitor and like always it's not over the top. Just something casual you could wear on your day to day. I'll be going more in depth in the future!

For orders outside of the U.S please DM if interested.

Frozen Heart: Inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle

Unmarked by Time for: Inspired by Vlad

Picnics and Paints for: Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh

Art Gallery for: Inspired by Theodorus Van Gogh

For Your Love Set: Inspired by Jean D' Arc

Washed Away: Inspired by Osamu Dazai

Golden Love Set: Inspired by Comte de Saint-Germain

A New Love for $12: Inspired by Leonardo Da Vinchi

Whew! That was a lot of pieces I made, but it's not even all of the suitors! Just like with my Twisted Wonderland items, I plan on writing letters for the suitors as well. So please look forward to that!

So, which one is your favorite?

Reblogs are always highly appreciated too!

Also, feel free to request for your own design I do commissions and would love to see what ideas everyone has!