#i would rather try and give it my all and be imperfect and messy in what i put out rather than detach myself from everything that im not

[nia-academia]

reminder to not let myself be washed away, to stand my ground even when it seems much easier to just let go, to stay firm in what i believe and to never feel small because everything else seems bigger.

reminder to never again live passively.

[animebw]

Kumirei and Conflict Avoidance

So, after that earth-shattering Eupho episode last weekend, I am, unsurprisingly, hyperfixating on Kumirei once again. I keep rolling this conflict over in my head, how we got to this point, how inevitable it was in hindsight, how it reveals new sides of Kumiko and Reina's relationship I hadn't really considered before. And you know me: when I have thoughts, I have to talk about them. SPOILERS BELOW FOR ALL OF HIBIKE EUPHONIUM UP TO THIS POINT.

The thing is, Kumiko and Reina are incredibly different people. But one way in which their differences make them very much the same is that they both suck at handling messy interpersonal conflict. When faced with a problem that has no clear answer and every solution will end with someone getting hurt, they both balk at the prospect of actually facing that conflict head-on and dealing with that ambiguity. The difference is that Kumiko tries to shy away from dealing with the situation at all and hopes everyone will somehow find a way to get along, whereas Reina doubles down on her perspective and refuses to hear any counter-arguments. Kumiko reacts to uncomfortable issues by saying "Well, maybe everyone's right, I guess?", while Reina reacts by saying "No, I'm the only one who's right, and if you're against me you're doing it wrong."

And in a lot of ways, that makes them perfect for each other! Reina's stubborn passion is what pushed Kumiko out of her comfort zone and gave her the spark to actually care about what she's doing. And on the flipside, Kumiko's willingness to give people the benefit of the doubt gives Reina someone she can rely on when her pride is pushing everyone else away. At their best, they balance each other out perfectly, Reina inspiring Kumiko to try her hardest and Kumiko giving Reina a safe place to let herself be vulnerable. It's what's made them such an incredible couple for over a decade now.

But when things go really south, those instincts can end up bringing out the worst in each other instead. Reina's stubbornness can be so overwhelming that Kumiko can't bring herself to actually confront her for fear of how angry she'll be. And that reluctance ends up enabling Reina further, pushing her toward greater arrogance secure in the knowledge that at least one person will always be on her side. Reina makes Kumiko shrink even further, Kumiko lets Reina's ego swell even bigger, and suddenly the same odd-couple magic that pushed them to such great heights becomes a vicious circle dragging them both down.

Because at heart, neither of these girls have yet figured out how to navigate a situation that demands asking uncomfortable questions and making imperfect choices. Neither of them are brave enough to handle a messy conflict with the level of maturity it demands. Keep in mind that as many ups and downs as they've had, Kumiko and Reina have never truly gotten in a massive argument with each other, an argument that would demand them making those hard choices. The closest we got was the infamous episode in season 2 where Reina's crush on Taki-sensei boils over and threatens to drive a rift between them- and there again, Kumiko deflects the conflict, telling Reina she's "rooting for her" rather than face the issue head-on and deal with the fact that the girl she loves is stuck on her feelings for an adult who will never return them. Which, as I've discussed before, is framed just about as tragically and depressingly as cinematic language can accomplish.

But now that Kumiko's band leader? She can't keep running from arguments anymore. She has to dive headfirst into the thick of all her bandmates' issues and actively choose how to best keep them together, even if that means making hard calls she isn't comfortable making. And Reina's in a position of power now where her hard-headedness doesn't just affect her, but trickles down to all the underclassmen she's trying to lead. Neither of them can afford to let their worst habits drive their decision-making anymore- because it won't just be them that suffer if they refuse to rise to the occasion.

Which brings us to the boiling point of Kuroe taking Kumiko's place in the audition. In the aftermath of this upset, we see both Kumiko and Reina's coping mechanisms pushed to their limits. Kumiko's trying to calm everyone's worries while her own heard is still a whirlwind, Reina's doubling down and refusing to even consider Taki-sensei made a wrong call, and it reaches a point where this state of affairs just isn't sustainable anymore. There's too much tension built up, there's too many people's dreams and hopes on the line. Something has to give, or everything's going to give.

And it's here, at last, that Kumiko finally does something she's never had the courage to do.

She stands up to Reina and tells her, point-blank: "No, Reina, YOU'RE wrong."

No wonder it feels so monumental. No wonder Reina's shaken enough to rip apart their relationship. After years of not being able to address the deepest, stickiest issues that lie between them, Kumiko shatters the cycle of enabling they've been falling into and tells Reina that she is wrong. She is wrong to put herself above everyone else and not listen to alternatives. She is wrong to blindly put faith in Taki-sensei at the expense of all her bandmates counting on her to have their best interests at heart. She is wrong to let her pride and stubbornness guide her. It's bad for the band, it's bad for her, and it's bad for her relationship with Kumiko. And if they're going to have any chance of moving forward, then she needs to be just as brave in facing this mess honestly as Kumiko is. She needs the courage to accept that she isn't always right, that her way or the highway is no way at all, that the uncompromising road she walks will one day separate her from everyone she once held close.

She needs to let go of her fear of emotional honesty and meet Kumiko on the level she's finally been able to reach.

And you know what sticks with me the most? After Reina lashes out at Kumiko and essentially tells her to get stuffed, we see the horror in Kumiko's eyes as she realizes the consequences of finally standing up to the girl she loves...

...only for her expression to settle back into the determination of a girl standing by what she said regardless.

After so many years, Kumiko is facing her closest companion's worst traits dead in the face. And in this moment, in this expression, she decides that doing the right thing is more important than clinging to their relationship through thick and thin.

It's a face that says, "If this is the choice you're making, then this is worth ending things over."

And I can't blame her one bit.

[sai-lec]

hi i’m salty i like fashion so i want to talk about the ferrari suit painting endeavour courtesy of @ joshuavides ig story

it’s not gonna be detailed or anything just a general overview but alr let’s get started

so i rlly love the idea of letting the guys design their own race suits they took two rather opposing approaches to the design of their suits providing an insight to their perspective on their personal aestheticism, branding and mandated media activity

so let’s start w Carlos . For someone who isn’t actively involved in fashion design or marketing this is impressive . like it sent me down a rabbit hole of trying to figure out carlos’ involvement in his merch design process but dead ends if anyone has anything on that lmk .

carlos’ design is centred on his branding it’s something he would wear during a race to represent not only himself personally through the chilli motif but his career and his achievement as CS55 .

the placement of the logo is phenomenal . ik it’s just a copy of the diagonal placement of all his merch but this could’ve easily been something that stretched simply across the bodice portion. carlos’ design made good use of the space whilst keeping the design simple and recognisable not to mention how challenging it is to maintain freehand lines across separations in the fabric like

i’ve tried my best to apply some guidelines on top of the suit (with a grain of salt- photo perspective and wearability will change line placements) but the precision particularly is super impressive considering i don’t believe he’s painted on fabric before and is doing so without any straight line edge for guidance .

although it’s just a result of no practise the messiness of the painting works with the design it’s refined enough to be recognisable but the imperfection brings through a sense of modern high fashion reminiscent of the haute mess situation in 2022 or mimicking the street art aesthetic not unlike the imperfect perfection of vivienne Westwood . it’s just a good well executed garment i think encapsulating who he is a driver

charles on the other hand is a lot more emotionally driven. the front of the garment seems to be more inclined to imagery that is personal to charles

the spelling of his name separates him from CL16 he’s charles, it’s more personal closer to who he is rather than his brand with his number included to allude to the importance of racing in his life - and also to keep it relevant to the task at hand which was centred around ferrari.

i’ve been seeing a lot of criticism of on this striped section of charles suit but yall just don’t get it . this is his country man . this is his way or representing his country his identity as a monegasque person is dear to him this is his national pride manifested on his uniform . the front is what charles wants people to perceive of him what he fundamentally wants to represent and who he is in his career

as for the back

this is art . it absolutely is . it’s entirely up to the viewers discretion what that art is. the art could be the wearer. it couldn’t be the sport . the race. it could be none of that and just be a funny attempt at trying to justify the decision on the front of the garment . or as the strategic placement would suggest, it could be his ass that’s the art.

i do love this though it’s giving rich its giving runway . it’s giving designer . i’m telling you keep an eye on louis vuitton and vivienne westwood this kind of mildly thought provoking vaguely political commentary handwritten aesthetic dominates modern ready to wear high end fashion. this is the kind of thing you’d see an instgram model take some gorgeous aesthetically pleasing photos in before it ends up in someone’s rebellious girl aesthetic pinterest board . and it’s a serve .

generally i do really love the idea behind this whole task tho it’s fun and expressive and i love the callback to the marlboro day with the red and white suit aesthetic of the 80s and the last vegas grand prix at the caesar’s palace track in 1982 it’s truly iconic and i hope we get to see the boys in their creations

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Plastic Hearts

Chapter Three: Prisoner

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!oc (Violet Apollo)

chapter rating: M (talks of dieter’s shitty parents, insecurity, these two pining for each other but being scared little shits, sexual desire, weed use, brief mention of hollywood being filled with predators, dieter’s awful parents, cocaine use (pls think before you use cocaine in 2022, it’s just fucking fentanyl and not worth it), me writing Matt Smith into this for a second bc i couldn’t resist, asshole!dieter returns, voyeurism?? a little??, oral sex male receiving, fuck these two are a mess)

word count: 5.5k

authors note: listen i had to write a fucking SNL monologue for Dieter and it was hard and it’s not very good and shout out to all the writers at SNL having to do that every week lmao

series masterlist | series playlist

“You seem to really like this one. Been staring at it for ten minutes now,” Dieter leaned to the side, whispering to Violet as they stood in the MoMA, staring at Monet’s Water Lilies. “I always thought shit like this is too pretty. I like my art like I like my women—“

“Abstract?” She turned to give him a smirk.

“Well, I was gonna say without meaning and overpriced, but sure—abstract.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled, nudging his shoulder with hers.

“I love this painting,” she mused in a powder soft voice, Dieter’s eyes softening as he stared at her profile like she was the real work of art. “Everything about it. It is too pretty, you know? But some shit just is. And you can see the brushstrokes in it—it’s messy, it’s imperfect, and yet it’s so…fucking pretty, you know? So soothing and romantic and…nothing that you’d ever think would come out of a bunch of brushstrokes on a canvas. It’s pretty and it’s messy and it’s just…all the things.”

“I could listen to you talk about art for a lifetime, Miss Apollo,” he confessed quietly, just for her to hear. Sometimes he wanted something just for the two of them to have. A whisper, a look—a moment of authenticity.

The couple was constantly surrounded these days, bodyguards and assistants and handlers and fans—eyes always locked on them as though they were waiting for something to happen, missing the only thing really happening—a budding friendship.

Violet met his eyes and stared at him with the kind of awe that would make any man crumble.

“Take me to one you like,” she insisted, her eyes turning to meet his. Dieter smiled to himself and nodded, slipping his hand into hers more naturally now that he actually wanted to. Violet held onto his bicep with her free hand, the “couple” no longer sure what was for show and what was sincere anymore.

“You know, I grew up in New York most of the time as I kid,” Dieter began as the couple and their entourage walked through the museum, keeping his voice low so that only she would be able to listen.

“Yeah?” She turned her head a bit to watch him nod, his index finger and thumb rubbing his the hair on his chin.

“Yeah, my parents wanted me as far away as fucking possible.” Violet frowned at him as he glanced over at her, a small chuckle leaving the typically stoic man. “To be fair to them, I was a little shit from day one.”

“You were a child, D. Little shit or not, you deserved to have your parents around.” She spoke it as though it was simply a fact, but that little sentence had been the hardest one to accept, even through years of therapy. He didn’t feel like he deserved it—acceptance, their presence, love. “I know your mom is Marianne Ward, who’s your dad?”

Dieter was impressed by her knowledge on his mother’s career. She mostly spent her career doing artsy indie flicks rather than the shit most people saw. Aside from her Oscar nomination, she hadn’t really been much of a starlet.

“Ed Bravo—he’s a producer—“

“Yeah, didn’t he also try his hand at directing? What was the film called—Humoring Colossus?” Dieter stopped abruptly, causing the group around them to also halt. He shook his head and chuckled at her, his eyes wide with awe and intrigue.

“You’ve seen that shit?” He asked with disbelief, Violet chuckling at his theatrics as she nodded. “You’ve got to be like one of only ten fucking people to have even heard of that film. That’s impressive.”

“Don’t think too highly of me, I mainly watch obscure films like that to sound cooler than I actually am,” she assured with a smile, waving him back towards her.

Dieter grabbed her hand again, Violet resuming her hold on his arm as they walked up to a canvas hanging on the wall, smudged with black streaks of ink—chaotic and yet somehow orderly. Violet leaned closer to read the card beside it: Julie Mehretu, Invisible Sun (algorithm 5, second letter form), 2014, ink and acrylic on canvas.

“Now this…speaks my language.” Dieter studied the painting with puckered lips, his fingers rubbing his chin as he focused on it.

Violet meant to study it with him, she really did, but the current view of his deep contemplation was more awe-inducing than any work in the building could ever dream to be. Here he was in all his natural glory, hair tousled into messy waves and curls like he just got out of bed an hour ago, the greying patches on his beard almost forming two little hearts (ironic, she thought, for a man so averse to romance).

“I met the artist once at a gallery opening, and I tried to talk her into letting me buy it. Offered way too fucking much for it, but she said she preferred it here.”

Dieter turned his eyes, catching Violet in her gaze. He would’ve smiled at the sight of her studying him so closely if it hadn’t made him sick to his stomach with nerves.

Truthfully, he didn’t know if he wanted her swooning for him—if that’s what was beginning to happen. Not enough had changed about him for him to be welcoming anyone into his life like this. He was still a short tempered, emotionally unavailable man with unresolved mommy and daddy issues.

Though he’d been behaving on their week-long stay in New York—keeping to his side of the two-bedroom hotel suite, only smoking weed, and finding the strength to remain celibate—it was all bound to come to an end at some point. He had itches he needed to scratch, and though she’d been able to see the best he had to offer this week, he wasn’t sure she’d be so quick to stare at him with awe if she saw the other shit—the side that most everyone else got to see besides her, hence why they all hated him.

Dieter cleared his throat, snapping Violet out of her daydream, her eyes batting away her admiration as she turned to focus on the painting. “It certainly screams you, Dieter.”

“How so?” He asked, his head tilted.

“It’s chaotic, but clearly brilliant. It’s black and white but it’s also grey, you know? It’s…a whole combination of things. I don’t know why, it’s just you.” Dieter felt both thrilled by her observation and weighed down by it.

If she understood him so well, could she already see the storm on the horizon? Did she even care? Why didn’t that help soothe his anxiety? Why didn’t that cure him of the itch in his palms?

“I’m feeling kind of tired,” she looked back at him, something clearly weighing on her mind, though he knew her well enough to know that she was much too sober to speak it. “I think a nap sounds nice before we have to go to the show.”

“Okay,” he nodded and turned around to find his assistant, Raf. “Can you call Violet a car to go back to the hotel?”

“Sure thing,” the young man nodded and walked away to call the car.

“Thought maybe you would join me.” Violet’s hopeless voice pulled at Dieter’s heartstrings. Though he hadn’t realized she’d been offering for him to join, even if he wanted to cross that line, he couldn’t. He was hosting SNL that night and had dress rehearsals all afternoon.

“Wish I could,” he pinched her chin and gave her an apologetic smile, neither of them paying attention to the fan that was approaching their entourage.

“I’m so sorry, but I’m such a big fan of both of them. Could I just say hi?” Dieter turned his head around to take in a teenage girl desperately pleading with his head of security.

“It’s okay,” Violet interjected, waving the girl over. “Oh, I love your skirt. Where’d you get it from?”

“I made it, actually,” the girl blushed and giggled nervously, eyes hardly meeting either of the actors’.

“What’s your name?” Dieter asked, his casually cool persona back on.

“Violet, actually.” She chuckled and looked to Dieter’s Violet. “I’m such a big fan of yours—both of you. I watched you on broadway last year.”

“Oh, really?” Dieter gave her a smile. “Thought nobody came to that show.”

“Well, I loved it. And Violet, you’re amazing in literally everything you’re in. I’m such a big fan of yours. I actually—“ She held up her phone, showing them her lockscreen. It was a fan edit of Violet in her MCU debut role—the one that landed her her current job.

“Oh, wow,” Violet blushed and gave the girl a bashful smile. “You’re so sweet. Can I give you a hug, Violet?”

“Sure,” the girl willingly accepted the hug from her hero, Dieter watching the entire scene unfold before his eyes.

A truly good person, that Violet Apollo. Too good for the industry she worked in. Way too fucking good for him.

After taking a picture with the fan, Dieter walked Violet out of the museum, cameras waiting for them when they stepped out into the brisk autumn breeze of New York City. Dieter opened up her door into the SUV, tempted to give her a kiss on the cheek for the cameras, but the more he began to actually feel for her, the less he wanted to do such intimate things in front of the mob of paparazzi stalking them.

“I’ll see you before the show?” He asked, Violet nodding her head and reaching to pinch his chin. Dieter grabbed her hand and kissed the pad of her thumb, winking at her before closing her door, his security and assistant following him over to his own SUV parked right behind hers waiting to take him over to Rockefeller Center.

•••

The entire car ride from the MoMA to their hotel on the Upper East Side, Violet couldn’t stop thinking about Dieter. The way his dark eyes seemed to turn golden when he looked at her and black when he looked at anybody else. The way his beard felt against her fingertips when she’d pinch his chin. His earthy cologne that may have just been his natural scent—she couldn’t yet tell. He’d somehow managed to intoxicate her with his mere existence, and it was beginning to become an addiction she didn’t know she’d be able to shake once this was all over.

She could see it in his eyes—his hesitancy to feel something for her. She knew there was more between them than friendship or obligation, but just how much? Neither of them allowed themselves to speak it out loud.

Violet didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to wonder whether or not he was thinking of her, but before she could spark up a joint and hop in the bath, her phone was buzzing. She sighed and set the joint down, grabbing her phone and sliding the green arrow to accept the FaceTime call from her assistant now back in LA.

“Hey, Luce,” Violet spoke through an exhale, only half paying attention to the blonde on her screen.

“Hey, just wanted to call and let you know I booked your trip to London at the end of the month for the press junket. I haven’t heard back from Dieter’s team as to whether or not he’ll be joining you.”

“Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t, you know? Give us some time to miss each other and all that.” Violet bit at her once-perfectly manicured nails while her assistant narrowed her eyes at her through the screen.

“What’s happened? Besides the kiss that I walked in on?”

“Just…I don’t know. I feel like I’m doing that thing that I always do again where I meet an injured little bird of a man and take it upon myself to nurse him back to health only for him to fuckin’ fly off the minute he’s all better,” Violet hid her face in her hands, groaning dramatically. “I just need a week away from him, so let’s keep London a solo trip. Okay?”

“Okay, yeah. You’re the boss,” she typed in the demand into her phone before continuing. “By the way, it’s not a flaw to see the good in people. Not that I entirely approve of Dieter—I don’t really know the guy—but from the way he looks at you in all these pictures, he’s either the greatest actor of all time or he’s just plain into you.”

“Shh,” Violet held her finger up to her lips. “I’m going to hang up now so I can smoke weed and relax before I have to be my crush’s fake girlfriend again.”

“Godspeed, my friend.”

As Violet smoked her joint in the bathtub, the hot water up to her neck, the “smells like happy” bathtub failing to deliver its advertised effects, she thought about her past romances.

She always did tend to take a broken man and invest all her love into him, or rather the idea of him that she’d invented in her head. In truth, every man she ever thought she loved was simply a reflection of things she loved about herself, or things that she wanted her partner to love about her.

Her previous lovers were all rather boring, selfish takers who allowed her to suffocate them with love and adoration until their ego had inflated to the point of no return, leaving her to watch them as they floated off to the next best thing—the next girl too good for them that could fix the parts she couldn’t.

Deep down she knew Dieter wasn’t the same as all the men before. For starters, he actually seemed to value her—her feelings, her opinions, her way of doing shit. She knew he could be selfish, harsh, distant, cold, but he could also be generous, soft, interested, and so goddamn warm when she caught him in the right mood.

Dieter was bad for her and he was good, too—black and white and grey—which made her all the more confused about what to do.

Gathering herself a bit, she quickly got ready, doing her own hair and makeup tonight because she couldn’t bear the thought of interacting with anybody else right now.

She opted for a simple glam, her hair in cascading waves down her shoulders and back. She wore one of Dieter’s vintage t-shirts—a suggestion from Dieter himself—a distressed pair of jeans, and an oversized black leather jacket on top. Her outfit was casual but she didn’t want anything over the top—tonight was all about Dieter.

Violet beamed at the paparazzi waiting in front of 30 Rock, giving them her best smile and a friendly wave. Funny how they’d never know she was paralyzed with insecurity and sadness all the while.

“Hey,” Violet found Dieter in his dressing room, surprisingly all alone. “Thought I’d have to throw some elbows to get to you.”

“No, I, uh,” he gestured back at the hall. “I told everyone I wanted to be alone.”

“Oh—should I?” She stepped towards the door but Dieter shook his head and stood up, reaching out for her hand.

“No, stay.” Violet smiled, nodding and following him over to the sofa.

“You feeling okay?” She asked, afraid to bask in uncomfortable silence for too long. Dieter shifted in his seat, glancing at her with that boyish grin she’d become so accustomed to but at one point couldn’t have even imagined him wearing.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just…nervous, I guess.” He reached over, lightly punching her knee. “But you being here makes it better. And sorta worse. I can’t explain it.”

“I know what you mean,” she chuckled, tilting her head at him with a soft smile, her eyes unabashed in their look of admiration. “You have nothing to be nervous about, Dieter. You’re going to be great.”

“You know, out of all the people in this bullshit industry for me to be under contract to spend time with, I’m glad it’s you,” Dieter confessed barely above a whisper, reaching up to cradle her cheek. “I just wish I was good enough for more. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so scared to act on shit.”

“What? Dieter—“

“Alright, Mr. Bravo. We’re ready for you at stage entrance.” The producer opened the door and gave them both a hurried look. Dieter gave Violet a longing look before standing up and walking out, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

What the literal fuck? Good enough for more? Act on shit? Act on what? Violet’s head spun at the thought of Dieter Bravo harboring feelings for her, and the thought of him holding back on them because he was insecure made her so dizzy she thought she could throw up. If only she could gather her wits enough to tell him that she was just as scared about the way she felt for him. That she was just as insecure about what she brought to the table.

•••

Dieter waited behind the iconic doors on the SNL set, ready to give his opening monologue. He’d written it with the help of a couple writers at the show, insisting that he wasn’t going to try to reinvent himself tonight, but simply show the viewers a newer side of him—a bit less brooding and pained than the image he’d created over his career.

Faster than he could catch his breath, the doors were being opened and he was stepping through them, walking down the stairs to the iconic jazz and applause from the crowd. He scanned the rafters, hoping to see one familiar face but shocked when he saw two more—his mother and father.

Great.

Plastering his smile even wider in hopes of hiding his actual oh my fucking god my parents are here panic.

“Thank you. Thank you.” Dieter bowed to the audience as the applause died down, his heart clambering inside his chest. “It’s an honor to be here tonight, I’m Dieter Bravo. You may know me as that one guy from that one thing that you fell asleep in the middle of but somehow won an Oscar for.” The crowd laughed. “You know, I’ve been sort of awestruck being here hosting. So many of my childhood heroes have walked these halls and stood where I’m standing now—turns out they’re all more like villains and are thankfully canceled now…which is great business for me. SNL would’ve never been desperate enough to have me on if pickings weren’t so slim around Hollywood these days.” The crowd response was a mixture laughter and ooo’s, Dieters mouth curling up into a half-smirk. He insisted that joke be kept in and had to kiss ass to get it approved but oh, the payoff. “Listen, I know I’m not known for my comedy. I’m a pretty serious guy, I like to take serious roles, but, ya know, since I’m turning forty in a couple months, I’m hoping to turn a new leaf.” The audience applauded him, Dieter nodding and trying to calm his smile before continuing. “Yeah, I used to only smoke sativa, but lately I’ve really been into indica.” Another round of scripted laughter erupted from the crowd. “No, but seriously. I’m slowly getting myself together. I’ve given up the fast life—mostly, got a new role coming up that doesn’t involve any Cliff Beasts or terrible accents, hell, I’ve even given up the all the young, beautiful supermodels in exchange for a beautiful, brilliant actress that’s here tonight up in the rafters hoping that I don’t completely embarrass her. Hi, darling.” Dieter blew her a kiss and waved his hand at her—that wasn’t scripted. “Anyways, we’ve got a great show for you all tonight. Stick around and we’ll be right back.”

The show went well, or at least he thought it did—everything was happening so fast it was hard to tell. After the end credits rolled and he’d given a fake hug to every fucking cast member, he walked off the stage, desperate to try and find Violet before his parents could inflict too much emotional abuse onto her.

Dieter found her in the green room, surrounded by a fucking mob of cast members, writers, producers, fucking interns—all of them making it near impossible for him to reach her. She was laughing and carrying on with all of them, playing her favorite role of the always-smiling American sweetheart, but he could hear the difference in her voice.

Violet was always so poised when she laughed in front of an audience, but when she was alone with Dieter, when he truly made her laugh, she was all snorts and cackles and just plain fucking real. It almost felt sacrilegious to hear his favorite sound distorted by inauthenticity like this.

“There you are,” his mother’s voice sounded from behind him and he closed his eyes, wishing her away. When he felt his father’s firm grip on his shoulder, he sighed and turned around, forcing a smile on his face.

“Ed, Marianne.” Dieter gave them a polite nod, both of them eyeing him up in that judgmental way that made him feel like a little boy again, desperate to make them proud.

“You did well out there tonight, son.” Dieter furrowed his brows at his father’s praise, remaining frozen when he was pulled in for a hug.

“Are you sick or something? Why are you hugging me?” Dieter’s mother swatted his bicep at the question, his father letting go of him.

“Nobody’s sick. We’re just proud of you. God, is it always going to be so volatile with you, Dieter? Sorry that we weren’t there as much as you may have wanted us to be, but we’re here now. Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” His mother pleaded, though her dismissal of his childhood neglect and trauma did little to win him to her side.

“Weren’t there as much as I may have wanted? You sent me off to live with a nanny across the country. That wasn’t not being there, that was abandonment,” Dieter scoffed, shaking his head as he tuned out their typical deflections to save himself the hurt.

When he felt a hand slide against his bicep, looping their arm with his, he almost jumped, but one look to his right side and he was met with Violet’s smile—one that seemed to wash away all thought.

“Found you,” she mumbled with a grin, Dieter’s lips curling up out of instinct. Violet’s eyes soon turned to his parents, her smile turning into a flat line as she glared at them. “If you two don’t mind, we have a party to get to.”

Dieter had never been more attracted to her than when she was guiding him away from his parents and down the hall to his dressing room, shooting him a knowing smile over her shoulder as she led the way.

It was moments like this that he wished he could set aside his feelings for her and just fuck her, but no matter how hard he tried to tap into his old ways, his heart and mind were dead set on giving her more.

If he was going to sleep with her, it wasn’t going to be a one off hookup, wasn’t going to be something quick and fleeting, it was going to fucking change his entire life. And as much as he wanted to dive head first into everything her, he knew he just wasn’t ready. He’d fuck it up like he always did.

“You did way too good tonight to be brought down by your shitty parents,” she assured once they were in the peace and quiet of his dressing room, spinning around to cup his cheeks.

There was a point, even if momentary, that he thought this would never happen. He assumed they’d be cold to each other, or at best friendly, but this—her hands on his face, his eyes locked on hers, the look between them that anyone could clearly see was adoration—was never in even his wildest of dreams.

“Can I kiss you?” His request was whispered, almost shy, as though it was an outrageous thing to ask. Violet tilted her head, her smile soft and just barely there as she studied him carefully, letting his question hang in the air for a moment before she was nodding. Dieter almost whimpered—something yearning and desperate inside of him surfacing for a moment. He whispered to her as he leaned in, his hands cupping her face. “You’re so beautiful.”

Violet knew the deal—she knew that these moments came with no strings attached. When he got lonely she was there and vice versa. To read any further into things was to admit defeat in this battle she was fighting internally. A battle she wasn’t quite ready to give up yet.

Dieter held her close, though his kiss remained soft enough for her to pull away at any moment. But she didn’t seem to want to. He smiled as he felt her hug him tight, his hands lowering to her waist and squeezing. He would’ve been content to stay that way forever, but of course…

“D, we gotta get you to the after party.” Andrea walked in, eying the two as they pulled away from each other breathlessly. Dieter pinched Violet’s chin, smirking down at her before turning to nod at his manager.

“Alright, just let me change.” Both Andrea and Violet left the room, though he wouldn’t have given two shits if they stayed, especially the latter.

After changing into a silk button down that was one size too big and a pair of black trousers, Dieter was making his exit from 30 Rock hand in hand with the most beautiful woman in New York City as far as he was concerned, a rare smile on his face as he waved at the paparazzi.

It seemed his fake happiness was starting to become real—and god, did that make him want to throw up.

Walking into the party, he held onto Violet’s waist, keeping her close and shielding her from everyone trying to steal her away from him.

Violet turned around, Dieter’s hand sliding to the small of her back as she leaned into him to speak over the music. “I’m gonna go get a drink, do you want anything?”

“Uh,” Dieter spotted his dealer and a few of his party friends from over her shoulder, the craving for a couple little white lines distracting him. “Just a gin and tonic. I’m, uh, gonna go to the mens room for a second.”

“Okay,” she nodded and gave him a smile before leaving him to go to the bar. Dieter watched her until she disappeared and quickly made a bee-line for the bathroom, his dealer grinning and waving at him as he neared.

“Haven’t heard from you all month,” the all-business appearing skeeze welcomed Dieter to their little bathroom party with his hands on his shoulders.

“Been busy.” Dieter kept his eye on the constantly opening and closing door as his friend set up a few lines for him on the counter. Dieter wasted no time in leaning down and snorting the white powder up, one line at a time. As he moved to snort the last line, the door swung open.

“They didn’t have any tonic, so—“ Dieter interrupted Violet with a snort, his eyes wide as he turned to see the last person he ever wanted to show this side to. Violet looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and concern, the couple remaining frozen and silent for a few beats.

“Lovely to meet you, I’m Alex. Can I fix you a line as well?” The dealer leant his hand out for Violet to shake but Dieter was quick to slap it away, giving him a warning glare as he watched Violet storm out of the doorway and back into the party. Wiping his nose, he rushed out to follow her, his heart racing from the drug and his own fear of fucking up his chances with her.

Dieter found Violet by the bar, tossing back shots with one of his “friends”, a fellow actor who was safe but a total slut—and that meant a lot coming from Dieter fuckin’ Bravo.

“You know, you’re even more beautiful in person. It’s usually the other way around,” the actor flirted, tucking Violet’s hair behind her ears.

“Does that line usually work for you?” She chuckled, now sipping on a cocktail through a little black straw.

“Usually. Is it working now?” He smirked at her as she shrugged, Dieter now quickly losing his composure as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes.

“Fuck off, Matt.” Dieter stormed over, stepping into the space between their bodies and glaring at his friend. “She’s with me.”

“She’s with nobody,” Violet corrected, glaring at Dieter for causing a scene, his blown out pupils a reminder of why she was so upset in the first place.

“Sorry, mate, I didn’t know the two of you were together for real,” his friend held up his hands in defense, giving Violet an apologetic look before he was leaving the couple alone.

“You just told Matt Smith to fuck off!” Violet scolded, too drunk to care about her volume.

“Relax, he’s a friend,” Dieter assured as he ordered a drink for himself. “A friend you seemed to be enjoying.”

“Are you jealous?” She accused with more irritation than he was hoping for.

“I’m not—not jealous, Violet. I just think if we go around flirting with other people, our little fucking showmance is gonna start to unravel.”

“I’m not your girlfriend, Dieter. If I want to flirt with someone, I’m going to flirt.” Dieter turned to her with a raised eyebrow, both turned on and enraged by her independence.

Though it was surely the drugs in control, he thought it would be fun to give her a taste of her own medicine. Turning to his other side, he spotted a model sipping on a vodka soda.

“Hey, you wanna have sex with me?” He asked as though the answer was obvious, and judging by the girl’s smile, it was.

“Sure.” Violet scoffed at her eagerness, Dieter turning back to her with a smirk.

“You’re not my girlfriend, right? So I can fuck who I please tonight?” Violet had never looked more disgusted with him, and if he’d been sober, he definitely would’ve dropped to his knees and pled for forgiveness—but he wasn’t sober right now. He was just an asshole.

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Dieter. I’m going home.” Violet set her drink down and made her way out of the party, Dieter’s eyes following her until she left the club.

“So…your place?” The model approached him, her hand sliding up his chest.

“If you sign an NDA.”

•••

Violet woke up around three in the morning to the sound of moans coming from their hotel suite’s kitchen. Furrowing her brows, she walked over to her bedroom door and cracked it open, gasping when she saw Dieter leaning back against the fridge, the model from earlier on her knees for him.

Though she felt fucking sick with jealousy—truly, she could’ve vomited right there on the fucking floor if she wasn’t so determined on keeping up her appearance—she couldn’t help but steal a glance at his appendage. After so many nights of dreaming about it, the real thing made her gasp. He was hung like a goddamn horse.

Dieter’s head was tipped back, his body bare besides the robe he kept with him like a security blanket. He held onto her head and guided her to take him in deep, vulgar slurping sounds filling the space as though he completely forgot about his roommate. Violet almost stormed out, enraged by the fact that he’d let anyone besides her get to feel him so closely—closer than she had yet to get—but soon, a name slipping off his lips in a breathless moan made her totally forget her rage.

“Oh, fuck, Violet. So fucking good.” Violet covered her mouth as she gasped, watching as the model pulled away from him and very hoarsely corrected his slip-up in names. “Yeah, sure, whatever, just don’t stop.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” The model stood up and fixed her outfit, seemingly having been on her way out of the hotel room before he seduced her one more time in the kitchen, storming out of the room with a slam of the door.

Dieter sighed at his still-raging erection, pumping it with his open fist until he was painting the kitchen tile white with a feral growl slipping from his lips.

Violet looked on at the scene, his flushed chest heaving from his orgasm ripping through his body, his long and thick cock dripping white as he stroked it lazily, his soft moans filling the room like the most beautiful song she’d ever heard.

“Next time you bring someone home—don’t.” Violet announced her presence, watching as Dieter jumped and let out a girlish shriek. Giving him a stern look, she watched him as he stayed frozen in place, his eyes lowering to his now half-softened length.

“You wanna—“

“Fuck you, Dieter.” She slammed her bedroom door and locked it. Though she still very much did “wanna”, it wasn’t going to be that fucking easy for him.

No matter how beautiful and impressively fucking hung he was.

•••

dieter taglist: @browneyes-issac @wildemaven @laureliciousdefinition @trinkets01 @paulalikestuff @toomanystoriessolittletime @alwayslurkinginthebackground @pastelnap @fishingforpike @littlemisspascal @wheresarizona @pedropascalsx (please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

[darkgifted]

hey. [ hold ]

[ hold ]  –  for the sender’s muse to hold the receiver’s muse by the face / neck gently and brush their thumbs along their cheeks to get them to focus on them.

she falls to her knees in exhaustion, every muscle in her body spent and aching. the wave of relief that crashes over her is strong enough to keep the horror at bay as she stares at the unmoving form of ketheric thorm, all but a broken shell now. (so much for ketheric the deathless, ketheric the chosen. so much for the lord of bones, the shadow that's haunted her steps for as long as she can remember.)

arlis moves slowly to stand, teeth gritting with the effort, but then thorm's hand twitches at her feet. her blood runs cold with horror, because no-, no, not again, and then thorm is rising with the jerking machinations of a puppet on a string. the puppeteer's voice is suddenly in her mind, dry as dust and dark as night, and it speaks her name with an intimacy that rips the breath from her lungs.

that gravelight has returned to thorm's eyes now, pale and churning, but it's pouring from him now, leaking and spreading, and she doesn't have to see to know that it's drowning the others. lae'zel, vann, gale-; she can taste the graverot thick on her tongue but it's sweet, it was always meant to taste sweet for her, and-

arlis throws off the nightmare with a ragged gasp that cleaves through her throat as she sits up, eyes wide with panic. her gaze darts around in confusion, searching for explanation in the darkened confines of their tent, and her fingernails have dug so fiercely into the tender palm of her hand as to leave bruises.

"arlis-," she flinches harshly at sudden touch and familiar voice, a desperate little sob falling from her lips as gale's words cut through the terror. "arlis, it was a nightmare. listen, it was a nightmare."

gale's hands lift to rest gently against her jaw, turning her gaze to his as his thumbs stroke along the slight curve of her cheeks. "it's alright, i promise. just a nightmare, that's all." his touch is tender but firm, an anchor, and she draws in a sharp breath to try & steady the furious beating of her heart. "that's right, just look at me-" gale intones firmly, "one breath after another, there we are."

slowly but surely, the terror begins to fade and she leans forward to press her sweat-soaked brow to his, yearning for the balm of his nearness. his thumbs trace along her cheekbones as they sit in silence until her breath has evened and furious pulse has steadied.

"do you want to talk about it?" gale finally asks quietly.

"no-," arlis murmurs after a long moment, "i just-, i want it all out of my head, i think."

gale nods and it's only then she takes note of his sleep tousled hair, locks messied and unkempt. it coaxes a surge of gentle affection through her and she lifts a hand in a lazy attempt to tidy it. however, his fingers gently snare her wrist and lower her hand to his lips. "tell me," a featherlight kiss is pressed to her knuckles, "what you'd like to fill your mind instead? name it and it will be done."

gale's eyes are bright now rather than darkened with concern, a smile teasing at both sincerity and eagerness appearing. "starlit skies, imposing vistas, the first hints of a sunrise; name it and you'll have it." his clever fingers twist and the gleam of the weave ebbs softly around his hand. "i can't promise it'll be perfect, even i normally need a bit of time to prepare these sorts of things, but-,"

"perfect?" arlis laughs softly and reaches for his right hand, energy humming against her lips as she kisses each fingertip. gods, but she loves him so dearly it aches. "you would give me the stars, my love, and fear i'd count their imperfections?"

"oh, but i can give you more than the stars," gale grins and wraps an arm carefully around her waist to tug her closer, "i'd craft an entire world for you if i could, a world just for us." there is something akin to reverence in his voice now, a hint of yearning. "imagine it, arlis. every detail purposeful, familiar but also better. something perfect."

"and what if i just want your tower, hm? would you be disappointed if i wished for nothing more than sunsets on your balcony and you beside me?"

he blinks after a pause. "no, not in the slightest."

"then fill my mind with waterdeep tonight," arlis straightens the blankets over them once more, "i know you could have me see it, but i like when you talk about it. you're very good at that, you know, talking." she settles back against the familiar contours of his form, head nestled against his shoulder.

"when you speak of waterdeep," she murmurs around a yawn, fingers reaching to entwine with his own as his chest rises and falls steadily beneath their hands, "i get to see it as you see it. every brick, every book, it's all what you remember, what you find important. that's more than enough, my love."

gale is so very quiet and still that she thinks he's already drifted off, but he finally speaks and when he does, he tells her of the way the moonlight dances on the harbor water and the scent of spices in the markets, the birdsong in the spring and the warmth of the summer sun.

she dreams again, but this time her dreams are full of life.

[tasteleeknow]

hey i really love your writing! do you have any tips for people that are just starting out? <3

thank you so much! well, to be honest i'm just starting out myself. i started in september so i'm learning a lot all the time but i'll give it a go!

1. do a rough draft/outline first

it's good to just get your thoughts out on the page in any form you find easiest. just type out your thoughts, don't worry about making it actually readable by anyone else. for me this usually means writing dot points outlining what i want to happen and then maybe rough sentences that do very little description but kind of outline the story. i also tend to just write dialogue without any dialogue tags or description or anything literally just the words (i personally find dialogue the easiest part, so this might be different for you). everyone does this first messy outline/draft differently but once you've done that you can go back and actually turn it into something readable. it's much less overwhelming than sitting there and trying to make well written sentences from an empty document.

2. understand your characters and their motivations

if i'm writing something longer and more complex i'll have a table that outlines the characters traits, their backgrounds, their motivations, plot points that represent major character development for them. i'm very much focused on character driven stories rather than plot so i create plot lines that are moving the characters according to their development and motivations. i only do this for complex stories (like hello stranger) not like my 5k words one shots. for my shorter writing i'll include in my dot points (that i'll delete later) a much more condensed, simplified version of the table.

3. dialogue is important

from what people have told me dialogue seems to be my strong suit so i guess if i was to give advice for that... it would be to really think about how people communicate in real life. people stumble over their words, they stutter a lot (even if they don't actually have a stutter), they backtrack, they struggle to get their meaning across. human speech is very rarely perfect and often writing dialogue that way makes it seem unnatural. the imperfections in their speech also depends on what they are feeling at the time. if they are anxious they'll make more mistakes, if they are frustrated it's more likely to just be a long stream of consciousness etc. (oh also side note but adding little descriptions like 'her leg bounces as she scans the pages, pen tapping against the clipboard' or whatever is a lot better at getting emotions across than just saying 'she was nervous') also dialogue is where you can really add character and emotion! the words they use (and even how often they speak at all) does a lot to convey to readers the type of person your character is so it is worth thinking properly about it.

anyway like i said i'm new to this as well but i think there's really no wrong way to do it. you aren't going to love what you produce straight away but you have to try and practice to get better at anything. i truly believe anyone can write something others will love to read so if it's something you wanna do, go for it!

oh also onelook thesaurus is a resource i have open in a tab every single time i write. lifesaver.

one more thing! if you find a writer you really enjoy, take some time to think about what it is you like about them. you don’t have to copy their writing style but studying what you enjoy about their work can help you improve on your own! i do this a lot!

[yesterdayiwrote]

I see what you're saying about the outfits. They're a bit all over the place.

In my opinion the biggest offence is George pairing that white/beige jacket with a blue shirt and a black tie. The jacket itself looks good when he's sitting but when he stands up you can tell it doesn't fit him perfectly. It's too big in the waist and too long at the hips. I don't understand why he keeps wearing double-breasted suits, because they don't look that good on him. They make him look stuffy and don't suit his body type. The imperfect fit combined with the two rows of light brown buttons literally looks like his tailor tried to make him look like a fridge. Also his pocket square only matches Carmen's coat, but nothing in his own outfit so it doesn't make any sense when he's standing alone. I actually like his trousers, though I couldn't find a picture where we could see all the way down to his ankles, the most critical part, because he has really long legs and most of the times his trousers are too short for him. I'm just going to assume they were long enough this time, for my own peace.

Now moving onto Carmen. When I first saw those pictures, my first thought was what was she thinking with that striped shirt... The focus point of the outfit is the coral coloured jacket, and since she already had that, she didn't need to wear a nother statement piece, like the striped shirt, because now it just looks messy. Not to mention that coral colour and black and white stripes will always give me 2014 vibes, but that's just me. I also don't like that the white stripes are a clear white, and not the off-white colour that George's suit or her trousers are. The belt seems unnecessary to me and the brown is clashing with the black stripes once again. I like that her trousers match George's fit, but they're a bit too baggy for my liking. Also, I wish she wore a necklace, because her hair covered the smal gold hoop earrings she had on and she had no bracelets, so I think a bit more jewelry could've looked good. A simple gold one would have added something to the look.

The positives are that even though they're all over the place, at least they're somewhat matching in this chaos. Also, their hair is great, Carmen's especially.

I really don't want to seem rude pointing all of this out, I just like analysing outfits. And giving credit where credit is due, they looked way better thay they did last year. You can tell that they're improving, there is just still some things that I would change.

Oh hello fashion anon! Thank you for this deep dive analysis, I’m not being sarcastic when I say I actually do love chatting fashion (even if I don’t do it that often on main)

I think Men’s fashion (especially smart dress) is relatively easy to pull off and actually it’s easier for men to ‘get away with it’ but I agree, I think double breasted jackets are aging and also make him look wider so don’t flatter him particularly. It looked in one picture like he was wearing beige loafers which just… it goes but it does give a bit of a ‘cruising around the med’ vibe rather than royal box at Wimbledon? I don’t hate the shirt and tie combo with the white suit but I’m not a fan of the tan buttons on the white and it’s a bit too…busy?

Her outfit I’m not really sure where to start… I will preface by saying I’m actually not a fan of her style in general, but this is just far far far too much going on. The blazer is just an awful fit that doesn’t compliment her because she’s petite. The belt is trying to give her some shape back but it doesn’t really go and it just ends up looking boxy. There’s too many colours and again too much going on. As numerous comments on IG have pointed out, it also ages her too.

I think it all just ultimately feels like they’ve over thought it. I don’t think they have to match. In fact I think they absolutely shouldn’t coordinate if they want a smart casual vibe (which totally works for the royal box you just need a tie and jacket if you’re a man as Lewis found out a few years back!).

I actually think what George wore back in 2019 when he went with Claire’s husband would have been perfect. It was a great fit on him. I think ultimately they’re 25 years old and they do both look like they’re fit for a SAGA cruise. Should have just kept it simple? They looked better last year because they weren’t trying as hard.

[virtue-and-beneviolence]

I wish you’d make me cry (but finished this time)

Mitsuya is the perfect boyfriend. He just might not be perfect for you.

cw: reader is a piece of shit and 'suya loses his temper. like 900 words. This one's for you @pulchritxde also go listen to the UPSAHL song of the same name for the vibe

Mitsuya cooked your favorite meal. He knew you had a bad day and wanted you to feel better, make you feel cared for. Somehow these gestures only pushed you deeper into a dark place. The devil in your skull reminded you how your perfect boyfriend could never tell how you felt. How he treated you so goddamn perfectly. Like you were a little trophy wife. Like you needed to be coddled. Like he could worship the ground you walked on. Being treated like a perfect little thing when you were a messy person, chaotic in nature, a walking disaster in so many ways…it irritated you to absolutely no end. You pushed the food around your plate with your fork. He either didn’t notice or call attention to it. Was giving you your space, you could just about hear his voice day in your head. Your jaw tightened.

The air was thick with a one-sided tension you’ve become accustomed to. Mitsuya was chattering, unbothered, about his day and you occasionally gave half hearted responses. Nights like this were the worst. You should love this, should love him. He loved you. He treated you like anyone could only dream of. He cooked, he cleaned, he tended to your needs, listened to you vent. He let you yell to him, at him even. He took on all your distress and anger without even batting a lash. So why couldn’t you accept it?

Maybe you hated the domesticity. Maybe you resented the way Takashi never lost his temper. Maybe you just wanted to feel messy and in love. Maybe you just wanted something passionate and imperfect.

But Takashi was perfect.

And it grated on you.

So you pushed.

“Y/n…?” Mitsuya’s voice was far away, “Hey, y/n? You okay?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” You clipped each word once again trying to bite back on your aggression out of habit.

“You don’t seem right, today. Did something happen, baby?” his eyes were soft. The sweetness was sickening rather than endearing. You bit your cheek. Didn’t he get it?

“Don’t you get tired of it Takashi?”

“Tired of what, work?”

“Tired of this,” you gestured wildly at the space between you. “Tired of taking care of me when I push away your kindness. Tired of acting like it doesn’t bother you how I don’t listen about your work? Tired of being so fucking sweet and kind and doting? Tired of being so goddamned put together all the time? Of waiting on me hand and foot? Of my attitude?” You weren’t sure when you stood up, or when the venom started to really pour into your words. You saw a subtle shift in his eyes but otherwise his calm demeaner was intact. He was patiently waiting for you to finish your tirade. You obliged. “Because I’m tired. I’ve had it to fucking here with how perfect you are! Isn’t it fucking boring being the perfect man? Don’t you ever want to let go and give me a taste of my own fucking medicine?”

“What would you have me do, y/n?”

“Anything! Anything to show you’re a person with feelings! Show me your messiness! You anger! I’ve earned it. Tell me how miserable I make you. Tell me off! Make me fucking cry, Mitsuya!”

He shot to his feet at the mention of his last name, “You want me to tell you how I feel? You’re an ill-tempered, contemptable, ungrateful bitch.” He spat the words with equal, metered emphasis on each, right in your face. He gave you a light shove towards the wall and stalked over you, making you trip into the wall at your back, “You don’t appreciate a fucking soul, you callus fuck. I could save your life and you’d spit in my face.” He grabbed your jaw and dug his thumb into your cheek roughly. He glared down at you with derision so intense you didn’t think those kind eyes could muster. You winced at the pain of his grip but didn’t buckle under the intensity of the look in his eyes. “You’re a goddamn monster, y/n. I give you every fucking thing you could possibly want and more, and you have the nerve to go and act up like the little petty cunt you a-”

You ripped his hand off your face, dug your nails into his wrist and pulled his face to yours, meeting his lips in a messy toothy kiss. You immediately lapped at his tongue with yours. His free hand rooted a fist in your hair and left no opening for escape from this clattering kiss. He swallowed your moan eagerly. He shook your hand off his wrist and brought it to your throat, cutting more of your air supply, not that you were sure you even remembered how to breathe at this point. When he felt your knees buckle slightly he let you break away and gasp for breath through swollen, bitten lips. His were at your ear.

“You want to be treated like the selfish bitch you are? I can arrange that too. I’m perfect, remember? I can fucking do it all.” He all but growled in your ear. You reveled in the bass of his voice. The red-hot ire he spoke with sent a shiver down your spine.

“It’s about fucking time you did, Kashi.”

Masterlist

taglist: @sano-obsessed @hanmasslvt @zensbiceps

[that-was-anticlimactic]

22 with Zukka for the prompt list? Also hi :)

"Give me a brush. I'll fix your hair for you." + zukka

Zuko was angry.

He supposed that wasn’t that shocking—he was angry a lot—but the amount of genuine anger and frustration he was accumulating due to his hair, now that wasn’t fair nor normal.

It was stupid—he had to attend some dumb public event since he was the Fire Lord and stand at the side applauding politely, then say a few words. Really, he’d been through more stressful times in his life than that.

Even still, there was an hour left before he had to arrive, and he was getting ready in his chambers. Or, he was supposed to be getting ready. He was still in his sleeping robes, aggressively pulling a brush through his hair

Honestly, at this point, he was just beating his scalp.

No matter how carefully or slowly he ran the brush through his hair, it was still tangled. It still looked greasy, and even when he said “screw it” and just threw his hair in a top knot, he nearly chopped it all off because it looked terrible. The bumps at the top of his head were so large it looked like he hadn’t even brushed his hair in the first place!

Logically, he knew that his dad was far far far away right now and would in no way, shape, or form be attending the same event or see said event, but he couldn’t block out Ozai’s voice in his head telling him how big of a disappointment he was due to the state of his hair.

Zuko grunted, throwing the brush across the room and leveling the cursed object with a furious pout. It’s what the brush deserved.

“Hey, Zuko! I can’t decide whether I should wear my cobalt robes or my lapis robes. I know you don’t think there’s a difference, but I swear to you—are you okay?”

The angelic sound of Sokka’s voice caused Zuko’s face to shift from fury to a soft smile. He turned around, his fingers twitching when the brush left his sight because it needed to know how angry he was, and shot Sokka what he hoped was a soft look.

His boyfriend was also wearing his evening robes, something far too casual for the event they were attending, and it took everything in him to focus his gaze on Sokka’s face rather than his shoulder where the fabric was slowly slipping off.

In his hands were two tunics which absolutely looked the exact same color-wise, but he just chalked that up to Sokka being picky about his wardrobe (no, he wouldn’t acknowledge that he was unsure whether it was that or the fact that he couldn’t see properly out of his left eye).

Sokka’s hair looked impeccable, tied tightly in a wolf tail, much unlike his own.

“Sunshine?”

Oh, he’d been staring, hadn’t he?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, running a hand over his face and collapsing onto his bed. “I’m just trying to get ready.”

He watched as Sokka’s eyes flickered between Zuko’s tapping foot, his hair, and the brush on the floor behind him.

His face morphed into understanding and he carefully draped his clothes over the back of Zuko’s vacant chair, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Give me a brush. I’ll fix your hair for you,” he said gently, nudging Zuko’s foot with his own.

“Get it yourself, Lazy,” Zuko muttered, but either way he shifted his position so he could roll onto the other side of the bed and reached, swiping the brush off the floor and tossing the cursed object at his boyfriend.

Sokka poked at him with his finger (and Zuko tried not to melt at the way Sokka tapped in patterns of three—it was the nonbender’s favorite type of pattern, he did everything in three’s. It became Zuko’s favorite number as their relationship developed and became not only a form of comfort for Sokka when he had his bad days, but also for him) until he got the signal and turned so his back was to Sokka.

“Your hair is very pretty,” Sokka remarked, gently grabbing a small chunk of his hair and starting at the edges.

“It’s greasy.”

“No, it’s really not. You know I don’t like touching greasy hair. I wouldn’t touch it if it was greasy.”

They both knew that was a lie—Zuko’s hair was an exception.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” Sokka asked, twisting the edges of the now brushed section of Zuko’s hair while separating it into a second section.

“My hair.”

“I got that.”

“It’s not… it’s not perfect…”

And that was it, wasn’t it? The event wasn’t that big of a deal—in fact, it was so insignificant to him that he wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was, but when his hair wouldn’t work the way he wanted, he started getting stiff and on edge.

If his dad saw him like this… Zuko couldn’t help but shudder at the mere thought.

“Babe, Sunshine, light of my life,” Sokka began and oh how Zuko practically melted, “you don’t need to be perfect.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Zuko shot back. “But I do have to be perfect. Everyone’s watching me—I’m the Fire Lord! If I don’t look perfect then…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut and attempting to focus solely on the feeling of Sokka’s fingers in his hair.

“Oh, I get it,” Sokka said softly. “This isn’t about your hair, is it, baby?”

Zuko just sniffed.

“I know I’m not the best person to talk to about being okay with things being imperfect, but something I’ve begun to learn over the years is that there’s never a time when everything’s perfect, no matter how hard you plan… or brush…”

Zuko chuckled.

“But something that you can always count on is me being there; you know I’ll always be there, right? Because I will be,” he continued. At this point, Zuko was certain Sokka had set the brush down and was just using his fingers, which was somehow more comforting despite the slightly uncouth method.

“Besides, you’re already perfect to me. You don’t need to try and please everyone else anymore. Quite frankly, they’re all idiots.”

Zuko laughed. It was quiet and more half-hearted than anything, but it was a laugh all the same. He could feel water beginning to pool in his eyes, and Zuko let out a choking gasp. “Sorry.”

“Shush, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I just… I saw my hair and it wouldn’t—it wasn’t right and I didn’t know what would—“

“Shhh.” Sokka coaxed him into silence, purposefully taking deep breaths along the way to remind him to breathe (which was really helpful since he had forgotten).

“It’s just me. No one else is here—he’s not here. It’s just you and it’s me. And I, personally, think you have the prettiest hair in the entire world, even when it’s greasy.”

Oh, what did Zuko do to deserve someone like Sokka in his life?

Sokka stopped running his fingers through his hair, and Zuko felt the bed shift as Sokka adjusted his position. The nonbender flung his arms around Zuko’s neck, holding him close.

“You’re going to have the best public appearance in the history of pubic appearances today,” Sokka informed him, and Zuko hummed, allowing himself to fall back into Sokka’s embrace. “And if anyone complains about your hair, they may have a run in with my boomerang.”

“Thank you.”

Zuko opened his eyes, allowing his face to fall into its natural frown, but prayed to Agni that Sokka could see the appreciation and adoration in his eyes.

He slowly rose, pushing himself off of his bed and turning so he could see his reflection in the mirror.

His hair it… it wasn’t bad. But it still made his muscles clench and his breath hitch. There were some strands tumbling out of his top knot, falling out of rhythm with the rest of his demeanor.

It was so insignificant, but that’s what Zuko thought when he was younger.

(There was nothing insignificant when it came to Ozai.)

He felt more than saw Sokka stand beside him, and together they gazed in the mirror.

Despite knowing he was being self-conscious, Zuko found himself biting his lip in anticipation as Sokka looked at him. He knew Sokka didn’t think he was disfigured or that his hair was an awful mess, but that wasn’t enough prevent his heart from racing and his fists at the ready to raise to block his—

“You’re beautiful,” Sokka breathed, his eyes so wide that Zuko thought they could contain the depths of the entire ocean, encompass the entirety of the night sky. What made his face flush was that the stars in Sokka’s eyes were directed on him—focused solely and only on him.

“Oh.”

It pained him that that was all he could say. Sokka could compliment him like it was nothing, but Zuko couldn’t do any more than reply with one word.

Sokka frowned and no, that wouldn’t do. Zuko didn’t like when he frowned—more so, he hated being the reason his boyfriend’s smile vanished.

“Are you still…” He cut himself off, his neck jerking and lips pursing, then he waved his hands around for emphasis, as a way to finish the sentence.

Shamefully, Zuko nodded.

Without warning, Sokka grabbed hold of Zuko’s hands and placed them on the top of his head. He intertwined their fingers, almost as if they were holding hands, then started moving them.

For a moment, Zuko held his breath because what was this idiot doing? His hair was the definition of perfection—no strands were loose, he looked regal, the blue and red beads in his hair were perfectly placed… and here Sokka was, guiding Zuko’s hands around his head and messing it up.

Zuko tried to pull away—tried to free his hands from Sokka’s grasp because they couldn’t do this—they couldn’t mess up is hair! The Fire Nation was already terribly critical towards Sokka, being Water Tribe and all, not to mention being the Fire Lord’s boyfriend meant more publicity than either of them were comfortable with… the public would tear Sokka apart if he walked out with messy hair.

“What are you doing?” Zuko hissed through grit teeth, still trying to yank his hands away to no avail. “You’re messing up your hair—I’m messing up your hair!”

Sokka ignored him, but Zuko couldn’t find it in himself to glower at his idiot because his tongue was sticking out of his mouth the way it did when he was concentrating and it was so authentically Sokka and so adorable and—

“There,” Sokka said, interrupting his thoughts. “Now we match!”

It was then that Zuko realized his hands had been released, and he clutched them close to his chest defensively.

Sokka was cheekily grinning at him, his eyes shining, and his hair… oh. His hair was a travesty. His wolf tail became undone and half of it was falling out. The top of his head looked like someone build hundreds of tiny bridges with the way his hair had been tugged at.

As terrible as it was, Zuko was basking in the absolute adorableness of his boyfriend.

“It may not be perfect,” Sokka started, locking hands with Zuko once more, “but we’re doing it together. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Thank you, Penguin.”

Sokka leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Okay, then: should I wear the cobalt or lapis tunic? I feel like lapis is a more luscious color, but cobalt brings out my eyes…”

Most of what Sokka was saying made absolute no sense to him, but Zuko knew Sokka so he knew that his feeling weren’t being brushed aside. Sokka was just trying to distract him—to make him laugh.

So, Zuko sat back down and listened to Sokka ramble about the pros and cons of each color, even though they had to be at the event in half an hour.

Sokka was right (he always was)—it was never about his hair (maybe it was a little about his hair, whenever Ozai was involved, it was about everything). He spent the majority of his life trying to live up to the standards of everyone else—his hair had to be perfect, his back had to be perfectly straight…

The Fire Nation thrived on the idea of perfection. So much so that Zuko knew if Sokka had been born and raised here, he would have been isolated or forced into muteness due to his imperfections, or his tics. It was a terrible thought that was proved true by the looks he saw shot his boyfriend’s way by some elders—from the way that some people would address Zuko rather than Sokka when they were together or ask Zuko why he hadn’t fixed Sokka or what places he took Sokka to to do so.

But they weren’t imperfections, Sokka’s tics. Zuko reminded him countless times that they were just a part of who he was, something that made him as special as he was. And he supposed that’s what Sokka was trying to show him… though through his unorthodox and irritatingly charming methods.

Zuko never did fix his hair for the evening—he wanted to continue matching with Sokka.

[this can be seen as a mini prequel to threshold of eternity hence why zuko gives azula the advice about how to 'handle' her hair and toe kind of inspired this one hehe]

'101 ways to say i love you' prompts

[lovelyspencers]

Paper Rings

Synopsis: Spencer and pregnant fem!Reader spontaneously get married in Las Vegas

Word Count: 1.3k

Content Warnings: allusions to sex

❝ I like shiny things but I’d marry you in paper rings ❞

Y/N and Spencer exit the clinic his mother is placed in with their hands intertwined as she traces mindless patterns on the back of it and occasionally gives it a gentle squeeze.

The November air is flush and he had wrapped her up in his grey cardigan and the scarf he had knitted her for Christmas. Besides being a genius, his measures had been terribly wrong and she looked like the purple wool ate her alive every time she wore it.

Still, she looks adorable. The cold paints her nose in a faint red and he stops in his tracks solely to place a kiss atop of it, admiring how she scrunches her nose in response and he can’t stop himself from peppering her face with kisses.

She’s wearing the same sweater she wore on the night they first met, except the baby blue garment with puffy clouds on them looks way better under the soft glow of the sinking sun than the harsh fluorescent lights of the club his team members had dragged him to all those years ago — and back then she didn’t have a small baby bump to cover.

They are quiet, undoubtedly thinking about the same thing as only the running engines of cars and birds chirping as they settle down for the night fill the silence. His mother had brought up a question that dreaded both of them and Spencer’s mind has been occupied with it ever since.

“When will you guys finally get married?”

He proposed to her two years ago and while the initial thought was to get married as soon as possible life got in the way or more frankly a false conviction and the aftermath of his trauma.

The only thing that gave him hope as he was robbed of his freedom, his most treasured possession, was the thought of Y/N. He glanced at empty walls, envisioning all the pictures their house would be plastered in if he ever got out of there.

He went to sleep despite his concern that people might come after him because at least in his dreams he got to see her and then he’d feel safe even if it was just in his imagination.

His thoughts solely revolved around her and the future they shared if he was strong enough. He imagined her in a white ball gown and the way her eyes would brim with nothing but utter joy and love as she finally became his endlessly.

When he did survive and the fresh air outside of the confinement of prison fences reached his nose and he fell into her soothing embrace, the scent of her shampoo still the same and her touch still was full of love, all he could think about was how he never wanted to be separated from her ever again.

But they were too busy trying to fix his invisible scars to even think about drowning in the stressful process of planning a wedding again. And when he did feel like himself again with the patience and care of Y/N (as well as some long-overdue therapy session), she got pregnant and they were too busy in their own little bubble to even acknowledge the still missing rings on their fingers.

It’s not like Spencer has any doubts about spending the rest of his life with her. He knows it every morning he wakes up next to her, their blanket fully draped over solely her body and her head laying on his chest, the sun peeking through the curtains and bathing her in a glow that made her seem celestial.

He knows it every time she kisses him, her lips always tasting of strawberry chapstick and her hands softly playing with his hair as she tries her hardest to convey her love to him in the simplicity of a kiss. He always understands her secret language because truthfully he’s trying the same.

He knows it every time he walks in on her singing and dancing in the kitchen, so blissfully unaware of the horror in the world he’s constantly exposed to and giving him a glimpse of peace too.

He knows it every time she pulls his body into hers and gives him her all. The sounds that leave her mouth when he proves to her that there’s no one that knows her as much as he does and her features when she falls from grace with him.

Honestly, he’s known that he wants to spend entirety with her ever since he first laid his eyes on her.

But as always his fears get the best of him. He’s been separated from her once and he knows how much it hurt her and how can he claim to love her when he put her through that? How can he claim to love her when he’s still uncertain that he can protect her from all the evil that’s lurking in the shadows.

As he looks at her, the afterglow illuminating every imperfection on her face that he would mesmerize and admire for entirety if he could, all his fears and insecurities fade away like fallen leaves and he’s never been more certain about wanting anything more than finally call the love of his life his wife. Now.

“How mad do you think our friends would be if we got married right now?”

“What?” Y/N turns to face him, a shaky smile spreading on her face as she fiddles with the ends of her scarf.

Spencer isn’t surprised by her disbelief. The most spontaneous thing he’d done during their relationship was kissing Y/N on the porch of her house after their second date and well, get her pregnant.

“Marry me,” he repeats, mirroring the soft smile that adorns her face as he absently plays with the engagement ring on her finger, “Like right now.”

She wraps her arms around his neck and chuckles before placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “I don’t have a dress. We don't have rings and I’m kind of pregnant right now.”

“I’d say you’re very pregnant right now,” he laughs as he places his hand on her stomach, something he’s been doing almost subconsciously ever since they found out that they were expecting — and that exposed their little secret multiple times already.

She nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck and peppers kisses there, muttering incoherent love declaration. “You really want to marry me in a shitty chapel when I barely fit in my clothes anymore?”

He nods and places a kiss on the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her floral shampoo and resting his head on top of here. “I do. To be honest, I’d marry you in paper rings.”

Noticing the worries in her eyes, he grabs her face and cradles it like she’s the most precious thing he ever had the pleasure of holding. While he does want to marry her desperately, his number one priority is always that she feels comfortable and if that means that he has to wait forever for her then so be it.

“I don’t want to pressure you and If you want a fancy wedding then I’ll gladly give you that. I’d wait a lifetime for you.”

The sound of her laugh fills the otherwise empty parking lot, the kind that brightens up his days that would otherwise be doomed in black and white as she places a lingering kiss on his lips.

“I know. But I don’t need a fancy wedding, I just need you.”

She grabs into the pocket of her jacket, pulling out a random poster she had picked up earlier and starting to fold the material until she crafted a rather messy ring.

“You ready to get married in paper rings?”

[serenityseventeen]

♪ The Last Day of Summer With You

Jun/Wen Junhui/Moon Junhui : Painting...?

“Are you sure about this?” You asked skeptically while staring at your boyfriend who was preoccupied with setting up the stand for the blank canvas.

Jun nodded and placed the canvas on the stand. He clapped his hands together after he was done and turned halfway to you who was on his right and watched him set up the whole thing. He innocently smiled but you shook your head.

“I don't think that painting together on one beautifully blank canvas is a very good idea,” You said, crossing your arms with conviction. “If my memory is correct, the last time we tried an artistic project, it ended up with us filling out bedroom walls with sketches of cats.”

Jun giggled at that remark because he could recall that moment. Everything about that warm spring day was chaotic and it all started when Jun decided to take Mingyu's suggestion of drawing with a significant other as a romantic activity.

That day was surely romantic to Jun because it was a memory he could never forget. You laughed so much that day despite continuously uttering about how foolishly childish you and he were, drawing cats on the walls and sketching stickmen in your notebooks while acting like troublesome kids. He could tell that that day was memorable for you too. If he could get you to smile like that, he would look everywhere for a fun activity to do.

Thus, that was why Jun was always looking for new things to try with you and he would take in many of his member's suggestions. Jun enjoyed having fun, being romantic, and being with you, so everything that his friends deemed ‘romantic’ he would try them out for himself.

Just like how that chaotically beautiful drawing day started, this one also started with a member's suggestion. This time, he took in the artiste, Minghao's recommendation of painting, and bought some art supplies for it.

Since today was a day to finish the hot, summer weather, Jun had decided that you two should attempt to keep the memory of a summertime sunset written on a canvas.

Jun let out a long breath and took your hand, setting you down in front of the canvas. Jun had already prepared a palette and brushes that were kept in a small cup, their fluffy ends sticking up.

“Come on, doing things like this once in a while is fun!” Jun said, handing you a palette. “I'll take the left half of the canvas, you can have the right side. Let's see what we can come up with to describe summer, okay?”

You chuckled, knowing that the painting was going to end up adequately attractive even if it looked peculiar. You glanced at Jun while holding the palette. He was skipping through the bottles of paint to get a brush while holding a plastic palette in one of his hands. You helplessly grinned as you gazed at Jun.

The assorted and iridescent paint bottles that were lined up on the floor were neatly ultimately scattered with a gentle brush of Jun's foot as he made his way back to the stool next to you. He came back with not one brush, but the whole mug that held the brushes.

“Let's get started, shall we?” Jun asked, smiling as he set down the paintbrushes.

You watched as he squeezed paint onto his palettes and gently dabbed his chosen brush into the paint. He painted a slanted line down the middle of the canvas, causing you to laugh at how imperfect but cute it looked.

“I guess I have more space at the bottom of the canvas than you do,” You commented, bringing some orange paint onto your palette.

Jun laughed softly. “I won't even try to fix this crooked line.”

There was complete silence in the house as you and Jun started focusing on the painting. The activity was messier than both of you thought it'd be. Jun had forgotten to buy painting aprons to avoid getting paint on your clothes too, but thankfully, the two of you changed into clothes that weren't special.

It was strange to see him so focused on the painting.

Jun found it strange that you were working so hard on your side of the painting. Sometimes, he would glance at his side to catch the beauty of a concentrated you.

When you saw him looking at the corner of your eye, you would turn to him and you both would stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds before you either smiled, winked, scrunched your nose, or asked, “What?”

Jun couldn't catch when you would gaze at him though, even if your eyes were shooting out hearts, he would be too distracted by his painting that he wouldn't even notice. You found it rather cute, and, you got to gaze at his dangerously attractive side profile.

“Can you pass me the blue paint?” You asked.

Jun looked around his stool to realize that he had been hoarding all of the paints around and under his stool. His hands were a rainbow mess and his painting, well, you could just tell that he was trying hard because it looked pretty with bright and dark colors.

“Oh, sorry,” Jun replied. He got off his chair a little to reach for the blue bottle of paint, his messy hands staining the side of the bottle.

You didn't mind that the bottle was tainted because your hands too, were decorated with a variety of smudged colors. You didn't even know how some paint got on the smooth, tiled floor, though it wasn't unexpected.

As Jun took the bottle and handed it to you, his clumsiness took the best of him and he accidentally, while retreating his hand, swept the back of his painted hand against your side of the canvas. He was moving a beat too fast which caused the sudden collision.

You both froze because you saw the entire thing happen and Jun quickly realized what he had done. The canvas was a bit smudged with brown, destroying the aesthetic of the painting.

Jun looked at you, expecting death glares, but was met with a warm smile. You were laughing, amused by your boyfriend's small mistake. It must have been ridiculous to see you laughing like that because Jun couldn't hold his laughter either. Whenever you laughed, he would habitually mimick your actions even if he didn't know what was so funny.

“Why are you laughing? Aren't you upset?” Jun asked, confused by your rather bright and friendly expression. Your laughter was contagious and Jun was still frozen in place.

“Of course not!” You finally replied. You placed your brush and palette down on the floor, grinning widely out of unexplainable ecstasy. “Mistakes like that are what makes paintings like these so special!”

You cupped his face with your paint-covered hands, leaving polychromatic marks on his cheeks, and leaned in to press a long, sweet kiss on his lips. You didn't know why, but it felt like you were waiting for something like this to happen.

Jun was a bit taken aback by the sudden kiss but he quickly absorbed himself into his. His hand would have completely pushed the painting and stand down but he somehow controlled that, leaving a messy print of his hand on your side of the art piece.

His paint-filled hands left marks on your clothes as they climbed up your waist to hold you tightly.

“You're such a fool,” You commented, your thumb caressing his cheeks that were now smeared with paint from your hands. “Why do you always take in your member's ideas?”

Jun moved back a little to look into your beautiful eyes that were now reflecting the sunshine from the large living room window. “I think I'm too boring. I want you to have fun with me.”

“Thank you,” You replied. “I'll try to be a better lover and give you surprise activities that are fun like this too. It's just that you're so foolish; you don't need to ask your members for fun activities to do. I like everything you do, even if you're just playing piano, singing, practicing a funny skit, or playing games on the computer. It's all fun to me.”

“It's okay,” Jun said, knocking on the side of your head playfully. “I want us to do a variety of things together because it's fun and memorable. I don't care whether or not we do these things as long as we do something, even if it's just staying at home. I wouldn't do things like this if I didn't have you.”

You both let go of each other with a smile. You stared at Jun's hand engraved on your painting. Jun noticed it too and was about to apologize but before he could, you quickly submerged your palm in your colorful painting palette.

You smile lovingly at him before pressing your hand against his side of the painting.

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

© serenityseventeen

a/n: this one was almost 1.5k words and yes, I know, the picture has barely any relevance to the story overall. I tried very hard to find a newer photo of him with paint but had no luck; I just remember them playing with paint during Pretty U(?) or predebut. Anyway, I love Silent Boarding Gate with my whole heart so I used that photo instead. + What does summer look like to you?

[heyyyharry]

"you drew stars around my scars but now i’m bleeding”

(a blurb from the My Girl Series)

…in which Y/N tells herself this is the last time.

Warning: SMUT (car sex)

Word count: 2.8k

AU: older!harry (4-year age gap), actor!harry, childhood best friends, friends with benefits.

“DON’T CALL ME KID! DON’T CALL ME BABY! LOOK AT THIS GODFORSAKEN MESS THAT YOU MADE ME!” 😔 inspired by folklore.

.

.

.

“Did anyone see you leave?”

“No,” Harry said, leaning back and spreading his legs as she worked his zip down. She’d been thinking about this all day, but he didn’t have to know that. If men knew how much you wanted them, they’d only want you less At least that was from her personal experience.

She took his cock out of his pants, fingers curling over the smooth, hot skin of his shaft and sliding up to tease at the edge of his foreskin. The head of Harry’s prick was already slick, and she sucked his precum off her fingers before licking her palm and stroking and squeezing around him until he whimpered. They had done this so many times that she knew his body even better than he did. She knew how to work him up, how to run her thumb over the head of his cock so he’d buck into her grip and whimper her name. But she didn’t want to hurry.

She struggled a bit to get her pants off, hating that they were in the backseat of his car instead of her place or his. They’d usually meet at hers, but her neighbour was having a party tonight; it’d be impossible for Harry to come and go without being recognised and photographed. But she didn’t need a fancy hotel room or a comfortable bed, because they were just hooking up. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Should have worn a blood dress,” she muttered, fighting her bunched-up jeans and kicking them under the front seat.

Harry laughed, but as soon as she peeled off her damp panties, his breath caught and his nostrils flared. She knew his car would smell like them at the end of the night when he drove home alone, and something about that erotic thought turned her on even more.

She gracefully slid into his lap. His hand slipped down to stroke at the silky heat of her pussy, two fingers opening her up, spreading her slick and rubbing at her clit until she began to tremble. She clutched his wrist to still him so she wouldn’t come on his fingers then kissed him before he could say a word. She bit his lip, curled her free hand into his messy hair, and moved her hips so she could rub the thick crown of his cock against her.

She’d been on the pill lately, so it was easy to just grab for his dick and guide it into her. He loved it when she told him how big he was, how full she made her feel, murmuring filthy words into his ear as he fucked her, hard and fast, flushed with the praise. But when they were as horny as they were tonight, she didn’t have to say anything; she couldn’t. Her mouth hung open without making a sound as she felt the first, deep, blunt push of his cock into her pussy. It always ached a little no matter how many times they’d had sex. He always stretched her so good, but she was too wet to need a pause.

“God, I missed you,” he hissed, filling her to the brim as she settled into his lap. She tried to ignore the effect those words had on her, and to not wonder if he really missed her or only what she was willing to give him.

She clung onto his neck and shoulders and clenched down as his hand went under her thighs, lifting her, moving her on the length of his cock. The head slid over her g-spot, and she gasped and ground harder against him. His fingers clenched around the backs of her thighs as he let her set the pace and planted sloppy kisses down the side of her neck. He nuzzled her hair out of the way and made small noises against her hot skin.

She rode him faster, snapping her hips against his and making him moan. She wondered if they were shaking the car and somehow felt thankful for the fact that the car park was empty. They weren’t trying to keep it lowkey anymore.

Harry whispered her name as his fingers dug into her thighs. She can feel his dick flexing inside her. She knew he was close. He always waited on her like a true gentleman, and she kissed him clumsily as she slid a hand down to rub at her clit.

What shoved her to the edge was the way Harry groaned and bit his lip as her moving fingers brushed the base of his cock. His hips jerked, and they were both so close for each other. Her slick pussy started pulsing as she sobbed into his mouth and he squeezed her tighter, so tight she could feel his fingernails leaving marks in the soft flesh of her thighs. She would go home alone with those marks as a reminder of this moment, and she’d either feel bad about it or want him even more. Usually both.

“Yes, baby, come for me.”

And those were the words that set her off. Him calling her baby was her ultimate weakness, even if it might not mean anything to him. His thrusts were getting faster, messier, driving into the tight clench of her as she cried out and ground her hips. She shuddered against him as she came again.

“Gonna,” he whispered, his hips stuttering and his fingers tightened, and then he was spurting hotly into her, filling her up until his come was trickling back down over his balls. She was already thinking of the way he’d have to tug his coat close just in case he ran into the paps. Meanwhile, she would go back to her flat still feeling the hot pulse of him having been in her. Everything about it was dirty, and she loved it.

Harry rested his head back as she started nipping at the side of his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath her lips. “That was...so good,” she said, still breathless.

“I know.” He gave a soft laugh which turned to a groan as she slipped off his still-hard, sensitive cock. She grabbed his face and pulled his lips back to hers. His hands burned against her back, drawing her close.

They’d had sex, again. And he still wanted her.

She had no idea why she must reassure herself that he wanted her every single time they were together. Perhaps because this felt surreal. Because if she told her teenage self that someday she’d be having sex with Harry in the backseat of his car, that girl would not believe it. In her memory, Harry had always been untouchable. Yet here he was, burying his face into her neck and inhaling her scent as if she were air. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest. This felt real. Even though she knew it was anything but.

“Kid.”

His voice snapped her back to reality. Her eyes flinched open and she saw his face twisted with worry as he took her wrist and removed her arm around his neck.

Her heart wavered at the thought that he’d finally decided that this was wrong and wanted to end this. Wouldn’t it be cruel? To say he didn’t want this anymore after he’d just finished inside her? Would he tell her to get out of the car and leave her here all on her own?

To her surprise and confusion, he lifted her arm, still catching his breath. That was when she realized he was peering at the scars on her forearm. “How did you get these?” he asked.

“I fell.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.” She giggled. “It’s no big deal. I was running for the bus and the pavement was slippery.”

Harry frowned. His gaze slipped from hers as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the scar. Her heart leapt involuntarily. And she hated herself for it.

“Remember when I used to draw stars around your scars,” he whispered, his dimples darkening in the dim streetlight. The memory of the happier days warmed her from inside out, and she felt it showing on her face.

“Because I said my legs looked ugly after my bike accident,” she said timidly.

“You fell a lot back then.” Harry looked up, his forehead creasing as if he was trying to remember one of those times. “I thought you’d get less clumsy when you grew up but I guess I was wrong.”

Grinning, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You can always draw stars around my new scars.”

“Or,” he kissed the corner of her mouth, “you can stop running in the rain.”

She laughed as she kissed him again and pretended that they weren’t in the backseat of his car in an empty car park, that they didn’t have to sneak around, that whatever she was feeling right now was valid, that he would rather be with her than go back to the world where she did not belong.

And so they finished cleaning up and laughing for a whole minute about the stain on his crotch. As she pulled her jeans back on and he adjusted his clothes, what had felt like a euphoric rush now felt like shame and a bit of regret. She shrugged it right off. It was normal. No one should be proud if they had to drive to a place like this to have sex just so they wouldn’t be seen together.

Then, the thought of them being seen together briefly crossed her mind. How would he react if the world found out? Would he be ashamed? Would he end this? Or would he say fuck it and risk it all for her?

She twisted her hair into a low bun, secured it with her scrunchie and turned to face him. To her surprise, he was giving that goofy dimpled smile that her thirteen-year-old self would write ten pages about in her journal. It was funny how he’d always been so close yet always felt a thousand miles away. She knew she was his girl, but had he ever been hers?

She reached up to fix his hair, only using it as an excuse to run her fingers through it. He took another glance at her scars and frowned a bit, which made her wonder why they bothered him so much. Was he finally paying attention to her imperfections?

“Have you got a pen?” he asked.

She looked at him funny but still answered, “Yeah, I always carry one around to take notes.” Then she reached for her bag in the passenger seat, fumbled for her black pen and gave it to him.

He clicked the pen open and scooted closer, tucking her arm under his as he held onto her wrist and carefully drew stars around her scars.

“Really?” she giggled, and he shushed her.

“Don’t move. Do you want ugly stars?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh, baby, when I’m done, you’ll want to get ‘em tattooed.”

Her smile thinned as a chill coursed through her. He needed to warn her before calling her baby. It did inexplicable things to her; things she wasn’t so proud of.

“There you go,” he said and clicked the pen close with a victorious smirk upon his face.

She peered at the stars he’d drawn and raised both eyebrows. “Not bad.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-four years old. I should draw better than when I was thirteen,” he said with a shrug, laced their fingers together and kissed the back of her hand, as one would to their girlfriend. Why was she thinking of that word right now? What had gotten into her? She wasn’t this person.

The sound of a text broke the silence in the car and Harry groaned loudly before fumbling into the pocket of his coat draped around the driver’s seat. He unlocked the screen, the bright light illuminating his face. His dimples deepened as he read the message and typed something into his phone. She heard a whoosh of the message being sent, then a ding of a new one arriving. The serenity of their own world had been intruded by this person who was texting him.

She didn’t want to care who it was, who made him smile and shake his head and bite his lip as he thought of something to write back to make the person smile, too. She didn’t want to care if he was going to see this person once he’d dropped her off. She didn’t want to know if he’d wake up alone tomorrow or in bed with a beautiful woman. That wasn’t how their ‘thing’ was supposed to work. She was supposed to mind her own business. But she wasn’t to blame, for he wasn’t supposed to draw stars around her scars, kiss them like he meant it, and called her ‘kid’ and ‘baby’ as if this was special.

It wasn’t.

She wasn’t.

“It’s late,” he said and tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans. It’s not late, she wanted to say, but she didn’t. “I’ll drive you home.”

She felt the urge to ask if he had other plans later. The question lingered at her throat, yet she swallowed it down.

“I can walk home,” she said, putting on her coat as he’d already put on his and seemed so eager to get rid of her.

“Alone? At this hour?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Kid, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll drive you.”

“It’s too risky,” she sighed. “I bet that most of my neighbour’s party guests are just arriving. His parties usually last all night long.”

She’d almost used it as an excuse to spend the rest of the night with Harry. She guessed it wasn’t happening now. She could either let him drive her home to get some more time with him or be smart about this and not put themselves in danger of being seen together. They weren’t so far from her block and she didn’t mind walking.

“I can’t let you walk home alone at night, Bambi,” he said. There was the same tone that her father would use. Moments like this reminded her that he was older and she would always be just a kid to him.

“Fine. I’ll call Alice to pick me up.”

Alice was her co-worker. But of course, she wasn’t going to bother Alice.

Harry studied her expression for a long moment as if to check if she was lying. Surprisingly, he believed her, or he had no choice but to believe her so he could leave as fast as he could.

“All right,” he said, leaned in and kissed her forehead, his lips hot against her skin. “Call me when you get home safe, okay?”

“Okay.” She pressed her lips into a smile and got out of the car.

Harry insisted on waiting until Alice arrived, but she threatened him with the fact that Alice was a big fan of his, and she’d be the last person who should find out about their “thing”, whatever this was. So Harry left first. The pained expression that he gave her before he drove off somehow made her feel reassured. Or was she just looking for any sign that showed that he cared about her more than he appeared to be?

Tearing her gaze from the empty street, she secured her bag on her shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. As she walked home, she kept pulling up her sleeve to check if the stars Harry had drawn were still there. She knew she’d have to wash them off later in the shower. Still, she wanted to keep them as good as new for as long as they lasted.

The longer she looked at them, however, the heavier her heart became. She could not help but recall the feeling she’d had when he’d kissed them, and guilt washed over her as her heart started sinking to the bottom of her chest. And so she told herself this would be the last time, that she’d not answer his call ever again. No more secret meetings and false hopes and daydreaming. If she didn’t want to bleed, she should stop running in the rain.

But there was something about running in the rain – the excitement, the longing, the feeling of being washed clean even though you’d arrived home shivering, drenched, and covered in mud. And so she knew this wouldn’t be the last time. She’d keep running until she fell and could not get up.

[shadowsinger11]

Taking Care Of You

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Warnings: Major fluff and also smut, oral (female receiving), first time with your adorable werewolf boy, the good stuff

A/N: Heyo did you really think I'd spend years in the fanfic world without writing content myself? I think it's time I finally share some of my writing on here. Wattpad was my old love but it now brings cringy memories of me thinking I can write lmao. Enjoyyy

Masterlist

Being friends with the infamous Marauders sure was an adventure.

No matter how many times you'd get in trouble because of their mischief-making, you couldn't help but love those dorks, always being ready to defend them if punishment was to be expected. In return, Peter, Sirius, James and Remus absolutely adored you and they basically adopted you as their own the minute you first stood up for them in front of your stoic and most of the time quite unfair Potions teacher. This was the beginning of a bond which neither of you thought you'd create. It didn't take them very long to trust you since you had proved multiple times that you're on their side and the boys loved having you around.

The whole school was aware of how close you were with the three pranksters but almost no one bothered to differentiate them - to Hogwarts, James, Remus, Sirius and Peter were just "the marauders". Very few people knew them individually and thought of them as separate people without having to associate one with the other two.

Needless to say, you were one of those very few people.

You loved each of the boys for their own personalities. They were so different but together they balanced each other out and that's what made them an unstoppable team.

Even though you had a strong friendship with all three, your connection ran much stronger with Remus. Due to him being way more caring and emotionally mature, he was able to understand you better and provide the best advice. At first you saw his intelligence as intimidating, worrying you'd accidentally embarrass yourself in front of him, but then you realised how much of an idiot Sirius could be around him so you began to get more comfortable. With time you also understood that Lupin was basically just a fluffy smart puppy.

His friendly but somehow shy personality was enough for you to trust him in no time and after awhile so did he. At first Remus was very hesitant to reveal his secret to you but instead of being scared or disgusted when you found out he was a werewolf, you were more intrigued than anything else.

Since then he'd be way more open about his feelings with you thus your friendship grew even stronger. You'd also feel free to share with him your struggles and count on him to help you out and cheer you up. Sometimes he'd take you out for a butterbeer and you'd spend a chill evening together in a cozy café.

If you were tired though, Remus would love to just lie down in his bed with you and cuddle.

Normally he enjoys being the big spoon, but he later found out he'd much rather bury his head in your neck or chest and wrap his arms around your midsection, tangling his legs with yours. This way he felt like he could truly protect you. You would always blush when he suddenly nuzzled his face into your chest, especially at first because you weren't sure what his feelings for you were.

When he later told you he was in love with you, it took you by surprise but the idea itself didn't surprise you. It just felt right.

Now the cuddling sessions felt much more intimate to both of you.

Remus could hear your heartbeat getting faster when he would occasionally press kisses to your neck or chest while basically being wrapped around you.

It filled him with pride when he looked up and saw how flustered you had become because of the gesture.

You would look down at him in admiration and run your fingers through his messy brown hair, trying to play off the fact that your mind was buzzing with thousands of thoughts. There was no hiding this from Remus, he could see your blushing cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes.

Sometimes he'd love to tease the hell out of you by continuously kissing and nipping at you sensitive skin until your breathing got uneven or you accidentally let out a moan.

The latter would give him a huge ego boost and he'd look all smug about it. He'd usually just genuinely smile at you but when he'd smirk at you during these moments, it made your knees buckle.

You'd discreetly try to relieve the tension between your legs by slightly rubbing your thighs together but Remus always took notice.

When it came to you getting dirty, it started off slow.

You were softly kissing on his bed, you straddling his lap.

Your kisses became more urgent and needy as you grabbed his soft hair. Remus tested the waters by moving his lips down to your neck. He knew you'd become flustered but he wanted to see how long he could keep doing this to you for.

Soon you were tugging at his locks and panting heavily, instinctively rubbing your clothed pussy up and down against his crotch.

Remus found himself getting hard on the spot. He wanted to have you right then and there but he knew he had to be careful with you.

"Is it okay if I take this off?" he asked, gesturing to your house themed shirt.

A little hesitant, you nodded and he peeled the clothing off your body. You helped him take off his own shirt as well, his Gryffindor uniform finding its place next to yours on the floor. However, you still had your bra on.

Once he reached to unclasp it, your smile faltered.

"What's wrong, my love?" he softly asked, looking up at his lover in concern.

"Nothing! I just… I don't think you'll like what you'll see…" you muttered in embarrassment. You had learned to dislike your body overtime, thinking your appearance would never make a guy find you attractive or desirable, but Remus was determined to help you change your mindset. He pecked your nose and looked into your eyes.

"My darling, I assure you there's nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, look at my scars. You still love me with them, huh? You like how I look," he stated, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. "Even if you don't like your imperfections, I love them and I'll teach you to love them too. Now please let me admire you, sweetheart."

Always soft spoken, he never failed to make you melt with his words.

Now, a bit less hesitant, you let him take off your bra.

Once you were uncovered for him to see, he slowly trailed his fingers up your waist until he cupped your breasts. His fingers felt warm and soft against your skin. When you looked up at him, his reaction surprised you.

His eyes were significantly darker, eyeing you up and down hungrily. Something between a whimper and a growl escaped his throat and he whispered, seeming out of breath.

"My love, you're stunning."

His mouth found your nipple and you gasped in surprise, hands grabbing his shoulder as he sucked greedily. His fingers rolled your other nipple and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. You threw your head back as moan after a moan started falling from your reddened lips.

"R-Remus…" you breathed, mind dizzy with pleasure.

His eyes shot open and he looked up at you, "Yes, my love? Did I hurt you? Am I going too fast for you?"

You couldn't help but let out a laugh, "No, you're doing great! I'm quite enjoying myself actually." You playfully bit your lip, ruffling his already messy hair. He smiled, seeming way more relieved. Remus had to get used to you moaning his name and the thought of it filled him with joy.

He carefully laid you back down on the bed, capturing your lips in a long, deep kiss. His lips moved slowly against yours, tasting them as if for the very first time. When you felt his tongue lick your bottom lip, you gladly let it in and your lover wasted no time to explore your mouth. The kiss swallowed your desperate moans and your hips involuntarily buckled to meet his.

Remus took the hint but instead decided to prolong this further by setting between your legs and dry-humping you. His clothed dick rubbed deliciously against your pussy and you were sure your panties were soaked at this point.

"Remus, please…"

Even though he enjoyed toying with you, Remus was pretty impatient himself so he pulled back and slipped down your jeans. He spread your legs wide and his lips twitched in amusement at the damp spot on your panties. He ran his fingers up and down your core and chuckled when you whimpered.

Remus finally peeled off your panties and stared at your red, swollen and incredibly wet pussy in all its glory.

And you saw it again - that same animalistic look of hunger on his face.

He licked his lips and growled quietly, making your thighs tremble before placing each of them over his shoulders.

Remus blew hot breath on your core and you sighed in anticipation. He used two fingers two spread your folds and inhaled your hypnotising scent.

Remus used the tip of his tongue to gently flick your clit and you yelped, you thought you could cum right there but he stopped. He licked a generous amount of your juices and slowly dragged it up before adding his lips to the mix and starting to french kiss your pussy.

Your head fell back down on the pillows, hands coming down to massage his scalp as your needy moans echoed in the room. Your hips involuntarily moved up to meet his mouth and he hummed in appreciation, the vibrations spreading waves of pleasure through your body.

Remus slightly pulled back and watched as he slowly entered two fingers into your pussy, a thick layer of wetness coating them. He moved them in and out carefully as he asked, genuinely concerned, "How does it feel, darling?"

At this point you were not in the state to form a proper sentence, "So good, oh my god… please keep going…"

Remus smiled to himself and went down to business, quickening the pace of his fingers. His tongue came up to play with your clit again but you truly lost it when he added a third finger, thrusting them rapidly as he sealed his lips around your clit, sucking harshly and massaging it with his tongue. You came hard with a loud moan, your juices gushing all over his fingers as Remus kept eating you out like a starving animal. He only stopped when you tugged at his hair since your clit had become sensitive and he crawled up to you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"How was I, darling?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," you giggled, pressing a kiss to your lover's lips and he was quick to return it. His hands began to wander your body, eager to feel all your curves. His fingers left goosebumps everywhere they touched; your chest, your breasts, your neck, arms, thighs… Remus made sure to mark every single spot with his fingers and lips.

He quickly got rid of his boxers and your mouth watered when you saw his glorious length spring free. He wasn't very long but he was exceptionally thick and your pussy begged to have him buried inside you.

Remus began to grind down between your legs, looking up at you once more, "Do you truly want this?"

"Absolutely," you sighed, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you."

"I love you too," he murmured against your lips and slipped his cock inside of you. His thickness stretched you out much more than his fingers, your pussy eagerly welcoming every inch. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling of being full up to your cervix.

"Does it hurt, my love?" Remus asked, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort.

"Not at all," you smiled. "You can move now."

And with that Remus laced his fingers with yours in a firm, but gentle grip and started to slowly pull out and then thrust back in deep inside until he filled you completely. And again. And again.

Your bodies moved in a passionate dance, your hips lifting up to meet his as he kept pushing into you.

Remus' grunts and gasps joined your moans and whimpers as you both clung desperately to each other. He picked up the pace, hips snapping into yours as his thick cock slipped in and out of your glistening pussy. Your back arched, your breasts brushing against his chest with every move.

Remus removed one of his hands and slipped it between your bodies to rub nice tight circles on your clit.

"Remus, I'm-"

"I know, just breathe."

The volume of your moans increased and so did the speed of his thrusts and fingers. You looked down at where your bodies met and you moaned at the sight of his thick cock frantically entering your wet pussy, hitting all the sweet spots. With one harsh thrust he spilled his seed deep into you which triggered your own climax, your pussy clenching tight around his cock and milking him for all he's worth.

Remus kept thrusting in and out of you, prolonging your orgasm, and then finally slipped out, lying next to you and hugging you to his chest.

You both started to laugh. You felt tired, absolutely spent, but you were also energised and refreshed.

"Did you enjoy it? Was I okay? I didn't hurt you, right?" Remus asked again while pulling the covers over you two.

"Remus," you placed your hands on his cheeks to make him face you. "I just had my first time and it was mind-blowing. You did amazing, I assure you."

He seemed visibly more relaxed now and looked down at you with such pure love you had never seen before.

"I am honoured to be your first and I'm immensely glad I satisfied you. You deserve to be taken care of in an appropriate manner."

You smiled at him, letting your fingers dance seductively along his chest, "Then what do you say you take care of me appropriately again?"

Reblog if you enjoyed my work!

Masterlist

[bogkeep]

Hey! I'm the one who asked the poorly worded art process question. I'm here to give it another try by being more specific. The problem is . . . that's hard. Because that was about a specific as I can get, since I kind of want to know everything about how your art works.

Big things, like how you come up with ideas, or how you design characters. But small things, too, like what tools you use for drawing, how you balance between traditional and digital art, and how you decide what color to use for your unique and beautiful line art.

I want to be more specific so you can answer, but the question in my head is too vague and broad for me to be specific about it. So . . . here are some subquestions of my question, I guess! Maybe that helps?

Sorry this is so weird, and thank you, your art is amazing

first of all, thank you so much <3

and yes, this is far more answerable! i hope i can satiate some of your hunger for insight without writing a whole book.

HOW DO I COME UP WITH IDEAS?

this is obviously going to be very different for everyone. i very rarely have to dig for ideas or sit down and brainstorm, unless of course i am trying to achieve something very specific, like fulfill art contest criteria or working on a commission. my brain is very visually wired, so a lot of my ideas literally just pop up in my head (i know of several artists with aphantasia - some people don't have any visuals in their head at all and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT'S LIKE AND I AM IN AWE OF THESE ARTISTS), sometimes i see a character or character design and im like HNNNG i need to draw them, or i just... have a concept i really want to Exist and i'm going to figure out how.

my biggest problem is that often, when i get an idea i want to DRAW IT, NOW NOW NOWNOWNOW, and that's just Not Feasible. sometimes because i'm Literally In Bed, sometimes because i have too many things i need to do or draw first... but i need to clear up space in my head, because my Urge To Draw will be like, beeping and whirring until i satisfy it... so i write it down on my TO DRAW-list! it's a real list that exists on my phone and i have to use it frequently. if i keep scrolling down i start finding weird notes that i have NO idea are supposed to mean anymore, but that's fine. i can't satisfy every Art Urge. sometimes i need to let them pass.

HOW DO I DESIGN CHARACTERS?

this one might vary a bit, but it can often be boiled down to "i sketch around until i figure something that Works." many of my characters, especially my older characters, became characters by accident when i kept drawing them over and over and i was like Ah I Like Drawing You... You Exist Now. that's how sparrow spellcaster happened, at the very least. this could happen because i had school and i would focus in school by doodling/sketching while listening to class. since i no longer go to school, pretty much all of my new characters are far more intentional. Timian and Vinta specifically exist as a result of a "favourite character fusion" challenge, and a lot of iphimery characters started with a Purpose rather than just harnessing the vibe of something i drew multiple times without thinking.

it helps to write down elements or tropes i want to include, like "sturdy-looking" or "VILLAIN OF EVIL SCARY MAGICS but it's a little girl and the dark magic is bright lightning and not shadows" or something. it can vary from a tiny visual detail to their role in the story. whatever i want to Achieve. my Intent. because my brain works so visually, i just really need to sketch somethign repeatedly until i nail it and can be like Yes That's It.

sketchbooks look a little messy but that’s what they’re for.

WHAT TOOLS DO I USE

for digital art, i’m currently using an ipad pro and procreate. i use a lot of the brushes that came installed, like Mercury is my primary lineart brush, and Moorilla is my primary sketching brush, but i also buy a lot of custom brushes on the hunt for More Delicious Textures (DAUB has a lot of good ones, especially if you want some that imitate traditional art). i have also used Huion and XP-pen tablets and generally recommend them, as well as clip studio paint as an art program (i love it very much and if it wasn’t subscription-based on ipad i would still be using it).

for traditional art, mostly just whatever sketchbook i have + my trusty mechanical pencil. i mean i have two: one with softer lead (it comes out darker) and 0,7 mm thickness, and one that’s 0,5 and harder lead for more light sketching, or if i’m going to line it with ink.

i also have a trusty pentel brush pen that i love DEARLY and feel bad for not having used in a while for reasons i will get to.

when i work on calendar pieces traditionally, i like to draw lines with ink - i use a dip pen with exchangeable nibs - and then color with watercolors. i have several sets because they’re all slightly different and i want the Range.

i sometimes travel with a little sketchbook in my bag and an assortment of pens, so that i can sketch Anytime, Anywhere. i think doodling with a pen can be very useful because you gotta become comfortable with the mistakes and imperfections and keep going anyway. if i doodle at work that’s the tools i have -  regular ball pens and a bunch of paper lying around.

HOW DO I BALANCE BETWEEN DIGITAL AND TRADITIONAL ART?

currently, i... don’t, really. it was easier when i had school, and i would just doodle freely and then maybe use some of my sketches as thumbnails or concept ideas. it’s harder now that i need to intentionally sit down with my sketchbook, and tbh... the ipad works very well for sketching. it’s so CONVENIENT and i have WORK all the time and my time to create art has become much more limited than it was. i miss going to my weirdo art high school where we would try out a whole bunch of different tools and methods. sure, yes, i had to paint with Acrylics My Beloathed, but getting to play around in different mediums is VERY valuable.

i genuinely want to be able to make more time and space for non-digital art again, but i just don’t have the ability to right now. it’s also different now that i’ve moved away from my parent’s place - i used to have an enormous desk and my mother has a large collection of art tools and there was a lot more storage space for whatever i created. digital art is very convenient and very accessible. ah well!

HOW DO I DECIDE ON THE COLOR FOR MY LINEART?

i usually line in black or a very dark color, and when i’m done coloring + shading i might play around with the colors and see what works. if you lock the layer you can just throw all the spaghetti at the wall you want. i decide on whatever fits the piece. i tend to be pretty fast and loose about it too, sometimes you can probably spot parts of my lineart that have slightly mismatchy color, but it’s like... done is better than perfect! i don’t have the energy to overlook every single pixel of my piece or else i would drive myself utterly mad.

HOPE THIS ANSWERS ANYTHING AT ALL!! THANKS FOR ASKING!!!

[novelelitist]

Spiritual successor to this post. TW for mentions of suicidal ideation and death.

Charles-Henri Sanson on Death II

"I'm forever impressed by your skill," Assassin's Master says. "You could've been a doctor. Or a chef. Or one of those guys that chops off fish heads and dropped them in buckets. We could practice together, except I'm the fish. You chop my head off. I get served on a skewer. It'll be great."

Charles-Henri Sanson stops polishing his guillotine blade. "I can't imagine anybody eating you and being satisfied, with or without the skewer."

“What about my organs? We can sell those, can’t we?”

Sanson leans back in his chair and turns to Master stretched out on the floor. The chair creaks under his shifting weight. Old wood flooring squeals in response.

“On the black market, perhaps,” he says. “I doubt anybody would be interested, though. There are far better organ donors out there.”

"Would you end me if I somehow earned it?”

Sanson's forehead wrinkles. The stupidity of Master’s comments is matched only by their sincerity. He rubs his temples with thumb and pinky, his hand stretches across his brow. 

“You don't support capital punishment,” he reminds them.

"But you do.”

He resumes meticulous work on his Noble Phantasm with a sigh. "Even so, I will not be executing you anytime soon."

Master rolls onto their side, burying their face into thick sofa cushions. Their muffled cursing and grumbling gives Sanson secondhand embarrassment. His cheeks turn pink.

“Please, Master. Don’t make this weird...”

“It’s already weird,” they whine. “I’m weird. I’m the problem. I shouldn’t exist. I don’t want to exist.”

He shakes his head. None of that sounds true to him. “You never want to exist.”

“You could help me with that at literally any point.”

“I’m not a qualified mental health professional.”

Master kicks the arm of the sofa with tippy-taps like a child. They huff. Their shoulders rise and fall with their annoyance, and it brings Sanson comfort. Practiced hands glide across his blade. He removes stains and buffs imperfections expertly, careful not to cut himself in the process. It’s hard to maintain focus when he wants nothing more than to care for them.

He’s positive that other Masters have given him trouble in the past. There have been plenty worth noting, probably. This one, however, must be among the most self-sabotaging. 

It’s difficult to care for someone who rejects help so vehemently, he thinks. How is anyone supposed to treat that type of person?

"I would rather not acknowledge what you meant,” Sanson says. 

Master groans and flails their arms. It reminds him of a stingray going flap flap flap. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he watches them from the corner of his eye. For a miserable bastard, Master can be endearing.

“What do I have to do to convince you?” they ask to heaven and pillows. “I can’t do it correctly myself, so I might as well ask an expert.”

An expert in something so grotesque? Perish the thought. Charles-Henri Sanson is an expert in clean executions--not messy philosophies of life and death. To this day he struggles to understand it all (though he tries to pretend he gets everything).

Without missing a beat or a brush, Sanson answers. “Burn all of your Command Spells ordering me to end your life.”

Master’s back stiffens, yet they flop loosely like a sloth. 

With anyone else, Sanson would call that the end of the conversation. Instead, he worries where Master’s wandering mind will take them. He gazes into his reflection on the surface of his blade and makes eye contact with himself. His chest aches. 

There are no simple solutions to Master’s problems, nor are there simple answers to their questions... Then again, if a simple answer existed, Master would hate it anyway. They try to see the complexity in all things. So why is it so damn difficult to convince them that it’s okay to be complex themselves?

It hurts. Caring for someone that is desperate to throw you and everyone else away hurts. Calling someone a friend when they want to get rid of you hurts. Yearning for someone’s presence when they want to isolate hurts. It’s a type of hurt that he doesn’t recall experiencing in past summonings. It’s lonesome. It makes him wonder what he did wrong, and why they didn’t tell him sooner.

Master pretends to ignore him while overthinking every word he says, as usual. They will, as usual, overwhelm themselves falling down the rabbit hole of negativity. As usual, they will self-destruct in private, refusing to accept or acknowledge the hands offered to them. 

Ah, but if that person believes they’ll break the fingers of another, it would make sense that they don’t want to take it. 

All Sanson can do for them is exist. He wishes he could ask the same in return.

[toutallyahoe]

Everybody Talks ~ Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyuu) pt 2

requested by: --

a/n: holy shit— i had to break this one shot into three parts?!?

ugh, this is why i prefer wattpad and quotev bruuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh

you gremlins better enjoy this

part one | part two | part three

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey sugar show me all your love?

All you're giving me is friction,"

It had been already a week and a half and his soulmate finally stopped listening to the song like it was god or something. Well, his soulmate never fully stopped as his soulmate seemed to play on it occasionally from time to time but it wasn't like earlier in the week where Hajime could barely sleep or focus on anything since the song was blasting on his ears in full volume.

Hajime was thankful that his soulmate finally regained their sanity back to not blast the song on a loop twenty-four seven like a maniac.

Still though, instead of the song "Everybody Talks" by Neon Trees on loop, it was replaced by an instrumental of the said song. Not really much of a change but hey, it was more bearable with out the singer singing the lyrics so loud Hajime was sure he'll go deaf.

And yes, Hajime knows the name of the song and the band. How can he not be though when he had been hearing this one particular song again and again for a week and a half. It seemed like his soulmate changed their taste again. More or less. It was a common occurrence as the dark haired male seemed to noticed that his soulmate enjoyed listening to music a lot.

Hajime liked to think his soulmate was perhaps an aspiring musician as the dark haired male sometimes hear some songs he never heard of, even if he searched it in online as best as he could.

"Hey sugar what you gotta say?

It started with a whisper!"

Snapping out of his thoughts. Hajime sighed again when he heard the familiar song... again. It seemed like his soulmate was listening to the song again. Actually, his soulmate had been listening for it for awhile now but had had the volume down that the dark haired male could easily tune it out. But it seemed like his soulmate was trying to have their eardrums bursting again.

"And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

Shaking his head, Hajime reminded himself to focus. Currently, he had been asked by a teacher of his to deliver a box. Having nothing to do as Mondays he doesn't have any volleyball practice, Hajime agreed to take the box towards the light music club.

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

The dark haired male had a bit trouble locating the club room of the light music club though. Hajime wasn't one to be interested in other extra curricular activities and other clubs as he was busy with his own club to manage. Being the vice captain of the volleyball club full of raging testosterone and hormonal boys, and having to deal with their bullshit was enough already. Hell, he even had to deal with Oikawa Tōru and that guy was the president! You could tell the stress the dark haired male had to deal with every single day.

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Hajime shakes his head again as he turned his attention the the box on his hands. The box wasn't that huge nor heavy. Maybe a bit heavy and the dark haired male assumed it was some music instrument or some sheets of music notes. Either way, he has to be careful since who know what was inside and how he'll be in trouble if he messed whatever is inside the box.

"Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks back!"

Shifting his gaze from the box to the doors he was passing by. Hajime made sure to read the signs of the door to find the light music club he had to deliver the box too.

"It started with a whisper!

And that was when I kissed her!

Everybody talks, everybody talks back!"

   

It took awhile for the dark haired male the light music club room. Turns out the club room of the light music club was on the third floor, the third to the last room of the end of the building. Looking at the door of the room, it was the same as the rest of the doors of the rooms in the school. The only thing new about it was the sign on top of the door said "LIGHT MUSIC CLUB" in a very neat, bolded writing. Hajime almost passed the room for a second as everything was the same if he wasn't looking for it.

Sighing, the dark haired male noticed his soulmate was rather quite. They had been for awhile and Hajime didn't know whether to be overjoyed or not. He had noticed that his soulmate was also going silent for awhile and would normally just listen to music late at night or around the end of classes. Maybe sometimes listening in classes but mostly skipped unlike what they used to.

This really made Hajime curious on why the change of schedule his soulmate is currently doing as his soulmate was relentless and would always jam out to their song. But right now, Hajime should focusing on the task at hand. Going back to reality and cursing his soulmate— even when they are not annoying him with their music blasting in full volume inside his mind, Hajime is still getting distracted by them. Cute but also, how annoying.

Looking at the door again then at the box in his hand. Hajime breathed in and out. He did not know why but oddly enough, he felt a bit nervous. Maybe he was just stressed out? Perhaps. The dark haired male really doesn't have a single clue.

The dark haired male decided to just get this over with. Swallowing the anxiety that just appeared out of nowhere, Hajime was about to knock on the door when the familiar song came inside his mind again, but this time... more louder...?

"Hey baby won't you look my way?

I can be your new addiction."

"What the hell...?" Hajime muttered, confused and bewildered. The dark haired male swore he was hallucinating the song his soulmate was playing all the time. He had to be right or perhaps he was having auditory problems? Maybe he finally lost it with his soulmate's non-stop jamming to the song that it made him finally gone insane.

"Hey baby what you gotta say?

All you're giving me is fiction."

It took a second or two for Hajime to realized he wasn't going insane for listening on a song for almost a week and a half non-stop. No, the dark haired male realized the song wasn't only playing inside his mind, but also somewhere in front of him. And Hajime looked at the door in front of him, he knows the sound was coming inside the light music club room.

"I'm a sorry sucker and this happens all the time,

I found out that everybody talks,

Everybody talks, everybody talks—"

The dark haired male didn't know what had came over him or what had possessed him to do such a thing, but he, Iwaizumi Hajime grabbed the handle of the door and hastily opened it.

"It started with a whisper!

And that was when I kissed her!

And then she made my lips hurt!"

The room had a cozy feel to it. It was like any room of the building in size but it had its own personality than the other rooms aswell. The window were covered with thick, black colored curtains that were shut tight at the moment. The walls were painted darker shade than the other room, a color of maroon.

Inside the room were chairs and some table on the side and most important of all, many different instrument raging from percussion to stringed and woodwinds instruments. There are mic stands and even a small podium inside the room. But Hajime wasn't focused on the room though. No, he was more focused on the person inside the room.

Inside the club room of the light music club was a lone male. This was [Last name] [Name]. Hajime only knew him because the male was the president of the light music club and had classes with his chocolate brown haired best friend.

[Name] had [Hair color] hair that was rather messy and wild looking and had its tips bleached white. [Skin color] skin that maybe held some imperfections that Hajime couldn't tell from the distance the two were in but the dark haired male noticed the [Hair color] haired male was wearing the Aoba Johsai school uniform.

Well, of course he was. [Name] was a student of the school after all, but the [Hair color] haired student seemed to had his white jacket discarded and put on a chair that was inside the room along with his bag. [Name] was standing in the small podium in the center of the room, two large speakers beside him that was blasting the rifts of the bass guitar that he was playing in his hands.

[Name] was wearing white headphones over his ears and had his eyes closed as he sang onto the microphone in front of his. His eyes closed, clueless to his own surroundings and was only lost to the music he was listening and singing too.

"I could hear the chit chat!

Take me to your love shack!"

Hajime felt his heart beating so fast inside his ribcage. He swore his heart would escape as he stood on the doorway of the room, frozen and gaping like a fish out of the water as his eyes widened in shock.

"Mamas always gotta back track!

When everybody talks back!"

Was this real? This had to be a joke, right?

Holy shit. His soulmate— his fucking soulmate wasn't farther away than he had thought. His soulmate was [Last name] [Name], the president of the light music club and they were only a few steps away from each other. Not the miles and miles apart Hajime had admitted to himself a long time ago.

"Hey honey you could be my drug?

You could be my new prescription."

Was this the reason he had been hearing the song "Everybody Talks" for a week and a half now? Because his soulmate was truly an aspiring musician?

"Too much could be an overdose!

All this trash talk make me itchin'!"

It seemed like Hajime wasn't wrong about his thoughts on his soulmate enjoying music because they had a passion for it. His soulmate, [Name], was literally the president of a club dedicated to music making!

"Oh my, my,

Everybody talks, everybody talks,

Everybody talks, too much..."

As Hajime continuously stood there like a statue, the [Hair color] haired male finally noticed him when he had opened his eyes to see the dark haired male.

"It started with a whisper..." [Name] softly sang as he then stopped strumming the bass guitar on his hands and took his headphones off his ears. Instead, he let the white headphones hang loosely on his neck as he jumped of the mini podium and went towards the frozen male.

"Uh, hey?" [Name] awkwardly greeted Hajime as he stood in front of the dark haired male. "Do you need something?" The [Hair color] haired male asked as he looked at the volleyball player up and down.

[Name] knew who this was. This was the infamous ace of the males volleyball club of Aoba Johsai. The pride and joy of the school, the volleyball club was. Iwaizumi Hajime may not be popular like Oikawa Tōru (who he share homeroom with) like the rest of the other members of the club, but the dark haired ace still garnered recognition from others. He was, after all, the ace of the sport.

Now this brings the question on why the ace of the volleyball club was in his club's doorstep. Normally, no one comes into the light music club except members (who already went home as everyone Mondays are no club time for them) or close friends of the said members to watch them goof off and perform. And [Name] was pretty sure that Hajime wasn't a close friend of his members as he prided himself to actually known his fellow members in the light music club. After all, what kind a president would he be if wasn't close with his members and his members friends?

So, if it isn't any if those two, this leads to only one conclusion.

Snapping his fingers in a "hurrah" moment. The [Hair color] haired male did not paid mind on Hajime flinching a bit on the snap of his fingers as he sent the dark haired ace an apologetic grin.

"If you're here because of how loud I'm playing again, I promise I'll keep it down!" [Name] had awkwardly said as he grinned. This wasn't the first time people actually visited the club to complain how loud they were playing, or more specifically, how he was playing. [Name] was a passionate guy and it his passion also shows in his playing. And so, he sometimes gets too into his music.

"So, uhhh, don't worry!" The [Hair color] haired male chuckled but his relief was immediately washed away and was replaced with confusion when he saw the dark haired male shakes his head and avoided eye contact with him. Did he do something wrong?

"No, that's not it," Hajime had said as he awkwardly coughed and avoided looking at [Name] in his [Eye color] eyes. Why was he feeling embarrassed again? He wasn't the one getting caught singing their heart out for goodness sake! Yet, Hajime felt a bit shy which was uncharacteristic of him.

This was his soulmate though. Iwaizumi Hajime may be jumping on the gun here and was probably wrong but the inner hopeless romantic he denied that he had was desperately screaming at him that this was no coincidence.

The light music club president was singing the fucking song his soulmate was listening to and Hajime could still hear the song playing even just a tiny bit and the dark haired male could practically hear [Name]'s music on the headphones hanging lazily on his neck. And it was the same fucking song.

Clearing his throat. Hajime reminded himself to focus. He could tell [Name] about them both being soulmates after he delivered the box that he was asked to give.

"Tōrasu-sensei asked me to deliver this," Hajime had said as he finally looked at the other male and saw the [Hair color] haired male just noticed the box he was carrying. Hajime had to bite back the nerves coming back when he made brief eye contact with [Name].

Fuck, he had been waiting for this moment his whole life, so why did he feel so nervous?!?

Hajime didn't expect his soulmate to be so closer to him and be a male. Yes, the dark haired male knew the possibility of having the same sex soulmate as it wasn't a new thing really. In fact, having same sex partners are more common than what other people would think. Still, Hajime never expected this and he was having mix feelings about it.

"Oh," Hajime was dragged out of his thoughts again by [Name] with the male sporting a dumbfounded look for a second as his lips was in a "o" form. The [Hair color] haired male seemed to realized what he was here for and had flashed him a large smile. The dark haired male just noticed that [Name] actually had a few piercing in his ears and that he had really nice [Eye color] eyes that shined with energy.

"Thanks for delivering!" [Name] thanked as he carefully took the box from the dark haired male when Hajime was too busy looking at him. The [Hair color] haired male was a bit amused when he noticed Hajime blinked a couple of times when he took the box away from him. Looks like the volleyball player was lost in his thoughts.

"I had been waiting for this baby for awhile now," [Name] said as he patted the top of the box and sent Hajime a grateful smile. "So, thanks, really."

"No problem," Hajime shrugged as he nodded his head at the [Hair color] haired male. It seemed like the dark haired male was back and acting normal again. Not that [Name] would know really as he wasn't closed with the volleyball player.

"Not to be a bother but, what's inside the box?" Hajime had asked as he rubbed his hands, eying the box he just delivered. Hajime had his guesses earlier ago but he couldn't tell which of his guesses were correct really. The dark haired male noticed the male in front of him seemed to light up and beamed at him.

"Oh! It's supposed to be a surprise," [Name] had said. This caused Hajime to be more curious on what's inside the box, and [Name] seemed to actually be eager to tell as he sent Hajime a grin. "It's some stuff we'll be using in the school's festival next week!"

"Ah, is it some new instrument or something?" The volleyball player asked as he saw the light music club president chuckle while shaking his head. Hajime had to force himself to calm himself down when he saw the [Hair color] haired male sent him a wink with a cheeky grin on his lips.

"Now, I can't tell you about that!" [Name] had said with a laugh as he went to the nearest table and placed the box down. He then turned and gave Hajime another grateful smile. "It would ruin the surprise if I do."

"I see," Hajime muttered as he can't stop the small smile creeping onto his lips. "Then I'm sure it'll be a great surprise then!" Hajime said. The dark haired male didn't noticed how the [Hair color] haired male seemed to be a bit surprised with his words but he immediately grinned happily by Hajime's words.

"Oh, you bet!" [Name] said as he went back to stand in front of Hajime, holding his hand on to shake the dark haired male's hand. "Name's [Name] by the way! [Last name] [Name]!" He introduced.

"Iwaizumi Hajime," Hajime introduced himself aswell as he took the [Skin color] hand that [Name] outstretched for him to shake. A small smile on his lips as he shook hands with the light music club president.

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