#curse my lack of drawing skills

[majorproblems77]

Back on my Warriors gets a loftwing shenanigans

Interested in my rambling?

So, what if the fact that warriors has the spirit of the hero was enough for a loftwing from the goddess to appear in some form during the war of eras.

So, Say he falls from skyloft during the battle and it looks like he's going to fall through the cloud barrier never to be seen again. Then He hears a sound which sounds like a whistle through his mind and copies it.

A loftwing call, Which summons a spirit loftwing encased in a golden hue to save him. He manages to return to the island much to the surprise of the skyloftian commanders who are very much surprised at the fact that a non-skyloftian has summoned a random (seemingly unbonded) loftwing to his aid.

He then spends some time bonding with the loftwing, and is told to take part in an all be it rushed skyloftian bonding ceremony after speaking to the elders of skyloft at the time.

Names the loft wing, Justice. Justice is a grass green feathered loftwing with emerald green and navy blue tipped feathers. The bond mist (eyes, from my loftwing bond headcanon) is emerald green.

During his campaign on skyloft he is taught how to fly and how to fight in the air with the skyloftians. Learning aerial combat with bows and is found to be quite good at it as long as the loftwing is flying in a straight line.

Once the campaign ends and he is summoned back to his time he says goodbye to justice, content on never seeing his companion loftwing again.

What warriors dosent see, is justice disappearing into golden light as he leaves. Returning to the light he came from.

Unless he ever finds himself back on Skyloft of course.

Warriors and Sky loftwing chats anyone?

[cult-of-the-eye]

so...who's gonna draw Jonathan Sims smoking to cigarettes out the window by TV girl????

[batrachised]

Extremely important question: at any point in time, have you ever had a fan cast for Walter Blythe? Or even just a face cast? As someone who has despaired of ever picking a suitable Emily or Dean, I’m curious about your success with your own LMM blorbo.

~@no-where-new-hero

This is definitely a question near and dear to my heart, which makes it all the more frustrating that I do not have much of an answer (gnashing my teeth over the lack of satisfying lm montgomery film adaptations rn). Most especially bc, imo, fancasts are fun, but I've always had a problem with them in that they rely on already famous actors - a very limited pool to pick from, thus landing on the emily and dean problem. I'm also somewhat biased in that the vast majority of time I tend to prefer unknown actors for roles because once someone gets famous enough, all I can see is the actor playing a role, not the role itself (rare is the actor transformative enough to make me forget I saw a buzzfeed article about them two weeks back). All this to say, if you're reading this hollywood-powers-that-be, please make a true to the book lm montgomery movie, i''m desperate.

I think we've discussed in the past that this photo has extreme Rilla vibes to me (Walter, Shirley, and Jem); I think Colin Morgan can pull off the otherworldly elf fey vibes Walter has going on, shown by Merlin.

Genuinely, though, I feel like with LM Montgomery characters, it's less about the physical characteristics (besides key markers ie red hair being the obvious one) and more about bodying the soul of the character. The actress of Mrs. Lynde from the 1980s show didn't really match the physical description in the book, but she embodied the spirit of Mrs. Lynde so effectively it didn't matter. Imo unless it's really egregious (idk, not giving Anne red hair, making Leslie plain, ungnoming Barney), a range of actors could match a single character. Megan Follows looks entirely different from BBC's Anne, but both of them flesh out Anne extremely well. Meanwhile, the Anne with an E cast doesn't really read like the characters at all to me despite matching the physical descriptions, because they're so far removed from the books.

Your mention of Emily and Dean has me scratching my head over that, because I think that would be difficult. Because I read the Bantam books at a formative age, the illustration of Emily on the front is exactly how I pictured Emily, which makes it difficult to select someone who looks different. There's the actual casting of Emily and Dean from the tv show (I took the image from this gifset), neither of which I really liked, although i do find it interesting how they played up his priest name with his costume.

This just making me want a faithful to the books Emily of New Moon TV series STAT where I can see how a professional would choose to bring the characters to life....sigh.

[haley-harrison]

wHAT do you mean the image I envisioned doesn't exist on the interwebs?

you're telling me I have to draw it myself, with my own two hands and mediocre artistic skills???

outrageous. unacceptable. I want my money back.

[fandom-penguin]

Gale & Daenys (my Tav) during the Netherbrain fight

[smol-tired-binch-blog]

Gotta vent rq but like GOD I want to draw I love doodling I love my silly little sketches I miss drawing the yakoozies and magical girls but like I need a laptop replacement which i WILL be getting but it won't be for weeks. So i have a sketchbook. That should be nice right? I mean i only started digital art in like 2020, maybe late 2019, should be fine?

NO, i was so HYPE for my first ever Surface BECAUSE i Am Not Good With Pen And Paper! And i say that as someone who has been drawing since she was like 4, yknow? I remember drawing in my sketchbooks, I remember my Creepypasta OCs from when i was 14. I remember thinking how one day I'd be REALLY good at drawing, noticing my progress and looking forward to more. Turns out though, i can get proportions right in the first go. And for some reason i never have a decent eraser, so trying again and again is just frustrating and ruins the paper or still leaves those ugly indents and smudges.

Like on a computer, you can SELECT specific parts of the drawing and CHANGE THE SIZE!! you can use LAYERS!!! You can sketch and then linework til your hearts content, and yeah it fucks me off, but it's somehow reassuring thay i can just delete the layer, delete the whole thing and start again simple as. I can zoom in, i can press the Undo button. I can draw until it looks nice. Cant do that with paper.

"Oh but sketchbooks are MEANT to be for your ugly stuff" I DONT CARE. I DONT WANT UGLY STUFF. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO DRAW MY OCS AND MY FAVE CHARACTERS AT LEAST SOMEWHAT COMPETENTLY FROM THE GET GO. Like jesus you'd think I'd know what koi boi and his skinny twink boyfriend look like by now but NOPE. it frustrates me PERSONALLY because i like a silly little sketch, i can have it be a lil rough, a lil simple. But it needs to be Recognisble and Nice Enough. Fuck this.

[catboygraystripe]

worst part of new hyperfixation is the time before youve drawn any of them and youre too scared to in case its one of those times where you just fucking CANNOT do it properly to save your life but youre just like freaking out because you HAVE TO................

[drabblesandimagines]

Lemon Tarts

Clive Rosfield x female (Branded) reader Fluff, 5,828 words

“Come on, out of there, eh? I know I have a scarred mug but I’m a nice fella under all that.” Gav – he’s introduced himself several times now – jokes with a half-hearted laugh.

He’s crouched down in front of the alcove where you’ve sequestered yourself, your body pressed right up in the corner, your head tucked in-between your knees to try and make yourself as small as possible.

Gav’s broad shoulders won’t permit him entry, his reach coming up short when he’d got down on his knees and put an arm in to catch your wrist to guide you back out – cursing himself under his breath when you’d flinched at his attempt.

Your master was harsh both in what he demanded in labour and how he treated you. However long ago, you’d decided it was better to not talk back and, eventually, not worth talking at all. It wasn’t like he’d bought you for your conversation skills - for what worth is there in anything a Branded has to say?

The days in his service were repetitive – just the faces around you would change as the curse wore away at their supposed worth. Two new Bearers had been acquired over a tenday ago, apparently tracked by a group of people calling themselves Cursebreakers when they broke into the barn where you all slept. They explained they were here to take all of you somewhere safe, to free you from your master, all whilst weapons hung from their hips.

They’d escorted you into a covered wagon in the early hours of the morning with a firm grip, before the three of you were transferred onto a skiff roped up at a small dock, tucked away off a beaten path. The boat set sail across the blighted waters of a lake, heading towards some sort of Fallen structure in the middle. From there, you were led up onto a dock and then into a goods lift, ascending up to a new fate. You had tried to keep your panic at bay on the wagon and skiff ride, swallowing down the anxiety that had churned in your stomach and threatened to come up your throat but the moment the lift reached the main deck, the fear of the unknown won and you ran without further thought.

You ran with an energy you didn’t know you still possessed, ducking around outstretched arms. You didn’t make it very far before your mind caught up with your legs - where could you even go now? You’re in the middle of a lake, you don’t know how to swim, you’re trapped.

Now that you’d ran from them, disobeyed their commands to stop, only punishment could follow. At least with your old master you knew what to expect for whatever he deemed as ill behaviour, despite your best attempts to fulfill his demands, and what to brace for when you failed.

The alcove had caught your eye – a gap between two wooden walls made of thick planks. You’d slipped in with more than a hope that you wouldn’t be spotted as you did, perhaps they’d think you’d jumped into the waters below and drowned.

Luck was not on your side – when had it ever been? - for as soon as you’d pressed yourself into the very back, a scarred face had appeared in the opening.

“You can’t stay in there forever.” Gav chides, stepping back to put his hands on his hips before his face falls. “Not that that’s a threat, like! I mean, it’s not… practical, is it? Especially when we’ve a lovely, warm bed with your name on it.”

Warm bed…?

It’s a trick.

Don’t be so stupid.

“Gav, what’s going on?” An almost amused voice draws the scout’s attention elsewhere and the man steps out of view, entering into a hushed conversation. You risk a look between your knees, seeing the railings and a bit of the sky beyond – dusk beginning to fall.

A few moments later, you hear the voice again – gravelly, but cautious and gentle. “Hello, my lady.”

The lack of sarcasm in their address of you – for who would call a Branded my lady –prompts you to peer between your knees. Another rather broad-shouldered man is knelt down on one knee - shaggy dark hair framing stormy blue eyes, clad in red and black leathers, the hilt of a great sword showing over his shoulder.

“My name’s Clive. Mayhaps I could have the pleasure of yours?”

“She doesn’t talk much.” Gav’s voice comes from over his shoulder, but Clive keeps his gaze on you. “Or ever - that’s what the others said anyway. They’re all pretty new to the bastard’s service, like. Said they didn’t know her name, and not sure how long she’d been with him.”

“That’s all right. You don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to, my lady. We just want to help, but we can’t help much whilst you’ve tucked yourself away here, can we?”

He waits for a few moments, testing the waters.

“We have a healer who can treat whatever ails you,” Clive presses on, tone still gentle and genuine. “And a very cosy bunk for you to rest in, where you won’t be disturbed. And food of course - I’ve heard there’s a delicious stew on the menu tonight. Molly - she’s our cook - has made some exquisite lemon tarts for afters. You can have mine, if you like.”

Your mouth salivates at the prospect of hot food. It had been a while since your stomach felt content - yesterday’s meal had consisted of vegetable peelings after a poor day of harvest, shared with the chocobos…

It’s all too good to be true.

“I know you must be frightened – to be taken from everything you’ve known for so long, but you have my word that we wish only to help you.” He places his fist over his heart, hoping it would prove his sincerity. “Though I understand we cannot be helping by hovering over you like this, so I will leave you be to think on it a while, my lady.”

Clive gets to his feet with a soft grunt and takes a few steps away back over to where Gav was stood, shaking his head in defeat.

Gav sighs, wearily. “S’pose I could ask Bartram to knock the planks out at the side so we can get her out that way?”

“No.” Clive’s tone is firm. “Definitely not. I could see her body trembling – she’s terrified.”

“We can hardly leave her in there.”

“She just needs time – we can give her that. It’s not ideal, but she’s at least safe. If her health turns, I’ll consider more drastic action but patience is best for now.”

“Maybe she’d be more comfortable speaking with someone who’s Branded?” Gav muses, scratching the back of his head.

“Good idea, Gav.” Clive claps his on the shoulder with a heavy arm. “I’ll ask Molly if she can pop by with some stew – food and a friendly, familiar face might work wonders."

--

You don’t emerge later though, despite Molly’s best efforts. She gives you a bright smile and soft, encouraging words – a tale of how she was rescued, proudly demonstrating the brand on her cheek, what she does now at the Hideaway, and then offering the bowl of stew in her hand.

The aroma makes your mouth water and stomach ache. Molly carefully places it at the threshold, not wanting to encroach on your personal space. Says she’ll leave it there, alongside a waterskin, before she bids you well and disappears from view.

If you shuffled forward a little, perhaps stretched out your arm as far as it would go, the bowl would be in reach to drag back to eat.

You don’t, though.

You won’t.

It’s a trick.

--

Clive had made himself scarce, hoping Molly's presence would be more calming than his own, and left her with instructions that if you were to emerge, or engage in conversation, perhaps she could coax you into going to the infirmary next.

He busied himself in search of the seamstress, eventually finding her in the bunks, sorting through piles of material stored away in a cupboard.

“Hortense, do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” She nods, turning to face him. “What can I do for you, Clive?” “I wondered if you had any spare blankets?”

“Oh, yes – I’m always working away on more as we grow our ranks!” Hortense beams, turning back to the cupboard. “I'm not surprised you asked – there must be quite the draft in those chambers of yours.”

“Ah, no - not for me. One of the rescued Bearers from today is a little shy, sequestered herself in an alcove in fright. I'm hoping she'll emerge before nightfall for food and to go to the infirmary, but I do not wish for her to catch a chill off the lake if she does not...”

“Oh, the poor mite!” Hortense frowns at the idea, but sets to thumbing through a pile of blankets in search of one in particular – a fleecy grey one in the end - and bundling it up in her arms before she hands it over to him. “Well, this one should keep her nice and cosy, it’s plenty thick enough. Tell me she is at least properly dressed, Clive.”

“The usual attire.” A polite way of saying the threadbare cloth shirts, trousers or dresses that Bearers were permitted by their masters, sans shoes as always. “I doubt she’ll accept any changes of clothing currently, but I am sure she’ll come round. We just need to be patient.”

“How could she not? Please, do let me know if there is anything else I can do.”

“This is plenty, I assure you.” He smiles, holding the blanket aloft in demonstration and leaves her to her work, heading the long way down to the Ale Hall to avoid the main deck. He spots Molly back in the kitchen behind the counter, looking forlorn.

“I’m sorry – I tried, I really did.” She scoops a generous portion of stew into a bowl and hands it off to an awaiting Bearer as she talks. “I told her my story and everything, but it’s almost like she’s frozen in place. I half-worried the curse had took her in front of my eyes. I left the stew - I hoped with some privacy she might eat without me there watching her.”

He places a large palm on her arm and give hers a sincere smile. “Thank you, Molly. I really appreciate you trying.”

“It’s nothing. Here”, she hands him the bowl of stew she’d just prepared. “Can’t forget yourself. And before you ask, yes, everyone else has been fed.”

Clive smiles, wryly, and takes the bowl with a grateful nod.

After he has had his fill, he heads out at the top of the steps, planning to keep his distance for a while longer up in the mess before an attempt to coax you out or gifting you the blanket. As his eyes cast over the alcove, he finds an unwelcome guest with their head and shoulders wedged firmly into the entrance.

“Torgal - away from there!” Clive snaps with a growl in his throat and the wolf hound instantly retreats to his master’s side with a whine and a tilt of his head, unsure as to what he's done.

He sighs, giving the beast a pat on the head. “I am sorry, boy, just... that bowl wasn’t for you – that was for our guest. I am afraid you may have scared her.”

Clive walks over and drops to a knee to peer within. His heart sinks to find your head tucked further between your knees than it had been previously, in addition to your body now trembling almost violently.

By the Founder, you must’ve thought he’d sent his beast to devour you.

“My lady, I am so very sorry that Torgal frightened you. He must’ve picked up the scent of the stew and followed it, mistaking it for his dinner. His sense of smell is unparalleled.”

Torgal barks as if in agreement, and you jump in place at the noise. Clive hushes the wolf with another pat on his head. “Sorry – he still acts like a puppy sometimes, but he is a very loyal friend of mine and he means you no harm. Allow me to fetch you something else to eat.”

He lays the bundled blanket down and pushes it forward, until it’s less than an arm’s length away from you.

“It gets a little cold on the deck in the evenings, my lady, but this should keep you warm until you feel comfortable enough to come inside. I’ll be back in a moment with some more food, and Torgal will keep away – I promise.”

He gets to his feet, picking up the bowl as he does and Torgal quickly follows behind at his heels as he heads back to the Ale Hall. Molly’s eyes widen in delight as he places the empty vessel on the counter, but Clive shakes his head.

“I’m afraid Torgal got to it first – licked it clean. Do we have any left?”

“Ah.” The cook’s face falls. “No, I’m afraid not – some of the Cursebreakers were feeling particularly hungry after their mission. But I do have bread, some cheese, apples and a lemon tart, though I had held that one back for you…”

“That all sounds wonderful. Please.”

Molly pulls out a cloth napkin from below the counter, placing the assortment of food together with a delicate hand. She ties the napkin in a knot to keep the bundle protected and hands it over.

“Thank you.” He looks down at the hound sat by his heels. “Torgal, why don’t you go and sit with Lady Charon?”

Torgal’s tail thumps against the wooden floorboards happily – Charon often has a bone waiting for him behind her counter in the evening.

“Good boy.”

Clive heads back towards the alcove with deliberate footsteps, wishing to announce his arrival. The blanket has not moved, still in the place where he left it. From what he can see in the evening light, your trembling has appeared to ease up from Torgal’s visit at least.

“I am afraid we have run out of stew, but Molly’s put together a selection of other things for you – including the lemon tart I mentioned earlier.” Clive places the bundle down carefully upon the blanket, before moving the waterskin besides it.

He waits a moment or two to see if you might lift your head before continuing, but it remains fixed in place.

“I think you might feel more at ease if you eat something, my lady, even if it’s just a little. I will leave you be and bid you a good night, with a sincere hope that you emerge anon.”

He gets back to his feet again, swallowing back down a sigh and, reluctantly, heads back into the warmth of the Ale Hall.

--

Clive finds himself restless later that night, tossing and turning before settling to stare up at the ceiling of his chambers. His mind is whirling with thoughts of what he needs to accomplish tomorrow, the missives he has yet to reply to, the Mothercrystals that still reside – though an opportune moment was still to present itself – the next lot of Cursebreakers who would be undertaking the removal of their Brands…

..and you, the scared Bearer, hiding in an alcove off the main deck.

He sits up with a huff and looks towards the balcony.

Fresh air – despite how drafty his chambers already are - will help, he thinks.

He gets out of bed, pulling on his earlier discarded trousers and boots to go with his night shirt and heads over to the balcony, stepping out into the cool night air.

The blighted lake waters are still and the moon casts a warm, white glow over the quiet deck. Clive takes a deep breath and then another, when something catches his eye down below - a lone figure heading across the boards on unsteady legs, towards the end of the dock.

You.

He turns on his heel and hurries out of his chambers, his footsteps echoing around the Ale Hall as he descends both sets of stairs two at a time. He pulls the lever back to call the lift back up and waits, impatiently, when he sees the blanket and bundle of food he’d left earlier, pushed aside in front of the alcove.

He grabs the bundle as the lift reaches the dock and hurries inside, slamming down the lever and descending below, praying that he’s not too late.

--

You were sure you hadn’t heard anyone for hours since the sun had dipped below the horizon and stars had slowly started to emerge in the cloudless sky. Cautiously, you’d pushed the blanket forward, only enough so that if someone was lying in wait for you to emerge they would pounce.

Nothing.

You wait another while before you inch it forward again, a pause, then a little more until the entire blanket is now out of the alcove. Your hands are shaking as you pop your head out, just slightly, but the deck appears empty. After waiting another few moments, you crawl over to the railings to peer below. The skiff you’d arrived on is docked up at the end of the pier – an escape route. Without much further thought, you pull yourself up on unsteady legs and walk into the goods lift, pulling down the lever to descend.

You find yourself at the end of the dock, frozen in fear. What were you thinking? You don’t know how to sail. You don’t know how to swim either, so that’s also out of the question. Even if you could, you surely wouldn’t have the strength to swim across an entire lake.

You flex stiff fingers experimentally. Maybe you could muster up enough aether to conjure some wind – would that be enough to sail the skiff? You wished you’d paid more attention on the journey over…

You’re getting ahead of yourself. Where would you even go? The brand inked on your cheek made it so you’d never have a normal life, you stand out immediately in any crowd. If an imperial soldier caught you on your own, you’d be thrown into the cells…

..or even worse.

Maybe… Maybe you could go back to your master? Your stomach swirls again with anxiety at the thought. There would be a punishment, surely, but if you came back that would count for something, wouldn’t it?

Your thoughts are interrupted by pounding footsteps, your heartbeat soon matching their pace as you turn to see your pursuer. It’s the broad-shouldered man from earlier – Clive – hurrying up the dock with a look you can’t identify on his face and a bundle of cloth in his hand.

You take a step back as he gets closer, hurriedly followed by another, then another. There’s an apology on your tongue but the world suddenly jerks when there is no longer anything to stand on. You’ve stepped too far, ran out of dock-

There is a gust of warm wind and an arm wraps around your waist, pressing you close into an even warmer chest. Underfoot, you feel the boards of the dock again - Clive has stopped you from falling into the depths. He guides you forward another half a dozen strides before dropping his arm once he’s sure you’re a safe distance away from the edge and then takes further steps back himself.

“I apologise for touching you without your consent, my lady, but I could not let you fall into the water. Are you all right?”

You don’t take in his words at all - your legs giving up as you drop down on the deck with a thump.

“I’m s-sorry.” Your words are soft, but Clive hears them in the stillness of the night. “Please – I’ll…” You swallow back a sob – crying never helped, would only make punishments worse. “I’m sorry. Please… don’t hurt me. I’ll obey. I will.”

“I will never hurt you, my lady, nor will I ever command your obedience. This is my vow.” Clive responds, equally as soft, as he kneels down to match your eye-level. “I just wish to see you safe and well.”

He sounds sincere, which is unsettling. You realise he doesn’t have his sword, nor the hound at his heels. He’s not even properly dressed - leather trousers and an unlaced white shirt, overall softening his appearance.

Clive takes advantage of your silence to press on.

“Will you join me in a midnight feast?” He places the bundle of cloth down before him, swiftly undoing the knot all whilst you stare, trying to guess the trick.

“I used to sneak into my younger brother’s chambers with things I’d swiped from the kitchen. He was often ill and prescribed a rather bland diet, so I hoped a midnight feast of more appetizing fare might cheer him up.”

He busies himself laying out the food on the patterned cloth, a little further away from him than could be comfortable having to stretch out so far. There’s a few bread rolls, apples, biscuits and something that smells tantalizingly sweet.

“This,” Clive points out a round pastry in the middle, some sort of glazed curd on the top, “is Molly’s fabled lemon tart. The best in Valisthea, I assure you. Please – help yourself.”

He leans back, propping himself up with his elbows, again trying to give you space, and forces his gaze to the sky. The moon illuminates the side of his face as you keep your eyes fixed on him, revealing a mark you hadn’t noticed earlier that day - an almost familiar one.

It’s torture having the food laid out in front of you, the second time that day. You don’t know if you feel sick from hunger or from nerves, but your resolve finally cracks.

You reach out with a shaking hand, waiting for Clive to strike.

He keeps focused on the skies above, his hands firmly planted behind him.

You pick up the roll.

Still, he does not move.

You take a tentative bite and chew, whilst Clive stares up at the stars.

Slowly, but surely, you finish the entire roll. Be grateful – your master’s voice rings around your head.

“T-thank you.”

Clive moves his gaze from the skies to yours, a warm smile on his face. “No, thank you, my lady. This is all I want for you – all we want for you – to be safe and well-fed.”

You dig your nails into your palms. “Why?”

“Because Bearers do not deserve to be treated how they are – we should be able to live and die on our own terms.”

“We?”

He nods, sitting up and turning his head to the side, pushing back his hair a little to reveal the scar on his cheek.

“I was Branded once. Tarja – she’s our healer – removed it, only so I could travel Storm safely and help others escape their fate. The Cursebreakers have all had their Brands removed as well for the same reason.”

“No, they said it can’t be removed – the ink contains poison.” You don’t know where this tone of defiance has emerged from, but there is no flash of anger across Clive’s brow.

“It is risky to remove, yes, but not impossible. And we will not ask you to undertake such a risk – that would be your choice.” He adds, quickly, worried you may take it the wrong way.

“You remember Molly, who brought you the stew?” You nod. “There are many others like her who have chosen to keep their Brand, but it does not dictate their lives in the Hideaway. And until you can live the life you deserve to, one where that mark on your cheek will not make it unsafe for you to do so, I sincerely hope you will find a home here.”

“A home?”

“Mm. Safe, fed, and never need to use aether again, my…” He pauses in realization. “My apologies - may I request the pleasure of your name?”

You shake your head, feeling foolish. “It’s silly, but I… I don’t remember it. Such a simple thing to have forgotten, but master didn’t use it.”

Of course the bastard didn’t - Clive feels a frown forming, but restrains himself. “I am sure it will come back to you with time.”

His eyes fall upon the pastry in the following silence, wishing to change the subject and he picks it up, placing it on the flat on his palm and offering it out to you. “Please – have some more to eat.”

Clive has a shy smile on his lips, a genuine and sincere look in his eye. It is the kindest look someone has given you in all the time you can remember and with that, your fingers brush across his open palm as you take the offered treat.

It is small – only two bites – but it is the most wonderful thing you have ever tasted. The pastry is crisp, thin and sweet, whilst the lemon curd is tart, the flavours dancing over your tongue.

It makes you want to cry at such a simple pleasure that has been denied to you for so very long.

The moment of euphoria is interrupted as a particularly cold wind gusts across the lake and causes you to shiver, unconsciously pulling your limbs closer to your body to try and preserve heat.

“Thank you for trusting me, my lady. I cannot imagine how frightening and worrying it must be – I truly admire your bravery. May I be as bold to request you trust me once more this night?”

You nod – the tiniest jerk of your head down – but it’s a nod all the same.

“Would you allow me to escort you to the infirmary? It has warm and comfortable beds where you can rest - properly.”

The question makes your stomach squirm with anxiety – the food sitting too heavy now in your stomach, but one look into Clive’s eyes almost settles it entirely once more.

“And in the morning, if you feel up to it,” he clarifies, “our healer would like to give you a check-up, but you do not have to make a decision on that right now.”

“A-all right.”

“Wonderful.” He keeps his tone measured, quickly wrapping up the food in the cloth and securing the top with a knot before he gets to his feet and steps back as you get to yours. He gestures forward a moment, quickly second-guessing his actions with a frown.

“Mayhaps you would be more comfortable following me?”

A small nod again.

You can’t be backstabbed if you’re facing his back, after all.

“Of course. Follow me, please, my lady.” He bows ever so slightly, before turning and heading back up and along the dock.

Clive’s heart is pounding as he walks away, worried that you may take his retreat as a chance to take the skiff and sail away or plunge yourself into the lake, but he dare not look over his shoulder in fear of frightening you.

Instead, he strains to hear any footsteps bar his own.

It is only when he reaches the goods lift that he catches sight of you in his peripheral vision that he releases a breath. He’s sure to stand in the furthest corner besides the lever, only taking one look over his shoulder to confirm you were safely within the confines of the lift before he pulls down on the mechanism.

He walks along the main deck, up the stairs to the mess, past the long tables and the hunt board before he pauses at the bottom of the next set of stairs. “It’s just up here and to the left.”

He opens the door to the infirmary with measured strength – aware the other Bearers will be resting within. The first two beds are occupied by faces you recognize – the two you’d been rescued with – and there is a man sat by a desk. Clive nods to him in acknowledgement and heads towards the other side of the room, sectioned off by a large bit of fabric. Both cots back there are empty, so he walks over to the one closest to the window and pulls the blanket down, then stepping back to the other side of the room and gesturing you forward.

“Here.”

You hesitate. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. The stranger the other side of the curtain has unsettled you. It had been easy to forget about everyone else for a moment when it had just been Clive and you on the dock, but now you are inside… Who else would come when dawn broke?

Clive picks up on your hesitation, noting the way your eyes flit between the window and beyond the curtain, annoyed with himself he did not warn you of Rodiguez being on duty that night.

“If it would be all right with you, my lady, I would like to stay in order to make introductions in the morning with Tarja. But I will only do so if you are comfortable with me – I will set up a chair over there.” He points back the way you came, to the gap between the fabric and the wall.

“P-please.”

“Of course.” He nods, picking up a chair immediately from the side and moving it to where he had said. It is only then that you sit cautiously on the edge of the bed, slowly lifting your legs up and tugging the blanket up to your chin.

Clive settles himself on the chair – he has slept in far worse places, after all – and it is not long at all until sleep claims you.

--

Months pass. At first, your circle remains small – Clive and Molly at first, followed by Jill before you slowly begin to open up to those among the Hideaway. You will never forget the smile on Clive’s face when he introduced you to Torgal properly – the hound immediately rolling on his back, titling his head at you inquisitively as his master explained he wished for you to rub his fluffy belly.

You are still easily startled by loud noises, unexpected movement or when Gav swears out of excitement, never the loudest in conversation, but everyone is so very welcoming.

There is plenty to do, but there is no expectation of you to contribute unless you want to, especially as some among the ranks are too stiff from the curse. Jill and Hortense teach you how to sew, you spend a few days in the Backyard learning about the plants, Charon teaches you how to take a stock inventory, Gav tries to teach you how to drink a pint in record speed and, of course, Molly teaches you how to bake.

You are always first to greet new Bearers with a soft word and kind smile, telling them how scared you were, how you hid in the alcove on the deck…

Clive is often busy whilst in or out the Hideaway, but he always makes time for you, seeking out your company immediately after he has given Otto the latest, wanting to know what you’ve been up to before he’ll even speak of himself. He even picks up little trinkets that he thinks will make you smile – lined up on your windowsill in your bunk.

You knock gently on Clive’s chambers – his call for you to enter soon following. You hold the basket behind your back, a piece of cloth tucked over delicately over the contents within as you slide open the door. He is sat behind the writing desk, looking over a pile of missives, dressed in his usual leathers.

He raises his head and offers you the warmest smile, getting to his feet immediately in polite greeting. Seeing you always seemed to brighten his day – there was something about your smile that revitalized his spirits, a reminder of how far you’d come since that first day.

“My lady.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work.” You say, softly, sliding the door closed behind you.

“You are never an interruption. Please, sit.” He gestures towards the bench opposite his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Before I sit, I have some gifts.”           

“Gifts?”

“Mm. For you.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have.”

You place the basket gently down on his desk, ignoring his comment. He pulls back the cloth to reveal a pile of six lemon tarts nestled within.

“Did you make these?”

“I did.” You nod, proudly. “Molly supervised, so they should be edible, at least.”

“They’ll be more than edible, I assure you.” He picks one up and bites into it, humming happily as he chews, the pastry melting on his tongue. “They are exquisite – truly.”

“Really?”

He feigns a pout at your question. “Have I ever lied to you?”

You shake your head with a shy smile.

“Then I would hardly start now.” He takes hold of you hand for a moment and squeezes. “Thank you.”

You bite your lip before continuing. “There’s… something else.”

“I am hardly deserving of this gift, my lady, let alone more-”

You interrupt him with a name – your name.

His eyes widen for a moment before he murmurs it back to you – sounding all the more wonderful on his tongue - and you nod, excitedly. You’d been reluctant to choose a new name, despite some suggestions. The inhabitants of the Hideaway had instead picked up on Clive’s term of address instead.

“I remembered, like you said.” You wring your fingers together. “Well, in a way. Tomes was reading a story to the children and there it was, after all this time.”

“It is a beautiful name – I am honoured to learn it.” He takes your hand with a bow, pressing a kiss against your knuckles and saying it once again.

When he releases your hand, you press a quick kiss against his stubbled, scarred cheek. “Thank you.”

Clive’s cheeks redden at your kiss, seemingly speechless for a moment. He smiles, almost bashfully, as he looks down at you with an unfamiliar look in his eyes.

“May I give you something in return?”

“Clive,” you look down as you protest, feeling your own face warm under his gaze, “you’ve already given me plenty. You-” He inadvertently cuts you off as he tilts your chin up with two gentle fingers, determined to meet your gaze.

“You do not understand, my darling. I would love to give you so much more, if only you’d permit me.”

“Oh…”

Clive moves his hand to caress your Branded cheek with calloused fingers – worn from his time of handling his blade – but his touch has never felt so soft.

“May I?”

You nod.

Clive presses a kiss to your lips - gentle, chaste and far sweeter than any lemon tart.

--

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[loveliestlovelygirl]

one of his girls

finnick odair x gn!reader

synopsis: stuck in a long elevator ride with finnick odair himself, he promises to save you a dance at the capitol party. with him, you become the center of attention instantly. the guests watch in envy, most of them wishing they were you. but finnick has his own motives for his pursuit of you.

w.c: 2.2K+

highlights: {minors dni} dark content, implied sex trafficking, alcohol, capitol party, social hierarchy, sexual content, lack of aftercare

Finnick’s suit jacket is navy but darker. Something like a midnight blue. The fabric is shiny, so shiny that you can faintly see your reflection on his bicep.

“Pretty.”

Startled that he would speak to you or even notice that you were standing beside him. You are a nobody compared to him. “T-thank you,” you stutter. His voice is enticing in a way. Not deep. But unapologetically masculine and yet soft at the same time. It haunts you. Any reply you could fathom would be but nonsense.

He chuckles. His smile is big. “Oh, I meant my suit.”

Suddenly, the elevator you are riding in together seemed even smaller. You can’t escape your embarrassment. It suffocates you entirely. Completely mortified by your assumption, you hang your head to hide your building tears. Why do I have to be such an idiot!

The hundreds of people at the party above would kill to be in this elevator with him. And you choose to act a fool.

When Finnick turns your way, you glance up just enough to really view his outfit. His shirt is made from a sheer black fabric, and his jacket is left open. You can see every ripple along his abdomen. You curse yourself for noticing.

“You are too though.” He leans down a bit to meet your eyes. “I just like this suit, don’t you?”

“Yes, it… becomes you.”

Finnick gives you a satisfied smirk. “Ah, my first compliment of the night.”

You cover your mouth to laugh. “I’m sure you’ll be drowning in them by the end.”

“If only that weren’t true,” he notes, leaning against the back wall. “It’s hard being loved by all.”

You laugh again. While everyone goes on and on about his incomparable beauty, they’ve never mentioned his humorous side. But you wonder if maybe there is some truth to his statement. Maybe he doesn’t like being in the limelight so often. He’s always a main attraction at Capitol parties. Everyone tries to go home with him.

You admire Finnick’s makeup. The coal liner that brings out his green eyes. And the gold flecks on his pink cheeks, matching his golden hair. “You really do look pretty, Finnick,” you say to him.

He nods. “I have to. The scandal I would cause if I were underdressed. You know me, always the attention whore.” He says that with a hint of disgust that maybe he didn’t intend for your ears.

The elevator comes to a stop before you have a chance to ask what he meant by that. Finnick waves to you.

“I’ll save you a dance, darling.”

Everyone fiercely fights for Finnick’s attention through the batting of eyelashes, assaulting him with compliments, and insincere kisses to his golden cheeks. You watch him accept their adoration with gracious elegance that only he has. When they flirt with him, he flirts back flawlessly, without skipping a beat. From this outside view it seems to come so naturally to him. It looks like he thrives when he’s adored. Most people wouldn’t know how to handle the attention. They would suffocate from the weight of it all. But not Finnick Odair. You figure he’s seen so much in his life that nothing phases him. Nothing at all.

While he’s in the center of the room, you draw near to the sidelines. You nibble at the food and sip white wine. Finnick has been too busy the entire night entertaining guests that he has no time for enjoying a meal. You hope he ate before.

From the dessert bar, you watch him dancing with a loudly dressed man with green hair. The way their bodies move together is fluid. Finnick can dance. In fact, he’s very skilled with the way he controls his partner all in the rhythm of the music. Perhaps your envy causes you to avert your gaze, and you walk around to the opposite side of the bar so that you no longer have to watch. You know that your encounter in the elevator meant nothing to Finnick. His calling you pretty means nothing. He flirts with everyone he can.

You lose yourself to chocolate and your self-effacing thoughts. And you don’t notice when he sneaks up behind you. When Finnick’s hand touches your shoulder, you nearly jump.

“Hello, Finnick,” you mutter, not turning to look at his face.

“I noticed you were watching me.”

You shrug. “Everyone was. He seems… fun.”

“I don’t care about everyone.” He steps around you and wedges himself between you and the bar. “Are you…” he leans in, staring at you suspiciously, “jealous?”

“Of him?” you balk at his presumptuousness. “You—”

“He’s obsessed with me,” Finnick scoffs. “And I hate him. But…” his lips ghost your ear, “he’s close to our beloved president.” He steps away from you after he says that. “But that’s just between you and me.”

A little stunned that he would share a private detail of his affairs with you, you’re caught at a loss for words. “I have no one to tell.”

His fingers slip between yours. “Don’t you? You frequent these gatherings.”

Quickly, you remove your hand from his. “My mother insists that I make an appearance. She’s working on marital arrangements for me as we speak.”

Finnick nods. “I see. I suppose it was a little self-assured for me to believe you came for me.”

“Plenty do.”

Turning his face toward the crowd, he watches them dance and laugh, drink and eat. “It’s true. They know they might get something from me.”

“Your reputation precedes you.”

He looks back to you and centers his gaze upon your eyes. “You don’t act like them. You don’t gorge yourself on extravagant pleasures as they do. You’re not from the Capitol, are you?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m from a lesser district. I was adopted.”

“I pity you. You would have been better off back home.” Finnick reaches behind you and grabs a drink. He leans back to swallow. “I count down the days until I can go back to mine. But… it’s uncertain when I will be allowed to go back.”

You look at him quizzically. “Allowed?”

He smiles cheekily, acknowledging that you heard him correctly. He means for you to know that. “You should dance with me,” he says, abruptly changing the subject. He grabs your wrist with his big hand, his grip so strong that you could never overpower his might. His strength is god-like, a formidable weapon in a fight. But with you… he uses his strength gently.

There is no use denying him his wishes. Finnick pulls you along to the middle of the dance floor where you both quickly become the center of attention. The faces that never bothered to give you a second glance are staring at you unashamedly. But it’s all because of the man who holds you in his arms.

They’re jealous of you… for once.

Finnick leads you in the dance, both arms about your waist and holding you close to him. His cologne warms your senses. His scent is potent and tempting, and you only wish to get closer to him. But with where you stand right now, that’s quite impossible without taking off all your clothes.

You hold onto his neck as you sway to the beat of melody filling the room. He moves your body in time with his. You follow his lead completely. Being in the spotlight magnifies every flaw you can conceive of for everyone to see and tease you for. The blinding light of Finnick’s stardom no doubt makes it worse. No one looks pretty standing beside him.

You press your face against his suit jacket to hide yourself. You can’t take it anymore, looking all around the room and seeing all those judgmental expressions directed toward you. Holding onto Finnick keeps your grounded. He makes you feel safe. As you dance you begin to understand why so many obsess over his attention. Regardless of whether or not it is genuine, it feels that way. Every touch, every look feels real. And it makes you crave more. More of him. And it’s disgusting how quickly he’s made you harbor lustful feelings towards him.

Every time he looks down at you with his mesmerizing gaze, he gives you fuck me eyes. Every single time.

Like now.

You pull at the collar of his jacket and giggle. “Finnick… you can’t look at me like that.”

He lifts your chin. “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.” His tone is playfully cautious.

“You might make me fall—” you stop, shaking your head, backing away one step to put distance between your bodies.

“That’s the point, sweetheart. Tonight. I’m all yours.” He pulls you back in a spin, leans in close to your ear, lips grazing. “A favor you might… repay one day.”

“What kind of favor are you asking for?” You can’t believe you’re considering his offer. But there’s something about him. How can you resist the pull? You’re only human.

“I know who you are. I know you have a house in your district 7. I need a haven and transportation to the location. Until the storm blows over.” Finnick tells you these things with a big smile on his face.

“Storm? What storm?”

“I’m leaving the capitol. Very soon. You’re the last piece of the puzzle.”

You laugh at him as if he’s crazy. “Why would you want to leave the Capitol, Finnick? You can have everything you want.”

He turns serious for a moment. “I don’t want everything. I just want to go home. I have a connection in your district.”

“Okay,” you say. “I can make arrangements for you.”

Pulling you in closer, Finnick’s eyes drift over your lips. “So shall we head upstairs?”

You interlace your fingers in his and give him a nod. This is not how you expected the evening to turn out. Not at all. Your little interaction with Finnick in the elevator wasn’t meant to lead to this. But he pursued you… and his reasons are clear to you now.

When you’re alone with him in one of the upstairs rooms designated for illicit activities, you look around the four walls that surround you. You’re here while they’re stuck beneath you. You’re where the rest of them long to be.

Alone with Finnick Odair.

He pours you a drink and brings it to you. You sip at the sour liquid while he watches you.

“Look into my eyes, sweetheart.” He’s looking into yours, his irises almost as dark as emeralds in the dim lighting. Rolling back his shoulders, his suit jacket hits the floor. You see his skin through his sheer shirt. You’re sure that’s the point of it. He wants people to look at his body.

It worked on you. Easily.

Under the glitzy chandelier, crystal droplets catch the light and enhance his glow. Finnick slowly reveals himself to you, undressing to please you. The darkness in his eyes is alluring, and it draws you to him. The low lights, the incense burning, and the alcohol in your hand are meant to seduce you, as if having Finnick all to yourself is somehow not enough.

His expensive clothes are left behind when he approaches you. His long arm pulls you close, and he holds you against him, his body warm and comforting.

“My drink,” you say, “it spilled.”

Finnick takes the glass from your hand and drinks what’s left. His adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. He tosses the glass somewhere, and it lands in a crash.

“Someone will clean that up,” he notes, taking both your hands and leading you across the room. “Just focus on your desires.” He grins ear to ear. “Focus on me.”

With the way he looks tonight, that’s the easiest thing in the whole world. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but you throw yourself into his arms, and Finnick gracefully catches you. And for the first time, you share a kiss with him, two worlds colliding for a moment and an eternity all at once. You feel hazy in wonder. The maneuvering of his mouth pulls and demands the greatest pleasure from you. Never have you been kissed this way before. From the rumors you have heard, few rival Finnick Odair as a lover.

Together, you collapse on the sofa, your body on top of his, your lips never breaking contact. You kiss him all over his face, leaving lipstick prints on his cheeks and forehead. Finnick turns swiftly and pulls you under him, holding you down with his bodyweight and warmth. His skin against yours feels so right somehow, despite the situation. The excitement sparks across your skin, every place he touches with his hands, his fingers, and his mouth as he sucks on the pulse point of your neck.

He unzips the back of your outfit and traces down the ridges on your spine. At the same time, you pause to gaze into the other’s eyes. In that moment, you know you’re thinking the same thing, and soon you find yourself tangled in silken bedsheets.

You’re naked under him. This is the first time you’ve been intimate with someone you barely know. But you feel safe with him. He’s gentle, warming you up first before he truly makes a move. It’s skin on skin, two beating hearts, nails digging into flesh and leaving red marks. The echoes of his smooth voice reverberating in your ears, over and over. Over and over. When he’s inside you, you suddenly discover an insatiable side to your own desires. Passion takes over your body, and you can’t get enough of him and the little freak he’s unraveling in your soul.

The bed shakes and creaks, and in a fleeting glance, you look out from under him, you wondering if the pictures on the wall would crash down over you.

You grasp at his skin, the sheets, the headboard, in attempt to hold out, to let this last a little longer. To enjoy him because it’s unlikely that, once he makes his escape, you’ll see him again. Not like this, at least.

You cry when it hits. That rush, crashing into you like a wave. Finnick backs off soon after, giving you space. You’re not even sure if he felt the same.

You lie there for a long time, just staring up at the ceiling. And eventually he leaves you without another word or loving touch. You know that this was all a favor, but you can’t help but fall a little for him. Everyone does.

But you’re just one of his girls. A means to an end.

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[dasnercaret]

i had so much fun drawing this guy it's unreal. please observe siffrin from @protectorcraft's fic a bell chimes somewhere!! what a dude. what a lad. what a weirdo (positive)

some more details under the cut! (spoilers for isat and the fic under the cut as well!)

i imagine that since siffrin's creachur form has something to do with wish craft, it wasn't too far-fetched to say that his eye would be colored too, especially given how the sky kid focused on it. however since this isn't his wish to stay with his family, i thought it would be nice to make it a different color... something representing the universe........ Sky Blue It Is

it helps that i am also obsessed with shades of sky blue AND the line from the fic that the sky kid said that it had "everything" in its eyes

i didn't illustrate it, but i think it would be extra cool if creachur siff's eye color changed as per time of day. just because. he's like the eye color version of that one 'do you love the color of the sky' post

i like to imagine that siffrin still has a strange Light in his eyes even when in his human disguise. can't remember if the fic mentions it or not but he has a sky blue highlight in those eyes now in my design. because i can :3

speaking of human disguise, i like to think that even with his transformation he's still not that subtle. mirabelle picks up immediately that he's weird but also that he's friendly and VERY good at survival, and so isn't too bothered by his... quirks. this might end up being canon to the fic honestly but i just wanted to trot out my two cents regardless while i'm here

i'm hoping i managed to communicate some of that off-putting nature in his face! especially his eyes. they're almost unnaturally gray aside from that strange highlight

i originally wanted to make his eyes even weirder but then i thought that being Too Weird would kind of defeat the point, and the point of this is that siffrin kind of has to pass as a normal human which means no glowing pupils, unfortunately. i can totally Give Him Pupils though. gotta get that subtle horror/ creepiness in :3

he gets glowing pupils / tapetum lucidum in the dark though. or when he's angry (see top left). as a treat

didn't draw his in between state (between human and dragon) but i imagine it looks kinda fucked up ! his horn and ears grow, his tail gets longer, teeth get sharper, his whole face sort of. Distorts. in a distinctly uncanny valley way. the blue highlight starts bleeding into his eyes (and his pupils start transforming from round to slit to star-shaped)

continuing, this in-between form in my head is sorta like the dragonkin soldiers from elden ring, just in terms of 'this is a weird hybrid of human and dragon and it just Doesn't Work'. like human, cool, dragon, cool, in between? fucked

siffrin is INSANELY floofy. even with the fact that he hasn't bathed in ages and his floof is all matted and tangled from lack of care he's still crazy soft. i think his fur also has similar insulating properties to his cloak so he never overheats or gets too cold. always the Perfect Temperature

if i were more confident in my skills (and which way this fic is going to end up going) i would have drawn a big hero 6 style moment where everyone is just lying with their face buried in siffrin's fur, like how everyone lays on warm marshmellow baymax.

i originally meant for siffrin to be more cursed and body-horror-y, and then i was looking at the fic descriptions for him (as of chapter 7, so there may be more detail later that i didn't get to see as of writing this) and was like 'wait... he kind of looks like the dragons from BOTW doesn't he' and then the inherent majesty kind of. just. Happened.

i like the fact that he looks kind of majestic though! i think it's a good representation of siffrin's terrible body image issues in this fic where honestly he looks awesome but he just doesn't realize it because, hello negative self-worth

didn't color the last doodles of human siff at the top left. apologies. i got sleeby

in another life mirabelle rides his dragon form into battle and it is exactly as awesome as it looks like it would be

kind of shoehorned my own oc into here as well but i SWEAR aleph is so absurdly similar to this design it's actually kind of hilarious. if i had a nickel for the number of space dragon designs i've made i'd have two, which isn't a lot but

and the full page of doodles! just cause

[erexart]

Language barrier

Pairing: Rengoku x gn! y/n

Context: fluff, modern au, Kyojuro is bilingual

A/n: Hello, this is my first time writing something so I hope you’ll like it <3

Thank you @meowzfordayz @neiptune for being the first readers. I’m also tagging @thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch because the 3 of you are my biggest inspo and why I wrote this🌸

———————————————————————————————————

Kyojuro yawned and rubbed his eyes. The book he was holding on to threatened to fall from his hands as he realised it was getting late. The clock showed that it was almost midnight, and he took it as his cue to finally go to sleep. As he was about to turn off the lights, he noticed the figure in bed beside him suddenly stir, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile.

He looked over, but much to his surprise the love of his life was not asleep yet. He quirked a brow in amusement.

You laid silently with one hand on your stomach and the other hovering in the air. Your eyes were closed, but your index finger was moving, slicing into nothing. It looked as if you were drawing something as your finger stroked the air, or perhaps conducting an orchestra. You stopped mid-stroke and muttered under your breath, a curse perhaps. Kyojuro only watched for a solid minute before he shifted and laid closer to you.

“My love? What are you doing? I thought you were asleep.”

“Something bothered me, and I can’t seem to get a grasp on it.”

“Oh?” He kept quiet, urging you to continue as he watched your index finger move up and down in one swift motion. Judging from your tone of voice, you hadn’t been asleep at all.

Your head turned towards him, eyes fluttering open to meet a pair of his bright coloured irises. “I can’t seem to memorise the ‘ha’ column.”

Kyojuro’s smile widened, and his heart feels full. You had been trying to learn his native language for a week now. Although he had told you he did not mind the fact that you don’t speak Japanese, your insistence on learning his mother tongue made his heart soar.

You practiced with him every day, memorising the stroke orders of most common kanji characters and tried to have small conversations with him. He is a wonderful teacher. Despite your lack of knowledge and poor memorisation skills, he was patient and loving and kind through it all. Tonight, when you tried to recap your lessons for today, a column of hiragana characters became scrambled. It had nagged on you and kept you awake.

“Well, that should be easy enough!” His volume rose a bit in excitement. Moving his hand, he interlocked it with yours, the back of your hand facing the both of you.

With the other free hand, his index finger stroked the back of your hand gently.

It formed the character “ は“

“How do you pronounce that?” He questioned, smiling at you.

“ ‘Ha-‘ right?”

“Correct!”

He scribbled on your hand again. This time forming the character “へ“

“he”

“Good job!”

His touch was gentle and comforting, making your eyes droop from relaxation. You decide to close them and let your sense of touch guide you.

This time his scribbling formed the character “ふ”

“fu?” You answered much quieter

“Yes, great job my love.” His volume dropped, sensing the tiredness in your pitch. “What about this?” He wrote down the character “れ“

Your brows furrowed and your eyes opened half-lidded at him.

“That’s not in the ‘ha’ column.”

He chuckled, happy that you remembered what he taught you. “But do you know what it is?”

“It’s ‘re’ like the start of your family name.” You heard a prideful gasp came out of him.

“Wonderful, that’s amazing you remembered.” You could feel him squeezing your hand a bit, warm and gentle, making you feel sleepy once again. You feel like drifting off but kept yourself awake enough as he wrote down the next one. You bit your lip. You know it’s in the ‘ha’ column but you don’t know how it sounded.

“Can you do that again?”

“Of course.”

His index finger traced the back of your hand again, this time much slower and gentler, as If he’s trying to coax you back into relaxing.

“I don’t…know that one.”

“That one is pronounced ho”

“…right..”

The character “ほ” popped up in your mind, and you kept quiet trying to combat the drowsiness and memorise the stroke order you felt.

He went silent for a while. His lack of commentary stirred you awake.

“Kyojuro?”

“Ahh..I thought you went to sleep?” You laughed. “No, not yet, but you writing on my hand is making me sleepy.” He only responded with a thoughtful “hmm”

“Alright, let’s test your kanji.” You sighed, not prepared for the sudden quiz.

“Oh no…I’m going to suck at this.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll use the ones you’ve been learning so far.”

“Alright then...”

His finger moved in skilful motions, stroking right, down, right, right, with precision. He was going slow so you could catch up and make sense of the stroke order. It was difficult but with some concentration you made out that he had written the kanji “描く“ on the back of your hand.

“Ega- ku, -to paint something.”

“Yoku dekita!”

You laughed at his response.

He scribbled another kanji down, and you immediately recognised it because you’ve been practising on how to write it almost every day.

“Well now you’re just trying to write your own name.” You quipped, with a small smirk.

“I’m not even done yet, and I am both impressed and flattered you remembered!” You chuckled lightly at him, and it sounded like music to his ears.

His name was not that complicated, but he continued anyway, caressing your skin gently just to reinforce your brain into remembering the stroke order. He went slowly, his touch causing you to drift off more and more with every stroke. By the time he had finished the “郎” from ” 杏寿郎” you had already gone to sleep.

Seeing that you were finally dead to the world, he pulled on your hand and kissed it gently. Your silent reply was all he needed to confirm that his mission was successful. Pulling back, he decided to write down one final kanji before retiring for the night. He wrote more of a sentence really, and his eyes widened in excitement when he realised he hadn’t taught you this yet.

“ずっと大好きだよ。”

Smiling, he turned off the lights, wrapped his arms around you and went to sleep.

[thunder-point]

Okay so if drunk Peem is bold and affectionate and drunk Phum is shy and tiny then it's only natural to follow this course to it's logical conclusion: drunk phumpeem.

Drunk phumpeem being taken care of by Peem's parents who watch on fondly as a loud and proud Peem boasts about his handsome boyfriend while a meek Phum blinks prettily and laughs at all the right cues and leans into Peem's shoulder and hides his face in Peem's neck, and, once or twice, even whines shyly, "Peeeem. you're embarrassing meeeee. 🥺" And Peem just plants a loud kiss on his mouth right there.

The next morning, Peem's parents have like, dozens of pictures of them being generally very disgusting in love. Peem's dad gets his favourite one framed and gives it to Phum on Phumpeem's wedding: a picture where Phum is asleep in Peem's lap, holding his arm like one would a plushie, cheeks smushed cutely, while Peem looks fondly down at him with his hands running through Phum's hair, mouth open as if he's saying something.

Thank you for humouring me. I'll go and stare at my ceiling for several hours in contemplation.

*incoherent noises* everytime i re-read this ask i question if I'll ever literally recover but i never do so i will concede to the madness that you inflict in me

i literally, actually, promptly have no words to add to this. it's already perfection. i just want people to read this and realize what you can do to all of us with your thoughts alan.

and now i want that picture I WANT THAT PICTURE sometimes i curse my lack of digital drawing skills because i would have painted that picture and dedicated it to you

(you've also made me think about drunk cat hybrid peem hissing at everyone who dares to make one single step towards his drunk, shyly giggling drunk dog hybrid boyfriend)

[thewandererh]

bOO‼️

@if-you-heart @if-you-mind @if-you-soul

told heart this but i drew fanart of ya’ll’s sweet angular soul guy :]! i couldn’t not…look at his dumb face…..🥺

i have two versions because the lighting experiment came out ok-ish. t was originally blue (because it was coming from the left side lmao) but red looks better 🤷

it’s a little simple and the composition is messy, but it was a good stress relief + shading practice :D! im proud of it. i’ll definitely draw him (and the gang) more though if i can!! been getting better with hair recently and tested out my skills with this one :]. styling and keeping consistent with hair is tough, but oddly relaxing. did some lineart in the car somehow 👀??

he looks like such a,,,bro i can’t….. i love how stupidly spindly he is

i was attached to this stupid lanky fictional(???) man the *moment* i saw this post. absolutely bonkers. i was so charmed by this concept i shared it to all of my friends you don’t understandjshdkdhdgsgd /silly /but yeah i did do that XD

also you fazgang have been reblogging and liking my stuff 🐥 <- looks up at you like this chick

which,,,,thankie,,…🐥🐥😳💛✨

.-.

for you onlookers have some more posts by the fazgang (what the if-you-hms-gang call themselves) to gaze upon. you will not regret,,

.-.

i’ve noticed a trend that i often tend to write big paragraphs about a simple piece of art i’ve made, which is okay but i get the lack of interaction lol. im very proud of my art, and go on rambles on why i like it. the formatting i turn to aswell as the text and images almost turns the post into a collage? visually?? i love collages so it works out XD! but anyways,, im not upset over notes, i just like getting my art out there. so thank you to everyone whose viewed, read, liked, and followed for the ride :]. im glad you appreciate my stuff, it’s what i can offer <3. it won’t be consistently one fandom but im glad to not be alone in my interests. good god that sounded like a traumatized rant (maybe it was but:)

TLDR: check out if-you-heart/mind/soul :]! they are very cool and nice💛

[kusakabesimp]

Kusakabe's New Shadow Style and Simple Domain

After more in-depth research on Kusakabe's New Shadow Style and Simple Domain, I'm updating and expanding on previous information. I'm constantly re-reading the manga for details and noticing new things, so I'm updating my writing based on my evolving understanding of the series.

New Shadow Style was developed in the Heian Era as a martial system that combines fighting/sword techniques and anti-domain strategies. This all-in-one package enhances a user's combat abilities through training and experience to compensate for a lack of raw power and/or innate cursed techniques. Sword Drawing and Simple Domain are parts of this system, but they can also be learned as separate pieces.

Battō Sword Drawing: This technique covers the blade with cursed energy, increasing draw speed. It's a building block of NSS and the easiest to learn. Beginners start with the basic skill, and advanced users can modify and personalize it as they develop their own style. Activation requires a hand sign in the sword-drawing position and an incantation.

Kusakabe is considered an elite user of NSS (the best term I can come up with for a skill level above expert), so his Battō style is significantly different from other users. He doesn't need a binding vow to activate or use his NSS techniques, so he can move freely without breaking the cast.   

Evening Moon Sword Drawing: This is one of Kusakabe's NSS techniques, built on but different from Battō. It functions both as a stand-alone drawing technique and a defensive complement to his Simple Domain. Activation follows the same requirements as Battō, but the draw posture is different.

Evening Moon draws inspiration from a real iaido technique called iaigoshi (居合腰). The crouched position leverages the body's natural mechanics, creating spring-like energy in the legs for explosive speed. In iaigoshi, the knees are bent, almost touching the ground, while the heels are raised and the toes pointed slightly outward. The torso leans forward just enough to keep the body ready for swift movement in any direction.

Simple Domain: Simple Domain was created to counter Domain Expansions. Canonically, SD has different rules and applications depending on who is casting it and who or what is affected by it. It requires an incantation and the same sword-drawing hand sign used for other NSS techniques. Even if the user's SD doesn't involve a sword, the sign makes sense given that New Shadow Style was originally developed as a sword-based martial art.

Simple Domain can be taught by a practitioner of New Shadow Style or learned by a skilled sorcerer who copies it after they see it activated. Gege didn't explain how Yuki and Gojo learned it, but we know Todo learned it from Yuki, and Kusakabe taught it to Yuji. Miwa and Kusakabe are practitioners of NSS, so it was passed down to them through their training. Regardless of where they learned it, the hand sign remains the same.

Kusakabe's Simple Domain: Kusakabe's SD is multifunctional, allowing him to tailor its use to different situations. He's customized his SD to allow for simultaneous defensive and offensive effects. We get detailed explanations from Kusakabe himself and others, giving us a better understanding of his SD than other sorcerers.

Domain Counter - Simple Domain only nullifies the guaranteed hit aspect of Domain Expansion, not the technique itself -- but he can weaken the technique and reduce some of the damage. He also has the ability to stop the target from charging or expanding their Domains and cursed techniques.

Increased Speed - Kusakabe's Simple Domain boosts speed and mobility for both offense and defense. Offensively, this allows him to strike faster, whether he's using NSS drawing techniques or other martial arts. If you want a more in-depth look at these skills, you can read my [Jian Zhi and Tsuki no Ken] post. Defensively, this allows for better reaction time. When paired with his custom intercept techniques, this boost in speed allows him to evade even powerful attacks like Sukuna's slashes. Even though SD doesn't offer complete protection, not getting hit in the first place makes that a non-issue.

Custom Intercept: Kusakabe programmed his SD to automatically intercept targets, whether they enter his domain from the outside or are drawn in by its expanded range. The intercept technique allows him to close gaps and engage targets quickly, no matter how they come into his domain.

Expanded Range: Kusakabe's SD is well-known for its wide range, allowing him to use and enhance any of his techniques within that area. It also acts as a great defensive technique to protect allies:

enables him to protect a larger number of allies

allows allies the benefit of increased speed/mobility

he can use his own speed/mobility to cover specific areas on the battlefield while allies strike offensively (see him flanking to cover Higu)

he can use Domain Counters to offer protection from cursed techniques

Kusakabe's genius-level jujutsu knowledge and combat expertise set him apart as an elite sorcerer (again, it's the best term I can come up with for a skill level above expert). He constantly pushes the boundaries of existing techniques and adapts them into new, highly effective combat strategies. Other sorcerers recognize and respect this, and we should too. Because, as always --

WE RESPECT KUSAKABE ATSUYA IN THIS HOUSE.

[sm-baby]

OkokokOK I have listen to your playlist and have such animatics in my head (especially for entertain me aaa) and I curse my lack of drawing skills because I would love to see them irl ;w; Do you have any plans to make an animatic? No pressure! I know it’s a lot of work I just gotta ask

Naurrr they take so much workk ToT

[poppy-purpura]

How! Is! Your! Artstyle! So adorable and! PRECIOUS!!

Also, hi, big fan of your art pieces, mostly in the COTL fandom. Are there any of the AUs you're still interested in drawing? How does the COTL Marriage one goes and ends? Also how did the Lamb and Narinder even get married when one is bound in the in-between Afterlife?

Have a good month! Sleep early, drink water regularly.

Ohh Thank you so much for kindness! :) Hello!

Well, I love my AUs, but I have no so much ideas to draw, also the lack of needed skills exists. I feel very unsure to draw anthro and such things :") Also it is really hard to draw something for myself. The truth is, I'm not a fan of myself...

Are you talking about fairy tale AU?

The situation there was like this: bishops imprisoned Narinder in his Purgatory and drained all the ichor from him, but, to tell the truth, they did not want such a fate for him. Shamura offered a deal according to which Narinder would be released if he married someone and through a bloody ritual transferred half of his divinity to someone else (he stubbornly refused for a long time, but eventually agreed to it, because it was exhausting to exist forever in nowhere).

Bishops then planned to kill his "bride" if she did not die herself due to gaining "divinity", and allow Narinder to live a mortal life in an immortal body, being sure that he would not threaten their position. They chose a young sheep for him, the most harmless creature he had often preferred as maids and prays before.

They got married and started living together. Mara (sheep name) became the owner of the crown. Narinder was not thrilled, but he helped his young wife and one day revealed his past and his thoughts to her. She agreed to help him regain his territories, now divided between local forces. And the whole story was supposed to tell that Mara learns to use the power of the crown, conducting witch rituals and learning how to cook potions and curses, and Narinder is forced to fight (he is bad at this he knows more about rituals and dances what a looser). They literally robbed someone's barn and use a scythe and sickle as weapons. Later, they will be able to recapture Narinder's castle, and their feelings for each other will become something more than friendship. In the process, Mara gets to know bishops and helps solve their problems in order to get the key to the doors to Purgatory, where Narinder's kittens are left. Happy end I guess.