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asimpledreamwanderer · 1 year

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i'm a little ill right now and honestly don't have motivation to make sketches (i haven't posted my art here in a long ass time- and honestly good for me because i look back to those pictures and think damn, was that me??) so here's some little emily headcanon / backstory thing i came up with based on these facts about her on the ttte wiki and the official wikipedia page about her basis:

so without furder ado, my emily backstory headcanon(s):

so we all know that emily is the safety engine- and compared to the other members of the steam team, she doesn't get herself into very silly accidents or derails often- sure, sometimes she can't read the atmosphere or does gestures that aren't exactly helpful to a specific situation (such as getting mavis flowers when she was down), but she's very introspective, often being able to tell what's up with her friends and frankly, doing odd jobs until she becomes the safety engine- but also having a bit of a bossy attitude about her when it comes to such things, like bossing around thomas and percy following a storm, and becoming impatient when she feels as if the other engines have little regard for their work or her work- but the question remains- why?

it's known that emily's engine class faced issues with traction and staying smoothly on the rails- something that we see frequently in the model series, she lightly "rocks and rolls" on the track- additionally, her engine class got into two big derailment accidents- one where the engine derailed on broken rail, killing a passenger, and one where the removal of a speed restriction on the track caused the engine to derail and kill two people

additionally, only the first of the class is left preserved in the current day- i headcanon that in ttte, this engine was last minute bought by the fat controller to help out on the northwestern railway- something that emily remains thankful for, but unused to.

i headcanon that since most of her class was removed from service around the 1890's (just around when edward was born), emily has little to no experience about railways in the more recent times, and that emily remained pulling passenger trains on her former railway with an "engines are seen, not heard" attitude- similar to what duke says to peter sam and sir handel about his younger days. additionally, since emily was the first of her class, i would assume she would be subject to more experimentation and/or exposure of what actually happens to engines rather quickly, given her curious personality- she would probably spend a lot of time at the steamworks on the gnr, with the workers there adoring her curious personality and her desire to be learning new things- leading to them talking to her through any and every modification she might receive, any repairs she might receive, any repairs that other engines might receive- the works. the workers there treat her very humanly, almost as if she's purely a human without arms or legs- they let her smell and experience the texture of human food and drinks (receiving some funny reviews from her in the process), read the paper out loud to her, teach her how to do things such as mathematics and telling her about literature- you get the point. around when her class became decomissioned and the railway preparing to send the other engines for scrap, the workers talked to her about it- and her reaction was very very human. more human than most other workers had seen throughout their lifetime.

while emily was devastated over her siblings' deaths, she also remained confused- she had not officially been named by her controller at the time, and she experienced the same issues as the rest of her class did, but up until then was lucky to never have derailed or killed another being in the process. the engines on the gnr were given numbers after older locomotives- essentially taking their places on the railway as the older locomotives would soon be forgotten- making emily wonder "why? why do i deserve to stay and be preserved and restored to working order while all my siblings are sent for scrap?" this also made her feel queasy about being a new engine and/or about seeing new engines on the railway- she began to worry about how it was unfair, that older engines would be sent to scrap as newer ones came, but also terrifying her to realize that they didn't even stand some sort of protection in the process, and that the vast majority of steam locomotives would eventually face the same fate as their predecessors (additionally, i like to think the gnr had a "no-fraternizing-during-work" policy for the engines, and most of the engines would be too exhausted at the end of the day for deeper conversations with one another- also leading to emily panicking about who even are the engines she worked with, what are their likes/dislikes, etc- this also leads to why she got frustrated at thomas when he slept with her in the sheds in calling all engines but that's a point i'll get to later)- sure, she spoke to the engines while they worked, and in fact sometimes told them what was going on and tried to reassure them while she was in the works- but it was never enough to keep the guilt about her being chosen to be preserved and an engine's life cycle away.

due to all of these things- most of emily's relaxed conversation occuring with humans, the majority of her knowledge coming from humans and their perspective, and the lack of fraternizing with other engines while at work, emily became somewhat stunted developmentally- sure, she's older than edward by a good twenty years- but she doesn't even know how to act on a running railway anymore- after all, the times have changed. this leads to emily's occasional short temper with the other engines, and even leads to the events when we first meet her, where she takes thomas' coaches on accident- she was not used to asking, she simply did as she was told on her own railway- twisting her attempts at becoming friendly with the engines on sodor at first

when sir topham hatt first bought her, the workers at the steamworks were delighted that emily would not only be able to run again, but that she would be in a place that she would be cared for, that sir topham hatt would be able to put the time and energy into repairing her and taking care of her that the workers at the gnr were beginning to lose access to- this led to a little "going away" party for emily- many tears were shed, and many memories were shared- even if now most of the workers are gone, emily looks back at them fondly, probably telling the engines about her times with them, and her times on the gnr.

here's where emily's safety engine backstory comes through- remember how her engine class used to derail and "rock and roll" quite often? this led to her become a worrywart- not just about herself, but about the other engines and their safety as well- she was concerned about henry when his tubes were leaky, she stood up for salty against thomas and percy's teasing, she looks at james and thomas almost like her little brothers (because obviously, they get into some of the dumbest and most careless accidents- and in the earlier series, don't really learn from it)- the list goes on, but she essentially ends up worrying about herself and the other engines A LOT. however, deep down this is because of her revelation about scrapping while she was at the gnr- she herself does not want to be scrapped, but she doesn't want any of her new friends to be scrapped either- especially since many perfectly working steam locomotives would be sent to the scrapyard at alarming rates.

now this is where her probably not socializing with many other engines whilst working or resting during her time at the gnr comes in- remember when thomas sleep whistles, keeps chatting off to her, and snoring when they shared a shed together? and just how annoying she found it? i believe she was overstimulated by it, seeing that she was still a rather new engine at the time, and slept by herself at knapford sheds. secretly, she was probably scared thomas' sleep whistling might send her away, or distract her from her rest and cause issues tomorrow- when she realizes that that isn't the case, when thomas leaves she begins to feel lonely, having enjoyed the company of her friend and realizing that nothing was going to happen to either of them after all- and when she was invited to take a berth at tidmouth sheds, she was delighted- with some learning curves, obviously- after all, she's very new to this

i imagine that edward would take to her endearingly, realizing that she's probably having an inner conondrum she doesn't openly speak of, thus being easier on her- he would also probably wonder how he ended up being an engine younger than her by the years but older in personality, but chooses to not mention it- sometimes they get along talking about their days on their old railways, and it would imagine they can get into pretty deep philosophical conversations (do engines have philosophy?) if emily ever lets her guard down

similarly, henry would probably look to her for advice and learning how to stand up for himself, and being kinder- not only was he more of a cynical character in the early series, but he was also very very ill- and that combined with his desire to prove himself past all his ailments probably turned him into a very harsh person- something he originally couldn't really understand- and something that emily was able to help him through, talking about his feelings

obviously in the series she also has her bossy moments, being impatient when clearing up the rails from a storm and taking gordon's express- i imagine that it was taken control of by sir topham hatt in a much different manner, remembering how emily was at the gnr's steamworks- he speaks to her almost like a teenager about her actions, letting her bask and self reflect instead of immediately assigning her to other work until she can be trusted again- thus making her one of his more sensible engines

however, emily does have her own moments of not being so sensible- for example, when she wished to be streamlined like caitlin, admiring her (and victor was basically like nah you don't need that 💀)- insecurity from her old age and wishing to be something more than just an odd jobs engine probably made her a little bit insecure. another great example is when she's with whiff- obviously, she's not one for smells, but to go on and laugh at him and be frantic about being seen with him just because her peers laughed at him? clearly she had a moment of smokebox fog there.

i imagine that emily actually wouldnt have much prejudice towards diesels- sure, she got mad at him for taking the coaches when being ill, but that was because he was ill and pushing himself- it has nothing to do with him being a diesel (something i assume would surprise diesel, especially for such an old engine like emily)- i believe that she wouldn't even know what diesels actually are for a while, but she would see them as any useful engine, and that once she did learn about the steamie/diesel conflict she would try to calm her inner crisis about scrapping- sir topham hatt wouldn't do that, and they're only doing their purpose after all

additionally, emily probably doesn't take kindly to hearing about engines getting scrapped- in her younger days, she probably remained blissfully unaware of the mechanics of it, but as she got older and learned more about scrapping it probably terrifies her, and she believes that all engines can be useful and don't deserve to be damned to the scrapyard for any reason

back to thomas and james? yeah. she probably sees them as her "annoying little brothers" that she loves very dearly- which is confirmed for james in a magazine story- but it's definitely a much different relationship than what she had with younger engines at the steamworks, with her relationship with the two being more freeflowing. i assume james has some sort of insecurity about being a "failed prototype" and an experimental engine on his old railway, and emily manages to help him get through it while talking about the positives and the actual mechanics of it, and reaffirming that he still is a really useful and really good engine.

and as for thomas? playful banter. so much banter. sometimes they act silly and fight like actual human siblings would, but at the end of the day they do care for eachother deeply- think of her having to hold a metaphorical leash on him, at times 😭

back to emily's conondrums- this leads to her being a very safe engine- in fact, being one of the safest on sir topham hatt's railway- initially i imagine she wouldn't care much for not being numbered, as it soothed her inner panic of not taking a scrapped engine's place, but over time as she began to heal i imagine that she would desire it in some way- and experience such delight when she is numbered and given the position! she wears her number very proudly on the nwr and is very very proud of being the nwr's safety engine :)

sheesh, this was LONG- i'm taking some time away from the phone- if you managed to make it this far i hope you're having a lovely day :) (also can you tell i'm an older sister 💀💀)

#t&f #thomas the tank engine #ttte #thomas the train #ttte emily #ttte henry #ttte james #ttte edward #the railway series #thomas the tank engine and friends #i love emily so much you don't understand #she feels like the older sister representation i NEEDED when i got a younger sibling #emily my beloved

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kirnet · 6 months

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actium update sunday

yeah it's been a hot minute since I did this!! Actium has currently released 112 pages (not including covers and other illustrations), which mostly shows poor pacing and a lack of experience on my end lol, but is also an accomplishment! i am almost done with chap 3, i just have one more update to release for that... which is unfortunately in the sketching phase still. whoops.

speaking of massive page counts being a symptom of poor planning lol, i am currently rewriting a lot of the future chapters i have planned, with special attention to chap 4. chap 4 introduces the main conflict that every character going forward will be competing for, and so i need to make sure it's solid, that i have no possible questions or vagueness about it. other than that, i'm rescripting a lot of things, cutting down on page counts and learning to use my panels more effectively. this is something that i will continue to get better and better at the more i do it, so i'm okay with the fact that it will probably change in the future as well.

to be completely honest, i was really throwing myself into a wall trying to rewrite, just getting stuck because i was so attached to certain sequences and ideas. i've finally gotten over that, and a part of that was changing the way i thought about actium's story structure! actium was always going to have three acts, but my problem was that i was looking at them as three acts of one "book," so to speak, and thus the structure wasn't really working. actium is big, it has a lot of ground to cover (a lot that i should cut probably lol), and thus the 3 act structure was leaving me treading water in some places... so i just changed it from 3 "acts" to three "books"! Thinking of actium as a trilogy honestly helped me slot a lot of my puzzle pieces into place? no idea why, but it's given me a clearer idea of that i want to accomplish going forward. it will all be released under one account and such, i'm not splitting it up other than mentally.

actium was always going to be an amateur passion project, something i love and embrace. it will show my flaws as a writer and artist (to an almost unbearable degree lol), but the only way for me to ever do or get better at anything is to dive in head first. I've learned a lot already from these 112 pages, and I know that it will just continue to get better and better as I go on. but, of course, making sure that my foundation is solid and fixing up my outline now will really help with that.

in terms of uploading, it will happen when it happens lol. im job hunting for a second job unfortunately rn, so my time will just be what it is. i might start uploading just the lined uncolored pages on patreon when i finish them, or i'll just put all my pages on patreon until i have enough of a chapter's backlog to start releasing them publicly. in terms of the website, it is still down, i just need to dedicate the time to rebuilding it off of wix, and i've been more focused on creating the actual pages to learn neocities or wherever i'm gonna host it. it's all very messy lol

as always tysm to everyone who reads it!! you all mean the world to me <3 i 'm spending the entirety of my day today (fingers crossed) on writing and editing, so I hope to have this phase wrapped up soon!

#ramblings #actium update sunday #now if you see me on here or discord i need you to put a hit out on me

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antspaul · 4 months

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How to motivate yourself to writing? Do you have any tips? Because I know what I want to write, I have ideas and anything, but I don't know, problem starts when I must open docs and start writing. Maybe because I'm not native English speaker and writing in English is much, much, worse for me, because I need to check translation words what I want to use, and ughhh

I'm not sure I'm the perfect person to answer this ask, honestly. My writing output is nowhere near where it used to be and I'm quite a slow writer. Also I'm not ESL so I'm not sure I have much to offer there.

That being said, since I do struggle with motivation and spent several years tutoring students in writing, here is some general advice (adapted from this ask which asked about how to deal with low creativity/writers block):

talk through the scene/story with a friend (BEST advice i could give, more helpful than everything else on this list combined)

take a break from the computer and write it out by hand, or at least sketch out some of the dialogue

do a little research (INCREDIBLY dangerous if you are me, and are susceptible to the Research Vortex and tend to waste entire nights fixating on say, where the england nt was staying during the september 2003 intl break in manchester - but can be useful if you’re struggling to visualize a scene’s setting or feel otherwise ill prepared to write a scene requiring a degree of specialist knowledge)

write something kind of shitty anyways and then revisit it a bit later with the idea that you can just delete it if you don’t like it. but even a small start can usually help give you an idea of where you want to take a scene/project

For YEARS I published almost NO fic at all because of a mix of exhaustion + no time + unmedicated adhd. Medication helped a LOT but it's not accessible to or needed by everyone. anyways it isn't the only way to help motivate yourself if executive dysfunction in general is a problem.

If you have ideas, want to write them, and are able to actually sit down and open a blank document but the only problem is that you can't make yourself put words on the paper, external sources of motivation might prove useful.

Here are a few tools I've used or recommended to students:

if you're on discord, joining a writing server can be quite useful for motivation, talking through ideas if you're stuck, etc. some of them also have writing sprint bots, where you and other writers can spend periods of time working on your WIPs together. in 2021, my insane year of writing productivity, practically all i wrote happened in a sprint. if you don't know of any writing servers and would like to join one, you can DM me, anon.

not sure the psychology of this one but writing by hand feels totally different than typing! it's really, really useful for me, even if i change a lot of what i've written by hand by the time i transcribe it into a doc.

Write Or Die is a tool I've been using since I was spending most of my time writing essays in school. My brain needs a deadline or I just don't write! It basically asks you to keep adding writing to the page, and if you stop typing for too long, there's some sort of consequence - at its harshest mode, the program will start deleting vowels from your words LOL. i've basically never used that mode, though; mostly i have it set up so that a horrible screeching noise sounds when i stop writing for too long.

there's the two minute method, in which you set a timer for two minutes and commit to a single task only for those two minutes. if by the end of those two minutes, you still are struggling to do it, you can stop! but oftentimes starting is the hardest part.

i hope some of this advice was useful, anon! writing is difficult for even the most prolific writers so don't be too hard on yourself <3

#writing

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damienthepious · 1 year

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ksldjfjks not letting myself get behind on these again HERE is the CHAPTER enJOY

The Beast In On His Chain (chapter 10)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ao3] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Lord Arum, Rilla, Sir Absolon

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, prisoner/guard dynamic, Dehumanization, (which feels like a weird word to use for a nonhuman person bUT. it’s what i got.), Despair, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (EVENTUALLY!!!! it’ll take a while), Captivity, Suicidal Thoughts, (that will be a theme throughout. inescapable in this particular fic. alas.), Eventual Romance, (Yes the dynamics in this one are fucked. honestly i’m kinda Stretching my limits these days.), (having fun with it. fucking around. it’s fine.), Recovery, (eventually), Self-Reclamation

Chapter Summary: Softness, and sharpness.

Chapter Notes: the last chapter came out short and this one DID NOT. CHAPTER WARNINGS for starvation (again), suicidal thoughts (again), something that is comparable to a suicide attempt, blood, violence, threats of further violence, and heavy implications of abuse/torture. PLEASE let me know if i missed anything, i'm far more worried about accurate warnings than i am about spoilers.

"Psst. Good morning, Arum!"

Arum flutters his eyes open at the sound of his name, startled and bizarrely eager and trying not to show it, and the human-

Amaryllis swims into view as he blinks the sleep from his eyes, grinning a conspiratorial grin with the toes of one boot obstinately edging past the line on the floor.

Arum reels himself back with a sigh, raising an eyebrow at the human in a vague question.

He doesn't know why she's back again. He won't let himself hope for another journal of crumbs, and he also doesn't understand this...

Damien isn't here today. He insists on informing Arum when he will be off-duty for a few days, so Arum knows that he will not be here to relieve the current guard in a few hours, even. And Amaryllis is back.

Three times seems... like it wouldn't be a coincidence. Sir Damien has been here more days than he hasn't, since Arum first noticed him. The chances are extremely unlikely that this other human would randomly happen to appear only when Sir Damien is absent.

Arum does not know what that means, but he certainly does not trust it.

"I would ask how you've been," she says, her smile tilting and her brow furrowing with something like understanding, or perhaps sympathy. "But that seems like a rub-salt-in-the-wound sort of question."

Arum snorts despite himself, and her grin returns. He lowers his head again, resting his chin on his arms with the collar digging uncomfortably into his neck, but he doesn't close his eyes, deciding to watch her as she glances back towards the door.

"So. Last time. I got the impression that your favorites were the flowers and the birds. And the landscapes, but most of my landscapes involve both flowers and birds, so." She pauses. "Unless I'm making that up?"

Arum sighs again, still uncertain, but after a moment he nods, ignoring the way the collar pulls. He glances away from her as well, for a moment, when her smile goes even more blinding.

"Great! Perfect. I've been doing a lot with the color green, lately."

She spends three tours worth of time going through her newest journal, packed thick with pages of botanical sketches and examinations of birds, the latter focusing on anatomy and the former- notes that Arum takes a few minutes to recognize as medical. A small part of him wishes he could ask about that. He is fairly certain that one of the succulents she has detailed is a variant of something he has- had in his greenhouse, and he is curious about the differences between the two.

(Has the Keep been able to manage the greenhouse without him?)

The birds feel less fraught. The way she draws the wings- it is perhaps more flat than he would prefer - she draws her lines a little too straight - but the musculature is extremely precise.

When she reaches the end, a few minutes before the next tour is due if his measure is correct, she exhales a long breath and lifts her gaze to him again.

"I hope-" she pauses. "I really don't know how to say this."

Arum lifts his head, then, annoyed and intrigued at the same time. He raises his brow, and she huffs a sigh.

"Alright, alright. Is this- do you like when I come do this? Is it actually- do you actually enjoy it, or do you not care at all? Or am I just making things worse for you?" She pauses as Arum stares at her, entirely blank, and then she continues. "You know that I'd leave you alone if you asked, right?"

Arum rolls his eyes, utterly unwilling to dignify that with a response, and she scowls at him, planting her hands on her hips.

"I mean it. Look, Arum," he twitches involuntarily, ignores it, "I told you before- I'm doing this because I think this- this whole situation is a nightmare, and I can't do anything real about it. Not-" she pauses, and Arum thinks- she changes what she was going to say, shaking her head. "I'm not here to make your imprisonment worse. That's the last thing I want. So. Do you want me to stop visiting?"

She- waits. Watches him. Arum feels his shoulders sink, discomfort and irritation and a resurrected bristling of his remaining scraps of pride, but- she only waits, and after a long, long moment, Arum relents. He shakes his head.

No. He does not want her to stop. He does not want to give up the chance to see her again. Does not want to give up these flattened trinkets of the world beyond these walls.

Her own shoulders lower, her expression melting into something like relief, and she nods with an enthusiasm that surprises him.

"Good. Good, Arum. I'm glad. I just-" she pauses again, biting her lip for a moment in a wincing sort of way, and then she mutters, "oh, fuck all of this," and then she-

She- pulls a page from her sketchbook? Arum makes in incredulous noise, pulling his head back, but she doesn't seem to hear him, her expression fixed in a determined scowl as she shoves the rest of the book into the satchel at her side. She takes the page in both hands, then, and folds it, and then folds it again, and then-

Ah. A little paper dart with narrowed wings, the edges of her drawing jagged and confusing between the folds. She holds it up in one hand, prepared to send the makeshift bird flying, and with one eyebrow raised, she asks, "Catch?"

Arum stares at her for slightly less of a pause, this time, and then he nods again, shifting to sit more upright as he lifts a pair of hands.

She grins, her hand flicking elegantly forward to send the dart gliding in an almost-perfect arc. Arum manages to catch it by a wing between his claws, his arm trembling as he pulls it back, hiding it quickly behind another hand.

"Just- something for- until my next visit. I know it isn't much, really, but-"

Arum shakes his head, not looking at her, his heart- pounding strangely, thudding in a way that makes his sternum feel tight and uncomfortable. He doesn't want to risk a word, but- he hisses sharply to stop that particular line of thinking. He unfolds the paper with more care than is strictly necessary, but with his cracked claws and shaking hands, he does not want to risk accidentally tearing his prize.

It's a drawing of a pond, thick with reeds and with a long-necked heron upright and noble in the shallows. Arum had lingered on this one perhaps the longest of what Amaryllis showed him today. Did she notice that? Was the choice intentional, or was is just the first drawing she could snatch up?

It smells like the charcoal did. Like charcoal, of course, in the first place, but- the warm alive scent he assumes must simply be Amaryllis herself. He flicks his tongue, his mouth painfully dry but still- he can smell the leather of the binding, some sort of wood, perhaps her home or the table she drew on. Chamomile, and his heart lurches again with a sort of desperation. Peaches and honeysuckle.

He tears his eyes form the page to look at her. She watches him with a rapt attention, as if cataloging his responses, but- he can't bring himself to indignation, for once. He's too tired, too... too grateful, despite himself.

She twitches a smile after a moment. "If you've still got the charcoal... I promise I won't be offended if you draw whatever you want on the back. Or- hell, all over the front, too. It's yours, it's a gift, you can do whatever you want with it. Tear it to pieces, it's yours."

Arum swallows, compulsively pressing the paper against his chest, the idea of shredding that peaceful little pond-

No. No, no-

Pathetic. He has been made truly, truly so pathetic. Accepting scraps and crumbs and drops. Accepting pity.

He is so tired.

(In his head, already, the idea of what he could add to the scene. Flora in the empty spaces around the pond. Suggestions of fish beneath the water. Someone at the bank, watching the birds and the frogs.)

He tucks the paper underneath himself, swallowing roughly. He hopes that she does not expect gratitude.

"I'll be back," she says when the next tour group enters, and Arum decides that she... probably isn't lying. He manages a nod, and she gives him another wide smile before she pulls her foot back from over the line, and disappears back into whatever her real life is.

The anger feels bigger, after that. He thinks of the knights trapping him here and seethes. He thinks of the little queen with the terrified eyes and wishes he had killed her himself, when he had the chance.

He wishes he could just starve to death. He wonders, if he had any magic to his tongue, if he could talk himself into it.

He folds Amaryllis' page carefully, using the seams from the paper dart, and hides it underneath the metal of the cuff on his upper left wrist, where his bone-thin frame allows just enough room to hide it properly.

And he thinks-

Pity, or kindness. Is there even a difference? Why do these gestures feel safer from Amaryllis rather than from Sir Damien? The knighthood, likely, but- is that all?

Amaryllis feels... earnest. Artless. He can almost feel her own anger, a sharp little mirror of his own. Damien feels as if he is only trying to prove something to himself.

And-

There is a thought, there.

Damien thinks him pitiable. Damien does not seem to fear him.

Damien is willing to risk stepping over the line, to try to offer Arum kindness- pity- whatever it is.

Arum can use that.

Arum thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

And when the guards are not looking, he sharpens the jagged edges of his claws on the stone beneath him.

Arum waits a few days. He is patient, in his own way. He knows that even though the knight is bound for foolishness, he is still a knight, and he will not trust a sudden change.

Arum softens his responses gradually, hesitating before he denies Damien's offer of water. He eyes the flask, allowing his expression to actually show the depth of his thirst, and Damien (yes, just like that, little fool) takes another step closer, offering the flask out in a loose hand.

Arum still waits, shaking his head and sighing himself back down to his stone. If Damien means to pity him... well. If it can be useful, Arum will not discourage such things.

Arum hesitates for a little too long, a few days later, and Damien huffs a breath, stepping entirely over the line, lifting the flask and almost pressing it into Arum's claws.

"Really, now," he says in a tone of gentle chastising. "Will you just-"

Arum would say that it almost feels too easy, if it hadn't been for the week or so of prelude. Claws around the wrist, dig the claw of his thumb into the pad of Damien's palm, twist and pull while he yelps at the sudden pain, drag the knight bodily back as he stumbles and-

Oh but he is stronger than he looks, lean muscle hidden beneath all that armor.

Arum is desperate, though. A little struggling is not going to be enough, this time. He folds Damien's back against his chest, twisting two of his own arms so the chains criss-cross in front of Damien's throat and he can pull, holding the knight securely against him.

"Ah- wh-"

Damien is furnace-hot. Arum did not expect that part. Mammals and all their ridiculous overabundance of heat. The foolish, starving part of Arum wishes to melt into the heat, nevermind the rest, he could sleep in this warmth. Almost as distracting as Damien's scent clouding his snout, leather and skin and feathers and-

Honeysuckle? His curly hair is dusted with pollen, he smells like a garden, Arum wants to devour him, but-

Task at hand, task at hand. One chance at this. Needs to play this situation right.

When he opens his mouth to hiss in Damien's ear, however, what comes out is-

"You should scream, honeysuckle."

Which-

Damien gasps, trying to arch away from Arum's grasp, so- it will do. It does not matter that the words tripped on his tongue. His claws and his teeth are sharp, and the chains are sturdy and thick, and Damien must know that Arum could very well kill him like this. The human windpipe is not all that difficult to pierce, or to crush.

"What are you doing-" the knight gasps, all the words compressed to one breath, and Arum snarls and tightens his grip.

"Scream," Arum hisses again, ignoring the flare of pain in his throat, but Damien does not need to. The door to the rest of the Citadel bangs open, and Arum grins. Apparently Damien's yelp when Arum cut his hand had been enough to cause a stir. And-

Ah.

Arum recognizes the knight that charges into the chamber first.

"Sir Damien," Sir Absolon says as he skids to a stop on the stone, his hand on his hilt and his tone strangely warning, as if his ire is directed towards his fellow knight before the monster threatening his life. Two other knights tail him, their expressions far more worried.

Arum does not care about their emotions, just at the moment. He pulls the chains tight across Damien's throat, enough to make him gasp and choke, and then he loosens his grip enough to let the creature breathe again.

"Unchain me," Arum demands, snarling past the collar, "or I kill him."

Damien chokes on a breath even without the chain going taut, panic in his scent now, in his still-struggling frame, but he doesn't try to speak.

"Out of the question," Sir Absolon snaps, his hand twitching against his hilt, his expression pulling into a contorted sneer.

"Then you are going to need to kill me," Arum says, and it would be a purr if not for his shredded voice, subtle and hungry. "That- is your decision. I kill- him. You free me. Or kill me."

Pain spreads from his throat, thudding in his eardrums and then behind his eyes at the prolonged attempt at communication, but- he has managed the most important part. Terms are set. He will be free, or someone will die. Arum would prefer himself, at this point, but-

"Go on then," Sir Absolon says, sharp and without hesitation. He sneers, gesturing his arms wide and making no move whatsoever to draw his weapon, and Sir Damien stills.

"S-Sir Absolon," Damien says, sounding very blank.

Arum tightens his grip, his secondary hands lifting to dig claws into the skin just above Damien's collarbone. "I will. Release me or- or I tear his throat open. Snap him like a twig-"

"Do it. Don't just threaten, monster, follow through." The knight- grins, white teeth in a neat row, and Arum pulls his head back. Even the other knights at Sir Absolon's back shift with something like discomfort, but they do nothing. Say nothing. "Keeping your nasty little swamp tamed is worth the cost of a knight or two, and Sir Damien serves our Citadel bravely, and unwaveringly. He's not afraid. Are you, Sir Damien?"

Damien-

Breathes. Sharp and quick with his eyes on this other knight, his heart thudding hard in his chest, his back pressed firm to Arum's chest, but- he does not answer. His mouth hangs open with his ragged breathing, but either he cannot speak, or he will not. Arum resists the urge to resettle his grip on the knight, resists the urge to- he doesn't know. To press for an answer himself, perhaps. Is Sir Damien prepared to die like this? To die just as much by the word of his fellow knight as by Arum's hands? Sir Damien's prattling tongue is still, now, though, and utterly silent, but- his blankness, his silence must be enough, because Sir Absolon's grin grows even further.

"There's a good boy," Absolon says smugly, and Sir Damien's muscles twitch in Arum's grasp. "He's a loyal knight. Loyal knights are willing to die for their Citadel. So, monster-" he pauses to laugh, an unpleasantly throaty sound that Arum cannot reconcile with Damien's own breath-soft laughter. "Sorry," he sneers, "so, Lord of the Swamp, commit to your threats and do it. See how well that ends for you. You still won't find your freedom, in truth or in death, but by Saint Aaron I can promise you, I do promise you, I'll make you wish you were dead."

I already do, you idiot, Arum thinks with a vicious snarl, feeling Sir Damien's heart skip a beat against him. There is nothing you can do to make my continued survival any worse.

But.

The knight is right. The threat is empty, isn't it? If these fools care so little for Sir Damien- if even his murder could not spur them to kill him in retribution-

They won't release him, either in freedom or in death. Not even in exchange for Sir Damien's life. Sir Damien's life is not worth anything to them.

... Arum should kill him anyway.

He should. He should slit the knight's throat and then try to at least make the other smug bastard bleed before they pull his choke-chain too tight to struggle against. He should make them suffer, as many of them as he can, because it is the only way he can make them feel even a fraction of what they've done to him.

(Sir Damien's heartbeat flutters against Arum's thumb, his breath shallow and uncertain, but alive, still alive.)

Arum swallows, squeezing Damien's pulse a little tighter, a pained growl in his own throat.

He should. He should.

But-

(He never wanted to make a crueler world.)

(How will he ever hear his Keep's lullaby again, if Sir Damien is dead?)

His arms tremble with even this little effort. The memory of the ease with which he once wielded his knives burns at the pit of his stomach. Sir Damien is hot as coals against him, the warmest thing he's touched since... before. His throat burns with the punishment of the collar and with something else, something less defined.

(oh, he says, his eyes so wide and honey-brown and touched by the barest edge of something like sympathy. A nightmare?)

His grip slackens, hopeless. Arum could, perhaps, blame it on his own trembling hands, but Damien startles against him as soon as he is able, twisting in his loosening grip to look back and search Arum's face with his own expression panicked flat. Arum feels what little strength he mustered for this failed effort leave him entirely, feels shame and grief and an ironic amusement at his own failure twist together within him, and he untwists the chains from around Damien's neck, and sways back from the knight so when the collapse takes him, he won't crumple to the floor with all their limbs still tangled together.

Damien half-catches him as he falls anyway, gripping his arms with a shocked noise, awkwardly easing him down against the plinth until Arum can pull away enough to simply curl into himself, burying his collared head against his knees, his trembling arms wrapping around the back of his head, his ruined horns.

"Stupid thing," Sir Absolon spits, fury underlying his tone, and then, "To the infirmary, Sir Damien."

"Wh-what?" Damien says, sounding so completely lost and breathless above Arum's head, and Arum curls into an even tighter ball.

"Infirmary, soldier, you're bleeding and we don't need you here right now."

"But- but he-"

"We can handle the beast, Sir Damien, since apparently you can't. You're done here. Go."

Arum does not look. He can't force his own eyes back open, cannot force his face to lift, but-

He can feel Damien looking at him, an almost burning intensity before he hears Damien's footsteps retreat, reluctant tap-taps across the stone until the door creaks open, pauses a breath, and then clicks uncertainly back closed.

Other footsteps, then. Heavier and with greater purpose, and the other knight - Sir Absolon, if ever Arum wished to curse a creature it would be him - steps closer to Arum's chains.

"Now. Swamp lord. That was an interesting little outburst, wasn't it? We've already been over this lesson so many times, I'd think you'd've learned by now! But maybe that's stupid of me, to think. Humans can learn. Hell, even dogs can learn. But you?" Arum cannot see him, refuses to look, tries not to let himself care, but- he can hear the grin in Sir Absolon's voice as he continues, "You're just a monster. I should've known not to expect any better."

There's a pause. Arum hears metal and leather rattle, and he knows automatically that the knights are setting their weapons aside. Out of reach.

"Now, monster," Sir Absolon says, all false cheer. "I can tell you a couple things about the rest of your day. You aren't going to die. That'd be bad for the war effort, see, and I'm not about to disappoint my queen."

Arum scoffs. He can't help himself, really, and- it isn't as if there's anything he can do to make what's coming worse.

"Shut the fuck up," Sir Absolon says in that same smug, certain voice, and Arum feels- hand on his horn, pressing his face down against the stone. "You aren't going to die, today," he says again. "But I made you a promise, lizard, and I'm damn well going to keep it."

#elle's fanfic #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #sir absolon #(MY PERMA-ASSHOLE. THANK YOU FOR SERVING YOUR FUNCTION SIR)#also pain. pain and suffering. spain and puffering even #the beast in on his chain

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smreine · 1 year

Photo

Here’s a WIP design from my bestiary for my gothic fantasy novel. Gnolls are typically sorta hyena-human bipeds in fantasy, but I have a lot of sentient nonbipedal and non-industrialized creatures upon Her Divine Body. Do you like him better penciled or inked?

Description for images: One is a sketch, and the other has cleaner lines; both are monochromatic depictions of a four-legged thing that is kind of like a doggylionhyena with inquisitive eyes, visible fangs, a mohawk, a long tail, and strong legs.

I spend a lot of time thinking about how humans are animals and how I believe we are the dominant intelligent life form on the planet but far from the only one. I think about the lies humans tell ourselves so we can believe there is something Special and Different about us.

So I don't think we need to make creatures more humanlike in order for them to be treated as a complex fantasy society! They're lil dudes with language and some minor technology and history and rituals and families and they do not have opposable thumbs.

My 8yo asked me if the gnoll would be friendly, and I said that I thought the gnoll would be friendly if he were not hungry and you were not a rabbit. So that's now canon, they have to be nice. Or at least too lazy to eat human children.

It's a WIP because I will eventually format all bestiary pages in some consistent way that will have a more interesting design, like this. But this is also a WIP because I honestly did not take printing considerations into account with the colors and stuff.

(ID Below: A fake-parchment image labeled “The Beasts of Neus Mak Nama,” depicting a large eagle-like creature called a Roc. Native to world trees and the High Mountains, roc have been hunted near extinction in the wild by the Empire of Trees. Their diet consists of dire elk, ibexes, and beasts of Chaos. Their feathers are harvested for silk and their eggs for food. Size reference shows Alvar, Men, and Dwarrow, each smaller than the Roc’s foot.)

#fantasy creatures #bestiary #epic fantasy #gothic fantasy #atop the trees beneath the mountains #roc

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bijouxcarys · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍

Masterlist

“𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤,” 𝐈 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐭.

“It’s not, it’s good! You don’t have to eat it.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be near the chips, and that’s not democratically friendly,” I pouted.

“There’s a reason you failed in politics, Maria,” she shook her head, heading to get her ketchup.

This was the downside of being broke—we had to share chips for lunch. I’d pay one day, she would pay the next.

The chips that day were exceptionally crispy, and I remember because everything seemed to be going my way. The lecture was decent, meaning Professor Ross didn’t drone on about his favourite thinkers for an entire hour and a half. We also got the full scoop from Cameron about how things were going with Marcy. Apparently, they were going more than fine, which brought immense joy to Emma. She was quite the little matchmaker when she wasn’t desperate for a shag.

I had managed to push aside most of the Roger and Patty drama and gradually came to the realisation that Brian and Freddie were absolutely right about his inclinations. He just couldn’t help it. Besides, I saw how happy he made Emma, and that was all that mattered to me. If she didn’t know, she couldn’t get hurt.

As if on cue, guess who plonked down across the table from me? Yes, you guessed correctly. Roger, the blonde drummer, flashed me a grin before shifting his gaze to eye Emma from across the cafeteria.

“For someone who’s just dropped out of uni, you sure do spend a lot of time here,” I remarked, popping a chip into my mouth and feigning interest in my notebook.

“Well, when you have a bird, you have to be there with her when you can. It’s called loyalty, Maria,” Roger replied, his eyes still fixated on Emma. I couldn’t help but scoff under my breath—it wasn’t intentional, I swear. Roger looked slightly confused and mildly offended at my reaction. But before he could question me, Emma sat down between us, holding a small pot of ketchup in her hand.

“Hiya!” Emma squealed, falling into Roger’s arms. He responded by wrapping his arm around her, and before we knew it, they were caught up in a passionate kiss—way to intimate for the middle of the cafeteria. Feeling slightly awkward, I focused my attention on the notes in front of me.

“Honestly, darlings, get a room. The whole world doesn’t need to be subjected to… this,” Freddie remarked, gesturing to the scene ahead before joining the table across from me. He flashed me a knowing smile, clearly understanding my discomfort. “Hello, darling, how’s your day going?”

With a stifled giggle, I glanced at Emma and Roger. “Yeah, I’m great.” I emphasised the word ‘great’ and then turned my attention back to Freddie. “How about you, Fred?”

“I’ve spent the morning designing and coming up with ideas that nobody else has even been able to muster up. How do you think I am?” he replied with a playful tone.

“Oh!” I squealed in slight excitement, sliding over to sit right next to me. “Let me see!”

“Calm down, darling, I’m not the next Givenchy… yet.” Freddie chuckled, sliding his folder over in front of me.

Grinning, I eagerly flipped open the folder, allowing my eyes to soak up the masterpieces that were fragments of Freddie Mercury’s mind. My gaze stopped on an outfit he had sketched up, but Freddie swiftly tried to turn the page over. I caught his wrist, preventing him from hiding it.

“Why don’t you want me to look at that?” I asked, both of us trying to stop each other from doing what the other wanted. I held onto his wrist, attempting to keep it away from the folder as I leaned closer to get a better view.

“Maria, it’s just a silly idea—”

“Oh, shut up! When has any idea you’ve ever had been a bad one, Farrokh?” I retorted.

“Call me that again, and I’ll tell Brian about the sexy dreams you have about him.”

“Fuck—just let me look at the drawing, Fred!”

“Fine!”

He finally gave in, pulling away from the folder and allowing me to have a good look.

“Fred… this is so cool.” I brought the folder up closer to my face, inspecting the details. It wasn’t as polished as his other sketches that I had seen here and there throughout my time of knowing him, but it was clear enough to notice the unconventional sleeves that resembled a mix of a poncho and bird feathers. It was flamboyant, bold, and undeniably Freddie.

“It was just an idea I had when I finished everything… I thought it would make a great costume for onstage,” Freddie explained, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“You thought right. It’s so cool. Don’t throw that away or anything. Keep it,” I said, beaming warmly at Freddie. It was rare to see him so hesitant about one of his ideas; he was usually calm and confident in his thoughts.

“Why, thank you, darling.” He flashed a toothy grin at me, slowly closing the folder, the smile still lingering on his face.

“Rog, you should thank Maria,” Emma chimed in, her lips now free from Roger’s. He seemed slightly lost for a moment for a moment but managed to tear his gaze away from Emma.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” he mumbled, turning back to Emma. However, she scooted away from him, folding her arms.

“Um, without Maria, you wouldn’t be getting a chance to record jack shit. So be nice and say thank you to her before I slap you round the face.”

“I quite like the sound of tha—”

“Roger Meadows Taylor, don’t push me.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” Roger pouted, making Emma roll her eyes. He then fully spun in his seat to face me and Freddie. “Thank you, Maria. It honestly means a lot.” It was the first genuine smile he had ever directed at me, filled with gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, attempting to sound polite but unintentionally mocking his Southern mannerisms. This earned me a raised eyebrow from Roger.

“I still don’t know how we’re going to pay for a fucking session in Trident, but you know…” Roger mumbled, his attention returning to Emma.

“Oh, we have a very simple solution for that, Blondie,” Freddie interjected, winking at me as I slid back to my original spot in front of my notes.

“Hm, what’s that?”

“Sell your car, lovie,” Freddie slapped Roger on the back.

I bit both of my lips in anticipation, my eyes darting over to Roger.

“Okay,” Roger replied nonchalantly.

Freddie’s jaw dropped, leaning closer to the drummer. “Excuse me?”

“I said okay…” Roger glanced over his shoulder. “Did I stutter?”

I looked at Freddie, shock evident in my widened eyes. “Roger, we’re asking you to sell your car.”

“And I said okay,” Roger reiterated, his eyebrows scrunched up as he looked at me this time.

I turned to Emma, expecting her to be taken aback by Roger’s agreement to give up his seemingly most prized possession—apart from her. However, she appeared completely unphased.

“I feel like I’m in an episode of the fucking Twilight Zone. What’s happening right now?” I exclaimed, glancing over at Freddie for some semblance of understanding.

“Who’s in an episode of the Twilight Zone?” a familiar voice chimed in from behind me. I instantly recognised Brian’s voice. His hand gently brushed against my shoulder as he took a seat beside me, placing his tray on the table next to my notes. I couldn’t help but glance at his lunch—a simple combination of cheese and lettuce sandwiched between two thick slices of brown bread.

“Roger has agreed to sell his car,” Freddie announced, leaning forward on the table.

Brian chuckled under his breath, taking a sip from his water bottle. “Looks like you’ve finally pulled your dick out of the exhaust pipe and decided to focus on what actually matters, hm?”

I widened my eyes in surprise at Brian’s response, turning my head to look at him. The other three seemed equally taken aback by his words. Brian quickly stole a glance at me, setting his bottle back on the table. My gaze followed the bottle’s descent, hitting the table with a soft thud.

“Does that mean it’s about time you take your dick out from between the star dust pages of your astronomy porn?” Roger fired back, tightening his grip around Emma.

“Ladies, please,” Freddie interjected, raising his teacup to his lips. “Let’s not kill each other before we even get the chance to do anything with my talents.” He winked at me, lightening the tense atmosphere.

“Yes, because we are the vehicle for your talents to ride on, right Fred?” Roger retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Brian sighed, picking up his sandwich as Roger and Freddie continued their bickering, sounding like an old married couple.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered to Brian, turning on the bench to face him directly.

Brian turned his head, resting on his hand as if trying to shield himself from the commotion happening across the table. I watched as he chewed on his sandwich, his jaw moving up and down. He placed it back o the tray and shook his head.

“I’m just… stressed,” he admitted, pressing his lips together tightly. “That’s all. You don’t need to worry.” He extended his free hand, placing it gently on top of mine, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of my hand.

I knew he could sense that my worry wouldn’t easily dissipate. I didn’t need to say anything for him to understand.

“Seriously, Maria. I’m fine. Same thing as this morning, it’s just… a lot right now,” he spoke softly, his voice barely audible over the chaos caused by Roger and Freddie. While I knew offering the same generic words of comfort wouldn’t make much of a difference in this chaotic environment, I simply nodded my head and smiled in response.

“You got much else left to do today?” I spoke softly, my gaze fixed on our intertwined hands.

“A lecture. And I have to attend it, before you try and convince me otherwise.” Brian flashed a mischievous grin, his pointed teeth peeking through.

I rolled my eyes playfully, nudging him with my arm. “Excuse me, I have a lecture too.” I pretended to look offended, pulling my hand away from his. He pouted and leaned closer, wrapping his arms around my waist. For a moment, I thought he was going to give me a comforting hug, but to my surprise, his fingers found their way to my sides, tickling me relentlessly.

Now, those who know me are well aware that I absolutely despise being tickled. It has always been that way. So, when Brian’s fingers dug into my most ticklish spots, a burst of uncontrollable laughter escaped my lips. Brian didn’t let up; he continued to tickle me, enjoying my adorable torture.

“Brian! Stop!” I gasped between fits of laughter, attempting to free myself from his relentless grip.

I glanced over at Freddie, hoping to catch his attention and signal for help, but he was too engrossed in his argument with Roger to notice my distress just inches away.

“You might want to watch that attitude, Blondie. I heard John Reid is in town,” Freddie told Roger as Brian’s fingers still danced over my sides.

What? John Reid?

“And if he sees us in Trident arguing like a pair of ladies, we’ll get nowhere,” Freddie continued, an amused glint in his eyes.

Fuck.

“Brian, stop!” I yelled, nearly attracting the attention of everyone in the cafeteria. I managed to wriggle out of his grasp, smacking my hand on the table in front of me to emphasise my plea. Finally, Freddie’s gaze tore away from his dispute with Roger, fixing upon me.

“Did you say John fucking Reid?!” I blurted out, unable to contain my excitement and surprise.

“Yes, darling, I did,” Freddie replied, a tinge of confusion in his voice. “You know of him?”

“Know of him? She’s been up his arse since September,” Emma chimed in, rolling her eyes. However, her casual remark failed to convey the depth of my admiration for John Reid. Realising this, she elaborated, “She’s been studying him for her second-year project, and she absolutely adores the man.”

Embarrassment flushed through my cheeks as their attention focused on me. I cast my eyes downward, my notes in front of me adorned with an array of facts and timelines about John Reid’s illustrious career.

“But I thought you didn’t particularly enjoy the subject. Yet, you seem so invested in it,” Roger interjected, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, the course may not be exactly my favourite thing in the world, but John Reid is so fascinating. Besides, I love the industry, and—”

“Maria, my love, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Brian said, shooting a disapproving look at Roger. “Roger just needs to argue with someone 24/7.” He tore his gaze away from Roger and focused on me. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re so passionate about your work, especially if it aligns with what you’re supposed to be doing for your work experience…” He leaned in, his tone slightly threatening in a playful way. Why did I find that so enticing? Why did I enjoy his towering presence over me? Fuck…

I couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath, a smirk dancing on my lips. In that moment, I completely forgot that Roger, Freddie, and Emma were sitting just inches away from us. I was completely lost in Brian’s eyes.

My gaze dropped to his lips as he smiled softly, leaning closer and planting a teasingly gentle kiss on my lips before pulling away and redirecting his attention to the others.

I’m almost certain that Brian knew exactly what he was doing when he shifted his focus away from me—I was a mess. It always embarrassed me how easily Brian’s charm and good looks could leave me flustered. I was just so… inexperienced.

The remaining minutes of lunch slipped away, and throughout it all, Brian continued to play with my fingers, offering me comfort and a sense of being cherished—simple gestures like holding hands could send me into a whirlwind of gratitude for the affection I received. A feeling of closeness was the key to my heart.

He even gave me butterflies when he casually removed his ring from my index finger and slipped it onto his pinkie, the cool metal leaving a lingering sensation on my skin.

When it was time for Emma and me to head to our lecture, I stood behind Brian, wrapping my arms tightly around him in a lingering hug, as if I would never see him again. His fluffy hair tickled my face as he leaned into my embrace.

“I guess there’s no need for me to come over later now that you’ve reclaimed what’s yours,” I murmured, a playful hint in my voice. I heard Brian chuckle softly, tilting his head to the side and looking up at me.

“Don’t you want to spend time with your boyfriend?” He raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that I loved it when he playfully referred to himself as my boyfriend, no matter how juvenile it sounded. But deep down, I could sense that he took my teasing to heart in the sweetest way possible—bless him.

“Bri, I’m just messing. I’m still going to come over. If you still want me to, that is…” I playfully said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Of course, I want you to, silly. I’ve been looking forward to it all day,” he replied, giving me those irresistible puppy dog eyes that made my heart melt even more.

I couldn’t help but giggle and shake my head, leaning in closer to him. “You’re just too cute.” I pressed my lips against his in a longer, more lingering kiss before finally pulling away. As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but notice the mischievous smirks on the faces of the other three—they were eagerly waiting for the moment Brian and I would finally get together and become that couple we always talked about.

“Come on, Emma. You’ll see Roger later,” I sighed, nudging her gently as they seemed completely absorbed in each other yet again. She gave Roger an affectionate hug before leaving with me.

“Isn’t Roger just the sweetest?” Emma chirped as we turned the corner, out of sight from the bustling cafeteria.

I couldn’t bring myself to lie, but I couldn’t reveal the truth either. All I could do was giggle and shake my head, a mix of conflicting emotions swirling within me. Little did she know that when I shook my head, it was because I genuinely didn’t know how to answer.

I felt a twinge of guilt. A nagging sense that I should set things right. But everything felt so great in that moment, and I didn’t want to spoil it. Sometimes, you get caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, and decisions are made without thinking of the consequences.

Things just happen, I thought to myself, hoping that everything would somehow work out for the best.

“I always thought that Roger would be the less educated one,” I murmured to Brian. He smirked, glancing over at the doorway to the living room where Freddie and Roger were engrossed in a game of Scrabble. Normally, Brian would join them, but since he had me as his company, he chose to be the true gentleman he was and stay by my side.

“They’re always at each other’s throats over that game. It’s a rare occasion when only one of us is the reigning champion. I tend to come up with some very long words,” he grinned, turning to put the kettle on the stove. “They’re just lucky I’m not playing.”

“I used to play Scrabble with my brother when we were younger,” I began, watching as Brian expertly prepared my coffee and his tea. “It was a bit challenging, to be honest.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “It’s not that difficult of a game, Maria.”

“It was only difficult because my dog ate the O’s and the Y’s,” I laughed. “The number of times I got scolded for using the world ‘count’ without the O…”

Brian laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“I don’t… We had to put her down. She had some nasty wounds from the neighbour’s dog when he attacked her,” I shrugged. The truth was, I didn’t recall much from that time. I was sixteen then, and by that point, I didn’t pay much attention to what was happening around me. Things had just started to go downhill, and I wasn’t accustomed to such a drastic change.

Leaning against the counter, Brian looked thoughtful, and the kettle started to rattle slightly. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that… That’s the thing about pets. They don’t live forever,” he frowned.

“I guess they don’t. But at least you still have pictures and memories,” I replied.

Brian smiled softly, his gaze fixed on me. “You’re so optimistic… sometimes.”

I chuckled, playfully nudging his arm. “I’m probably one of the most pessimistic people you’ll ever meet. You’re the optimist out of the two of us! You work so hard all the time and still manage to be nice to everyone around you. That’s talent.”

“Talent!” I heard a voice from the living room. “Damn it, I didn’t mean to say it out loud!”

I turned my head to find Roger banging his head on his hands, while Freddie wore a smug expression, clearly having spelled out the word ‘talent’ on the Scrabble board.

When I looked back at Brian, he was pouring the boiling water into the mugs. “Do you want to go upstairs? It might be quieter,” he suggested softly, picking up both mugs. I nodded in agreement, reaching out for the coffee mug, but Brian playfully pulled it away from my grasp. “I’ve got it,” he insisted, gesturing for me to walk ahead of me.

“I am perfectly capable of carrying a mug of coffee myself,” I protested, making my way through the living room where Freddie and Roger served as a comical obstacle course.

“Yes, but I don’t want you to spill it and burn yourself,” Brian stated matter-of-factly. I huffed, trudging into the hallway.

“I’m not a child,” I sulked, stepping aside to let Brian go upstairs first.

“Care to explain that look on your face then?” he smirked at me, shimmying past me and making his way up the stairs. I glanced over at Roger and Freddie, who were snickering to themselves, probably amused by the playful banger between Brian and me.

Brian’s room was a comfortable blend of normality—neither too extravagant nor too minimalistic. Poster adorned the walls featuring icons like The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Little Richard, Jimi Hendrix, Conway Twitty. Books lay scattered around, their pages undoubtedly filled with astrophysics and other subjects beyond my intellectual reach.

I found myself standing awkwardly in the middle of Brian’s room, my hands fidgeting nervously. He placed the two mugs on the desk in the corner, turning around to meet my gaze. He folded his arms and looked away, the air thick with unease. The distant sound of Roger and Freddie’s bickering downstairs was the only noise breaking the silence.

“Um… Do you want me to close the door?” I managed to say, my mouth suddenly dry.

“Yeah… Yeah, that’d be good,” he replied with an awkward smile, observing me as I made my way to his bedroom door. Gently, I closed it, shutting out the noise from downstairs as it faded into the background.

When I turned around, Brian had settled on his bed, casually leaning back on his hands. He smiled at me, assuring me it was alright to join him. So, I gingerly sat down, letting myself sink into the comfort of the mattress. Brian handed me my coffee, which had cooled down enough to drink. As I took a sip, I noticed him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.

I glanced at him, scrunching my eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how you can drink that all the time. I’ve never seen you drink anything other than pure black coffee,” he said, leaning back against the headrest.

“It’s nice, and it keeps me awake and alert,” I defended myself, smiling as I took another sip.

“You’re right. I must be a pretty boring person to be around if you need caffeine to stay awake,” he replied with a hint of self-deprecation.

I furrowed my brows, looking directly at the curly-haired guitarist sitting just a metre away from me. “Shut up, Brian, you’re not boring. Not to me, anyway.”

“I’m not?�� He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.

“No,” I laughed, shuffling closer to him. “And who cares what other people think about you? All that matters is that you have strong people around you who remind you that you’re not boring and that you’re an incredible person. And if they’re not doing that, then they can just fuck off,” I shrugged, getting up to place the now half-full mug back on Brian’s desk.

He didn’t directly respond to what I had just said. Instead, he blushed, his cheeks practically glowing with embarrassment, a reaction I had become accustomed to whenever someone complimented him. As I walked back to the bed, I contemplated whether to sit closer to him. But I didn’t have to contemplate for long, as his long arms wrapped around me, pulling me down into the bed right next to him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have that mug in my hand,” I chuckled, shuffling onto my back to get comfortable, my arm brushing against Brian’s.

We lay on our backs, gazing up at the plain, boring, white ceiling. In those moments, time seemed to slow down, and I allowed myself to sink into deep thoughts about my life. Despite the lack of money and a stable income, I realised how incredibly fortunate I was. I had remarkable people surrounding me, and I felt safe and secure. It was a feeling I had never experienced back home. And above all, Brian cared for me. I knew that without a doubt. He would do anything to make me happy, and he never failed to remind me of that.

The radio filled the almost silent room with a soft static noise as Brian turned it on. The background noise provided a sense of comfort. His hand sought mine, intertwining our fingers. “Maria?” he hummed, his voice gentle.

I squeezed his hand, giving him my full attention. “Yeah?”

“It’s entirely fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but… Why do you… do that to yourself?” Brian stumbled over his words, his thumb caressing my skin. I understood what he was referring to, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to open about it, to be so vulnerable.

But then I thought about the preciousness of the moment, the rare opportunity to be truly alone with Brian. I took a deep breath and turned my head to face him, taking in the beautiful contours of his profile.

“I wasn’t very happy growing up,” I began, my voice carrying the weight of my past. “It all started with my dad. We never had the kind of relationship I longed for. He was absent most of the time, and we never saw eye to eye on anything. We were complete opposites. My mum was the one working while my dad stayed home. So, I didn’t get to spend much time with her either. I don’t blame her, though. She had to provide for the family because my dad was too lazy to do anything.” A faint chuckle escaped Brian’s lips as he listened intently. “But eventually, my dad did manage to invest in some properties in Leeds, and now he owns most of the farmlands.” I shrugged.

“School was supposed to be my escape, but it wasn’t much better. I was constantly bullied for my weight, and the fact that I liked different things to everyone else. I felt completely alone as a child, and I couldn’t understand why it was happening, or why I couldn’t seem to form friendships with anyone. I had no one to be angry at,” I trailed off, my gaze returning to the ceiling.

“And so, I turned that anger inward… And I took it out on myself,” I whispered, feeling tears welling up in my eyes. “Things didn’t improve much after that. I was, like, fourteen, I think. It’s only gotten worse since then. I hardly have a relationship with my parents now. They want me to be a successful, fashionable businesswoman, but… I don’t want to do something just because someone else expects it of me.” I glanced at Brian, who was staring blankly at the ceiling.

“I’m rambling, right?” I whispered.

“No. Not at all,” he whispered back. “I was the one who asked, and I was genuinely curious. You’re a strong and brave woman,” he said, turning onto his side to face me, his upper body sightly leaning over mine. “And I adore that about you.”

A blush crept up my cheeks, a mix of vulnerability and power surging through me in his presence. This man had an incredible effect on me, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

I let out a contented sigh, my gaze fixed on his captivating hazel eyes. The world around us faded away as we shared an intimate connection, my heart pulsating with a profound sense of tranquillity. It was truly a beautiful moment.

However, the enchantment was momentarily shattered when the opening notes of a different song, “Let’s Spend the Night Together” by The Rolling Stones, began to play through the radio speakers. The softness in our eyes transformed into amusement, and we both erupted into laughter at the perfect timing. I cackled, trying to catch my breath as Brian buried his head in the pillow beside me, his body wriggling with laughter.

“You absolutely did that on purpose,” I managed to gasp out, clutching my stomach.

“How? I’m all the way over here!” Brian protested, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow. He lifted his head and rested it next to mine, his warm breath brushing against my cheek.

After a few seconds of the song playing, Brian pressed his lips to my ear and began to sing in a deep, melodramatic voice, clearly aiming to be funny.

“Don’t you worry ‘bout what’s on your mind…”

I giggled, the sensation of his breath tickling my ear and his hair gently grazing my skin.

“I’m in no hurry, I can take my time…” he continued, deepening his voice even more, his intent to bring humour into the moment. But unexpectedly, my stomach flipped as he hit an uncharacteristically low bass note. My laughter subsided, and I swallowed hard.

“Brian…” I attempted to dismiss it as a joke. “You’re lying on my hair…” I whined, rolling onto my side, my back turned to Brian’s chest. If he couldn’t see that every little thing that he did affected me, then I would pretend that it didn’t.

However, my wish for the awkwardness to dissipate went unanswered as I felt Brian’s chest press against my back, his arm reaching over to find my hand next to my face. His fingertips lightly stroked the back of my hand, tracing a path down my arm. The sensation was comforting, sending countless sparks cascading down my spine.

Before I could fully grasp the situation, his lips returned to my ear. This time, he sang in his usual soothing tone, devoid of any humorous intentions.

“I’m going red, and my tongue’s getting tied…”

I remained perfectly still as he planted feather-light kisses on my ear, his head nestled close to mine, enveloping me in his embrace. I sighed with contentment as Brian began to sway us gently back and forth.

“Can I ask you something, love?” he murmured.

“You can ask me anything,” I breathed out.

“You’ve… never done anything before, have you?” he speculated.

“Wow, straight to the point…” I joked. “If you’re trying to ask me if I’m a virgin, then… y-yeah, I am.” I admitted, an embarrassed flush rushing to my cheeks, my tone treating back to the shyness I had when I first met the boys.

Instead of responding, Brian leaned down and pressed a sweet and innocent kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering against my skin. “I wish I could truly show you how much you mean to me.”

I furrowed my eyebrows, stealing a glance at him. “I thought you already do that?”

He chuckled, sending shivers down my spine. “I do… But I want to show you in a way that will make you feel good and… loved.”

Oh, I knew exactly where he was heading, that charming space boy.

“Oh?” I managed to stutter out, feeling his lips trail down my cheek and to my jaw.

“We don’t have to do anything, love. I’m perfectly content with just cuddling,” Brian reassured me, looking up into my eyes.

“I want to, Brian… I really do. I’m just a bit scared,” I whispered, studying his face intently. “I don’t want it to hurt…” I started. “A-and… I don’t want you to be put off by me once you see… everything.” I turned my eyes away sheepishly.

His gaze softened, and he gently guided me onto my back, his form now fully hovering over me. “Maria Brennan, I think you are a breathtakingly beautiful person, inside and out. And all I want is to share the overwhelming feelings I have every time I see you enter a room, hear you laugh, or listen to your voice,” he whispered, his lips grazing over my nose. “As for it hurting… I can’t promise you it won’t. But I can promise that it won’t all the time. I’m here with you. And if you can’t handle it, and you need me to stop, I will. I won’t let anything hurt you, my darling.”

With those words, he dipped down and captured my lips in a passionate kiss, igniting sparks that danced all over my body. I lifted my hand and entwined my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to me to let him know I did want this and that I was willing to try. He deepened the kiss in response, allowing his tongue to explore my mouth.

Brian continued to kiss me as I adjusted to this new level of intimacy, his tongue exploring new sensations that drove me wild. His hand journeyed from my cheek to my shoulder, his fingertips tracing patterns on my skin. Goosebumps erupted across my body as his hand purposefully grazed over my chest. I closed my eyes as Brian’s kisses trailed down from my lips to my neck, savouring the gentleness of his touch. He sighed against my skin, seemingly relishing the closeness between us. I bit down on my lower lip when I felt his teeth graze the sensitive flesh of my neck, his suction growing progressively stronger. A shaky breath escaped me as he did this, the sensation unlike anything I had ever experienced. I almost felt a tinge of embarrassment at how much I enjoyed the feeling of him marking me as his own, even though he had barely done anything, yet I could already be a quivering mess beneath him. So, I restrained myself, biting down on my lips to regain composure. However, Brian must have noticed because he pulled back from my neck, his voice a soft whisper against my skin.

“If something feels good, don’t hesitate to let me know,” he whispered, a smile evident in his voice, before shifting his head to the other side of my neck, repeating the same tantalising motions.

He lifted his head completely, gazing down at the marks he had left on my skin, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Slowly, he leaned back, rising up and sitting on his feet. His eyes roamed over my figure, sprawled before him. Locking his gaze with mine, he placed his hands on my knees, parting them to settle himself between them. It felt strange yet exhilarating to have someone so close, his groin pressing against my most sensitive area.

Moistening my dry lips, I peered up at Brian, his eyes now filled with a burning desire. He pulled me up, so I was sitting, my legs still wrapped around him. His hands slid down to the collar of my denim jacket, holding onto it.

“Can I…?” he began, seeking my approval. I nodded, allowing him to push the jacket off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor beside the bed.

“Brian?” I glanced down at his attire, admiring how snug his shirt fit him. “My mum is… very domineering and… protective. What should I tell her if she asks what I’ve been doing?” I naïvely asked.

A smile graced his lips as his calloused fingers came up to cradle my face. I leaned into his touch.

“You’re twenty-two years old, Maria. Your mother has no right to know what you’ve been doing,” he said, smirking slightly as he leaned closer. “Or who you’ve been doing.” The playful remark lightened the mood, causing me to giggle. “Just forget about her, my love.”

And with that, his lips were once again on mine. And I did just as he said – I let thoughts of my mum slip from my mind as Brian’s hands moved lower, fumbling with the buttons on my flares. I arched my hips upward, making it easier for him to remove the fabric, which joined my jacket on the floor. The absence of my trouser allowed my shirt to hang loosely, now untucked. His eyes never wavered from mine as he reached down and unbuttoned his own trousers. He discarded his shirt, revealing his upper body; the slimness of his frame, clothed or not, remained captivating—his partially exposed ribcage hinted at his fitness. Brian gently guided me back, laying me down. His hands descended to my hips, pulling me toward him before he lowered himself on top of me, our groins meeting in perfect alignment.

I bit down on my lip, the rush of heat spreading across my cheeks. Brian leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a passionate and longing kiss, wasting no time in igniting the passion between us. A soft groan escaped his lips, merging with mine, as I instinctively bucked my hips into his. The realisation that he, too, was affected comforted me—I could let out those sounds too. My hands travelled down his back, feeling the warmth of his bare skin for the first time. I smiled into the kiss, releasing a shaky breath when Brian’s hand slid down my leg, lifting it and holding it in place. Taking this as a cue, he pressed his body against mine, grinding gently at first to ensure my comfort. But when I emitted a small moan, he continued with a heightened sensuality. His own breathing faltered as he broke the kiss, emitting another groan. Halting his movements, he peppered kisses along my chin instead of my lips. His lips ventured lower, using his nimble fingers to unbutton my shirt and reveal my bra. Licking his lips, his gaze traced over my exposed form, before he began placing soft kisses along my chest, leaving marks that only I, and now he, would see.

“You alright?” Brian finally spoke after a prolonged silence, his lips now gliding down my stomach. I was a bit puzzled about his intentions, but seeing the comfort in his eyes reassured me. I nodded, meeting his gaze, which had a soothing effect on me.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay? I don’t want to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for,” he added, accompanied by a gentle smile. I took a deep breath, diverting my gaze to the ceiling as Brian continued moving lower down my body, instantly evoking memories of a recent dream. This was like that dream, unfolding in real-time. It was happening, and it felt remarkably real.

Brian laid on his stomach, the mattress beneath us, showing his tenderness and placing gentle kisses on my thighs. His arm wrapped around my hips, keeping me settled. With his free hand, he traced the fabric of my underwear, bringing his face closer to my heated centre. As his touch made contact, my hips instinctively bucked upwards again, the fabric growing damp with each passing second. I watched his eyes flicker upward, gauging my response to this newfound intimacy. He wanted me to enjoy myself, never feeling obligated to engage in this with him.

“Can I take them off?” Brian whispered, his breath sending shivers across my soft skin. I looked up at him, my reaction evident. I nodded, my eyes closing. I could sense my nervousness, but he called me gently, capturing my attention. I opened my eyes and lowered my head to meet his gaze.

“Use your words, please,” he said. “Maria, darling.”

“Sorry… Yeah, take them off,” I nervously laughed, my cheeks flushing deeper with colour. Brian smiled at me, flashing a look in his eyes that reassured me of my safety. As my hips lifted, he effortlessly removed my underwear, casually dropping them beside the bed. His eyes hungrily feasted on the sight before him. This was the first time he saw me in my most vulnerable state, and I felt no reservations.

My heart raced as I took in the sight of Brian, the intensity of his gaze making my mouth go dry, leaving me speechless. I could sense my breathing becoming irregular, my body reacting to the desire flowing between us. Brian moved closer, rising onto his knees and crawling towards me, his eyes locked with mine. The emotions flickering in his gaze made it difficult to decipher what he truly felt.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, settling beside me and propping himself up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on my exposed body. I expected to stumble over my words, or offer a hesitant response, but something within me shifted.

“Please… Just touch me, Brian,” I whimpered, my eyebrows furrowing with longing. A mixture of vulnerability and desire surged through me, and my plea seemed to ignite a hunger within him. I watched as his eyebrows lifted, a smile forming on his lips, capturing the electricity in the air.

A shiver coursed through my body as the cool air kissed the delicate space between my legs, a stark contrast to the intense heat and wetness that consumed me. Brian’s gaze bore into my soul, his finger gliding along the slickness, eliciting an involuntary buck of my hips. I watched as his bit his lip, his eyes fixed on the glistening evidence of my arousal.

“You’re so wet…” he murmured, his finger delving between my folds and teasingly grazing over my throbbing clit, which yearned for more. A strangled moan escaped my lips as he circled his finger over the sensitive bud. His eyes locked with mine, his lips close to my ear, his finger quickening its movements, occasionally dipping lower to gather more of my essence.

“Does that feel good, angel?” he whispered against my ear, his words sending waves of pleasure through me. I parted my lips, intending to respond, but all that emerged was another prolonged moan as he added a second finger, doubling the intensity of pleasure. My eyelids fluttered shut, surrendering to the exquisite sensations washing over me.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled, his lips trailing along my jawline. “I’m going to put one inside, okay?”

I smiled inwardly, touched by his consideration and attentiveness. As his middle finger descended toward my entrance, he paused, maintaining a gentle pressure. At first, it was a mere sensation of fullness, but swiftly it transformed into a stinging pain as he pushed his finger past my resistance, reaching up to the first knuckle. I clamped down on my lower lip, biting down to stifle any sign of discomfort, not wanting to worry Brian. Yet, it seemed as though he sensed my struggle, as he pressed closer, his lips tenderly kissing my cheek and any reachable spot. Meanwhile, his thumb resumed its seductive dance over my clit, mingling pleasure with the temporary ache.

He remained still for a moment, maintaining that position. The initial pain gradually subsided, intermittently returning as he moved his finger, but the soft whispers and tender touches made it bearable. The room was filled with the sounds of his breath mingling with the raw friction of his finger and my wetness colliding. As promised, the pain transformed into an exquisite pleasure—a fucking sweet pleasure, to put it bluntly.

Before long, my own strained moans erupted from my lips, my head sinking into the plushness of Brian’s pillows. By now, he had inserted his finger almost completely, and I became a cacophony of moans, a tumultuous blend of discomfort and pleasure. It was the knowledge that Brian was the first person I ever let touch me in this way that intensified the experience, amplifying the pleasure to new heights.

“Wow,” he breathed out, his voice thick with desire. “You’re so fucking tight.” He chuckled, burying his face in the crook of my neck, a wicked smile gracing his lips.

An airy laugh escaped me, my heart rate momentarily skyrocketing. “S-sorry… I’m not used… Fuck… people saying stuff like that to me.”

He lifted his head, aligning it with mine, his forehead pressing against mine. “It’s okay,” he began, his gaze fixed on my lips. “I’m not used to saying stuff like that to such beautiful women.” Before I could respond, his lips crashed onto mine, delivering a feverish kiss. A moan and a whimper escaped me simultaneously as he slipped another finger inside, stretching me further. Brian pressed his lips harder against mine, muffling my loud cries and diverting my attention. My back arched as he quickened the pace of digits, a fiery ball of pleasure building within the depths of my stomach.

He finally pulled away, resuming the position with his forehead against mine. “I need to make you cum before… we move on,” he smirked, biting his lip as he observed me.

I would have found his remark incredibly dominant and laughed it off under different circumstances. However, I was consumed by the growing tingles pulsating in my abdomen. My vision blurred as a surge of something overwhelming approached. Now, I’m not foolish—I knew what an orgasm was. But the only times I had experienced it were when I pleasured myself, and even then, it was a rarity, occurring no more than three times in total. Yet this was different. This orgasm was building from within, Brian’s fingers reaching places my own could never reach.

“B-Brian…” I whimpered, gazing into his eyes. My breath became rapid as he continued his ministrations inside me.

“It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he assured me, plunging me into oblivion. And with that, my hips thrust into his hand, an intense wave of pleasure washing over my entire being, causing goosebumps to erupt all over my skin. To control my involuntary spasms, Brian pressed his forehead harder against mine, keeping my head anchored. He let out a strained breath as he endeavoured to sustain his movements until I rode out the exhilarating high. My hand instinctively gripped his arm, his muscles contracting forcefully as he matched the rhythm of his actions.

After the initial shock subsided, I gently pushed Brian’s arm away, my breathing gradually returning to a more steady rhythm. I closed my eyes, feeling a slight clenching in my lower muscles as he withdrew his fingers, leaving me with an inexplicable longing. Opening my eyes, I glanced over at Brian, observing as he sensually sucked off the remnants of our passion from his fingers.

My attention was quickly captured when he raised an eyebrow at me in a seductive manner. Perhaps it was his way of calming my nerves after witnessing him begin to wriggle out of his trousers, a tent forming in his underwear. My breath caught in my throat, still recovering from the erratic pattern it had taken before.

“You look completely worn out, love,” he laughed, clearly amused by my exhausted state. “That was just a preview.” He winked, a blush still lingering on his own cheeks.

“Well, I am exhausted!” I exclaimed, wiping my forehead. “I’ve never done that before, so…” I sat up slightly, keeping my gaze fixed on him as he slipped out of his underwear. My stomach tightened with anticipation as I caught sight of what he had concealed from me, springing up and brushing against his stomach.

“As much as I enjoy your admiration, I’d prefer it if you helped me with this,” Brian said shyly, pushing himself back against the headboard. It seemed he had become caught up in his arousal, momentarily forgetting my limited experience. “Oh!” He blushed deeply. “I’m sorry, love… Um… Have you ever…?” he trailed off.

“Um…” I murmured, swallowing hard. “No, I haven’t.” I laughed awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and positioning myself in front of Brian. “I mean, I obviously know what it is and more or less how to do it, but I’ve just never had a chance to do it before.”

Brian grinned, taking my hand and caressing the back of it. “It’s okay, Maria. I can always guide you.”

“Okay.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Brian became my mentor, teaching me the nuances of what he enjoyed and how to prolong the pleasure during oral sex. Needless to say, I found great pleasure in wrapping my lips around his substantial length, savouring the taste of his salty skin.

So there I was, kneeling over Brian’s lap, my mouth filled with him. Brian brought his hand up to my face, sweeping my hair over my shoulder to better see my expression as I took him into my mouth. I looked up at him, batting my eyelashes a little, eliciting a groan from him as he collected the hair in his fist.

“God, yeah, just like that,” he grunted, gazing down at me with his mouth slightly agape. I relished in the praise he bestowed upon me, feeling electric sensations travel down to my core, which was now reawakening with desire, clenching eagerly in anticipation.

A muffled moan escaped my lips as I swirled my tongue around the tip of his cock, my hand tightly gripping the base. The taste of his pre-cum lingered on my tongue, salty and arousing.

Suddenly, I was pulled away from his throbbing member and drawn up to his face. He pressed his lips forcefully against mine, immediately invading my mouth with his tongue. I clutched onto his hair with one hand and grasped his shaft with the other, revelling in the sensations that consumed me.

“Lay down,” he mumbled, his command prompting me to comply. I shifted to his side and lay on my back, anticipation building within me.

“I’ve held this in for so long, Maria,” he confessed, rising onto his knees in front of me and gripping my hips, pulling me closer as my legs bent to accommodate him. I could feel his hardness pressing against my wetness, driving me to the brink of delirium. “To show you how much you mean to me. And how beautiful you are.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he reached over to the beside table, retrieving a drawer positioned just below it. He opened it and extracted a condom.

“And were you expecting this to happen, Mr. Astrophysicist?” I asked playfully, a hint of amusement in my voice.

“No… But you can never been too prepared. There’s always a chance of bringing back an otherworldly Goddess, even if it’s a rarity,” he remarked before resuming his dominant stance. With expert precision, he rolled the condom onto his shaft and returned to his position between my legs. One of his hands ventured downward, holding himself and rubbing his tip against my sensitive area, eliciting a restrained moan from deep within me.

“Please tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispered, receiving a nod of reassurance from me. That was all he needed as he slowly pushed himself inside me, stopping when just the tip was nestled within. I hissed through my teeth, holding my breath in response to the pain inflicted by his generous size.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he uttered in a low voice, nuzzling against me. He understood that there was little he could do to alleviate the pain until he was fully inside, but he could provide comfort as I embarked on the rollercoaster ride of my first time. Planting soothing kisses along my neck, he gradually eased himself deeper, stretching me so exquisitely that my grip on Brian’s skin left marked imprints from the intensity.

Relief washed over me when he was finally fully sheathed inside me. I took a moment to adjust to the sensation as best as I could, and Brian tried to grant me as much time as possible. Yet, his impatience grew, and the need to move became undeniable—for both of us.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I need to move,” he uttered with a mix of humour and an airy moan as he withdrew completely before plunging back into me. “I know it hurts, but the more I move, the less painful it’ll be.” He smiled down at me, placing a tender kiss on my nose, his actions laced with love and concern. “But please… Make sure you tell me if it gets too much.”

Brian’s gentleness towards me contrasted with the palpable desperation that had built up within him. It took an annoyingly long time for me to adjust, allowing him to truly let loose. I knew I would be sore the next day, but that was a small price to pay for the pleasure unfolding before me.

“Shit, Brian,” I exclaimed, torn from my distractions as pain seamlessly transformed into pure ecstasy. Brian’s smile, filled with pride, revealed his teeth as his thrusts transitioned from delicate and careful to ambitiously fervent. The sensation of his long, powerful member pumping in and out of me threatened to send my heart into overdrive, but I felt more alive than ever as his own moans harmonised with mine.

“Wow, you feel fucking amazing,” Brian grunted, supporting himself on his hands placed next to my head. “You’re so tight. I’m so proud of you for taking me so well, love.” He bit his lip, moaning louder. His gaze shifted, drinking in the sight of my body as I whimpered beneath him, my head falling back. Brian secured a hold on my legs, pushing them up slightly. Reaching for a pillow, he slid it under my hips, granting him deeper access. The new position brought him a sense of relief, and I eagerly embraced the heightened sensations that accompanied it.

Rather than simply thrusting into me, his hips snapped with a new intensity, striking a previously unexplored spot within me. The pleasure surged to another level entirely. The raw sounds of our flesh colliding, mingling with the symphony of moans and whimpers escaping our lips, filled the room, becoming the sole audible soundtrack. I silently prayed that Roger and Freddie were preoccupied elsewhere and wouldn’t burst through the door.

“Bri…” I whined once more, my desires vaguely articulated. Did I crave more contact? Brian’s response came in the form of a deep groan as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine, locking his gaze with mine.

“What do you want, baby? Tell me,” he entreated, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and need.

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, my breath growing irregular. “Fuck, I don’t know, Bri!” My back arched, an instinctive plea for more. I needed more of him.

“You want me to go faster?” he inquired, his voice growing higher in pitch. “Hm? Or do you want me to remind you how gorgeous you look while taking me so well? What is it, Maria?” His sweet voice rendered his explicit words easy to embrace, but it was the praise—the praise that made me writhe in ecstatic bliss.

And Brian, oh, he noticed.

“Ah, that’s it, huh?” he chuckled, planting a sweet kiss on my lips. “You enjoy it when I tell you that you’re the most perfect creature to have ever graced this Earth?” Thrust after thrust, his breathy compliments enveloped me, driving me to the edge of pleasure’s precipice.

I nodded, a whimper of confirmation escaping my lips. Brian’s thrusts quickened with each word that spilled from his intoxicating mouth, his desire to fill me evident in his every movement.

“I’ve wanted to fill you up since our first kiss, you little tease,” he playfully remarked, his pace accelerating. “And right now, all I want is to make you come undone and feel incredible. You deserve it so much… Do you think you can cum for me one more time, angel?”

My legs trembled under the relentless stimulation, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I surrendered to the impending release.

“Just one more time,” he insisted, lowering his head and burying it in my neck. His thrusts now possessed an animalistic fervour. “Fuck, yes… Shit, Maria, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

“Brian…” I mumbled, my breathing escalating rapidly. “Holy shit, Bri, please don’t stop…” I transformed into a moaning mess, the fiery sensation reigniting in my core, sending electric waves between my thighs.

He held me close as I soared to my second peak of the evening, my muscles spasming uncontrollably while Brian continued to drive into me. He sustained his rhythm to help me ride out the waves of pleasure, but his own purpose was abruptly halted as his body convulsed above me.

A wild groan escaped his lips as he sank his teeth into the flesh of my neck, freezing his thrust deep inside me. His grip on my hip tightened to the point of leaving bruises that would bloom on my skin the following day.

We lay there in a state of blissful exhaustion, our hearts thumping against each other’s ribcages.

I heard Brian chuckle softly, lifting his head to gaze down at me. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He smiled tenderly, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I peered up at him, stray curls clinging to his damp forehead, his skin glistening with the sheen of exertion.

I could only shake my head slowly, raising my hand to caress his face as he leaned into my touch.

“Although I do think I’ll be a bit sore tomorrow,” I remarked, taking a deep breath. He rolled his eyes playfully before leaning in to kiss me with tender affection.

“Either way… I’ll be here to take care of you…” He whispered. “I’m glad we just did that. I’ve been boiling up inside for far too long, my love.”

I bit my lip, flickering my eyes up at the man I gave my innocence to, before sighing, “Me too.”

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nethmi-mga2022mi5016 · 1 year

Text

Week 02

13.06.2023

Reviewing portfolios

First impression: The profile picture looks like a remake of Peppa Pig

Here is the thing, I did previously mention that I want to become an animator but after some reconsideration, I concluded that I am most skilled in the illustration area than in the animation area. Sure, I do like to animate and move 3D models, however, I find more joy in illustrating concepts and sculpting 3D models.

Our lecturer mentioned that a story always intrigues the audience. This got me thinking, what is my story? What makes me interesting to others? (I genuinely wrote a lot)

Honestly, to me, I'm as interesting as an empty whiteboard can get. You could argue that you can always fill the white space with colour, with complexity, and that, my friend, is very true. If I recollect, I began drawing at a young age, so young even I can't recall. How do I know this? My grandmother. One day, she mentioned all my drawings from kindergarten, how I drew tiny people all over the pages and tried to sketch my classmates.

Moving forward, as I grew older, probably in 4th grade or so, I started drawing in MS Paint with a mouse. I would spend hours, even days on one drawing, and this is in addition to the countless hand drawings. One day as I was drawing in Paint, my father mentioned that I should become a 'computer artist.' I think that was the day the thought of becoming an artist completely consumed my mind. Some time into the future I learned that there's a thing called digital art. In 7th grade, I came across manga and anime. Got completely obsessed, as far as hand drawing and painting a 30-page comic and some more small comics, all of which I have lost.

I never studied art as a subject past 8th grade yet it never stops me from vandalising the classroom tables (doesn't do that anymore) with drawings and winning art competitions. After A/Ls my parents wanted me to pursue Law or Teaching, but I stood stern with my decision on becoming an artist, the family's only artist.

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ezdotjpg · 2 years

Photo

since I have these and ppl expressed an interest, here’s a sketch vs final for the first few pages too. these didn’t really change at all but I guess it does show how I shorthand things in sketch lol. I try to only focus on blocking and the barebones of expressions but sometimes I get a little carried away with detail

go to @bonus-links for the comic

#long post #i honestly spend a lot more time on the sketches for these pages than I should lol usually my sketches are even looser than this #bonuslinksdotjpg #processdotjpg #decided it was way funnier and also way more in character for link to just not talk in the last two panels lol #just smooch and run away

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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 2 years

Note

I have a request for a black clover head cannon for Yuno,asta, Zora, and liebe with like an artisti S/o who likes to draw and paint them

Hiya,

Awww , more art for the lovely boys

Pairing: Yuno x gn!reader, Asta x gn!reade, Zora x gn!reade, Liebe x gn!reade

Fanfic type: Headcanons

Genre: general/fluff

Total length: ~0.9k

Yuno

Yuno doesn’t really think about it too much, when he sees you drawing, or doodling into your sketch book. It’s something you like doing, and he’s alright with it.

But he also doesn’t want to pry, which is why he doesn’t really ask about it too much. And if he does, you give him a generic answer, especially at the start of the relationship. Because… what are you supposed to say? That you are drawing him more often than not? And besides… what if he doesn’t like the drawing…

Besides… you didn’t think that the drawings made him justice.

However, once you put your sketchbook down, open, and left to get a drink. Which was when he saw what was in that book. And it was all him.

At that point he begun flipping through the pages to see more and more drawings of him.

As you got back, you could only stare at him for a moment, waiting for him to say… something. Anything. Actually, you were waiting for him to say something … judgemental? Maybe? Honestly, you didn’t know.

But instead he just looked at you and went “you’re good at drawing”.

“You like them?”

“Yeah…”

After that, you didn’t have reservations on drawing him, and showing him the pictures. Or even asking him to model for you, because… he’s got the features for it.

And it offered another activity for you too, to enjoy as a couple. Because it was time spent together; which is the best time spent.

Asta

Asta takes active interest in your hobbies, and as he sees you drawing a lot, he also does ask a lot of questions about it. But he also compliments you and encourages you when you’re struggling with a new pose, or shading or anything of the sorts.

He also asks to see your works, but he doesn’t push if he sees that you’re not ready to show him just yet. Because they’re your drawings, and you decide to whom you’ll show them.

However, he does ask if you’d like to draw him. In fact, he’d love to see what kind of an artwork you’d make of him!

Little did he know that you’ve been drawing him for all this time… Because he’s your favourite thing to draw.

But. Because you don’t want to let him down, you agree to the request and draw him; giving him the picture at the end.

And he loves it. Absolutely adores it. That one, and any piece that might come after.

He’s there to support your interests, and help you get better at it. In any way he can. Because he loves you.

Zora

Zora sees you scribbling down into your notebooks, pieces of paper, and it doesn’t seem like you’re writing. Some of the lines are too long and smooth. He’s an observant man, and knows the difference between writing and drawing.

At first he thinks that you’re drawing… diagrams, maybe? Or something else. But. He can’t help but let curiosity get the best of him, which is why he leans over your shoulder one day to look at what you’re drawing.

“That looks pretty good,” he tells you when he means that it looks spectacular. And that is when all the stolen glances you have given him make even more sense.

“But you know… you don’t need to hide them,” he continued, looking at you, as you stare at the drawing in embarrassment. “If you want to draw me, then do,” he simply comments and takes a seat.

But this time he takes, intentionally, a seat where it’s easy for you to look at him. Because he’s quite flattered.

And you start finding new pen cases and paints among your old ones. Which he gets you, but doesn’t downright admit getting you. Instead, he gives half of a shrug with “you were spending them quite fast”. By which he means that he doesn’t want you to run out.

At times, when he sees you drawing, or painting, and there’s no one else in the room, he places a quick kiss onto your cheek.

He never minds if you want to draw him. Ask to draw him. And he will sit still for hours if you want to paint a portrait of him. Because love doesn’t know time spent together.

Liebe

Liebe can’t really, still, understand why you want to be with him. Because he is a devil. And he’s not… used to this. Someone liking him. After all, he has been picked on for most of his life, so thing is completely new to him.

Meaning that when he sees you scribbling something into your notebooks, or papers, and then not wanting to show him what you were doing; it makes him suspicious. It makes him weary. But he wants to trust you.

After a while he does confront you about it. And he wants to see what you’ve been putting in your notebooks.

So, you show him, and he… struggles to believe that too. That you’ve been making art of him.

“Why?” He asks.

“Be-cause… I like drawing you…” you reply. “Just… do”

It takes a while for him to really believe it, but he does. And after that he’s not as pushy about seeing your art, unless you want to show him.

But god help anyone who even implies something negative about your drawings. Because Liebe will not tolerate such. No one does that to someone who he cares about, and who cares for him in return.

#asta x reader #black clover asta x reader #yuno x reader #yuno grinberryall x reader #zora x reader #zora ideale x reader #liebe x reader #black clover liebe x reader

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astaroth1357 · 4 years

Text

Demigod MC Series: Athena

So. I have to deal with the virgin goddesses… By mythos, there really shouldn't ever be children of Artemis, Hestia, or Athena (yes, Athena was a virgin goddess). PJ got past that by making it canon that Annabeth and her siblings were born from cracking open Athena's skull (yes, that's also more or less the canon explanation). They gloss over it real quick but I remember, Rick. I've always remembered and that mental image has haunted me for years...

I can't, in good conscience, ignore the history around Athena's worship (call it an academic restraint) but I REFUSE to do the skull thing. So, since I make the rules here, I'm going with magic adoption. They still get magic powers, they're just more human than demigod. Cool? Cool.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena

Lucifer

The human that popped out of the portal seemed to have enough sense not to attack everyone in the room for a change, but even Lucifer could tell that was more of a strategic choice than for lack of ability...

Their very existence was highly unusual… and quite worrisome. He wasn't even aware Athena could have "children" of her own, but apparently she had been taking in some particularly bright humans to raise and train like her own...

Unbeknownst to him, a surprising amount of human scholars, diplomats, and generals have her to thank for their trade… and that alone should speak to the level of intrigue at play here.

Was this an accident or Athena's attempt to plant an Olympian spy in the Devildom too…? Either way, he didn't trust them from the get go…

Look, Lucifer isn’t stupid. Athena is a goddess of Wisdom and War and war happens on more than just the battlefield…

Since they've shown up records have been going missing, official documents keep getting misplaced, and he swears that there's some kind of bug in the student council room...!

It's infuriating watching the MC suck up to Diavolo when he's almost certain that they're running their own agenda behind the scenes! And he can't prove any of it!! They cover their tracks too well!

Lucifer has one of those corkboards covered in newspapers and string in a secret wing of the Castle - 100% dedicated to just tracking the MC's activities…. The longer they're there, the more obsessed he becomes...

He swears between Simeon, Solomon, and MC he feels like a shepherd wondering why the sheep are growling… The Devildom has never been in more danger than it is right now... Send help.

Mammon

To be honest, he kind of thought that they were just going to be Satan 2.0 but that's not really true.

They're more than just a book sponge! Though they do read, like a lot. Let’s just say from one schemer to another… Game recognizes Game.

They come up with plans and ideas soooo fast, it’s insane! Honestly, there are times where he has a new money-making plot and he just brings it to the MC first to run it over.

Nine times out of ten, not only do they sniff out any problems but they have a solution for him in a matter of minutes! His scheme game has been on point since they’ve shown up!!

They’re also even better tutoring than Satan is, so he’s even managed to get a couple A’s for the first time in his life! Lucifer actually told him he was proud (which he secretly recorded and now uses as a ringtone much to his brother’s regret...)

So yeah, he likes them... buuut that doesn’t keep him from thinking they act a little weird sometimes...

Mammon: *points to a unused tower close to the RAD building* Over there is the Tower of Sorrow. We use it for storage.

MC: Ah. Interesting… *starts writing in a notebook, muttering* It may need a few minor tweaks but the location is defensible...

Mammon: *stops* Ya say somethin’?

MC: *looks back up* Nope! Say, you’ve been to the Castle a lot haven’t you? Do you know any good ways in?

Mammon: Uhm… Why do ya want to know that…? *starts looking around for Lucifer*

MC: In case of emergencies. I like being prepared. 🙂

Mammon: Look, I don’t know what Lucifer might’a told ya…

MC: I’ll pay you a thousand Grimm for it.

Mammon: Well shit, ya want those maps with or without color?

... Yeeeah, that’s pretty weird… But it’s probably fine. I mean, as long as they keep giving him money, who’s he to complain? 🤷‍♀️

Leviathan

Also thought that they’d be a lot more like Satan but was pleasantly surprised that they were into more than books.

What else did they like exactly? Military strategy!!

It’s been a looong time since he’s been able to talk to someone who’s actually interested in all the battles he’s fought, both in the Celestial Realm and the Devildom, and their curiosity is kind of flattering...! Not a lot of people take his strategic prowess all that seriously anymore...

Plus, they are the BEST partner to have any turn-based strategy game. Hands down. He once got stuck on a level of D-COM for weeks until the MC walked in and mopped the floor with the AI!! They have a serious head for probability and tactics.

The House once made the mistake of letting these two be on the same team during a Hell Game and they absolutely demolished the competition. Mammon didn’t even get a single shot off before half his team was lost to a rigged paint grenade… It took a whole day to clean up…

However, Levi’s also noticed some odd things about the human… He likes that they’re interested in his past but maybe they’re a little… too interested?

Levi: -and that’s how we defeated the Four Horsemen before they escaped from Purgatory.

MC: Wow, Levi that’s seriously impressive!! *furiously scribbling on a notebook*

Levi: Well t-thanks… 😅 But, uhm... are you writing that down…?

MC: Hm? Oh no, just doodling. *they lift up the notebook to show a bunch of cute little sketches on the page… and not the magic-based invisible ink all over them…*

Levi: Oh you draw too? Can you do fanart???

MC: Eh, sometimes. But say Levi, can you tell me about your naval ranks again? I’m still really curious… *gets the pen ready again with a smile*

Satan

Oh, it's been a long game of cat-and-mouse between these two… and unfortunately, it’s been pretty addicting too.

He honestly had every intention of tricking the human into making a huge mess do he could bother Lucifer, but at every turn they proved just a hair too clever for him...

He once gave them a cursed book to “lend” to Lucifer, but they saw through it the moment they touched it and lifted the spell before handing it over.

He rigged a podium to spray glitter during one of Lucifer's speeches but the MC disconnected the trigger mic before he even got on stage. It was pretty dang frustrating...

At one point he got so desperate that, just as a test, he tried to trap them in the House's Music Room. Fortunately for them, it only took a few minutes to work out an escape. They even passed by him in the hallway with a wink!

It's confounding! It's infuriating!!

...and it's so damn sexy... He should be furious but he’s just in awe!!

Add on that they know their art, literature, and multiple different crafts thanks to the tutelage of their adopted mother and that’s it. He’s finished. This boy is in love.

Truthfully though, a part of him is 90% sure that they’re also gathering state secrets… Like, they’re watching Barbs and Diavolo far too close for comfort - but he just can't bring himself to care. 🤷‍♀️

The MC could walk into his room one day and say, "Hey, do you want to help overthrow the monarchy with me?" and he dreads it because deep down he knows that he wouldn’t say no…

Take some notes, kids. Some bad influences get you to drink or do drugs. Others pull you into a centuries long conspiracy to destabilize and topple rival realms from within… But he has fallen for their brain hard. Devil help them all…

Asmodeus

They’re pretty clever, he’ll give them that, but uh… Are they a little off to anybody else?

Asmo is a charmer by birthright so he has a bit of nose for when someone’s just a liiittttle too nice… Not much of a nose mind you, because he can be thrown off by compliments himself, but enough to think that the MC might be a little too… “kind” for their own good...

First off, who wants to spend that much time with Levi?? They don’t even seem that interested in anime! They just keeping asking him for old war stories…

Then all the sucking up they do to Diavolo and Barbatos? Look, he gets it. Diavolo is a delicious piece of man-hunk and his butler could give him a lesson or two in sweet-talk (and he has), but they seem to be just a little too… nosy.

Of course, Asmo’s suspicions disappear pretty quickly after they start to spoil him with spa nights and beauty secrets they picked up from “casual research” into the subject.

And you know, get a little Demonus in Asmo and start massaging his back? Oh, sweetie he’ll sing like a bird!! … with gossip. Singing with gossip.

Asmo: So I’ve heard that Lucifer has been spending more time at RAD than usual… His whole club is talking about it, they think he’s meeting with some witch!

MC: Hm, is that so? *works on a knot near his shoulder blades* What do you think?

Asmo: Ooh~! Right there, MC! *purrs and lays his head on his arms* Well come on, this is Lucifer we’re talking about! I’m sure he’s just working.

Asmo: Hmm... though come to think of it, I think I heard him asking Barbatos for the spare keys to the Tower of Sorrow…

MC: Oh really? Huh. *works out the knot and gets up* I just remembered that I left some papers with Satan... I’ll be right back.

Asmo: You’re going already??

MC: *waves him off quickly* I’ll be right back, Asmo. *hurries out the door to do totally on-the-up-and-up things… surely*

Beelzebub

Honestly he doesn't like this one… But not for the reasons you'd expect.

He agrees with everyone else that they seem a little shady, but Solomon and Simeon are too so it's not like that's anything new... 🤷‍♀️

No, no. He dislikes them because they're the person who FINALLY figured out how to keep him from eating all the food in the kitchen!!

Turns out that the trick was to put a teleportation charm on the fridge door that would send all the food away if it’s opened after a certain time of night…

And where does it go? The Purgatory Hall fridge. And where does the Purgatory Hall food go…? The HoL fridge…

It doesn’t sound so bad until you remember that it means half of their fridge is now Solomon’s leftovers…. 🤢

After they put the same kind of spell on the pantry, it was all over… He couldn't get midnight snacks from the House anymore… Everything was contaminated by Solomon…

The MC is a nice enough person, he doesn’t have a lot of complaints about them, but he wants them to leave. Now. This is inexcusable… He’s so hungry… and he doesn’t want to die by “goulash” or whatever Solomon calls his latest culinary catastrophe… He’s still too young for death… 😓

Belphegor

In a way, he absolutely could not have asked for a better person to help him get out of that attic.

… In another way, he got one of the worst possible people to try and kill... Like. They saw through his scheme sooo fast…

How was he supposed to know that the human had training in body language and sniffing out lies???

Getting the door open was a piece of cake for them. They knew enough magic to undo the seals and just rummaged around Lucifer's stuff long enough to find the key to the door. He could not have found a more competent individual for a break out, really.

It’s just… well he didn’t expect to go from locked in a room like a prisoner to tied up in enchanted rope, still like a prisoner but now mobile. 😑

They even used his own hug ruse against him! They caught his wrists when they got close and tied him up before he could shake them off...

Admittedly, it wasn't exactly the best look for them either - what with walking Belphegor downstairs to the others like a one-man-prison-caravan but they're as silver-tongued as they are sly so they talked their way out of it beautifully…

And like hell was he going to trust them after that!! And not even Beel liked them so something had to be up...

Well, you want a detective? Look no farther than Belphie (no seriously, it’s in the canon). He can put things together pretty fast when he puts his mind to it and watching the MC for a while gave him enough proof to work off of...

He always knew that, humans were bad news and the MC just proved it to him all over again. They are bad news, bad bad news and they’re going to-!

Overthrow… Diavolo…? Is that what he is getting from them…? Huh…

Wait a second, MC. You might just have him interested… 😏

#you say athena mc is smart #i say athena mc is spy #because where better to use your smarts #in war #obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me demigods

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. “It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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jadenvargen · 3 years

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I love your use of colour, I really want to incorporate “unconventional” colours into my art but it never looks right, do you have any tips?

honestly, it's a lot of guesswork a lot of times for me! i just always try to pick colors i myself like. but as general tips:

-spend time seeing what color combos you dig! just in sketches or doodle pages, put colors next to each other and see what YOU think makes em pop.

-some colors are harder to work with than others. i myself can't really get into blueish greens or deep purples. Don't force urself to! there will come someplace u can use 'em. instead, try different tones of the same color til you get one that works.

-it can also help letting some colors and tones be the "stars" of the picture while others are used more sparingly for shadows or highlights! Sometimes it's easy to overdo it, so just picking two main ones for each can be a good starter.

basically don't be afraid to try and fail!!! i hope i could help a little at least, but i'm also just trying stuff out:) i never studied art school or color theory but i am a proud graduate of the ol' "throw everything at the wall and see what sticks" method

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antiloreolympus · 3 years

Text

10 Anti LO Asks

1. i honestly have to guess the reason the anatomy is just SO bad in LO now is that the team gets such rushed sketches from rachel (youd be shocked how many series do this to their teams of assistants) and are on such a time crunch that yeah with a little more time they could fine-tune it to look better but they just go "fuck it" and follow exactly whats on the sketch and it just ends up looking like ... that. its not really the fault of the team but more rachel doesnt give them a lot to work with.

2. idk how you guys claim lo persephone has no personality?? she has big boobs and ass and does whatever hades wants her to do, thats all the personality she needs! (/s obviously)

3. LMAOOO EROS IS BANNED NOW?? love you terrible tumblr staff, never change

4. I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT CANVAS COMIC YOURE TALKING ABOUT and you can check the creator's instagram and see the majority of their page is just LO fanart. they maybe could have claimed arrogance if this wasn't the case (tbh most of the character, story, and visual tropes LO uses are super common place that an accidental overlap is very possible) to give it more leeway, but the fact they're an admitted LO fan who just HAPPEN to have all the same exact elements is ... very sus.

5. the athena/hesita ship is also bad bc theyre framed as hypocrites for not letting the poor straight girl persephone bone her near retirement age boss and theyre just?? stupid?? like they never get rid of their no sex rule? also rachel's past comments of hestia "getting over" being asexual (as if asexuals dont have sex? its a spectrum?) and the fact athena has to look like a Man™️ while Hestia looks like a Woman™️ so it's also a gendered gay ship too. It's just bad no matter how you cut it.

6. this is such an annoying thing about RS's "character designs" but why do NONE of them have even some distinct accessories to show who they are? Give Zeus a crown of lighting streaks. Give Hera peacock decals on her clothes. Have Poseidon carry his trident on his back. Give Hades a jewel skull tie pin. ANYTHING! The only one who has any is Persephone with blobby flowers which often aren't even there and lack any sort of rhyme or reason to them (other than blue for horny 🤨). It's so lazy!

-----FP Spoilers/Mention-----

7. FP Spoilers//I wish Persephone had come by her wrath honestly instead of it being "blessed" by Eris. Like. Heaven forbid the sweet precious cinnamon roll has dimension and feels wrath because that's natural and just part of her? Maybe I'm not making sense. Idk it just feels like RS is doing everything in her power to make Persephone perfect rather than a well rounded character. Maybe I'm wrong. Idk I just hate that it's not *her* wrath it's a blessing from Eris. Smh.

8. alright im not spending coins on it, what cliffhanger did the mid season finale end on this time. (//fp spoilers obvs)

From OP: I’d recommend just going on youtube tbh. The panels kinda add to this weird mid season finale.

9. //FP SPOILERS

OH MY GOD YESSSS I'VE BEEN WAITING 12 YEARS WHOLE SEASON FOR THIS. Persephone's finally getting the punishment for all her deeds(and a pretty fair one, per se), she and Hades will finally be apart and Zeus being an actual ruler who makes big decisions and not some clown. Like yeah, there is also ugly art, plot twists out of nowhere, but this is just season 2 you can't do anything about. All and all this is the best chapter in the season so far, can't wait for LO stans to read it, ooh boy this is going to be fun

10. Fp- yep so Perse is all uwu, her "ambitious" side and aow wasn't even hers. Wanted character development? Now you have downgrade. Thanks Rachel. At least we are getting Minthe back

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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helloalycia · 3 years

Text

The Wrong Lifetime – Five // Wanda Maximoff

chapter four | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter six

author’s note: dying of cramps but didn’t wanna leave y’all hanging, so enjoy! x

Taking Wanda to Blackpool was something I couldn't stop thinking about for the past three days.

I kept telling myself that I had to remain calm, not make her feel uncomfortable with my obvious attraction to her, and to give her the best day out considering she'd never been before. It wasn't anything more than a girl spending time with her soon-to-be sister-in-law, and I had to keep reminding myself that whenever I'd feel a stir of desire in my chest at the thought her pretty smile or intoxicating gaze.

My family were thrilled when they heard of my plans with Wanda. My parents were glad I was actually making an effort to get on with her, whilst my brother was excited I was becoming 'best friends', as he put it, with his fiancé. That one stung a little, the guilt pricking my insides, but I convinced myself that that was exactly what I was doing. It wasn't wrong if I didn't think of Wanda in any way but what she was. Right?

The weekend came around quickly enough, and on Saturday morning, I met with Wanda at the train station where she waiting for me with an enthusiastic smile.

"I brought my watercolours and sketchbook so I can paint what's there," she explained as we boarded the train. "I also bought a lot of pencils in case some snap. I'm gonna draw everything I see so I don't forget a single thing."

We slid into our seats and I smiled with admiration as she continued to ramble about all of the things she wanted to do today. She looked so lively when she spoke, her hands moving about frantically to express her excitement, and her lips permanently etched into a smile when she wittered on. I didn't mean to stare, but God, she looked beautiful.

"Thank you again for doing this," she finished, head turning to mine.

Now, I'd read and written many clichés of someone falling for someone else, particularly the moment they knew they were too far gone. It was hard to believe if they were true depictions of liking someone, but I liked reading and writing them.

It was now that I learnt that they were no exaggeration, for when she looked my way with a beaming smile and glowing green eyes, I knew it was too late. There was no going back for my attraction to Wanda.

"No need to thank me," I spoke slowly, surprised I could speak at all since she'd knocked the breath from my lungs. "I'm glad you're excited."

The journey was a few hours long and we made conversation the whole way. It was the longest I'd spent alone with her since meeting her and I was intrigued by everything she had to say, hanging onto every word with all of my attention. If that wasn't enough, her accent only made everything she said sound so much better. She was naturally soft-spoken, but syllables rolled off her tongue in a silky, raspy way with her accent entwined in her words. I loved it.

At one point, the topic of our families came up and I felt like my brother came up in almost every conversation I'd had with anyone who discussed family, so I took this as my opportunity to get to know hers instead.

"What's it like to have a twin?" I asked, leaning on my elbow as I watched her attentively.

She mirrored my action playfully, though answered my question. "It's just like having a normal sibling, except they're way more annoying."

I smiled, imaging just how annoying Pietro could be as a sibling.

"I love Pietro, but he's very frustrating at times," she spoke with a hint of endearment. "He constantly throws it in my face that's he's older than me by twelve minutes. As if that makes a difference."

A chuckle flew from my lips as she pouted at her own words.

"But he's also my best friend," she said with a sigh, like that fact was irritating in itself. "He knows me better than anyone and he's the easiest person for me to talk to. I don't have to hide anything from him." She paused, glancing upwards in thought. "Well, almost anything."

Pursing my lips, I wondered what she meant as she mumbled the last part, but didn't question it. Everyone was entitled to their secrets.

"So, you and your family moved to England when you were kids, right?" I tried to recall what my parents had told me of them. "From Sokovia."

"Yes, we were about..." She scrunched up her nose as she tried to remember. "Eight years old, I think?"

"Wow, that's young," I realised.

She hummed in agreement, smile fading as her eyes fell to her hands. "Yeah... I don't remember much, but there was a lot of unrest at the time. A war. It was dangerous for everyone and my parents were lucky to get us out when they did."

I frowned, knowing some of this already, but it was sadder to hear when it was coming from Wanda herself.

"Our extended family didn't make it out," she continued to explain, voice quieter. "I didn't know them much, my parents' siblings, so it's not that sad for me. Pietro, too. But it's strange to think, you know? Especially when all of your family are around with this wedding and–" She sighed, shaking her head and looking to me with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring the mood down."

I straightened up, reassuring her instantly. "Wanda, you don't need to apologise. It's okay. I... I didn't know any of that. I'm glad you told me."

She nodded, though the regret was still present in her gaze.

"I'm sorry all of that happened," I expressed honestly, not looking away. "But I'm glad you're here, if it makes a difference. You– your family are good people."

A small, appreciative smile graced her lips. "Thank you."

I shrugged, trying to brush it off so she wouldn't notice the heat rising up my neck. "It's nothing... so Sokovia. You speak Russian and English. That's pretty bloody cool."

She laughed wholeheartedly and any hint of sadness disappeared from her face, reassuring me completely. I didn't like to see her sad, especially when there was nothing I could do to make her feel better that I knew of.

"I promise to teach you some Russian today," she said with amusement. "A few words, just to diversify your vocabulary."

"Gee, thanks."

Another laugh escaped her and I chewed on my lip to contain my grin. I could get used to that sound.

—

When we reached Blackpool, Wanda was radiating with excitement. We couldn't make it two steps anywhere before she whipped out her sketchbook and began to sketch. She wasn't kidding when she said she was going to capture everything she saw.

I was patient, since the reason we came was for her, and watched as she worked. It was cute, seeing her concentrate and trying to stop dancing around with excitement every time I showed her something new.

We walked along the promenade and dipped in and out of the shops, looking at the gifts and clothes they sold. We bought a few things to commemorate the trip, but then Wanda was quick to drag me back outside so she could sketch the view of the beach from where we were stood. The grin on her face was convincing enough for me to let her drag me wherever she wanted. She looked so happy and I didn't care about anything else.

Eventually, around lunchtime, we headed to a café to have a break from all the excitement. Or rather, a break from running around. For Wanda, it was a better opportunity to sit still and sketch some more.

"So, you're drinking what, Y/N?" she asked, not looking up from her sketches as she worked.

I looked at my tea and lowered the cup. "Er, tea?"

"In Russian," she instructed.

"Oh." I cleared my throat, remembering what she taught me earlier. "Chay."

"And what's in the chay?" she asked, lifting her eyes to meet mine patiently. "The milk?"

"Moloko," I remembered, and the proud smile on her face reassured me I was correct. My shoulders relaxed as I returned her smile. "Thanks."

"You're a natural," she assured me, before looking back to her sketchbook. "I only taught you the words. You remembered it yourself. And before you know it, ty budesh' govorit' polnymi predlozheniyami na russkom."

My mouth opened with confusion, not knowing what she said. She seemed to realise as she chuckled at my expression.

"Never mind, milaya (darling)," she said with humoured eyes, before resuming her sketching.

I breathed out, taking another sip of my tea before grabbing a fork to dig into my pasta. As I chewed, I watched Wanda move her pencil effortlessly, creating lines that somehow resulted in a perfect drawing of the horizon.

"Do you only draw and paint landscapes?" I asked curiously.

"I can do portraits, too," she answered with a nod, glancing at me. "But they're never as good."

I gave her a knowing look. "I doubt that."

She merely smiled in response, eyes meeting mine for a moment, before shaking her head with amusement and looking back to her sketches. I chuckled, leaving her to it as I enjoyed my lunch and read the newspaper.

It was nice to just sit and enjoy each other's company as we did our own thing. I'd occasionally glance up to see Wanda focused on her drawing and smile, allowing myself to appreciate the sight, before looking back down to the paper and enjoying my pasta.

By the time I finished my food, as had Wanda, she straightened up and tore a page from her sketchbook. The noise pulled me from my reading and I looked up to see her holding the paper towards me.

I quirked a brow, but she simply shook the paper, signalling for me to take it. With confusion, I took it and became speechless when I saw what she'd drawn. It was me reading the paper, the exact view she must have had from being sat opposite me. It looked exactly like me, probably better since I knew I didn't look that good, and I was amazed at her talent all over again.

"You did this just now?" I asked with disbelief, looking up at her.

She shrugged and distracted herself with her pencil. "Yeah, it's not much. It's not my specialty."

I scoffed. "You're kidding. Wanda, this is amazing!"

Bashful smile on her lips, she glanced up at me. "Maybe it's the best portrait I've done. But I think that's down to my subject."

Even when she was embarrassed, she was still capable of turning the tables on me, leaving me a flustered mess. It was like her superpower. A very annoyingly cute superpower.

"That's what you look like y'know," she continued, nodding to the paper in my hand. "When you're focused on reading. You chew your lip with thought. And you get this little crease–" she pointed between her brows with a laugh, "–right here, and you seem to forget that anything else exists."

A sweet smile spread on her face as she tilted her head, watching me with intimidating eyes, very much aware of the effect her words had on me.

"You're very observant," I said, trying not to stutter, her gaze making me nervous. "Perfect skill for an artist."

She hummed in agreement, though didn't look away. "Mere artistic observation, right?"

My heart was hammering in her chest the longer she stared, especially when her words dawned on me. I'd said the exact same thing after she confronted me about picking her ring. I wondered if she could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Just like the first time I saw her, I was at a loss for words and couldn't look away. She was compelling, beautiful and remarkable all at once.

—

"Nebo," I said, hoping it was the correct word for 'sky' in Russian, as Wanda had taught me.

She grinned. "Yes! And horizon?"

I pulled a face as I thought carefully. "Er...gorizont?"

"The student is soon to become the master," she said, and I rolled my eyes, knowing that was anything but the truth. I appreciated her encouragement though.

"Okay, before we head to the beach, we have to buy some rock," I told her, leading her to the stall on the promenade. "I got it last time and it's so good."

She furrowed her brows. "What's that?"

I smiled at her expression. "It's a sweet. Kind of like boiled sugar that's formed into a stick of, well, rock."

She didn't seem convinced. "If you say it's good, I trust you, I guess..."

I laughed, grabbing her hand and tugging her to the stall. "You'll love it."

After getting two sticks of rock for Wanda and I, we began to walk to the sand. I glanced at the brunette, wanting to see her reaction. She eyed the hard candy before attempting to bite it, a small piece breaking off at the top. Crunching on it, she scrunched her nose up.

"It's hard," she noted, swallowing the piece. "Tasty, though."

"It's better if you suck on it, love," I let her know with a hidden smile. "Tastes much better."

She did as I said, beginning to suck on the top, and seemed to enjoy it more. Giving me a thumbs up as she sucked it, I couldn't help but laugh again. She looked adorable, so I left her to it and did the same as we walked along the sand and towards the benches in the distance.

Like a child experiencing something for the first time, she began to point excitedly at Blackpool Tower and the ferris wheel in the distance and I just kept nodding along, letting her get excited because it made my heart skip a beat every time she flashed me a smile.

When we reached the benches, I was glad that today wasn't a busy day. It wasn't exactly tourist season, so the beach was scarce of anyone but residents of the town. And even then, our side of the beach was pretty empty, giving us first dibs on a bench that wasn't broken or uncomfortable.

Settling on it, Wanda pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged so she could lean on them and pull out her watercolours. I sat beside her and leaned back, inhaling the salty air and exhaling peacefully. I never had much reason to visit here apart from when my parents took my brother and I on the occasional trip, but it was nice to appreciate the sound of the ocean washing over the sand and the seagulls squawking in the sky. A big difference compared to back home.

Another silence formed between us as she painted the water ahead, and I couldn't help but glance her way, watching her pucker her lips with concentration. All she'd wanted was this and I was glad I could finally give it to her.

So she wouldn't notice, I looked away and stared out at the blue expanse of ocean before me. I should have been appreciating its beauty, but all I could think about was how it was no contest to the girl sat beside me.

"I'm really glad you brought me here today," she said out of the blue after a while, "but I wouldn't have said yes if I'd known you would be bored."

I looked to her and saw she was still preoccupied by her painting. "I'm not bored. We came here so you could see the water and find some new subjects to paint. And that's exactly what we're doing."

She sighed, looking up at me with a questioning glance.

Smiling reassuringly, I said, "I like the quiet. And I like watching you work. You look happy. It's good to see."

She tensed her jaw, stifling a smile, but her eyes said it all. She was grateful. Of course, her eyes were also very easy to get lost in, even if she didn't mean for me to. And right now, under the sun, I found myself drowning in pools of blue.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly, a hint of a smile on her face.

Stupidly, I felt compelled to tell her the truth. "I'm thinking about how you have really pretty eyes."

Attempting to make me flustered yet again, her favourite hobby by now I was guessing, she raised a brow teasingly. "Oh, really?"

It didn't bother me this time though, as I maintained eye contact and felt my heart swelling with adoration. "Yes. It's like you hold all the elements in a single gaze."

Her smile faded and that's when I realised what I'd said, my heart dropping to my stomach in an instant. Swallowing hard, I looked away and shook my head. An apology was waiting on the tip of my tongue when she spoke with realisation.

"It was you."

I glanced her way nervously. "What was?"

She was staring like her mind was working something out and I was the missing piece. "The letter that Y/B/N gave me last week. He wrote the exact same thing. What you just said."

My brows knitted together with confusion, then it hit me. The love letter Y/B/N wrote. The one he assured me was for his own eyes. He'd given it to her. And I'd just gone and said the exact thing he'd written on it, no doubt passing it off as is his own words.

"Th–that wasn't me," I got out, shaking my head slowly. "I didn't even know he gave you a letter, Wanda."

She continued to watch me, eyes squinting with scepticism. I swallowed hard under her gaze, trying to think of how I could come back from this. But apparently I didn't have to, because she suddenly leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine.

My mind was foggy when her fingers rested behind my neck, tugging me closer. I closed my eyes, melting at her touch, and began to kiss her back, moving my lips against hers. She was slow and gentle with me, her lips as soft as they looked and sending the butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. I could have kissed her forever and been content, but my brain finally caught up to my actions and I reluctantly pulled away, stunned.

Glancing around to make sure nobody saw us – there was literally nobody here – I caught my breath and looked back to Wanda. Her eyes were drawn to my lips before they flickered to meet mine, darkened with desire.

"Why did you do that?" was all I could think to ask, and I was acutely aware of her fingers still grasping my neck, the skin burning where her tips grazed.

She licked her swollen lips, expression softening. "I think I've been falling for the wrong Y/L/N."

My lips pressed together, missing the feeling of hers against them. Never in a million years did I expect her to say something like that. I thought she'd been teasing me this whole time, but now, maybe there was truth to her actions.

"Did you really mean what you said?" she asked apprehensively.

"What?"

She swallowed. "What you said about my eyes. Did you mean it?"

Well, she'd kissed me, so there was no going back now.

I nodded, noticing the hesitance in her eyes. "Yes... you're beautiful, Wanda."

She didn't say anything and the silence was deafening. I almost wanted to run back home and pretend this never happened, but that was the cowardly side of me. The other side, the disbelieving side, wanted to stay here with her and keep living in this little bubble we'd created.

"Can I kiss you again?" she finally spoke, eyes flickering between mine for confirmation.

Not trusting myself to speak, I nodded slowly, and she didn't waste another second as she leaned in once again. This time, I wasn't so surprised, so I kissed her back quickly, trying not to think about how wrong this was. How I'd been taught that this was wrong. Because I refused to believe this was wrong, that it was a sin, when it felt so damn right.

Wanda felt right.

—

When I got home later that afternoon, I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

Wanda was all that was on my mind. Everything about her was floating around up there – the contagiousness of her smile, the brightness of her eyes, the taste of her lips. When I left this morning, I wasn't expecting to return with– well, I wasn't sure what we were, but we'd decided to give whatever this was a go.

Of course, she was still engaged to my brother, but I tried not to think about that. She made me happy and maybe in a different lifetime we could have been together, but this was the wrong lifetime which meant I'd have to make some wrong decisions, this possibly being one of them.

The guilt was still present, but the adoration I had for Wanda overpowered it. The fact that she actually liked me back was too thrilling for me to even concern myself with the lack of future this relationship would have. I just wanted to enjoy what we had whilst we had it, even if it meant being together in secret.

"So, how did your trip go?" my mum asked me when I returned, looking up from her knitting.

I stifled my grin the best I could. "It was fun. Wanda loved the seaside."

My mother seemed pleased as she smiled my way. "Y/N, that's great. You know, I'm really proud of you for making an effort with her. It means a lot to everyone."

"Mhm."

"She's going to be your sister-in-law after all," she continued knowingly, "so it's good you're spending time with her. Maybe you could do it more."

I hummed in agreement, my heart fluttering at the possibility of spending more time with Wanda. "Yeah, that could be good."

"Go on upstairs, you must be tired from the travelling," she said after a moment, noticing my distant headspace. "I'm glad you had fun today."

Wanda's smile appeared in my mind again, her lips ghosting my own. I sighed contently.

"Me, too."

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen #marvel #marvel imagine

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