#how do people manage to do that? Just drawing consistently every time?

[beardedhandstoadshark]

Pro tip: Can’t keep one of your char‘s to look consistent? Make them a shapeshifter! That way it’s not you hiding a lack of developed skill, but an important and thought-out detail for their character building - bonus points if you getting better at consistency reflects in them getting better at shapeshifting!

[arcaneyouth]

i dont know if i will ever get used to people telling me my art is inspiring or im their favorite artist or comic author or whatever. i cant even get used to people telling me things that are objectively true, like "you have a bigger audience than me" like wh,,, what the fuck do you mean i just make shit,,,, but i DO have an audience,,,, what the fuck???? baffled confused and scared i spent like 4-5 years accepting my stuff would probably never get noticed and now apparently it is. hello.

[afternines]

.

[blindmagdalena]

All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

[paper-mario-wiki]

hi, i'm not the person who asked you about the life update, but could you elaborate on how being a creator means to live in a world of ideas instead of the real world? i'm just really curious about your reasons for quitting, specially because i want to create things in the future (not necessarily streaming, but anyways), hope you have a good day!

i'll be talking mostly about streaming for the sake of this answer, but this is similarly applicable across a wide range of platforms:

the job of the streamer is, effectively, to be the life of the party every single day. your goal is to be the person that has something interesting to talk about, and is quick with a joke, and has nuanced understandings of certain things, without actually obtaining any sort of "expertise" in anything lest you alienate viewers. short of having a stated goal for a stream, the only goal of the streamer is to let people relax with a voice they enjoy, saying things they like hearing. you can become very strong in different aspects of streaming, like in the production, or as someone who focuses more on a skill they've honed like art or speedrunning, but the demographic of streamers which pulls, by far, the most significant viewership, is personality based streamers.

this becomes more complicated when, for example, you are very interactive with chat, or you stream with multiple people at once. now, to maintain this charismatic sway you have (the one that got you the job in the first place), you must be able to adapt to and bounce off of other people, as you are now no longer performing alone. naturally, there's a need to not only manage your own flow of consciousness, but also to be at least partially in sync with someone else's.

beyond these complications, you must also consider drawing in new viewership. when i was a streamer, i was quite successful, relatively speaking. pulling 300 viewers consistently is something a very slim amount of streamers can actually do, and even then i was still making under 50k a year, which is not bad, but also not good. in paying for my apartment, my insurance, my travel fare, and all the other stuff that living independently draws money out of you with, i was more often in the red than i was in the green. hence, the need to draw in new viewers, which cannot be done without something eye-catching.

think about this: there are, at any given time, TENS OF THOUSANDS of streamers live in your native language on twitch, and they are all FREE TO WATCH. the attention market is sparse because the streamer market is oversaturated. and considering all of THEM want new viewers too, everyone is constantly refining and improving their craft, which requires everyone to move creatively in tandem with each other lest they get left behind.

if you are a streamer making ass-dollars and ass-cents, it becomes easy to begin resenting people like jerma, solely because everything he touches seems to turn to gold. i personally found it easy to feel very disappointed in myself when peoples projects that seemed so simple would take off. it was a constant "why didn't i think of that!" situation, at least for me. and when you don't have the energy to keep that up, or the social stamina necessary to figure that all out while also being upbeat and happy in front of people near daily, it can become very draining.

what i mean specifically when i say the "world of ideas", is like. there would be times where i could schedule out my failures weeks in advance. i'd be so in my own head about the process, i could see the exact path i could see myself taking that would lead me directly to ruin. how playing games i actually enjoyed would steadily drop viewership, or how focusing on my studies would make people forget about me. and of course this is augmented by my anxiety, i know this is absolutely not the case for every streamer, but that overwhelming feeling of needing to find a new game to play, or a new gimmick to use, or a new ploy to get money that doesn't make you feel guilty even though your source of income is mostly queer and mostly poor young adults and your rent is coming up and you're $200 short but you also just had a fundraiser last month about a DIFFERENT emergency but you cant make it a bummer or else people wont want to tune in so you have to make it something fun like "you laugh you lose!" or "$1 art request streams!" while feeling nothing but anxiety while youre trying to sound like youre enjoying yourself even when youre asking 250 people to donate every 30 minutes or so and nobody seems to want to and chat is moving slowly and. and and.

well, it starts to eat away at you.

[yestrday]

do any of the hybrids have jobs or tasks that keeps them occupied throughout the day? I know aether is sort of a butler for the mc, and zhong li is the secretary of mc's father. but what about hybrids like ayato and thoma, who have experience in elite society, do they just sit around at home or do they actually do business-like work 😭 or hybrids like ajax or itto, it sounds like they mightve been strays and just lived in the wild, so do they do anything now besides fight and play w other hybrids (like be in charge of gathering food, meet up with former gang members, etc)?

while the hybrid had their own unofficial tasks, everyone was organized into groups the moment zhongli entered the scene.

aether is his own catgeory. he likes to call himself a butler, but it's really just him being your housepet. he takes care of you— wake you up, remind you of meetings, gossip to you about the going-ons in the manor, and basically just trail after you wherever you go. he helps out the manor's staff when he's not doing anything.

the executive team is actually a one-man team of zhongli, as he is on orders from your father to raise you into a fine heir. he's tasked with communication between you and your father, and also manages the house staff and hiring. he's expected to report to your father about the happenings in your house and keep your 'pets' in line. xiao is often considered an unofficial member of the team since zhongli often orders him around to send messages on his behalf (most of the hybrids don't use gadgets) as well as stalk... err, keep an eye on them.

the education team consists of zhongli (again!), neuvillette, ayato, albedo (haitham?). they're a team under zhongli's management who are tasked to educate you on subjects and topics that are in line with your father's vision for you. ayato was picked specifically to educate you on social manners and etiquette, though he does a scary job at education.

the manor management team works closely with the manor staff in... well, managing the manor! xingqiu has stationed himself as a part-time librarian with the amount of time he spends in there. tighnari takes care of the garden while zhongli's had kaveh draw up plans whenever renovation or a new place had to be built. freminet is not really part of this, but everyone tends to come to him whenever they need a mechanic. the house staff love baizhu for his gentle demeanor and medicine.

the security team is your group of glorified stalkers, who consist of those who are most adept to combat. xiao, cyno, and sometimes aether stalk you from the shadows wherever you go. gorou is more concerned about making the manor more secure and wriothesley stays with him (he just likes staying at the manor). razor means well. childe likes to consider himself part of the security team, but the actual people don't really consider him as such. heizou's not really part of them, but they often call for him whenever they need to sleuth things out.

the information team is organized a little later, should you officially assume the title of heir and start your education on how to run the corporation. those within here are your pawns to use. aether, lyney, and kaeya are good at words and can make anyone reveal information with their irresistible charm. heizou, of course, for the sleuthing. you can send diluc on solo missions, who can use his formidable combat to infiltrate and beat the shit out of any fancy pants you need dirt on.

they don't really do much, these guys. itto is, well, itto, and he means well but there's not much he can really do, so sometimes he'll help the others out with the occassional odd job to gain some pocket money. bennet means well too, so zhongli has decided to take pity on him and let him help out with the house staff. venti doesn't do chores, sorry, and kazuha likes to help out with security every now and then but that's it. don't even bother asking scara. chongyun also means well but he's kind of like a bug repellent but instead of bugs it's evil spirits. thoma is just ayato's butler. mika does a lot, actually, so you have to remind him to take a rest whenever he gets exhausted from rushing to and fro the manor.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

Happy Birthday @forget-me-maybe !!!! Please enjoy the little Rolan treat I've cooked up for your special day (o゜▽゜)o☆ SFW Rolan/Reader It's your Birthday, and Rolan is hosting your party.

Rolan had been so flattered that you invited him to your Birthday celebration, and was all too eager when you asked if Ramazith's Tower could act as the venue.

Cleaning, decorating, cooking-- Rolan neglects his work for an entire week to ensure that your party is just as elegant and extravagant as you deserve.

Dressed to the nines in a new suit he purchased just for the occasion, Rolan pats the carefully crafted letter in his breast pocket as guests begin to pour in.

Hosting comes easy to him, especially when all of the idle chatting consists of compliments to the party-- how delicious the food is, how beautiful the fresh cut flowers are, how impressive the spells of dancing lights are high up in the rafters. He feels in his element--at the top of his game.

At least, until you show up.

You're an absolute vision with your hair done up and a gorgeous red dress accentuating your body. All of the confidence he had garnered suddenly dissipated at the sight of you. He had put on airs to seem elegant, but you do it so effortlessly. The decorations he had carefully picked suddenly feel inadequate, the food poor. It all seems cobbled together and holding on by a thread when compared to you.

The flow of conversation turns from the party to you instead, and though it's one of Rolan's favorite subjects, he hangs back, downing glass after glass of wine as he watches the guests flock to you and demand your attention.

It seems like you're having a great time. He drinks and watches you from across the room, face lighting up as you speak with your friends and former companions. He catches your laughter from above the music and idle chatter, and his heart sings with it. He smiles himself, face warm with wine and affection.

Your eyes fall on him from your spot amongst your friends. Rolan's smile falters and his blush deepens as he quickly turns around, busying himself with straightening the napkins on the table. His heart is racing as his hands flutter along the spread, realizing just how rude he may be coming off as. He needs to formulate a game plan-- a casual sauntering over and a few words of congratulations. He's watched countless people do it at this point, he just needs to muster up the courage--

"Hey you."

Rolan stiffens and turns around, his palms going damp with just how close you are to him.

"H-Hello," He manages out, his tongue feeling slow and sloppy from wine and nerves, "And the happiest of Birthdays to you."

Your eyes roam his face, lips pouting out just the slightest, "You haven't come to talk to me yet."

"Yes, well--" Rolan can feel himself floundering, his cheeks positively burning, "You were chatting amongst your friends--"

"You're also a friend, you know."

"Yes, well..." Rolan starts again, but he can't seem to think of a response. Instead, he draws his eyes away from you, looking out at the gathering of people, trying his damndest to slow his heart, "I hope the party is to your liking."

"It's phenomenal." Your eyes follow his, "I can't believe you did this all for me."

"It was no trouble."

You laugh softly at that, and his tail sways happily behind him.

"Liar. I can see that you went through a great deal of trouble." You pluck a flower from the table and hold it between the two of you, a smile on your lips, "This amount of fresh orchids? You're a madman."

Rolan's hand raises to take the offered flower, but he thinks better of it. "Do you like them?"

"I do." You twirl the stem between your fingers, eyes on him all the while. "What do they mean?" Rolan isn't sure if it's the wine in his system or how flustered he is, but he doesn't understand the question. You laugh again. "Every flower has a meaning, right? Do you know what orchids mean?"

"Oh, I believe they mean beauty," Rolan clears his throat, feigning his ignorance, "And strength...or something to that effect."

"Aren't they also a symbol of love?"

Rolan feels like he's been caught red-handed. He clears his throat again and straightens his shoulders, eyes anywhere but your face, "That may be the case. It's not really my area of expertise."

"I see..." He doesn't miss the disappointed note in your tone. "Well, either way, they're beautiful. Thank you, Rolan... I really appreciate all of this."

He nods, a flush of happiness warming him. "Of course."

Your eyes draw him in again, and he can see something written on your face that he can't quite figure out. It seems as if you're about to say something, but with a small shake of your head, the look passes.

You lean in close, and Rolan makes a small noise of surprise in the back of this throat. Your soft fingers brush against his chest and find the breast pocket of his suit jacket. You slide the orchid into the pocket, straightening it just right so that the delicate petals are facing out.

"There." You say, hand lingering against his ribs before finally pulling back, a flush of your own pinkening your cheeks. "Perfect." There's a moment of weighted silence before you take a step back, "I guess I should get back to the par--"

Your words are cut off as Rolan's tail slinks forward, the flared end sliding over the side of your dress, clearly looking to wrap around you. Horrified, Rolan snags his tails and shoves it behind himself.

"S-sorry," He stammers, straightening his jacket to keep his hands occupied, "Please, go enjoy yourself."

You raise an eyebrow, your cheeks still rosy. "If you want me to stay, you only need to ask."

"N-no, it's fine." Rolan's hands brush over the letter still hiding in his pocket, and his stomach flips uncomfortably. "I shouldn't keep you to myself."

You stay in place, like you want to stay. Or perhaps it's only that Rolan wants you to. Seeing you standing before him, so beautiful, so perfect, so clearly expecting something that he can't quite put his finger on...

Rolan drags in a shaky breath and digs the letter from his pocket and jerks it out to you, his claws indenting into the envelope and bending it.

"Here."

He has to will his hand to open as you take the letter. You're clearly confused by his sudden outburst, but it doesn't matter. All will be revealed to you shortly. There's no going back from this point.

Even with the enormity of what he's just set in motion, Rolan's shoulders feel lighter as he draws back, tail swishing nervously behind him.

"Please, don't read it until you're home." He inclines his head, "Now, go and enjoy your party."

You're still thoroughly confused, but you tuck the letter away and promise him you won't read it just yet. With a parting smile, you leave him and are instantly roped into another conversation.

Rolan's breathing returns to something resembling normalcy, but his heart is thundering. He did it. He really did it.

He pours himself another glass of wine, thinking over the contents of the letter. Even after countless revisions, he still finds himself cringing at just how unabashed it is. But he wants--needs-- you to know exactly how he feels. All of these grand, encompassing emotions that you bring forth in him. Just how much he loves you.

Whether you accept his confession or not...well, that's another matter.

With that monumental task out of the way, Rolan hangs back, sipping at his wine and absently petting the soft petals of the orchid you placed on his chest.

[giorno-plays-piano]

Metamorph

Part III

Pairing: art teacher!Aemond Targaryen x reader (Horror AU)

Warnings: dark!Aemond, obsessive behavior, murder, horror, yandere, kidnapping, misanthropy, general creepy stuff.

Words: 1.1k

Summary: Drawn to the artworks of one of the most esteemed artists in the city, you wish to learn from him and find out what inspires him to create his masterpieces. You have no idea how much his secrets will cost you.

Part I | Part II

____________

You clenched your fancy Kohinoor pencil between your fingers like it's a gun, staring at Aemond already posing in front of all of you. No procrastination, you reminded yourself firmly as you drew a long vertical line across the paper to balance the future drawing. Your teacher hadn't berated you for your mistakes even once. It'd be fine if you got this one wrong, too. Anything was better than an empty sheet.

God, but Aemond was so pretty. His high cheekbones, his strong nose and jaw, and those thin but expressive lips, the long scar across the left side of his face...

You quickly hid behind your easel.

Breathe. Just get out of your head, you repeated to yourself Aemond's very words. You needed to get started, and whatever happened next didn't matter as long as you allowed yourself to draw whatever came to your mind. Explanations and logic be damned. You were an artist! At these rare moments, you were supposed to feel, not think.

Slowly inhaling and exhaling to keep your anxiety at bay, you uncleched the pencil in your fingers and slowly started shaping the figure on a sheet. It's fine. Aemond wouldn't get mad anyway as long as you did what he said.

The more you put your pencil to the sheet, the easier it was getting, something unfurling in your chest, putting a stop to your anxious thoughts and fears of failure as you continued to build Aemond's body, starting to get into details once you finished with the primary form. Regardless of his talent and uniqueness as an artist, he was still only a fellow human being like you. There was no need to magnify his power.

By the time Aemond walked over to you, you were almost finished with the painting, landing the last strokes to color the palms of the man on the sheet. It was that very red paint you had been mooning over for many months, complimenting its unusual vibrant color and a pleasant consistency. It was hard to believe you were now using it for your own artwork, but time was running out, and you didn't have a spare moment to be drooling over the paint.

"What do we have here?" The artist hummed, making you jump in your seat. How on Earth did he manage to walk so quietly in a room full of tables, chairs, and people?

Trying to focus on his question, you suddenly realized you had no clue how to present your idea to the teacher. Did you even draw what he had asked you to? What was that, not changing the silhouette and using mainly paint to express yourself or something?

You felt the beads of sweat promptly forming on your forehead as you clenched your jaw.

"You've been improving," Aemond told you, eye on the drawing as he tilted his head to the side. "Body proportions seem right, and I like the way you shaped the arms and legs. You had difficulties with them before."

Oh, really? You surely had problems drawing arms, but you didn't notice you were becoming better. A pleasant surprise. Not that one wouldn't expect to improve after taking lessons from the most esteemed artist in the city.

"Why did you paint the head and hands in red?"

Oh, crap. Why did you? You frantically searched for an answer other than "no idea, Sir, I think my subconsciousness just took over my body." Shifting in your seat uncomfortably, you looked up to Aemond bent over, intently studying your artwork.

Cautiously, you muttered, "I-I think every change starts from the head, Sir."

Would that qualify for an answer? But Aemond quickly directed his gaze at you and demanded, "And hands?"

Biting your poor lip that no amont of lip balm was going to save after today's lesson, you mumbled, "Hands are the tool that make the change happen, Sir."

"Very logical, yes. Now, forget about trying to give me a logical answer and tell me what you felt when you were drawing this. Tell me about the paint."

He bent over even closer to you, practically breathing into your face, and you almost lost the ability to produce any adequate sounds. Your teacher clearly saw through your bullshit, and the thought that he was upset or even mad at you made you feel miserable.

"It's a metamorph, Sir," you whispered, one step closer to having a panic attack and hoping no student in the room was listening to your rambling, "and red is a color of life. Of change."

Aemond cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at you. "Why do you think red is the color of change? Is it because the change scares you?"

"It's not the change itself that scares me. It's what the metamorph is becoming, Sir," you uttered in a small voice and then added even quieter, praying only Aemond could hear you, "I think- I think he's turning into something violent, Sir. Something terrifying."

It took you a second to recognize what you've just said and what reaction it has provoked.

All of a sudden, you were staring in the face of Aemond Targaryen with his thin lips stretched so wide in a smile that it was even a little creepy. Was he... content? Did he want to laugh at your silly attempt to explain your feelings when you'd been drawing? You wouldn't even be offended, to be fair. It sounded like nonsense to you, too.

But no, he didn't seem to find it funny. Instead, you felt his palm squeezing your shoulder firmly, his smile unwavering as he spoke to you in a hushed voice the way you'd been answering to him, "Very good. My favorite artwork today so far."

As he got up, moving to the next student on your left, you were ready to jump and run away from the studio because, clearly, you were going to burst from the excess of feelings and anxiety in the next five seconds. Your teacher said it was his favorite painting today. This banal, lacking in originality in its every aspect thing was his favorite. When blood rushed to your head, making you sweat and feel disoriented, you clutched the brush between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut.

Aemond Targaryen liked your painting. Despite being the very inspiration for the beautiful but horrifying metamorph, he actually had some sort of fondness for it because later, before you left, he actually asked you to allow him to keep the artwork for his own collection. Why did he like it so much? You had no idea.

_________

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

[13mo]

ive been following u for years, u havent been posting for so long, so i wanted to ask if u will ever be back nd posting again? love ur art nd i was just curious whats happening nd what to expect. don't plan on unfollowing regardless tho love u hope ur ok

I have quite a few asks to this degree so I feel it's important to answer than mentally avoid them for the rest of my blogging career.

I have really lost my drive for digital art and drawing all together. Basically, the last time staff tried to delete my blog, it forced me to realize that if this one ever disappeared, it would end every thing. The only remnants I would have would be from random reblogs, stolen reposts, or the random things on the wayback machine and pinterest. If years of my art & my progress would mean nothing & be gone in an instant, posting here at all began to mean nothing.

I don't appreciate how tumblr treats it's marginalized users and I know this is a rising concern with plenty of other users.

I also stopped drawing consistently around the time I graduated and moved across the county. Where some people flourish from such big changes, I did not. I lost all creative drive from the struggles of adult life, finances, time management, and so on. It happens! LOL

Genuinely, the lack of creative output in my life was depressing. Making art depresses me, not making art depresses me. It's an ongoing process to convince myself it is still worth the time and effort. I hope to someday get back in to the flow of creativity that use to encompass my (entire) life. I actually plan on it. However, I don't know if I'll ever feel up to start posting here consistently again. If I do, it might be a while.

I appreciate all of your concern and support. The years we've put in to this blog, the friends I've met, and the memories I've made have been wonderful. With that being said, I really wouldn't be so hurt if you unfollowed me:-)

[ssahotchnerr]

nothing more domestic than grocery shopping with hotch 😍 he comes off so disciplined but he’s definitely the type to add stuff to the cart that wasn’t on the list like cookies for the kids. also what type of food do you think hotch likes? I can see him loving Chinese takeout (probably from having it so much when he doesn’t have time to cook). like if reader was gonna make him his favorite meal, what do you think it would be?

sweet additions

AH okay this is just gonna be a lil blurb about shopping together hehe cw; mentions of food, so so so much fluffy banter

you and aaron had been in the grocery store, for maybe fifteen minutes now, and the two of you had definitely set a new personal record for how quickly you had managed to fill the cart.

prior at home, you had created a list of items to allow shopping to run more smoothly. for example, it consisted of aaron's coffee creamer, bread, macaroni and cheese (jack's lifeline), the kids' favorite cereal, and other miscellaneous things- just the everyday necessities your family ran out of fairly quickly.

likewise, it allowed for each trip to be a quick in-and-out, avoiding creating a collection of things you didn't really need. there had been numerous times you had been cleaning out the pantry or fridge, and came across various items that had been merely picked at.

however, and surprisingly so, aaron wasn't as dutiful to the list as you were. he usually referred to it as "a useful guide for suggestions".

you peered into the cart, your eyebrows drawing into a line- your husband's signature expression had without a doubt rubbed off on you after all these years.

"aaron."

"yes darling?" a rush of cold air met you as aaron opened a freezer door, selecting a bag of broccoli, and tossing it in.

with an arch of an eyebrow you reached inside, grabbing a package of dessert cakes and holding it up. "what are these?"

he made play at intently observing the object in question, narrowing his eyes quizzically. "i think they're exactly what you think they are."

"aaron!" you laughed, rolling your eyes teasingly. "we're sticking to the list!"

"then just add it to the list." he said in an amused, nonchalant manner, as if it were that simple. and to be fair, it was, but you'd never pass an opportunity to give him a hard time.

"you can't just add things to the list!" you whined playfully, causing him to laugh. his eyes met yours, a look of adoration within them. "that's why there's a list to begin with."

he exhaled a dramatic sigh, "fine, i may... or may not have promised a certain daughter of ours cupcakes."

you laughed, "oh honey, you're such a pushover."

aaron shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. "she has your eyes, i can't help it."

"softie." you mumbled, poking his side and causing him to jump slightly. one thing very few people knew- aaron hotchner was ticklish.

"i don't want to hear it, i saw you sneak those eggrolls." aaron countered as he leaned down against the handlebar of the shopping cart, a smirk replacing his smile. "are those on the list?"

"they are, actually." you mimicked his expression, and to prove your point, you held out your phone for him to see for himself. "and i got them for you, mr. i-live-off-of-chinese-food. so, i think a thank you is in order, don't you think?"

"ah, my bad." aaron readjusted his posture, allowing him to peck your lips easily. again, his eyes and smile were full of nothing but adoration, like there was no other place in the world he would rather be. "how'd i ever get so lucky?"

"i ask myself the same question every day." you joked, granting him another kiss but prolonging it for a few seconds more this time. "and i love you, you big softie."

[whirlwindimagines]

So I hear you’re taking requests? 👀♥️

Could we possibly have the reader be an artist and that’s how they make money for the group? But the reader has a personal art sketchbook that Vash stumbles upon by accident when someone tries to steal the reader’s bag. He then sees the drawings that consist of different people, scenery, doodles, and then of him and little notes about him like “literal sunshine”, “kissable beauty mark” “weak in the knees with this face”

Just a little something for baby girl ♥️

Requests are always open for babygirl lol also this is so cute, and I agree that beauty mark is very kissable. Give him to me 👏👏👏 😭

Also not me posting this with out tags I’m an idiot

‘If you saw him too, you’d know what I mean’

Vash x Reader

Glancing up every once in a while, you admired the scenery in front of you making to observing every detail as you quickly sketch it out in your notebook. 

Smiling softly at Vash who sits across from you, he’s not paying attention watching a crowd of people instead. It was his idea to sneak away to this little outdoor cafe, and you greatly appreciated the gesture. It gave you time to just sit down and draw. 

And who were you to blame, if you happened to catch sight of Vash’s handsome face and want to sketch it as well? Was it a crime, you nearly drop your pencil when Vash suddenly turns to you with those sweet eyes. 

Trying to be nonchalant about what you were doing, you meet his gaze with a raised brow. “What?” You ask softly, he blinks and blushes maybe he didn’t know he had been staring at you as well. “Nothing, what are you drawing?” He answers quickly. 

It’s your turn to blush, as you quickly close the sketchbook. God, you’d die of embarrassment if he saw the sketches you’ve done of him. It’s not your fault, his face is so pretty that you need to capture his expressions! “Oh, just the landscape.” You say with a wave of your hand and a shy smile. 

You flip to the page you were sketching, checking it over to make sure it’s safe, and flip to show Vash. You smile as his eyes light up, looking over the drawing. You are a little nervous as he takes it all in, you're just hoping he doesn’t flip the page. Vash doesn’t and hands the notebook back to you. 

“Amazing!” Your heart warms at the compliment because coming from Vash you know it’s genuine. You smile, placing the sketchbook back in your bag, and you thank him. Vash places some double dollars on the table and helps you out of your chair. Shouldering your bag, the two of you walk out of the cafe side by side. Everyone was supposed to meet in the center of the market, you let Vash lead you there without complaint. 

You are shoved to the side harshly, letting out a startled yelp you managed to catch yourself with an annoyed huff. Vash turns to you concerned; you shrug going to adjust your bag when to your horror it's gone. Eyes widening, you frantically look around for it had you dropped it? Or… you gasp turning around. “That guy stole my bag!” You sob out, startling Vash beside you. You feel Vash place his hands on your shoulders, it forces you to look at him with a determined look in his gaze.

“Stay here, I’ll get it back.” You don't get a chance to reply when Vash takes off running. You frown, letting out a sigh as you listen and do what you are told for once. 

It's not difficult for Vash to catch up to the thief, he does so pretty quickly and is sure he can resolve this without any issues. The moment he saw that sullen look in your gaze, he knew he had to do something. It broke his heart to see such a sad look on your pretty face! 

“Hey stop!” Vash calls out, it startles the thief, who clearly thought they were in the clear. Vash lunges forward getting ahold of the bag, he didn't have much of a plan after that. “This belongs to my friend!” he says it with a cheerful smile, catching the man even more off guard with his attitude. 

The thief lets out a ‘tsk’ noise and tried to pull the bag back towards themselves, but Vash’s grip was stronger, and with one yank managed to get it out of the thief's hands… and spill all the contents. Vash cringed as the thief ran off, with a sigh he dropped to his knees to place everything neatly back into the bag. 

It seemed to all be mostly art supplies, he knew if you had to replace anything you would feel guilty spending the money. But you deserved it, hell if it wasn’t for you, they wouldn’t have enough to eat sometimes. Vash paused looking down at your sketchbook, you were always drawing in it but it was rare you’d show your work to him, and the others. 

Surely a quick peek wouldn’t hurt? It was already sitting half open, not wanting to psyche himself out Vash grabs it carefully and starts looking through it. His gaze softens as he looks at your sketches, familiar landmarks and places you've traveled, some animals, and people familiar and not. Vash turns the next page and flushes.

Sketches of him, is this how you see him? All soft lines, and gentle expressions. He can feel himself growing redder by the minute, he spots your handwriting, little notes around the sketches. The notes are about him as well, pointing out something in his expression, what he was looking at. And then some of the notes are cutesy with little hearts around them, the biggest heart seems to be around a note about his beauty mark. With an arrow pointing to the sketch. 

Vash slams the sketchbook closed, heart racing. He’s flattered, but unsure what to make of all of this. After a minute he smiles, you think he’s cute! Feeling light and fluttery, he places the sketchbook in the bag, making sure he’s gathered everything he stands heading back to where he left you. 

He stops when he spots you, he notices your nervous glance as you shift from foot to foot looking around. Vash watches you for a moment and his heart skips a beat, he walks towards you joining your side. You look up at him wide eye, your eyes shining when you noticed your bag in his hands. Taking the bag carefully, you hug it to your chest, “Oh Vash! Thank you so much.” 

You throw your arms around his neck, and his arms wrap around your waist without hesitation. “It was no problem.” mutters, you huff pulling back. “Oh, I’m sure, I didn’t think a bag snatcher would be the one to take down the big bad Vash the Stampede.” You tease watching him blush under your gaze. 

Vash rubs the back of his head with a slight chuckle, you smile leaning in and placing a delicate kiss on his cheek. He nearly goes as red as his coat, and you’re sure your face is flushed as well. “Seriously thank you.” stepping away from Vash, you turn going to find the others. You don't notice the soft look in Vash’s gaze as he places his hand over his cheek, or the whispered ‘you’re welcome’ he gives you. With a soft chuckle, Vash follows after you quickly joining your side.

[ckret2]

this is a little bit of a bizarre question but the way you manage to “flesh out” characters while keeping them consistent is really remarkable to me!

I’m having a lot of trouble making characters feel less ‘one-dimensional’ (especially female characters…It’s like my mind just draws a blank)

I understand it helps that most of the characters you’re writing have pre established personalities, aesthetics, etc. but I still feel like you manage to make the characters your own in a believable way.

do you have any advice for someone with this issue? if not, just know that I’m really really loving Bill-Goldilocks-Cipher and always look forward to the next chapter!!!

so the first thing you have to do is get deeply deeply obsessed with the story and then you have to go on walks fantasizing feverishly about the characters

But more serious answer:

Advice #1: Just take whatever you already know about the character and dig dig dig dig dig.

Take Wendy. She's the cool girl. Her character concept when she was designed was The Cool Girl. She's such a cool girl that by the end of the series she's symbolically represented by a bag of ice. She also says in one episode that she's NOT laid back, she's stressed all the time, because of her family.

Why is a 24/7 stressed teenager trying to give off an air of being cool and chill? Why did she start? What's she getting out of it? Why does she feel the pressure to maintain that facade? If she's so stressed, what's going on inside her head when she interacts with people? Her friends? Her boss? In one episode, she responds to both a request to hang out at a carnival and a request to start a romantic relationship with "yeah, I guess so." It's so passive. Why's she so passive in her relationships? Especially when she's so outwardly tough and assertive? What's the source of this side of her that just goes along with what other people suggest with seemingly no interest of her own—again, including a ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP? How does this relate to her being the "cool girl"? How does this relate to her deliberate decision to portray herself as "the cool girl"? In one episode she gets a scrape and the FIRST THING she does is forcefully tell Dipper NOT to freak out—why is her priority hastening to reassure the people around her before taking care of herself? She's got three younger brothers—is that how she interacts with them? Is one of them scared of blood? Does she see Dipper like one of her little brothers? Elder sisters often get handed the responsibility to act like mini-moms at young ages—did that happen to Wendy? Her mom is GONE, did that INCREASE the pressure on her? Is that why her family stresses her? What's it like in that house? Being pushed into acting like a mini-mom is a very traditionally feminine role—nurturing—which is at odds with Wendy's kinda soft butch presentation and way of speaking/acting—but is it at odds with Wendy's overall behavior? Following along with what the guys do rather than deciding for herself, passively accepting romantic propositions rather than pursuing someone she actually wants? Is she comfortable in those roles or does she feel pushed into them? Does it grate at her? Does she ever want to act assertive rather than just appear like an assertive person? Why do we never see her "we're WOMEN and we TAKE WHAT WE WANT" side more than once—and is it significant that she only pulls that out when there aren't any guys around? Does being the cool girl—supportive, accepting, nurturing, passive—chafe at her? Why's she do it?

Just keep digging. Overanalyze those tiny character details. Tie them together. Become the "I've connected the two dots" "You didn't connect shit" "I've connected them" meme. You can, will, and must connect the two dots. Treat every character like a mystery to figure out.

But your starting point is always whatever you already know about the character. You're building off of that foundation. You throw NOTHING out the window, buster—EVERY detail is important. You're not just wholesale making shit up—you're extrapolating wildly from whatever you already have. Making shit up always feels unanchored and vague. I said in an ask a few days ago that I headcanon Wendy likes that "stomp clap hey" hipster music genre. I didn't grab that randomly. I grabbed it because when we see her bedroom, she's got a poster with a banjo on it; she's super stoked to go to the Woodstick festival, and when she shows some of the featured indie bands to Dipper she focuses on two of the hipsteriest-sounding ("Scarves Indoors," "Wood Grain on Everything") and the apparent headlining band is the Handlebar Bros (just look at them); and she desperately wants to move to Portland, which in 2012 was the hipster capitol of North America—that's the culture she wants to escape to. No making shit up!! BUILD OFF WHAT YOU HAVE.

And Advice #2: you're telling a story, here. You have a plotline. Shape your characters to serve the story you're telling. What kind of a story are you telling? I'm telling a story about the destructive consequences of being a "special" kid—gifted kids, child celebrities, pageant kids, kids pushed to fill adult roles too young—the perfectionism, the burnout, the fear that anything short of excellence is insufficiency, the need for external validation, seeking love through fame rather than intimacy. When I'm looking at shallow characters and seeing how to fit them into the story, I'm prodding at them to see whether anything we know about them holds the potential to comment on themes like that—and then, if they do, that gives me an direction to dig in that already personally fascinates me, because it helps me weave this character into the story I already want to tell. If a character doesn't inherently carry any of those themes—then what can I do with the contrast between this character and the others?

And then, sometimes, I'm telling a story about two guys getting hunted down by a tooth fairy that desperately wants to steal one's teeth and a dentist that's willing to do anything she says but not motivated to furiously avenge her when she's defeated. Now I've got to make up two characters completely from scratch, BUT I don't have to make them up aimlessly. I already know the exact shapes they need to be fill their assigned positions in the story—I know what they need to do to make the story work—and now I can build them from the edges in, to make them the kinds of people they need to be to perform the actions I want to serve the plot they're in. And from there I can build them just like any character—I take the things they need to be, the things I already know about them (the dentist obeys the fairy but doesn't want to avenge her) and I dig dig dig (why would he not want to avenge her if he's so obedient? Does he obey her out of obligation but not true loyalty? Why? What kind of a person does this make him?)

And the tl;dr of all of that advice is:

so the first thing you have to do is get deeply deeply obsessed with the story and then you have to go on walks fantasizing feverishly about the characters

[circethesinner]

shifted ⟐ xavier thorpe

pairing: xavier thorpe x reader oneshot (second person pov - she/her pronouns used for reader - occasional use of Y/N)

warning(s) : mild language, rivals to lovers, awkward fluff

word count: 7k (oop its a big boi)

⭑•⊱✩masterlist✩⊰•⭑

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

summary: you and xavier were rivals through and through, but when you find out that he wants to talk to you about 'feelings', you do everything you can to avoid him

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

Being able to temporarily transform objects into other objects was fun for the first day or two, but the novelty wore off fast. All in all, it was a pretty pointless power, in your opinion. It was great if you had a bowl of soup and only a fork because for five minutes, you could turn that fork into a spoon, and then you had soup. Sadly, that situation had only happened once. You had no real need to use your powers for anything else, so you usually just didn’t even acknowledge them.

That didn’t stop your parents from classifying you as an outcast and sending you to Nevermore. The moment they realised you weren’t ‘normal’, they wanted you out of their hair. Your very existence challenged their picture-perfect lifestyle.

However, with a power you rarely used, you never felt like you fit in much at Nevermore. Enid really tried to make you feel like you belonged, and as much as she would deny it, so did Wednesday, but everyone else mostly ignored you.

Everyone, that is, but Xavier Thorpe. You weren’t sure what exactly had happened on your first day at Nevermore that had triggered the chain of events. Maybe it was just because you were both having a bad day. Maybe Mercury was in Gatorade or whatever. All you knew was that you locked eyes, and that was it; you were rivals. 

It was a particularly active rivalry, not like the rivalry between Wednesday and Bianca when Wednesday first joined Nevermore. It was subtler than that. It consisted of a lot of knocking one another’s things on the floor, eye rolls, purposely bumping into one another as you walked by, and glares from across the room. People wouldn’t notice it if they didn’t care, and most people didn’t care. 

When part two of your powers suddenly emerged one day, you weren’t all too thrilled. In all fairness, being able to shapeshift yourself into another person was a lot more useful than shapeshifting objects. Of course, it lost a lot of use if people knew about it, so you told no one. 

It was your intention for no one to know so you could do more, but the world clearly had it out for you, and one day, Enid walked into your shared dorm and caught you shifting into someone. Naturally, when Enid knew, Wednesday also knew. You managed to buy their silence with the promise that they could utilise your powers for their own gain. 

That was how you had found yourself one afternoon, shapeshifted into Ajax as you rifled through his room and took pictures of all of his hats. It wasn’t exactly the direction that you had imagined your life would take when you were a kid.

Ajax’s birthday was coming up, and Enid was hellbent on making sure her friend got a good gift from her. Scratch that. Not just a good gift, but the best gift. She wanted to crochet him a hat, but she wanted to make sure it wouldn’t look anything like the hats he already had. Hence why you were now rooting through every hat he owned while taking pictures.

You had kept tabs on his movements for a few days to make sure you knew when he or his roommate, Kent, would be off doing other things, leaving their dorm room free.  Fortunately, their extracurricular activities mostly lined up, so they would be off at their respective clubs right after class, giving you the perfect time to strike.

After a couple of minutes, you had taken about 28 pictures to make sure Enid had all she would need and would be satisfied. You didn’t feel like having to repeat this process if she wasn’t happy with your work, so you went with what you would consider to be above and beyond. 

You closed the drawer and darted towards the door, phone in hand. Internally, you celebrated your achievement. Unfortunately, that celebration ceased as karma evidently had it out for you. When you opened the door, you came face to face with Xavier Thorpe. It was a bit of a shock to be face-level with him, but it reminded you that you were disguised as Ajax, so you needed to be careful with how you behaved around him.

“Good,” Xavier smiled, recognising you to be his friend rather than the rival you actually were. “You’re here!”

“Uh, yeah!” You desperately tried to recall how Ajax spoke. You didn’t spend as much time around Ajax as you had with your other friends, usually because Xavier was usually close by if you did, and as much as you appreciated Ajax as a friend, it wasn’t enough to put up with Xavier. “Sorry… dude… I’m actually on my way out.”

“I just need to talk to you real quick,” He pleaded, blocking the way so you couldn’t leave the room. “It’ll be two seconds, I swear- is that… why do you have Y/N’s phone?” 

Shit.

You considered trying to hide it and lying to Xavier’s face in hopes of gaslighting him into forgetting you, as Ajax, were holding your phone. But that wouldn’t go down well. As much as you hated to admit it, Xavier was smart. You’d just be digging yourself into a deeper hole, and you were already almost 6 feet under if you couldn’t get out of the situation soon.

“That’s why I have to go!” You lied, pulling the explanation out of thin air and hoping for the best. “I found it and need to return it to her.”

“Right…” He didn’t sound like he entirely believed it but didn’t push for any further information, such as where you had found the phone. “She’s actually why I wanted to talk to you.”

“What happened this time?” You echoed the words Enid would use whenever she saw you with that sour look on your face that only Xavier could be behind. You figured Ajax and Xavier had similar conversations regarding you since, as far as you could tell, Xavier’s thoughts towards you mirrored yours towards him. 

“Nothing this time!” He protested. You scraped your brain to see if you could remember anything yourself but came up empty. Things between the two of you had surprisingly been okay for a few weeks. You weren’t all buddy-buddy, of course, but the glaring was at an all-time minimum. You made a mental note to glare more if it meant you didn’t risk having to talk to him. “I just… I think I’m finally going to tell her.”

“That’s… uh…” You hesitated as you were about to say ‘great’ but realised that you had no idea what he was talking about and that maybe Ajax would consider it to not be great. “What exactly are you going to tell her?”

“Dude, don’t make me say it,” He groaned. You kept quiet, simply shrugging in response. After a few seconds of silent pleading, he gave in. “I’m gonna tell her how I… feel.” His words got quiet until he finally whispered the last word.

You were at an absolute loss. You had no context for what he was saying, but you couldn’t push any further, or he’d get suspicious. For all you knew, he was hinting at telling you that he felt like he was coming down with a cold, although why he would feel the need to tell you that was another issue. You had no idea how Xavier was feeling, and you didn’t really want to find out.

“That’s… cool!” You nodded, trying to seem as chill as you could while you panicked internally, looking for an excuse to get out of the situation before your powers wore out and you turned back into yourself. “But maybe you should wait for a bit?”

“Wait?” Xavier looked at you like you were crazy, and you realised you’d messed up. “You’ve been pushing me to do this for months, and now you think I should wait?”

“That was… a test!” You shrugged as nonchalantly as you could. “To see if you were really serious about this or if you would chicken out.”

“I seriously think that I should do this now before I chicken out,” He sighed, almost dejectedly. You couldn’t quite put a pinpoint in on his emotions. Nor could you figure out what the hell the conversation you were participating in was even about.

“I should really go and return this to Y/N before I forget,” You held your phone up and waved it around slightly. “You know how she can get when she’s lost something.”

“I’m still cleaning up my studio after she lost her notepad and accused me of stealing it,” Xavier groaned. You almost slipped up by arguing with him that you had barely moved anything, and you were completely valid in your belief that he would have stolen it. Fortunately, you caught yourself just before you blew your cover, and Xavier continued to talk. “We can just go together.”

“Together?” You echoed, trying desperately to dig yourself out of the hole you’d created. “Won’t that be… intimidating?”

“Y/N? Intimidated?” Xavier scoffed at the idea, and you weren’t sure if you should take pride in it or be offended. “A bear could point a gun at her, and she would laugh in its face.”

“It probably couldn’t even pull the trigger,” You noted, earning a strange look from him. “You know, because of the paws and claws- never mind. Not important.” 

“Right…” He nodded hesitantly. “Let's go.”

You had no choice but to follow as he led the way to your room, halfheartedly responding to whatever he was mumbling about without truly listening to anything he was saying. You were worried the powers would wear off at any moment. You considered ducking away, but with the glances back that Xavier was giving you as he spoke, that option was, at best, a risky manoeuvre and, at worst, a terrible fucking idea.

So, you helplessly trailed after him, hoping that the real Ajax wouldn’t appear around each corner you turned. Fortunately, you made it to your dorm without any issues and let Xavier knock. Enid opened the door within seconds, her natural smile dropping and her eyes wide as they darted in between you, trying to assess the situation.

“We’re here to speak to Y/N,” Xavier told her before she could ask any questions.

“I have her phone,” You held it up, trying to communicate to Enid through facial expressions that you were you, not Ajax.

“She’s…” You watched as Enid struggled to lie. “In the bathroom.” Your eyes widened, and you shook your head, thankful that Xavier had taken the lead and stood in front of you so he couldn’t see your face or small gestures. If you were in the bathroom, Xavier might insist on staying around until you were done. You saw that going in two directions, either your disguise would fade, or Xavier would think you’re in the bathroom for an alarming amount of time. Both options sucked. “Uh… No! She’s not! That was… earlier! She’s actually in the library right now.”

“Okay…” Xavier nodded slowly, clearly not quite believing Enid but not enough to call her out on it. “We’ll head there then.” 

“Enid! Didn’t you…” You hesitated for a second, trying to pull even more lies out of thin air. “Didn’t you want to talk to me about that super important thing? Like… right now?” 

“Yes! I did!” She nodded along, reaching her arm out to pull you into the room. “In private! Bye, Xavier!”

“Sorry, man!” You managed to call out as Enid slammed the door behind you, right in Xavier’s face. You held your breath as you heard him groan loudly before his footsteps echoed away from the door. You felt yourself morph back into your normal form and allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. “What just happened?” Enid asked, her hand on your shoulder as she assessed you.

“I opened the door, and he was just… there!” You sighed, practically falling into Enid to give her a hug of relief and thankfulness for helping you scramble your way out of that mess. You pulled away and carried on talking. “He saw me with my phone, so I had to lie, and then he just started talking to me, and I couldn’t figure out how to get out of it.”

“What was he even talking about?” She asked, allowing some laughter to slip out. “Why did he want to come and talk to you?”

“I don’t know!” You threw your hands up. “It was a blur, and I was panicking! I think he said something about telling me about how he feels and-”

“How he feels?” Enid interrupted you, her mouth wide open in shock. “How he feels?” She repeated the words as though she was making sure she was getting them right. “You know what that means, right?”

“It’s not-” You could see where her mind was going. You hadn’t even considered that to be an option, and you still didn’t. “How he feels is probably something like… hatred! Or… loathing! Maybe he just wants to declare all-out war?”

“I think he wants to declare that he’s in l-” You cut Enid off by throwing your hand over her mouth.

“Another word and I’m shapeshifting into you and dancing in the quad in the pyjamas your mom sent you that you made me promise I wouldn’t ever mention again,” You threatened. You watched her eyes widen again. “I know you kept them in the box under your bed even though you said you had thrown them out.” You pulled your hand away as Enid licked it, wincing and wiping her slobber back on her sweater.

“Fine! I won’t say another word!” She held her hands up in surrender, dropping them slowly with a small, knowing smile. “But do you know who will say another word about it?”

“Nope! I’m avoiding him!” You shook your head in protest. “More so than I already do. I’m double avoiding him. Maybe even triple avoiding him?”

“You won’t be able to avoid him forever,” Enid shrugged, a smug smirk on her face. 

“Watch me!” You challenged. She didn’t respond. Instead, she slipped your phone out of your hand and unlocked it with ease to scroll through the pictures you had taken of Ajax’s hats. You weren’t sure when she’d added her face to your phone’s face ID, but your mind was too preoccupied to be annoyed. 

You had to avoid someone you had been trying to avoid for over a year. It would be easy.

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

It turns out that trying to avoid someone when they are actively trying to seek you out was a lot more difficult than avoiding someone who was avoiding you just as much.

Xavier was more persistent than you had anticipated. You had spent the past few days hiding around corners and running out of class with a speed you didn’t know you possessed. Wednesday had opened the door to your shared dorm to find him there a few times, but she knew better and just shut it in his face. The one time Enid had opened the door ended up with you climbing out the window and scaling down the side of the building using the water pipes. By that point, Enid had decided you were taking it too far and had decided to actively try and sabotage you. She’d point him in whatever direction you had run off to. 

That was why you had spent an hour and a half hiding under a desk in the library, 28 sudokus in, 7% battery left on your phone, and a dead leg. In an attempt to hide yourself from Xavier as fast as possible when he had reared his annoying head around the corner, you had left your bag on the table. He had spotted it and apparently decided that you would inevitably be back for it and had sat at an adjoining table to the one you were hiding under. Eventually, you admitted defeat and tried to time your escape for when he had his head turned.

In your head, you were in an action movie, army crawling out from the desk, completely undetected. However, the image in your head was a lot more fantastical than the real-life image of you awkwardly shuffling out from under the table, pressing yourself to the floor in an attempt to become invisible.

“I was wondering when you’d give up,” Xavier’s voice alone sounded sickeningly smug. You peered around the leg of the desk to see that he was looking directly at you. “I’m impressed you stayed under there for so long.”

“You knew?” You groaned, peeling yourself off of the floor, wiggling your limbs to breathe life into them again. You winced at the feeling of pins and needles in the leg that had been dead for five minutes. “Why didn’t you say anything?” “At first, I was just going to leave you under there for ten minutes, but I wanted to see how long you would last,” He had stood up from his seat to pick your bag up from the desk. It instantly registered in your mind that he was holding it hostage so you couldn’t run and escape again. Not that your leg would have allowed you to escape, as it had gotten to the overwhelmingly fuzzy part of pins and needles, and you couldn’t put any weight on it because it felt too weird. “Enid and I had a bet. I thought you’d give up after twenty minutes, but I guess she knows you better because she hit the nail on the head with an hour and a half.”

“Unlike you, she’s my friend, so I’d hope she knows me better,” You huffed. “Though at this rate, she won’t be my friend for much longer… Can you please just give me my bag back?”

“Care to explain why you’ve been avoiding me first?” He held the bag up and away from you, though you hadn’t taken any steps towards him, so it hadn’t been within your reach anyway.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” You lied with a shrug.

“You just hid from me under a table for over an hour,” Xavier pointed out, looking at you with a sense of disbelief.

“Bold of you to assume I was hiding from you,” You fired back. “Maybe I just liked it under there? Maybe I make a habit of hiding under desks?”

“Really?” He didn’t believe you for a second but played along. “So why haven’t I seen you doing it before?”

“First off, I don’t appreciate that your wording insinuates you watch me often, you creep,” You pointed accusingly at him. “Secondly, that’s the whole point of hiding. I wouldn’t be doing a good job of it if people saw me.”

“So what changed today?” He challenged. “Are you just not on your A game? Or maybe… maybe you wanted to be seen?”

“Maybe you should shut up?” It was a childish comeback but the best you could muster up. “It’s hard to hide from someone who is apparently hellbent on finding you.”

“This is a library,” The librarian had appeared next to you without you realising. She seemed to have taken Xavier by surprise too. “Please continue this… loud discussion outside so as not to disrupt everyone else any further.” Looking around, you realised that the library was empty. There was no one to disrupt. You were about to challenge her on this, but Xavier had grabbed your arm and started pulling you towards the door before you could so much as open your mouth.

It was strange for Xavier you be making any sort of prolonged physical contact with you. But what was stranger was the fact that you weren’t physically repulsed by it. That’s not to say you were happy or even just fine with it, but you were allowing it to happen, and you weren’t sure why.

You expected to continue the conversation outside the library, but before you could register what was happening, Xavier was pulling you through the halls and outside. Not a word was shed between you during this time. You knew exactly where he was heading.

Within minutes, you were at his shed or, as he insisted everyone call it, his studio. He unlocked the door with ease and pulled you in, finally letting go to close the door behind you and lock it from the inside.

“Is this a kidnapping?” You joked, unsure what else to say or do. “I warn you now; my parents aren’t going to pay a ransom for me… Actually, come to think of it, they might pay you to keep me.”

“You’re free to leave whenever you want,” He turned back around to face you. He seemed nervous, which in turn, made you nervous. The issue with that is that whenever you got nervous, you tended to talk… a lot.

“You say that, but you just locked the door, and you’re also standing in between me and the door, so I would have to try and dodge past you to get to the door, and you have very long limbs, and this shed- sorry, studio- this studio isn’t very big, no offence but also I don’t really care if I offend you or not so I’m not sure why I even said no offence in the first place. No offence is such a terrible thing to say because it just means you know whatever you’re about to say or have already said is offensive, yet you still chose to say it, and you have just openly acknowledged that what you said was offensive, so you can’t even try and pass it off as though you didn’t realise that the words you were saying were offensive and-” You rambled on and on until Xavier finally saved you from yourself by interrupting you.

“Speaking of words, you’re saying a lot of them,” He teased. The smile on his face directed towards you was a foreign one. Usually, you were met with a scowl that mirrored your own, yet now your expression mirrored his as you felt the corners of your mouth betray you as a smile graced your face. “I’m pretty sure I was the one who wanted to talk to you, and you wanted to avoid that.”

“Maybe this was all part of my master plan?” You shrugged playfully. It felt strange to joke around with him, but not unpleasant. “If I talk enough, you’ll never get a word in. Eventually, I’ll bore you to sleep and then I can escape.”

“You could never bore me,” The words felt like they got stuck in your chest once you’d heard them. There was a foreign tenderness in them. “You could talk for hours, and I’d listen to every word.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” You turned around in a feeble attempt to hide your face as you had felt your cheeks flush. “I’ve never spent any time in here… It’s nice… quiet.”

“Coming out here helps me clear my head,” You could hear that he’d stepped closer to you, looming over your shoulder as you assessed the variety of paintbrushes on his desk. Some looked significantly more used than others. ��Sometimes Nevermore is too loud.”

“I feel that,” You agreed, picking up one of the more used brushes to assess it closer. The logo of the company that had made it had once been printed in gold ink on the side, there was still some residue left, but it was barely legible. “Sometimes the clicking of Wednesday’s typewriter is too loud… And Enid… don’t get me wrong, I adore her, but she’s a lot sometimes. It must be nice to be able to just get away for a while and focus on something you like.”

“What do you like?” Xavier was even closer than he had been before. You could practically feel the body heat coming off of him. “I’ve never actually seen you doing any hobbies.” 

“Promise you won’t laugh?” You asked, placing the paintbrush back down and turning around to face him again. He was even closer than you’d expected him to be, which was a bit of a shock. “Seriously, promise you won’t laugh.”

“I promise,” He held his pinky finger out, barely having the room to do so with how close he was. You hesitated briefly but linked pinkies with him quickly.

“You know that means I can cut your pinky finger off if you break the promise, right?” You smiled as he nodded. “I play dungeons and dragons with people online.”

“Wait, seriously?” He asked. You nodded in confirmation. “Tell me about it.”

“What?” You took a step back to look at him properly, trying to see if he was genuinely interested or if he was just teasing you. You barely managed to stop yourself from falling against the desk behind you, scattering some of the paintbrushes instead. You winced as you saw from the corner of your eye that one had splintered into two parts upon landing on the floor, instantly recognising it as the one you had just picked up. “Shit! I’m so sorry!” Xavier was already picking the others up as you bent down to pick up the broken one, holding the two pieces in either hand. You looked up, expecting to see rage on his face, to get thrown out of the studio there and then. Instead, you were met with a smile and a shrug.

“That one was on its way out anyway. Probably would have broken in my hand the next time I used it,” He took the pieces out of your hands, throwing them in the nearby bin without a second thought. “Now, tell me about your character.” 

“They’re uh….” You hesitated, but his smile was oddly calming. “They’re a halfling rogue- uh, a halfling is basically-”

“Halflings are like short humans with pointy ears, right?” You nodded, impressed that he knew anything about them. “And rogues are kinda… sneaky thieves.”

“Exactly! Mine is a pirate, so the whole rogue thing fits in really well with that!” You smiled as you spoke, excited to share this with someone, even if that someone happened to be the person you considered to be your rival. “Their whole thing is that they’re trying to find their missing friend Penelope, but last week I rolled really poorly doing a perception check on an old man. I got a nat one, so it was a critical failure, and our DM said that I am now 100% convinced that this old man is actually my missing best friend, and she’s been cursed, so now I have to guard this man with my life, and I’m dragging him around on our quest, but he has like… 7 hit points because he’s just a little old man who has to be along for the ride.”

“I want to place bets now that the little old man is the big bad,” Xavier grinned as he listened to you.

“I will literally cry if he ends up being the big bad,” You groaned at the realisation that Xavier could be right. It would be so typical of your DM to make the little old man you’ve become emotionally attached to turn on you.

“I’ve never seen you cry,” He noted.

“Oh, I don’t let anyone see me cry,” You shook your head. “Doesn’t matter where I am. I will find the most secluded area to cry. I’ve hidden in a tree once so I could cry by myself.”

“I fully believe that,” He laughed softly. It was strange to hear him laugh but more so to know that you were the cause.

“I feel like I’m gonna regret asking this….” You took a deep breath in. “Why… Why have you been trying to talk to me for the past week?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?” He repeated your own words back to you. You smiled at held your own pinky out to once again pinky promise, though it was your pinky finger at stake this time. “I realised that-” He was cut off by the sound of his phone ringing from his pocket.

“You have the sound on your phone?” You snorted. “Gross. Use silent mode like everyone else.” He rolled his eyes playfully as he pulled the phone out.

“Oh god…” He groaned before answering the phone. “What do you-”

“Where is she? What have you done with her?” You recognised the voice as Xavier held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume.

“Enid, I’m here. I’m fine,” You sighed, talking louder than usual so she could hear you over her own yelling. You assumed Wednesday wasn’t in the dorm, or else Enid would have been silenced before she even started with a single glare.

“I’ve called you like 70 times!” You weren’t sure if she was exaggerating or not. With Enid, it could go either way. “Why haven’t you picked up?”

“My sweet, you know my phone was on 7% battery because I was doing sudokus to pass the time and texting you updates the entire time,” You shook your head as you remembered the part she played in Xavier tracking you down and waiting until you crawled out of hiding. “It was in my bag. It must have run out of charge.” 

“Or maybe you just didn’t hear it because it’s on silent mode?” Xavier teased. You shot him a glare, but unlike every other glare you had sent his way, it was playful and not full of malice.

“You shut your face hole,” You stuck your tongue out at him, causing him to do the same to you.

“Have you two ki-” Enid started talking, but you watched Xavier hit mute on her before she could finish whatever she had been saying.

“Okay! Bye, Enid!” He hung up before you had a chance to say goodbye to her.

“I should probably go before she tracks me down by scent,” You were only half joking at that, having once caught Enid on all fours, fully in her human form, sniffing wildly as she tried to track down Wednesday. It was as funny as it was terrifying.

“Right… yeah…” Xavier seemed a little dejected, a sentiment which you strangely found yourself feeling as well. 

“It was… ni…” The words felt wrong coming out of your mouth. “Nice… to… Bye!” You darted past him, not being able to bring yourself to actually complete the sentence, no matter how true it was. You fumbled with the lock for an embarrassingly long time, no doubt adding to the flush that had returned to your cheeks. Eventually, you managed to unlock it and ran through the door, blocking out whatever Xavier was calling out to you from behind.

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

Despite the admittedly nice time you had spent with Xavier, no matter how short it had been, you returned to avoiding him immediately afterwards. 

It had been three days, and you were facing a dilemma. You nervously fiddled with the ribbon that tied the small gift bag together as you weighed the options. You could leave it outside his dorm room, knock, and run. You could break into his studio and leave it there. You could disguise yourself as someone else and give it to him that way.

Eventually, you landed on the plan to break into his studio. It was the best way you could get the gift to him with the minimum risk of having to talk to him.

You had laid in bed awake for hours the night after your talk. Everything ran through your head over and over and over, and you couldn’t figure out why. It was 3am by the time you opened your phone and did some online shopping. It had taken around half an hour to find the exact paintbrush you had broken and a further hour researching the various other brushes the company provided and deciding which other ones would be best for Xavier’s art style. The brushes weren’t exactly cheap, so you couldn’t go wild and get one of each, but you ended up with six in total, including the replacement. 

You knew when Xavier would be in archery practice, so you decided that was the best time to strike. It started to rain just as you reached the secluded studio. You tried to cover the gift bag as best as possible, so the rain didn’t ruin it. Once you were by the door, you realised the flaw in your plan. You had no idea how to pick a lock. 

Silently, you cursed yourself for not asking Thing to accompany you, knowing he could pick locks with ease. Seconds later, you openly cursed yourself as a familiar voice called out your name from behind you. Slowly, you spun on your heels to face him, hiding the gift bag behind your back.

“Decided to stop avoiding me?” His smile was as calming as it was infuriating, knowing the subtle smugness behind it.

“Archery ended early?” You phrased it as a question, though you clearly knew the answer, or the conversation wouldn’t have been happening.

“It started raining,” He glanced up at the grey sky, blinking as the rain splashed his face. “Let’s get inside.”

“I’m not here to stay,” You admitted as he walked past you to unlock the door, turning around so you could continue to hide the gift behind your back. Despite your words, your legs betrayed you as you followed him into the studio.

“Well then…” Once inside, he turned to face you. “Why are you here?” Realising that it was now or never, you pulled the gift out from behind your back and thrust it into his chest. “Okay, bye!” You turned around to run away as fast as possible, not wanting to see his reaction or give him a chance to ask you why you had bought him the paintbrushes, as you weren’t sure why you had done it yourself. 

“Nice try,” A hand landed on your shoulder, gentle but firm. It was just enough to stop you from running off. Slowly, you were manually turned back around to face him, but you kept your gaze on the floor. 

You heard the bag rustle as it was being opened, a small gasp of acknowledgement following shortly afterwards. You just wanted the floor to swallow you.

“This is…” His voice sounded happy, but you didn’t dare to check his face to confirm it. Your eyes were locked on the floorboards, tracing the wood grain pattern and the paint splatters that littered it. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t have to, but I did it,” You shrugged quickly. “Now I leave.” Quickly, you turned back around and managed to take two steps towards the door before two arms snaked around you, and you were pulled back slightly, so your back was flush against his chest. It took a moment to register that he was hugging you. 

“Thank you,” His head rested on your shoulder, and you could feel his breath on your back as he spoke. As soon as it had happened, it was over, and you weren’t sure how to feel about it. He released you, but you made no move to leave again. “I actually have something for you.”

“Why would you-?” You turned around, confused, as you watched him pull a small velvet bag out from his desk. He held it out, and you gently took it, opening the bag and carefully pouring the contents into your hand. Your breath caught in your throat as a dice set tumbled out. Bringing them up to your face to study them, you observed the sand suspended in a blue resin, specs of glitter and small skulls carefully placed to look like they were resting on the sea, the numbers inked in gold. They were pirate themed. He had listened to you talk about your character and gone out of his way to seek a set of pirate-themed dice within days, and you weren’t sure why.

“I hope they’re okay. I just-” You caught both him and yourself off guard as you clutched the dice in your hand tightly and jumped forward, almost headbutting him in the chin as you pulled him in for another hug. He returned it immediately like it was second nature, and he didn’t have to think about it at all. “I wanted a peace offering. From the start, all I wanted was to get your attention, but I think I always just came off wrong, and before I knew it, you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you….” You mumbled. He pulled away and gave you a sceptical look. “Okay… Maybe just a bit… But surely you had better ways of getting my attention than knocking my bag on the floor?”

“I went over to offer to carry your bag to class, but I was nervous, and I knocked it off, and then I was too embarrassed to talk to you,” He explained. You noticed that the red that had taken over his cheeks had also reached the tips of his ears. “And then I wanted to nudge you to get your attention in the next class, but you moved your arm, so I ended up elbowing you in the stomach, and you looked like you wanted to kill me.”

“You knocked the wind out of me!” You protested through a smile. “I took that as you actually attempting to kill me, so I think my reaction was valid.”

“Your reaction was very valid,” He agreed. His light laughter was infectious; you found yourself echoing it without a second thought. “But it made it so much harder for me to tell you I like you.”

“You what me?” Your eyes widened as the words registered in your brain.

“I like you,” He repeated, looking completely unfazed. You felt your heart flutter as somewhere, a part of you that you had spent a year repressing felt the same way. 

“That’s what you meant when you said you were going to tell me how you feel,” Your mouth was agape.

“How did you…?” Xavier seemed taken aback a little, and you realised the error you had made. He thought he had told Ajax that. The lighthearted fluttering you felt turned to anxiety as you weighed your options. If you lied, the truth would come out at some point, and it could cause devastating consequences in the future. However, if you told him now, and he reacted poorly, you wouldn’t have lost as much. 

“When you went to talk to Ajax the other night, that wasn’t Ajax; it was me,” You confessed. The words suddenly started tumbling out of your mouth faster than you could control them. “I recently found out that I can shapeshift, and I don’t do it often, but I realised it would be more useful if I told no one about it, but Enid caught me once, and I had to bribe her not to say anything, so I will occasionally shapeshift to help her out, and Ajax’s birthday is coming up, and she wanted to make sure the hat she crocheted him wasn’t like any of the hats he already owns, so I had shapeshifted into him to take pictures of his hats without anyone getting suspicious, and then you appeared at the door, and you caught me with my phone, and I had to lie, and then I couldn’t get away from you, and you said the things about wanting to talk to me and tell me how you feel, and I assumed that you were going to just pick an argument, so I avoided you, and I’m really sorry-” 

You weren’t sure if he had just gotten sick of your talking or if he wanted to show he forgave you, or if it was a mixture of the two. Either way, his methods worked, as you couldn’t continue to talk when his lips were pressed up against yours. One of his hands gently cupped your cheek, while the other remained on your waist following the hug. Your eyes closed as you relaxed into the kiss, fully accepting it. You were almost embarrassed at the way your head craned up further, and you lifted yourself onto your tip toes to try and chase the kiss as he pulled away.

He studied your face as you tried to remember how to breathe properly in a last-ditch attempt to come across as calm and collected as possible after what had just happened. His gaze was focused and curious as it scanned each of your features, committing them to memory as though he was worried it would be the last chance to before you realised what was happening and pushed him away.

But you didn’t push him away. Instead, you reached up to pull him back in for another kiss. Somehow, it was even better than the first. The first had been slow and steady, both of you just testing the waters. The second was more like a dive directly into the deep end.

Your hand ran through his hair, it felt so soft between your fingers, and you wondered how you had ever gone without doing it before. His hand squeezed the flesh of your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

When you finally had to break for air, he trailed soft kisses down your jaw before nuzzling his face against your neck. His voice was muffled as he said something, but you couldn’t quite make it out.

“What was that?” You asked, pulling away slightly so you could hear what he said. However, as soon as you had pulled away, he pulled you back in. Fortunately, he had lifted his head just enough for the words to sound like actual words that you could understand.

“Will you go out with me?” Xavier asked, burying his face back into your neck when he was done, pressing another trail of kisses there.

“It would be an honour,” Something between the two of you had shifted, and you couldn’t be happier.

a/n: eeeek I had fun writing this one- I'm a sucker for a good rivals/enemies to lovers

shout if you wanna be added to my taglist! I have another oneshot on its way soonish

taglist: @ageofstarkey @wintrr13 @percyhyneswife @idli-dosa

[zimthandmade]

Hello,

I am an art student (art on instagram link in my account, I am too lazy to post on two different platforms), and I love your art style and creativity, you are incredible ✨

I am at that point in my studies where I am getting decent at at least some of the techniques, but struggle using them to give life to my own ideas.

Do you have any advice on character design and environment study? I admire how you manage to give so much personality to your characters just with body language, it’s amazing, I have lots of trouble just managing to make mine look like themselves in two different sketches. Every time I feel like I got it right I lose it the moment after :(.

Where do I start when I want to study for a project, and how do you organise your work?

Thank you for reading, I hope this ask finds you well ❤️

Hi there!! Thanks for reaching out!! <3

Yeah character consistency can be tricky! My go-to strategy for character design is to break them down into their most basic idea. Can be a colour, a shape, a line. Look at this concept art from Inside Out:

The more complex you go, the more tricky, complicated and hard to get right in different drawings will be. That's not a bad thing but you should always keep the very core idea of a character in mind when designing and drawing. If I may add some of my own things in here:

I settled for a very angular Mello and in contrast a rather round Matt. In canon, they're both pretty round, so I thought I'd break that up for a more interesting duo dynamic. For me it's also helpful to think of your character as a map with set distances and points of interest. Take Mellos focal points like the beak-y pointy nose and his blocky hair and the rest doesn't matter that much anymore if you only get those features right. I don't know, I'm super bad at explaining, there's a reason why I'm not a teacher :'D

Maybe you could try to draw your character as tiny or as quickly as you can, that also works well for me. Because you absolutely can't get lost in details and have to break them down to what really matters.

When I see complex characters with tons of tattoos and complex scars or wild hairstyles and details that just absolutely don't matter to the overall design, I always think of the poor poor animators that would have to animate that character if they were part of a TV show haha

As for environment study?? Bruh, I'm as lost as you.

Where to start on a project? Anywhere, as long as you start. Sitting in front of a blank paper is the worst thing. Drawing bad is better than not drawing at all. Look at other art, maybe even copy some, trace some, anything that helps you get into the flow.

Organising things is a supreme dicipline. I would say I give my best to stay organised but fail miserably. But I had people tell me I'm insanely organised, so... No idea. Taking the whole Death Note AU thing as one big project, I try to keep things seperated by characters, eras, themes or places, depending on what makes sense and throw all the files in the respective folders but it's getting more cluttered by the minute... What helps me if making overviews, like lineups of characters or something like this:

Colour chart where I can just pick the colours and not rummage through my files to find a fitting reference for different characters.

Oof that turned longer than I wanted, I hope you can at least find some helpful information out of my rambling :'D

[venusvity]

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  ...     PRE-RELEASE SINGLE - DRAMA!

DRAMA is one of two pre-release singles for VENUS' fourth full studio album. DRAMA will be promoted for TWO WEEKS until the next single is released.

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  ...     MUSIC VIDEO AESTHETICS.

The DRAMA music video received 45 MILLION VIEWS in 24 hours and would remain number one on the Youtube trending page for 6 days. The video follows the girls through a technicolored cyberspace as they fight against a virus only known as "DRAMA" which is depicted as a dark and rapid-moving shadow.

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  ...     DRAMA LINE DISTRIBUTION.

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  … BAEBI = 28.20 SECONDS

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  … BLISS = 19.26 SECONDS

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  …  CHLOE = 49.15 SECONDS

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  … SENA = 17.29 SECONDS

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  … JIAH = 38.12 SECONDS

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  ...     PROMOTIONAL HIGHLIGHTS.

The girls were promoting DRAMA consistently for two weeks. For a solid two weeks, the girls were at music shows or other schedules promoting their upcoming album, which they revealed the name of at the end of their promotional period for DRAMA.

The album is called "VENUS VICTRIX" and will have 11 tracks. The creative direction for the album will be handled by long-time VENUS creative director Adrian Reyes. This differs from their last comeback, Burn The Witch, which was fully controlled by Venus themselves. While on Knowing Brothers, Chloe admits the girls experienced a lot of stress from handling all aspects of the album. "It was too much. We would be up until 5 AM almost every night trying to get everything to work, and we agreed that for this album, we want more rest!" which earned laughs from the hosts and from fans alike.

During an episode of "Visting Venus," they had Adrian come on to explain the lore of the album to them in a classroom-like setting with the girls at desks and him at a chalkboard, pointing with a stick and aggressively writing with a red piece of chalk.

"It's basically, like, Venus' Victory. The girls are trapped in a harsh cyber world but manage to break out and transform the landscape into something habitable," Adrian would explain, drawing a loosely thrown-together professor-esque outfit and round specs. Klara, drawing a school uniform and thick-rimmed classes, would raise her hand. "And how will we break out from this world?" "Easy," Adrian starts, pulling down a projector screen that has three big words on it in comic sans font, "Dance, music, and friendship."

The video was a massive hit with fans and had them on the edge of their seats waiting for the album's release.

Though they gave it their all at every performance, it was clear the girls were tired and being overworked. In most vlogs, you'd often see members sleeping on one another during their breaks at music shows or expressing how sore they were from all the performing they were doing. The Venus members, with the exception of Klara, would assure fans they were fine and liked working especially. Klara, however, would go on to post a singular mirror selfie of herself at 3 AM on her Instagram story with the caption, "just got back. can't wait for my powernap before i have to go back lol" but the story was quickly deleted and followed by a video of the maknae laughing and apologizing.

"That was meant for my close friend. My bad, my bad! Stop worrying. I'm just complaining! I swear to God if y'all mass email Flowerbank I'll have a tantrum. Don't worry about me!"

While this moment went viral on stan Twitter, constellations couldn't help but to worry for the girls. However, their worries were seemingly quelled once they got another stage of DRAMA to entertain them.

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  ...     LOOK BOOK.

.ﾟ۪ ♡ ۫  … LEFT 2 RIGHT: BLISS, BAEBI, CHLOE, SENA, AND JIAH

The girls wore wigs during their promotions, concealing their actual hair colors. While sometimes the wigs looked natural, especially Sena and Jiah's, there were times when the wigs looked straight from Party City. Due to their status in the industry, people called this style choice "camp" and praised them for it.

YOU CAN GET YOUR DRAMA PHOTOCARDS HERE!

[tired-reader-writer]

Ashaya backstory revamp

Ever since classes started again I have been consistently unable to either draw or write, and it's frustrating me a lot, so I'll just have to settle for making AU posts.

Andragoras and Tahamenay's child, that has not changed.

Given to some family in the Tabaristan region (formerly known as Mazandaran in ancient times), who were given hush money in exchange of raising them.

Ever since she was young, Sherine has noticed that she is... different.

Her parents leave her out. Her siblings pick up on that and leave her out too. Her parents don't treat her the same way they treat their other children.

Besides which, Sherine is not dumb. She realizes pretty quickly that she looks different from the rest of her family. Face too pointy. Hair too light.

People say she's a beautiful child.

Her parents seem determined to prove them otherwise.

Sherine is given more chores to do. Given plainer clothes. Made to stand behind her siblings at any given event.

She cries. She screams and struggles and stomps and yells in hopes that they'd listen, they'd know, this is unfair, she's their daughter too, isn't she? Sherine is—

Sherine is not dumb.

Sherine knows that whatever she is, she doesn't belong here.

People say she's a beautiful child.

Her family says she's nothing but trouble.

She wanders her hometown, sneaking off from doing chores at home. Spends her days scanning the faces of the townspeople— the merchants, the neighbors, the strangers, even the slaves. She looks and looks and looks, for any hint of similarity, any bit of resemblance, anything that might echo back to what she sees in the mirror, in the waters, every day.

Sneaks out of her house, flits from street to street, in a desperate bid to find someone, anyone, with some iteration of her features hiding amongst the crowds.

Stalks the family of that jolly grape seller from a couple blocks over, because they were light-haired like her even if the shades don't even come close to matching.

Hers is always different.

Hers is too peculiar.

Ivory-blond with rosy tips, hair of an outsider.

Mama beats her and sends her to bed without dinner.

Curling up in bed, hungry in a way that no amount of food would satisfy, Sherine thinks.

She doesn't belong here.

She isn't a child of this family.

She doesn't think she's even related to them.

Where are her parents?

Did they die? Is that why papa and mama take her in? Because they knew her parents?

Except, really, they mustn't have loved her parents, whoever they were, because if they did then surely they would treasure Sherine too. Right?

Right?

If they died and nobody here loved them, then why is she here? Wouldn't she have been put on the doorsteps of a temple or taken from the streets by... by...

She'll never get the image out of her head, a slaver, flogging a young boy barely older than her.

She's seen them, on her escapades, prowling the streets sniffing around for any abandoned baby by a roadside or in an alleyway.

She shudders thinking about it. Mama always says one of these days she's going to sell Sherine, too.

She's scared.

She doesn't know.

Whatever the case was, she was unwanted in some way. Is unwanted, right now in this present she lives in, unwanted by this family, unwanted by whoever decided to leave their daughter on this doorstep.

She clutches her aching stomach.

She doesn't sleep.

Day by day, night by night, she prays what little words she manages to remember.

Prays to be loved.

Prays to be found.

Prays to be...

To be...

There's a tale in this town.

If you wander deep into the woods, you'll find a dilapidated place.

They call it a temple. That's stupid. The building looks nothing like a temple.

Those who wander in, they say, come back wrong.

Come back days, months, years later.

No matter how long they take, they don't look a day older.

They were playing, her siblings and the other kids, they play, but she never gets included. They get mean when she tries. They always give her whatever's the worst.

She runs.

She runs and runs and runs until her legs burn and there's no air in her lungs.

She doesn't notice the butterflies frozen in air.

She doesn't notice the sudden stillness of the trees after a certain point.

Not until she trips.

There, on the ground, stained in mud and dirt and snot and tears, she curls up like she always does at night.

She's so hungry.

She hears their voices, a couple bushes over, arguing about the prey they were supposed to hunt.

They don't find her.

She bolts upright, startled, nerves tingling with something she doesn't know what to name.

She looks around.

Silence and stillness.

She should be afraid, she thinks. She should try to leave. To go home, to go find those dummies who didn't even see her when they were nearby.

But she thinks of their meanness, of mama's anger and papa's weird stares, of the prowling slavers wandering the streets.

Just a little bit, she thinks. Just a little longer. Just a little bit of peace. She'll take the beatings later, she'll deal with that when they catch her.

That's right.

She just has to not get caught for a little while longer.

[brain juices running out so this will be reverting back from story mode to summary mode, augh]

Anyways, she spends a long time (to her) in the woods and doesn't really notice that the sun isn't moving in the sky bc she's a little kid and she's too busy rolling around and having fun until she falls asleep out of exhaustion (both physical and emotional, since all the shit she went through finally caught up to her in a safe moment)

(you'll notice that in the story/narration part “Sherine” refers to themselves by she/her bc at the time they hadn't had the chance to realize y'know, the gender stuff)

Sherine wakes up, finds that it's night, and she can't find her way back.

(the haunted area actually booted her out so she's in a different spot of the forest)

Kid has an epiphany of sorts.

“She can't stay here.

Not anymore.

If she's so unwanted anyways, what harm would it do for her to disappear?

For her to leave?”

So she does.

Anyways, it's night, Farangis (with some clan adults) is wandering the area for a reason I have yet to fully decide on.

They meet.

Sherine is absolutely taken by this gorgeous lady.

One long conversation later while Farangis does her best to clean the kid up, it's abundantly clear that Sherine is Not Okay.

So they get taken!

And Sherine gets to chop off their hair and choose a new name.

But until she settles on a proper name she chose for herself, their temporary name is Ranna.

Sherine has a complicated relationship with girlhood because of the toxic standards that were forced on her by their “parents”.

Anyways that's how Ashaya comes to join the clan!

What I imagine a young ex-Sherine to look like as she leaves with Farangis.

Fun fact, Areyan is usually a sweet and gentle kid but for some unknown reason he and Ashaya regularly gets into fisticuffs.

They're 7 when they join the clan. Farangis is 15, she'd just come of age.

At some point I kinda wanted Ashaya and Alfarīd to have met in their younger years but I don't see that working out w this trajectory sooooo... oops.

Anyways, a look into Ashaya's trauma! Where their lack of hope and faith in the world stems from. I somehow couldn't get into it in the narration but her family house could own slaves, maybe, (still she gets made to do chores bc Double Standards), and on her escapades to find her parents or relatives in the town she gets to see a whoooole lot of violence thrown at slaves and poor commoners and it always stuck w them.

She tries questioning it once, they got punished.

Kinda echoes Alfarīd's hopelessness in the nation too, she did say in the manga “there's no point to restoring the nation, it'll just make new nobles and new slaves” and it's an attitude Ashaya holds, too.

It'll be up to them to find that hope again. Alfarīd would be the one to eventually give back hope to Ashaya, but for that she herself will have to believe.

Unlike in canon I don't really see Alfarīd coming to believe in someone changing the system, rather that there's something worth living for even in a broken world. I think she'd have an attitude like that. It just fits her.

(I'm reminded of the song Kamado Tanjirou no Uta from the AU playlist, and that one video from Hello Future Me about the Ghibli movie The Boy and the Heron.)

(“We did not choose this world. But we must live in it.”)

To elaborate on why Ashaya lost faith in the world, it's smth like, if something so terrible and hurtful like the slavery system is allowed to exist, if nobody batted an eye at the abuse she went through, if nobody thinks to hold abusers accountable, if people are rewarded with brutality for their kindness, then... there's nothing worth saving here.

In addition to their own abuse they also saw others being abused, remember that the clan is made up of runaways and hurt people and abandoned people and victims and survivors— almost nobody who comes to the clan... came from happiness.

Is it any wonder that their faith was broken?

In contrast, let's look at Alfarīd. Protective instincts, strong sense of justice, responsible if a bit chaotic, remember how in the manga Alfarīd urges Estelle to remember the women and children and injured they'd saved? That they must think of, that they must protect, instead of thinking about the King?

Alfarīd, I think, abhors the system, but still sees people and things worth protecting anyways.

(and not to jump all over like a kangaroo but let's talk about Farangis this time)

She's an orphan. She entered the temple of Mithra after her loss. She was too talented. Too diligent. Too beautiful. People shunned her because of it.

And I'm willing to bet there's aggression and subtle bullying, too.

Look, it's a closed community. That sort of place gets rancid real fast.

(I would know. I myself was trapped in a prison of a boarding school where my suicidal ideation got wayyyyyyy bad.)

So, y'know, Ashaya-as-Sherine is a reflection of her days in the temple. That's why she has a soft spot for her.

Farangis is one of the few people Ashaya will listen to.

Anyways that concludes thus the post about Ashaya!