#it’s not like a work of art or anything but i think it’s plenty alright lol

[tisajest]

Okay, so I think imma write a different story first.

Zombie!Regulus jegulily au is now postponed

Reincarnated!Jegulus (as in both of them have reincarnated, not necessarily that they’ll end up together again) au now has over 2,000 words of a first chapter written.

An unexpected turn of events but not an unwelcomed one.

The short of it is: Regulus reincarnated as Harry and James reincarnated as Ginny. Shenanigans aplenty!

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

headcanon: youre a new student at an MMA academy that the tf141 runs.

its just price in this one, but everyone will be present at a later point :))

the first time you walk into the gym, youre all wide eyed and nervous, the world of martial arts a part of your distant past. but with the state of the world you figured that some self defense classes were a necessity, lest you end up battered and bruised in an alleyway somewhere.

When you walk in, the gym is shockingly neat and clean, windows shining and floormats soft and new. you weren't exaxtly sure what to expect, but this was a pleasant surprise.

the prior class was finishing up, children running about and throwing punches at the punching bags scattered around the gym.

at the forefront was a man, broad shouldered and handsome...in a dilf-y sort of way (not that you were complaining!!) with a grin shockingly similar to a quokka, you thought to yourself with a small huff of laughter.

he must be the coach you had been in contact with for a bit to set up the trial class. John, you believe it was?

"ALRIGHT, first person to knock me over wins. You get two kicks each!" John calls out, his voice booming yet kind.

Laughter echoes throughout the gym as the children attempt to knock him down, but he remains still as a statue, evidence of the years of strength he gained.

A few minutes later the class finishes up, and you make your way over (a tad bit nervously) to introduce yourself.

"Hi! Um, I'm here for the trial class, I think I spoke to you over the phone?" you say, sticking out your hand for him to shake.

He smiles warmly, clasping your hand in his and giving it a firm shake.

'That's right, John Price, it's a pleasure. Welcome to Task Force Training Academy, I have a feeling you fit right in. Have you ever done anything like this?" he asks.

"Not...really? I mean, I did boxing for a few months last year but my skills are nothing to write home about. Taekwondo too, but that feels like a lifetime ago," you say with a nervouse chuckle.

"You chose the right class then, kickboxing combines a lot of skills from both of those disciplines," he says, clasping your shoulder in a friendly manner. "You did good," he says, and you feel yourself flush a bit.

"Th-thanks," you say, and wince at the stutter in your words, but John only smiles down at you.

"Do you have any hand wraps? Boxing gloves?" he asks, letting go of your shoulder. Somehow you already miss the warmth.

"I have hand wraps from boxing, but that's it," you say, shrugging.

"That won't be a problem, we have plenty of gloves you can borrow," he says, before you hear a bell ring out.

"Ah, class is starting. Just grab a jump rope for the five minute warm-up," he says, pointing toward the wall where a collection of jump ropes were before taking his place at the front of the room.

Grabbing one quickly, you hurry to an open spot and begin.

~

...5 minute feel like an eternity.

You're painting like a dog in the heat, your face warm with exertion as the timer finally finishes.

"Don't worry," John says with a deep chuckle. It was unfair how velvety smooth his voice was. "We'll get your endurance up in no time."

Somehow you feel your face heat up even further, and glance at anywhere but John's devastatingly blue eyes.

"I have no doubt," you murmur before rushing to put the jump rope back.

"Okay, we'll start out with partner work. Usually I would start with bag work but since we have a new member," he gestures toward you, and you wave awkwardly to the rest of the class, "I thought it might be best to return to the basics. Pair up, and we'll work on the basic punches first. Jab, cross, hook, et cetera. Go ahead," he says, before turning towards you.

"You, my dear, will be working with me. Let's see how much boxing stuck, hm?" he says. "Gloves are over there, grab a pair and we can begin."

"Yessir," you squeak, the prospect of training with the head coach a bit daunting.

"No need to be nervous," he says, nudging you lightly toward the shelves where the gloves were. "I just wanna get a grasp of how much you know, and what we need to work on, yeah?" he says with a kind smile, and you nod before grabbing a pair of gloves to use.

The one glove goes on without issue, but the other glove betrays you. The strap you struggle with, hand motions limited to crab movements as you try to grasp it enough to attach the velcro.

You hear John laugh lightly again as he watches you struggle before he grasps your hand in his, doing the strap for you.

"Thank you, coach," you say, and he hums in response, eyes seemingly lost in thought for a moment before refocusing on you.

"Let's begin, yeah?"

You nod in response, moving to a more centralized area of the gym. You move into the fighting stance you remember, and he nods approvingly.

"Good, that stance is what I like to see. Do you remember your jab?" he asks, and you hesitantly throw out a punch you recall being called a jab.

"There you go. Try adjusting your wrist to a vertical position rather than a twisting out. Its not incorrect, and I'm sure that's how you learned it, but," he explains, grabbing your gloved hand for a moment. "When your punch is horizontal, your wrist wants to take the majority of the impact. Instead, we want it vertically, so that the impact is distributed throughout the forearm all the way down to the elbow," he says, his fingertip barely ghosting down your arm, but it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

You nod, the heat in your face no longer just from exertion anymore. Adjusting your stance, he holds out the pad for you to hit again, and you listen to his advice.

A delighted grin splits his face at the impact.

"Atta girl, you listen well," he says, and you mutter out a "thanks".

Holy HELLS, the temperature in the room felt like it was rising by the second.

In your embarrassment, you fail to notice the slightly smug expression on John's face, your reactions priceless.

Recovering, you reset, glancing back up at him as he nods.

"Again."

a/n: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SHORT BLURB, RAHHHHH. i was supposed to stusy half an hour ago :/ anyway, this fic is purely because i had my trial class for kickboxing today lol, and is almost based entirely on true events :p (though yknow, the coach was not john price and flirting with me, :/)

ANYWAY, i might start a series of this...we'll see what happens :))

[ken-dom]

Currently thinking about Jacob Palmer x fem reader going through a dry spell becoming more and more desperate for anything that he is willing to do anything to go home with you he’d get down on his knees and beg if you asked

Sorry for taking a billion years anon! Hope you’re still thinking about it 😩 personally, I can’t resist this. This lends itself so perfectly to pathetic Jacob, and I’m a sucker for making them pathetic 😈

What Jacob considers a dry spell wouldn’t be a very long period of time at all. Imagine him going home alone a few nights in a row, having failed at picking someone up. Then it turns into a couple of weeks and he's sad and horny...

NSFW, gn!reader

It’s happened before, it does from time to time, especially at the quieter times of year when the bars aren’t filled with potential matches for him.

But it’s not quiet right now. The bars are bustling, and he’s had plenty of chances. He just hasn’t actually managed to impress a single person he’s tried to chat up for almost a week.

And when going home alone bleeds into the second week, he wonders if he’s lost his charm, or his skill or — whatever that perfect combination of elements is that he’s spent years perfecting and has down to a fine art. Or, he thought he did.

He gives the bars a miss for a couple of nights. Maybe he’s just burnt out? But even his sex toys are boring him now, and the ache between his thighs is becoming unbearable. But he doesn't bother even trying tonight.

Laid in bed, lazily stroking his throbbing cock for the third night in a row, he feels a tear trickle down his cheek.

Enough is enough. Is this what he’s been reduced to? A sad, sobbing mess, jerking off alone on a Friday night?

He can't have that.

And so an hour later, he’s marching into the bar, the one he always starts at, and strides right up to you.

‘Hey,’ he nods, eyeing you. ‘You were here last week. You turned me down, remember?’

This time, he’s taking a more direct approach. He doesn’t have time to waste if he's going to change his luck.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I want you to come home with me,’ he says, plain, and then a little more seductive, 'I... I haven't stopped thinking about you.' It's a lie and you both know it.

‘No, thanks.’

‘A-alright. May I ask why?’ He might as well try and figure it out at the source since he’s dragged himself all the way here.

‘I don’t do one night stands. Not my thing. You seem very…’ your eyes drag up and down his body and he notices the way your lip curls at one side, ‘nice, but, no, thank you.’

They rarely do until they meet me, he thinks, but instead he says, ‘What if we don’t call it that?’

He turns to the bartender and gestures something, and you guess he must come here a lot because the man not only recognises him but immediately begins work on mixing two drinks.

Unfortunately, he’s so hot your general rule of no one night stands suddenly seems a stupid guideline to have placed on yourself. You begin to wonder, what if?

‘What are we supposed to call it then?’ you ask, with a sigh of resignation and a curiosity that slips though just enough to set excitement bubbling in his gut. ‘You won't call me after. I'll never see you again. Or, if I do, you'll pretend you don't know me. What can we call that?’

‘An adventure? Having fun? Whatever you want,’ he says eagerly, leaning in to follow up with a whisper. ‘One thing I can guarantee.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘Orgasms like you’ve never experienced.’ His voice has dropped low, breath hot against your ear, and your core clenches.

You didn't realise one night stands cared about a single orgasm let alone the plural. Fuck. You want him.

‘But I don’t even know your-’

‘Jacob.’ Wow that was too fast.

‘Okay, Jacob. Let’s say I come home with you. Hypothetically. What then?’

He’s never had to play desperate before, but your response to it is making his blood run hot. For the first time in his adult life he’s not sure what to say, dazed by his bodies reaction to you. Is he playing desperate or just plain pathetic? His cock twitches and he grips the edge of the bar, not going unnoticed by you.

The cocktails he ordered are placed on the bar in front of you and you turn to take yours, delighted at the taste. He has good taste. You could tell that a mile off, but feeling it against your tongue hits different.

‘Oh, this is good!’ you exclaim, wondering why he hasn’t picked up his drink. When you turn back, ready to accept his invitation after all, he’s not there.

Well, he is there. Just not where you left him.

He’s knelt at your feet, gazing up at you, and suddenly you understand the true meaning of the phrase puppy dog eyes. And it makes your heart race. You suddenly feel the need to slam him against a wall, strip him bare and watch him tremble.

‘I’ll do whatever you want me too,’ he promises. ‘Give you whatever you need. Thats what’ll happen if you come home with me.’

‘Anything?’ you ask, knees turning weak at how utterly needy he looks down there.

‘Anything.’

‘Let me get my coat.’

[cobblestone-butch]

jus saw ur post ab sculptor etho muse joel, ik u got forcibly ejected from the writers room but if i make another writers room will u write it /hj

hey tysm! I ended up writing a little something so it will be below <3 this is mostly just Cleo helping Etho realise what might be going on with his struggles to sculpt. I hope people like and mostly that anyone who knows anything about art would write for it too (I know nothing!)

"So, first things first! Why do you want to learn to pose armour stands, Etho? Have you got a specific project in mind?"

There's an awkward pause.

"I only ask so I can get a good idea of what to focus on. It's just good if we start our work with something you're already interested in, right?"

She's never seen Etho look so... Nervous. Learning can be a vulnerable thing, sure, but Etho has never been shy with questions and comments and the unknown the way some people are. It feels wrong to turn to insults, light as they may be, to ease the attention - they're at a complete loss on what to do other than let him work through whatever he's feeling.

"Nothing, there's nothing... Specific I had in mind. It's... I tried sculpting."

"Okay that's good. That's great! What did you like about sculpting?"

"I didn't like sculpting."

Cleo laughs, a mix of confusion and genuine amusement, "Alright! So why do you want to learn 'armorstandography' then?"

Etho is still looking down, picking what she now suspects to be dried clay or quartz from his clothes. His shoulders drop a little from their previously hunched state though, which is a good sign.

"I just figured that maybe it would be easier. N-not that what you do is easy, I mean, you're clearly very skilled, and that's why I've asked you-"

"Etho, slow down, it's okay. I am perfectly assured in what I do and how much effort it takes. But still, I appreciate it."

"I thought maybe something with color would be more, familiar? I like vibrant colors and how they go together, and sculpting out of quartz is so... Lifeless."

Cleo shakes her head, "I won't teach you, Etho."

Etho snaps his head upwards, looking for some sign that it's some dry British humor he's missed. Cleo's face is even more stony than his recent attempts at sculpting.

"I won't teach you", they repeat, "Not for that reason. Color won't inject life into what you make, Etho. I won't teach you something that isn't true."

"Uh huh..."

"And besides, I don't think I believe you. I bet your sculptures have plenty of life in them." Cleo sees a frown pull on Etho's features, "Go on, prove me wrong."

---

Etho puts his hand on the door leading to his storage area. It's a big enough space for art projects, and it's nice to hear items sort themselves as he works, frustrated as he's been with the outcome of his endeavours recently. Cleo reads his hesitance immediately, and knows that Etho won't find comfort in their reassuring words. Here, at the doorway, she pushes past him.

She's drawn to her own face first. Sat on a block is her own head, looking back at her. She sees her own soft features, big eyes and strong nose. A dozen other faces around the room, and she can just about identify them as their friends. There's one off to the side, hidden enough to not drawn attention but not hidden too much, as if he's given himself plausible deniability for doing it. Etho's problem is not that his sculptures look lifeless. Etho's problem is denial.

It takes Cleo seconds to spot and minutes to confirm - there's only one sculpture amongst the collection that properly resembles the person it's modelled after. Every other head or bust has been affected by it, flawed in different ways but for the exact same reason. They all look a bit too much like Joel. It's in the furrow of her brow, the fierceness of Scar's smile, the curl of Doc's hair. Their eyes are all bright, smiles meeting them in genuine warmth, and Cleo can see even with just quartz how skilled Etho is at what he does.

Cleo isn't sure how aware Etho is that he's making them all in Joel's image, so they opt for asking something less direct, "What do you think the problem is? With these sculptures?"

"They're all... Wrong. I just can't get anyone right, and I'm not exactly going for artistic liberty."

Cleo laughs kindly, "That's not exactly true, is it? I can see one that's particularly uncanny."

"Uncanny valley?" Etho makes the joke before she can, but it's not what she was pitching for.

She walks over to and stands behind the sculpture of Joel. "I like this one. I've definitely seen this face before I've died a few times."

Etho laughs, and it stops the ever-shifting of his feet and the picking at his hands. He runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest at his neck as he rubs at it in slight shame. "He's, ah, a vicious one, Joel. He does this little huff thing, and it sounds like a tiger- he's always in some kind of mood and it's always so big, he can't do anything calmly or slowly, you've seen how quickly he builds, and, I just thought what's the most 'Joel' face I can think of? I remembered how he looked building that TNT cannon..."

Cleo lets him talk. It's nice, after all the awkward, to see him talk to openly about all the thoughts that went into the Joel sculpture. She can almost see what he means when he says the other attempts are lifeless; the animation in his voice when he talks about Joel makes everything else pale in comparison. She doesn't think he realises.

"Do you know what a muse is?" They ask after Etho has run himself out of steam, or perhaps noticed a conspicuous lack of interjection from Cleo, a usually very active listener.

"You mean like an inspiration?"

"Yeah! Well, sort of. In Greek mythology, the Muses were goddesses, and their domains included art of all kinds. And we've sort of derived meaning from that, so plenty of artists say they have muses that inspire them. And it helps them make art even if it's not always about them."

"Uh huh. So you think that I need to find my muse?"

"I think you already have, Etho." She looks down at the head between them, and Etho follows her gaze. Joel's eyes look back at him, intense and alive and challenging. He averts his gaze, something complicated settling over him - what they shared was so long ago, in a time and place so far from here. To feel the pull of that, it feels cosmic and mythical in a way Etho naturally rejects.

It's like Cleo can see through him, always. "It doesn't have to be complicated. It can be as simple as knowing someone well enough to capture a second of their likeness. That's what a lot of my armour stands do, they're just snapshots in time. Maybe you should just talk to Joel."

"Oh, I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"He'll be insufferable about it."

Cleo actually snorts at that. "Fine then, don't talk to him. Just make more excuses to send him mail and wait for an extrovert to bring you to his base to talk, or whatever it is that you guys do."

"You're not far off, Cleo."

"Oh, I know. I have to hear all about it."

"What?! The next time I see Scar..."

---

Joel stares back into his own eyes. The head was left at the gate to his base, like something the mafia might do as a threat. There was a single sign next to it: Feel free to alter or remove - Etho. It's incredible, seeing his likeness through someone else's eyes. He didn't know his hair was so fluffy, his smile so sharp. He picks up the head with a grunt (Bloomin' heck, is this thing solid quartz?!) and moves it somewhere it can be seen, before pulling a book from the chest under his mailbox and penning his sculptor a message.

[kvthgok]

Art Project | Miguel O’Hara x Child Spider Reader (Platonic Ofc)

Warnings- none

Summary- You needed help with your art project and  asked Miguel for help !

Side note- not proofread cuz I’m literally so lazy rn. But please feel free to send over some Ideas cuz I can’t think of any .Ik some of y’all got awesome Ideas that ur gate keeping🙁</3! I would gladly write them.😭🙏

“Didn’t I tell you to do it yesterday?” Miguel questioned.

Before I even did anything he said, “And don’t give me that look. I’ve got better things to do than babysit you and help you with your art project.”

“C’mon it’s due tomorrow and I really need help!” I begged .

“Why should I help you when you've been slacking off like this? I told you to do it yesterday, and you did nothing!”

“But like I was doing something with Gwen sand Hobie sooo..” I trailed off

“Excuses, excuses. I don’t care if you were doing something else. I gave you plenty of time to work on it, right? So you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Please” I said dragging out the “e” in please.

“Oh, no. Not even if you beg.” Miguel crossed his arms and frowned. “I'm not helping you. You're on your own. And you better get it done on time this time.” I brought out the puppy dog eyes. Miguel rolled his eyes. “Don’t try that puppy dog look with me. My answer is still no.” “C’mon!” I whined

“Did I stutter? I'm not helping you. End of discussion.”

“ It’s a art project about who you look up to!” I begged him again.

Miguel chuckled. “Oh, that’s a sweet, sentimental thing to choose for an art project. Still not helping you, though.”

“Just c’mon” I rolled my eyes

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” Miguel shook his head. “Why should I help you? I already tried to warn you before. The deadline has passed. I'm not giving you special treatment. You can get help from someone else.” 

“But everyone else is busy!” I whined

“Not my problem.” Miguel shrugged. “You should have planned better.” 

"Please Miggy” I said using his nickname while giving my puppy dog eyes. That had to work.

Miguel sighed. “You’re really giving me a hard time here. Fine, fine. I’ll help you but you have to owe me a favor, okay?”

I nodded, “Deal!” extending my pinky, “Pinky promise!” I smiled

He sighed again. “Okay. Pinky promise.” Miguel smiled and extended his pinky finger as well, wrapping it around mine.

Then we got started with the Art Project.

Miguel and I were now sitting together at a desk, working on the art project. I was relieved that he had agreed to help me after all "So, who is the person you look up to for this project?" Miguel asked. 

“You!” I looked up at him and smiled sweetly. 

"Me?" Miguel chuckled. "I appreciate the compliment, but are you sure you don't want to choose someone important like your mom, or your dad?"

“Nope”

"Alright, I guess I'm flattered, then." Miguel chuckled. "I'm curious, why do you look up to me?" I had started to tell him why.

“…and your always pushing me to make good decisions that I won’t regret in the future. Almost like another father figure” I added.

Miguel looked pleasantly surprised by my answer. "That's a very mature and kind thing to say, kiddo. I'm glad you view me that way." 

I paused for a moment and smiled. 

"It does touch me to know you think that way of me."

 I slowly nodded happily. 

Miguel and I worked on the project for a while longer. I was grateful to Miguel for helping me finish the project in time.

As I looked at the completed drawing we had created, I smiled and looked up at Miguel. "I'm so glad you helped me with this. I couldn't have done this without you."

Miguel smiled back.

“Your welcome kiddo”

[ghostboneswrites2]

Doe Eyes || Ch.1 - Woodbury

Overview: You (y/n) are taken captive by the Governor and recruited as one of his fiercest soldiers. As you slowly uncover the atrocities committed behind the walls of Woodbury and at the hands of the Governor himself, your already questionable loyalty begins to dwindle. When Woodbury falls, your only friend (a sassy, formerly rich farmer's daughter type named Brandy) decides to take the offer from the rival group to join them at their secure home in a prison. Despite your apprehensiveness -- and your preference to be out on your own -- you decide to tag along with your friend and seek refuge with Rick's group. You become a valuable, able-bodied asset to them, and that's when a certain crossbow slinging southerner becomes a part of your life.

Story begins in S3 and ends when Aaron finds the group to take them to Alexandria. It is mostly canon compliant. Lots of canonical dialogue. This story is finished. There is one OC: Brandy

18+ MDNI || Warnings: Story contains TWD typical violence, profanity, deaths of major and minor characters, gore, etc etc.

Chapter list

        "Well, so far, so good, except the dehydration. I'm going to give you these electrolyte powders. Drink them twice a day in a glass of water, and make sure to drink plenty more in between." The doctor lady told you, handing you six slender packets. "Someone will be in to show you around."

        With that, she walked out of the room and you just sat there, stunned. A doctor? In today's world? Where the hell were you? Maybe you were dead and this was some kind of strange DMT trip before your lights went out for good.

        The door opened and in walked a tall man with a fake smile. He was the type to work at a law firm or something. 

        "Good afternoon." He greeted cordially. "Name's Philip. Most people just call me Governor."

        "Governor?" You snorted. "Like 'ello gov-nah'?" You joked, mimicking a sad excuse for a British accent.

        "Funny." He chuckled, but something told you it wasn't actually that amusing. "Come on. I'll show you around, then I'll take you to where you'll be staying."

        "Staying? I don't know about that. I was doing alright on my own." 

        "Alright?" He considered your words for a moment, slowly pacing his way toward you. "Wouldn't you rather be doing well? Great, even? Just let me show you around, give you a place to stay for a day or two, and then if you still want to go, fine. We'll send you off, maybe give you some supplies to get you started."

        "What about my weapons?" You inquired. When they took you, you had a .38 and a crowbar. You'd become pretty efficient in the arts of melee since the world fell to shit.

        "Of course. You can have 'em, and we'll even give you a box of ammunition for that pretty piece of yours. It's nice, by the way. Where'd you get it?"

        "Oh, I got it when I got my first place on my own." You shrugged. "You know, wasn't in the best area and all."

        "Understandable." He nodded, showing off that eerily friendly grin of his. "Good thing you had it."

----

        "So, what do you think?" He asked. He'd just given you a quick tour of the town. Woodbury, he called it.

        "It's real cute. Never seen anything like it." You admitted.

        "No different than any other little town in the south." He chuckled.         

        "The walls, I mean." You clarified. "The armed guards. So many people. How'd you do it?"

        "Well, Rome wasn't built in a day." He shrugged, feigning humility.

        "It also wasn't built in a world infested with flesh-starved freaks." You retorted. His eyes narrowed. He was growing tired of your observations and the way you questioned everything. It threatened him, really. But he'd seen the way you fought out there. They'd been watching you for a few days, Philip and Merle and whatever goons they'd bring along for the day. They watched you fight two grown men off as they tried to raid your supplies and probably yourself. You took down the biters with ease, one swift blow to the side of the head, and another down on top. You were quick and sneaky. You made it look effortless. You had survival down to a science, which was either a threat or an asset. He hadn't decided. 

        He forced a smile that more closely resembled a sneer. 

        "I'm sure you've got loads of questions. You're a smart gal. However, I have some things that need attending, and you still haven't been shown to your place." 

        "What, like my own house?" You furrowed you eyebrows. He looked around.

        "You see any houses around here? C'mon, it's in here." He said as he led you inside the building you two had stopped in front of. It was a small apartment building it seemed, maybe twelve apartments total, if that. Yours was on the second floor. It was small, but it had everything anyone could need. "There's some food in the kitchen, and running water. Come find me if you need anything. Feel free to wander and make friends." 

----

        When you'd been at Woodbury for a few days, the Governor had cornered you, asking you to make a decision, because anyone who stayed had a job to do, and if you were going to leave, it needed to be soon so not to use up any more valuable supplies. You told him you'd stay, but he seemed skeptical all of a sudden, asking what value you had to offer. Of course, you told him about the only skill you had in this new world. You were a fighter. He seemed to like that response. He assigned you to the wall at first, then he started bringing you on runs.

        That was weeks ago. Just recently you guys brought in two women, Michonne and Andrea. They made it clear they weren't sticking around, so the Governor gave them the same offer he gave you; chill out for a few days then be on their way.

        Andrea eventually decided to stay but Michonne wanted no part of it. Thing was, Philip never intended on letting them leave alive. You and Merle were tasked with killing her. She got away from Merle, and you let her. The two of you had decided to just tell him she was dead and be done with it. Not like she had much of a chance up against their paramilitary militia anyways. That was when you truly lost any trust for Woodbury. The benevolent ruler façade was already less than believable, and the hit on Michonne did nothing but prove your suspicions. 

        Really, the only  upside to any of this was that for the first time since everyone you knew was eaten alive -- or doing the eating -- you made a friend. Brandy was a tan, dirty blonde, supermodel of a woman. She grew up on a very profitable farm. A plantation, really. She was your typical southern belle, or as she would call it, a 'Georgia Peach.' She was sassy and classy and everything in between. She was probably the only person in the world that still wore mascara and lip gloss and carried a purse. You were drinking with her at her place that night.

        "So, what did you do, anyways? Before all this?" She asked, pouring another glass of wine. 

        "Honestly?" You giggled. "I was a clerk at a pawnshop."

        "Wow, a real classy place, I bet." She joked. You rolled your eyes. 

        "Oh, yeah. The tweakers trying to pawn their decade old VHS players for a sack was real classy."

        "I didn't have a job." She admitted as she poured you a glass. "Daddy pretty much gave me whatever. Paid for my college classes." She lamented. "I had a real good life."

        "That's good." You smiled. "Mine wasn't so bad, but I definitely lacked in the rich dad department."

        "Yeah, well, I'm sure you got a lot more life experience than I could ever dream of. I used to wish I could just live like a normal girl sometimes. Life with a silver spoon ain't all it's cracked up to be, you know?"

        "Oh, yeah. I'm sure that was real tough." You snorted.

        "Only when I wanted a boyfriend who wasn't studying to be a doctor or a lawyer." She giggled. "Or that one time they caught me smokin' pot with my friends in high school."

        "Pot?" You raised your eyebrows. "My, my. A rebel, I see."

        "Something like that, yeah." She nodded.

        "Got any pot now?" You wondered. She laughed.

        "No but if you find any, let me know." 

        "So, what's up around here?" You asked, breaking away from the casual banter. She gave you a confused look. "I mean, like, how come nobody gets to leave this place?"

        "Why would anyone want to?" She scoffed. When she realized you were serious, her smiled dropped. "What do you mean? We're free to go whenever we want. Nobody ever wants to, though."

        "I don't know about that." You mumbled.

        "What are you on about?" She asked warily.

        "Look, you cant tell anyone." You said, growing more serious as you leaned forward on the table where she sat across from you. "That girl Michonne, she left. Governor sent me and Merle after her."

        "What, to bring her back? I thought you said nobody gets to leave?" Brandy tilted her head.

        "That's what I'm saying. He sent us to kill her." You whispered.

        "You killed her?" She gasped.

        "No no no no!" You shook your head and waved your hands. "She got away and I let her."

        "Well why the hell would he send y'all after her? What did she do?"

        "Nothing, man." You shook your head. "Not a damn thing. She just didn't want to stay. I don't get it."

[sonufabitchhhhh]

Metal Family - Dee x Reader

Your Secret’s Out and the Best Part is it isn’t Even a Good One

-

Summary (Request 1): HEY UH CAN U WRITE A DEE FANFIC WITH A S/O THAT CAN DRAW REALLT GOOD AND ONE DAY SHE LEAVES HER SKETCHBOOK AT DEES HOUSE AND HE SEES THAT THERES PICTURES OF HIM IN IT? - @ilovesillycats

(Request 2): maybe dee takes y/n somewhere, like maybe to a park and asks her on a date! >:3 - @katdragon1915

Masterlist

-

Y/n and Dee were practically inseparable. Everyone knew this; it was hard not to know this when they're always by each other's side.

They had plenty in common, and y/n's sweet nature naturally balanced out Dee's sarcasm.

However, while Dee was more the brains, y/n was more the artist. Dee would help y/n with homework and assignments when they'd study together, but though she always had it with her, he was never allowed to see her sketchbook.

Dee had seen some of y/n's art, when she'd been sketching random pieces in the art rooms at school for example. But she was very protective over most of her work. If ever he saw she was sketching, Dee would always try to sneak a peek. If she didn't move, or gave him more space to look, that was his permission, but if she held her work closer, Dee knew to back off.

The only thing Dee couldn't understand was why she wouldn't let him see most of her work. He'd seen some of her pieces, why couldn't he see the others. He knew her art was brilliant, he always made sure to compliment her on her skills. So why?

-

"What are you drawing?" Dee asked mindlessly, as y/n drew in her sketchbook next to him while they hung out at his place.

They're time together would often go like this: the two listening to music on Dee's bed, while they chatted about anything and everything, and y/n would draw her secretive artwork.

"That's for me to know, and you to inconclusively wonder about." Y/n replied with a smile, knowing it was killing him to find out.

"Uggghhh! C'mon y/n! You know I love your work, there's nothing you could show me that I wouldn't like."

"Who said you liking it is the problem?" Y/n paused her movements to stare at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"Then why can't I see?" Dee propped himself up a bit more, thinking he was closing in on an answer.

"Well... that's for me to know, and you-"

"Alright! I get it!" Dee huffed while y/n laughed musically.

The two went back to their mindless conversation until y/n had to leave.

-

It was late in the evening, long after y/n had left, when Dee saw it. Y/n's sketchbook. She had taken her case of pencils, but she must've forgotten to take the sketchbook along with it.

Dee had spent the better part of an hour after this discovery, trying to decide whether to look through it or not.

He was desperate to know what was in there, but was it worth violating her privacy? Then again, she would never have to know. But he wants her to show him her work, willingly. He wants to watch her explain each line, and feature to him like she has with so many other works. But if she never knows about him looking through it, there's still time for that...

With that final thought, he cracked the book open slightly, the worn cover, and untethering spine holding together so many pages. With just the smallest amount open, he could see smudges of pencil around the edges of the pages from where she'd shaded drawings and gotten pencil on her hands, later to rub off on the outer edges of the page.

With a deep breath, he fully opened the book to a random page. He had no idea what to say to what he was met with.

A beautifully drawn picture of himself was sitting on the page. He had no idea when it was from, but he was looking off somewhere, smiling sincerely. He must've been with her at the time to be smiling so pleasantly.

The way she'd drawn him, each line, each gradient, perfectly brought out his best features. He liked the way he looked in this drawing better than he'd ever liked the look of himself in any mirror or photo.

He somewhat reluctantly turned the page, but was pleasantly surprised when he saw another drawing of himself, somehow even better than the last.

Dee flipped through pages for a long time, taking the care to admire the ever present skill in each sketch.

After a while, he came to a drawing and realised that it was of him today, as he had sat on his bed next to y/n, like so many other of the drawings, yet still different. Sure enough, there was no drawing on the next page. So this is what she had been drawing this whole time. Why she wouldn't let him see. Was she embarrassed? Did this make him her muse? Either way, all he wanted to do was tell her he loved each and every piece, for they truly reflected her skill, and brought out a beauty in him that he thought he wouldn't ever be able to see in anything other than her art. He doesn't understand how she's able to see it and capture it.

But he knows he can't tell her what he saw. It would only prove that he betrayed her trust and looked through the art she was so protective of. But would it be worth it to assure her it's ok?

-

The next day y/n and Dee went to the local park, which was pretty dead, as per usual. Dee had insisted on going somewhere different for a change.

The two had been sitting at the swings, talking for a while. It was peaceful. But Dee seemed... skittish.

"Hey Dee?" Y/n asked sweetly. With an indicating hum as response, she continued. "Are you alright? You seem a little on edge today."

A momentary look of inner turmoil crossed his face, but was gone before y/n could process, leaving her wondering if she'd truly seen it. "I'm fine. I almost forgot, you, uh.. left this at my place yesterday." Dee stated plainly while handing over her sketchbook from his bag.

"Oh my god, I didn't even notice it was gone!" Y/n had a look of horror on her face, as if she'd abandoned a dear friend and they were scowling at her for it. "I wasn't going to bring it with me today 'cause I didn't think there'd be much space to draw in the park."

Y/n cradled the sketchbook close to her chest and smiled at Dee gratefully. Dee loved that smile. Maybe she should forget her belongings more often.

"Anyway, there was something I wanted to-" Dee began speaking, with an air of nervousness around him, but was abruptly interrupted by y/n.

"Wait!" Y/n spoke with dread in her tone. "Did you... did you look in my sketchbook?"

Dee saw the look of pure fear on her face, and his heart melted at the thought of her being so afraid of him seeing her art. It was so beautiful, how could she be so scared of him seeing it?

He debated lying for a moment, to preserve her feelings and give her the chance to show him her work in her own time. But then he thought enough is enough. She was going to hear acceptance from him whether she liked it or not.

With a deep breath and an attempt at a calm demeanour, Dee addressed her concerns. "I did look in your sketchbook," he began, and hurriedly continued at the flash of concern on her face, "but I thought your drawings were incredible!"

Y/n took a moment to reply. Was he lying to make her feel better? Was he secretly creeped out at all the drawings of him?

"But what about all of the drawings of... we'll, of you?" Y/n asked fearfully. "Aren't you.. freaked out that I drew so many?"

"Of course not!" Dee reassured.

Dee wasn't really the type to say sweet affirmations, or even to just be generally nice, but y/n was always an exception. He would say all the nice things in the world about y/n.

"I loved every drawing in that book. You're so, so talented, and the only thing that surprised me was the fact that you wanted to draw me!" Dee blushed slightly at that, wondering (hoping) that maybe she liked staring at his features. Maybe she liked drawing him because she thought he was worthy of being her art. Maybe she liked him too.

"Well of course I want to draw you, Dee." Y/n blushed a cute shade of pink, and smiled sweetly. "You're so pretty Dee, and honestly, I could simply never get sick of drawing you. Especially when you smile." Dee blushed scarlet at her words, at a loss for what to say to such a genuine compliment.

A moment of silence passed between them, neither knowing what to say.

"Y/n?"

Y/n hummed slightly in reply, anticipation rising for what he would say.

"Would you, maybe, I dunno, want to... go out some time? With me?" Dee asked, a nervous wreck.

With her wits slightly returning at the confirmation that Dee actually liked her back, y/n officially decided to be a smartass. "Isn't that kind of what we're doing?"

"Oh you know what I mean!" Dee huffed with a dramatic groan, blushing endlessly at her decision to tease him.

Y/n smiled like an idiot. "I'd love to, Dee."

-

A/N: omg I'm so ridiculously sorry for how long it's been! Especially since it's been literally forever since I received those requests! I've had serious writers block recently, especially for Dee cos I've been thinking about other fandoms, but I'm back! And I'm hoping I can try and get more fics out, or at the very least start a few. Again, super sorry! Hope you all enjoyed, please let me know any feedback or requests!

Hope you have a great day/night,

~ SonofaBeach

[madmanrambler]

“So walk me through everything I missed. It seems like it was a lot.”

“What, Everything? It’s 85 bloody years, there’s a lot to cover. And me without a degree in history.”

“Alright then, summarize. I can research whatever you mention that seems particularly interesting.”

I shifted to better watch Corv as he spoke, listening through ears that still felt chilly from 85 years frozen. Corv, one of my rescuers, shifted in his own spot, his diminutive form finding a comfortable seat. He glanced at me before starting in to the history.

“Let’s see, you went under in the 2020s you said, right? So you at least have an idea that climate change was getting bad. That was most of the 30′s and 40′s, handling that in various ways. Mostly bad ways. Lotta border skirmishes, plenty of fighting and arguing about bits of this and that. Big cold war between Canada and China about shipping lanes that opened up in the Artic, which was a miserable bloody time.” this at least all made sense, and I was nodding along.

“in the 50s things came to a bit of a head. Most of the ice that was going to melt melted, and the weather patterns were stabilizing. the countries and people left were figuring out how to handle the Sahara being able to grow plants and the American Midwest becoming a desert. We got some peace makers out of South America, and you’ll probably find some interestin’ stuff about indonesia and how its government in exile set an example for island nations and how to handle the shift in tides. Always found some of that stuff fascinating, you can look up Melati Hon and her speeches on the new world, great stuff.” Corv seemed excited about that part, really animated and I could see his eyes gleaming. Really might be something worth reading, and seeing what I thought afterwards. He reluctantly plowed on. “the 60s people kinda lost their mind, great art from the period but a lot of folks were recovering from being kids during the greatest ecological disaster. The 70s there’s big move of standardizing everything, making sure that plugs fit all over the world and all the measuring equipment can measure the same. Parts of America still insist on using standard but that’s more a local custom then a nation-wide standard at this point. the 80′s had a lot of discussion about the moon base, I think there was a big scare around a country grabbing it for themselves and a space war or something erupting over that, it was agreed to be a joint venture with every nation able to send people up, averted a lot of problems. The 90s are close enough I can remember ‘em, and there’s a ton you could focus on but overall it’s all about how to handle us living with these new batteries we’ve got, the Phazolyte batteries.”  This wasn’t exactly what I wanted to focus on, but Corv seemed to think it was important so I nodded and tossed in what I knew. “They’re batteries that mix with water to charge right?”

He coughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I guess that’d be the second grader explanation. They mix phazolyte with water, and phazolyte causes water to be willing to compress as much as you push it, something it doesn’t want to do at all normally. S’why jumping off a bridge into water is like hitting concrete, all the force rebounds back into your body. With Phazolyte we get to store as much energy as we can compress into the water, then you just remove the Phazolyte and the water uncompresses, pushes against something, makes the electricity. And the Phazolyte, once removed, is good to use again, doesn’t lose anything in the process. It’s dead useful, and the last 15 years has been plugging that into everything and getting the supply chain worked out.” Corv coughed again, and glanced around. “That should cover the basics. Sorry we don’t have flying cars or nothing like that, I know you folks were keen on that.”

I stared at Corv for a long while. “Corv, that’s great. I’m glad you covered all the uh. The battery stuff. But.” I hesitated, glancing from him to the window to the chair he was sitting in. “You uh. Skipped the part about you.” Corv shifted in his seat again, glancing away from me. “Well it really isn’t all that important, it’s just part of the world really. I’m a British citizen, we still say god save the queen, we keep playing football-” “That seems like it’d be a bit hard for you to play.” I interrupt, glancing at how small Corv was. “I mean, Corv, you didn’t mention a damn thing about when birds started talking.” Corv looked what I thought was askance. “Well you did ask me to summarize.” He reminded me as his beak preened his feathers. “If I summarize I gotta skip the things that are less important. That’s how summarizing history goes.”

[animehouse-moe]

Undead Unluck Episode 6: Spoil

David pro might not be perfect, and the CGI might be arguably even more clunky than what Zom 100 is working with. But you have to admit, there's a lot of charm in this episode. There's also a lot of information, so plenty for me to talk about!

I'll get it out of the way first, I love how Yase and co are approaching the framing in UU. Wide shots that tend to place character and focus on the bottom or top third is very very fun, and they love playing around with those ideas to create interestingly spaced shots. It can be seen as a bold decision, but I think it's a really important one as it plays into the visual identity of the series while staving off boredom during exposition.

The art in general is just so damn bold. It really goes all out with what it has, and effectively considers the thought of "what is the most that I can do in this moment?", and it delivers incredible pieces.

Though I think the real icing on the cake is the first reveal for Spoil. Not the one that happens at the end of the episode, but the one that happens through the secondhand account of Union investigators, relayed to Fuuko and everyone.

It's just incredibly good, and proves you don't need scary imagery or jumpscares to really provide a sense of discomfort and unease. Really really great work that doesn't use zombies or Spoil as a crutch to express anything about the UMA, and plays directly into the best vehicle for horror: the imagination.

Alright, last piece about visuals, and it's David's 2D smoke. My god I love it, I can't fathom why other studios put their smoke through so many visual effects when you can produce incredible works like this. Getting to see how the smoke moves, it's just such an impressive feat of animation that so often gets overshadowed by composition and other visual effects.

Anyways, onto the story! There's a lot of really really interesting ideas that I'd love to explore here.

First of all, why was only a single corpse appearing in New York City? Obviously, some of them can have a will like the woman in this episode, but how on earth do you get from wherever Longing is to New York City without being spotted? Personally, I feel like it has something to do with Spoil, but I have no idea what the objective would be in placing a rotten corpse in NYC, when Spoil's ability is denoted to be a continuous activation ability within a set range. Not quite adding up, so I'm very curious to find out the reasoning behind its appearance.

Next up is Victhor, as Shen says. Gena was (as far as we know) the oldest of the Union members that are currently active and/or alive, but Mr. Know-It-All could also have been the source of that information. Regardless, Shen was told by someone at the Union about Andy's past, which insinuates the fact that Andy is repressing either that past, or a personality via the shard in his head. Considering the content of the ending, it's rather clear cut that his past was traumatic and something that he's fleeing from, so I'm very interested to learn more about these two Undead's that have been displayed.

And Shen just keeps layering on the explanations.

Shen calls UMAs "the very Rules themselves" which is interesting as it closes the rift between the idea of Rules and UMAs. Which makes building an image of the world leading up to this moment that much harder. Juiz references "Rules" in a separate context to how Shen explains them here, dropping the "UMA" association within her explanation to Fuuko in the prior episode.

Because of that, I'm not entirely certain that Rules and UMAs are one in the same, but it's hard to find the correct separation due to Shen's words. Do these Rules always exist, and UMAs are more like direct enforcers of those rules? It means that UMAs stem directly from whatever God exists, regardless. They are not a happenstance or byproduct of Rule in any capacity, like Negators might be. Though, at the same time, the idea behind the quests begs the question: where do negators come from?

They are a separate class from UMAs which "enforce" rules while Negators break them. They are also humans in comparison to, well, "angels" as the episode so eloquently references them. Having that imagery, and understanding that a god exists makes me think that there's multiple, or it's a case of betrayal or whatnot where one entity sides with humanity and the other is against it. The question is why that would happen in the first place, and how these entities settled on, or even agreed, to this concept of quests and Rules.

But that's a discussion for another time, let's talk about the little bit that a group of kids gives us!

All these children have much larger timers than what Andy and the others have, but why?

Furthermore, that many seconds (or about 2.5 hours) is far too short for the children to have survived on. So, do kids just get a longer timer from Spoil? That can't be it, because the children's ability to last for at least a full day would mean that Spoil's ability is entirely unbalanced. Alongside that, it can't be that Spoil assigns a different timer based on age, because we're shown a child in the crowd of zombies during the episode.

It also can't be because they're underground, as both Fuuko and Shen start with a 1,000 second timer. So it's something intrinsic to people, not necessarily children.

So, for the sake of argument, let's assume that every living entity is given a timer of 1,000 seconds before they spoil. How then, are you able to increase that timer, and what is it about these children that is different from the rest?

Well, the largest thing is that they're completely isolated from the rest of the zombies. But space from the zombies and Spoil itself wouldn't be effective, as I've already explained above.

You might argue that the children could move back and forth between the edge of Spoil's range, but that would still just incur a 1,000 second timer, and we don't even have a guarantee that exiting the range will prevent the spoiling or the countdown.

To that end, I might have just answered my own question about the rotten corpse in NYC. That corpse may have been the first to appear from Spoil, but exited Longing before his timer went off. That would mean that the timer was still incurred, as would be implied by the idea of a "curse", but would also mean that adults would be able to increase their timer through some method.

So it can't be something entirely exclusive to children if we open it up to that idea.

Everybody would be aware of their timer when it appears, but the question is whether or not they're aware of what it is. Does awareness of what the countdown implies change how it works? Did Spoil tell people what was happening when he first appeared in the town? Thanks to the woman Andy marries, we know that zombies understand what Spoil is and where he might be.

I'd argue that you might be able to explain that thanks to their "connection" to Spoil, but Andy doesn't get that information once he begins to spoil. That means that the woman knew what Spoil was prior to her zombification, but I have no way of knowing if that's the case for everyone else.

But, for the sake of this theory that's gone on far too long, let's make some bold assumptions. Spoil appears in town and announces that they're going to turn people into zombies. Panic ensues. People attempt to flee, children get stuffed in underground tunnels. A survey group appears and engages in a hopeless rally against Spoil's ability.....

I think that's it. The survey group did not take 1000 seconds to spoil like Andy did, but they would have had a timer for 1000 seconds all the same. Now, an even crazier assumption is that the zombies didn't kill that survey team (as we have no visual proof, nor do we see any zombies attempt to directly harm the group in this episode), which means they expired far faster than 1,000 seconds.

This means one of two things. Spoil can directly spoil someone in an instant, or the timer can also decrease. If the timer can also decrease, it continues down that rabbit hole of psychological interference.

And at that point, I would say the answer is hope. Hope that whoever stuffed the kids in the underground will return to save them. Or a lack of hope that as you see the people around you start to spoil, that you'll spoil as well. Or, hope that you got away from the zombie apocalypse, but then the hopelessness of that timer continuing to count down no matter how far away you flee.

Now, I can sit here and brag that I made some crazy theory, but I'd be pretty shocked if it comes out to be true. There's quite a few assumptions in this crazy rambling, and just as many black boxes to deal with. But, at the end of it, I think it's a pretty good attempt at explaining why timers can change.

Anyways, one last bit! The Rule vessels, as Spoil explains it.

Claiming that Negators are Rule vessels puts them in very interesting territory. My first question to this idea is, how can a rule vessel and a UMA exist at the same time? We have Unburn the negator, but also Burn the UMA. Are they symbiotic? But then, wouldn't that be the case for any negator out there? Could Andy's nature as the undead vessel be the root cause of the potential for a split personality?

I don't think it likely, but Unburn and Burn is the only example of both a Negator and UMA existing in this world at the same time, so I really want to see how that works, as it entirely shapes the concept of rules and negators.

Because you'd think that a rule must exist for a negator to exist, but that would imply the existence of a great many more UMAs that we as readers do not know about. It could be that they're locked up and in containment with Union, or that they're pacifists or non-sentient rules, but as far as we know, any UMAs that Union has subjugated or neutralized have been hostile ones towards humans (as they are expected to be, given their role), and there are countless UMAs that exist where we don't have any awareness or understanding of the existence of their Negator. So, not a whole lot to add to this idea (mostly because I already used all my brain power on the other theory), other than the fact that I really need to see what goes on with Unburn and Burn.

So yeah, a whole hell of a lot of writing, but overall a really great episode. I could spend all day picking apart this series, really.

[thezombieprostitute]

Alphas & Algorithms - Part 7 - Feelings

A/N: Continued from Part 6 . Reader is female and is described as "tall". No other descriptors.

Warnings: It is a Dystopian AU. Food scarcity, hunger, mentions of families being separated. Discussion of non-consensual relationships and unwanted pregnancy. Bullying. Please let me know if I missed any!

--Part 1-- --Part 8--

--Series Masterlist--

If there was one good thing Curtis could say about his work it’s that it gives him plenty of time and space to think. And there was much to think about. They’ve started working with the pups to get them used to the fact that he’s leaving. He knows he’s out of his depth in all of this, but he trusts his brother. His brother who still knew the hand signals from all those years ago. His brother who’s apparently been trying to hook him up with Omegas for years. 

He was so lost in thought he didn’t notice Hobie until he was practically in front of him.

“Oi, Curtis! How you gettin’ on with that pet? Meetin’ some interesting people from what I’ve ‘eard.”

“What do you want, Hobie? I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, figured you would. Got until the security drone comes by. Ask me somefin’.”

“How much does she know?”

“Dunno,” Hobie shrugs his shoulders. “Jus’ know she knows more than she says.”

Curtis sighs at the unhelpful answer and decides to not waste time arguing. “What’s Stevie’s, Steve’s, role in all of this?”

“Couple o’ Betas on the inside are ‘elpin’ with access. Sometimes even sabotage of the Omegas. Dunno th’ specifics, don’t need to.”

“Access?”

Hobie grins, “that’s a bit much to explain for the time you got.”

Curtis nods in acquiescence, “is her Beta in on everything?”

“Yup. It’s how we know she’s not sayin’ everything she smells.” Hobie looks around, “one last question, bruv.”

“Are you sure this plan will work?”

Hobie looked Curtis in the eyes, “enough that I put my life on the line for it.”

“It isn’t just your life at risk, though.”

Hobie smiles, “th’ way we’ve got everythin’ set up, me an’ maybe two others take the fall. No one else. Definitely no one in your Pack.” 

With that, Hobie runs off, giving Curtis a few seconds to get back to work before the security drone shows up. 

“Jake,” Y/N yells from the kitchen. “How did the date with Hope go?”

“It went alright,” he shrugged. Y/N could smell disappointment, which for Jake smelled like rain on a summer day when you’re supposed to be outside. Then she picked up the other scent, curry and warm, strong beer. A distinctive combination that made her think of overly crowded, chaotic art fairs: everyone freely expressing whatever and however they wanted. It was a scent that made her uncomfortable just thinking about the overstimulation. 

“Do you want some cookies or something to cheer you up?”

Jake chuckled, “can’t hide anything from you, huh?” Y/N smiled gently and shook her head. “Okay, the date didn’t go well. Turns out there were some serious differences of opinion but I’m hopeful they’re not deal-breakers, you know?”

Y/N hugs him, “I know.” The hug makes the scent of curry and warm beer stronger. It’s the same scent she’s smelled on people proven to be plotting against the AI. She worries for Jake, knows he’s lying about some things, but she trusts him. He’d never lie without reason and she’d be the last to speak up about the connecting scent. As her mother said, “just because you smell something doesn’t mean you have to say something.” 

“How did your date go? Did he say “yes” yet? Do I get my death-by-chocolate cake?”

“Not yet,” she shook her head as she smiled. “Today’s date got a bit off track when I saw Mr. Castle in the gym.”

Jake’s face fell, “oh damn. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay. Steve came by and picked up her tea so I didn’t have to take Curtis on that delivery. Pretty sure his opinions on Omegas wasn’t helped by our encounter with Colin and Suzanne at the community center.” Jake gave an appreciative grimace while Y/N continued, “then again, I definitely felt Curtis’s drive to protect me through the temporary bond. It was really sweet.”

“Ooo! Intriguing! I’m definitely going to get my cake and eat it too!”

Y/N smiles, “he’s also asked to meet you.” 

Jake stops and looks at her, “are you okay with that? You know both of us best. If you think it’ll be okay, I’m good to meet him.”

“He said that, since you’re the closest thing I have to a Pack, it would feel weird to not meet you. And, between the two of you, I really don’t think there’s any reason for animosity. He doesn’t seem the jealous type and you’re the supportive, not confrontational type, so I think it’ll be okay.”

“I promise to do whatever it takes to make everything super awkward!”

“You’re lucky I know you’re joking,” Y/N rolls her eyes. “I’m genuinely hoping, if you two do get along, and he does eventually agree to be my Alpha, that you’ll give him some…help? Guidance? With my in-heat care. Especially with the foods and scents.”

“Oh it’s definitely getting serious,” Jake smiles. “If you want me to share my secret family recipes, it’s gotta be a sealed deal.”

Y/N’s face heats up and she looks down, still smiling. Jake’s eyes go wide, “you really like him, don’t you?”

She nods, “he’s living up to the promise in his scent. He’s warm, smart, makes me feel safe and comfortable. I…I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of "want" for intimacy.”

Jake takes her hands, “I’m so happy for you! Can’t wait for you two to make it official.”

When Curtis gets home, the pups immediately rush him. Timmy and Andy grab his hands and lead him to the table while Yona gives him a serious face and says, “we need to talk.” They all sit at the table to eat but the pups are asking him questions between bites.

“Is it true that we’re moving?”

“Still ironing out the details,” Curtis says. “But I think Andrew, Tonya and I are agreed that everyone’s moving.” The adults nod.

“Why are we moving?”

Curtis sighs and thinks before answering, “because that’s how things go. Life requires us to make changes from time to time and that time for us is now.” Timmy and Yona seem okay with the answer but Andy looks to Andrew for confirmation first.

“Are you going to move with us?”

“Maybe for a little bit,” Curtis hesitates. “But, ultimately, I’ll be moving in with that Omega who’s been courting me.”

“Is it because we ate her cookies? Do we owe her for that?”

“No, not at all,” Curtis quickly asserts. “Not one bit of this is because of you. And those cookies were freely given.”

“Do you love her?”

Curtis pauses at that question. He’s been so busy thinking about his brother, his Pack, the pups, he hasn’t really thought about his actual feelings about her. The temporary bond is almost completely gone but it could still be coloring his feelings so he chooses his words carefully.

“I don’t know that it’s love, but I do know that I trust her. I feel comfortable around her. She’s honest, strong, caring, comforting, smart. She’s definitely changed my perspective on Omegas.” He stops when he hears the pups giggling and gives them a confused look.

“You were smiling,” Timmy giggled. “You do like her! You don’t smile for anyone you don’t like!” 

“Thats…Okay, you’re right. I’m not much of a smiler.”

“Curtis is in love!” the kids chant for a bit while Tanya and Andrew are trying not to laugh. The teasing continues well into the night, well after they should all be asleep, but Curtis doesn’t push it. He wants to enjoy these moments while he can.

--Part 8--

Tagging @every-username-is-taken-damnit, per request.

[justhere4kpop]

~Beautiful Stranger~

Pairing: Yunho x Reader. (The guys are involved at some point too but not romantically.) NonIdol! AU

Description: A lonely perpetually single grad student working at a museum is approached by a handsome man, he looks expensive. Maybe this is your chance to get swept off your feet. Maybe he wants something else.

Warnings: I don't censor myself so I don't censor the characters, so Language warning. Let me know if I missed anything.

taglist: @legohwa, @hwaightme

a/n: Okay! I was originally going to make this a one-shot but I think I have too much storyline in my head to make it that way so Surprise! Series time! I'm really excited about this one so please let me know what you guys think, I'm having so much fun writing it already.

Also yes the Teaser is included at the beginning of the chapter, I added some stuff to it so I just put it in.

w/c: 4258

Chapter One: Handsome Stranger

The blaring sound of my morning alarm disturbs the dreams of a man sweeping me off my feet, his voice no longer sweet as honey but now Kick It by NCT 127. I guess I’m getting introduced to some New Thangs today  So it was going to be that kind of day, no school but long hours at work as a gallery attendant but also archivist in training, the latter being an unpaid internship…of course. Yeah, long day. I got up, finally silencing my alarm and pulling myself out of my full sized bed, the only luxury I could afford on my own, to drag myself down the hallway to our shared bathroom and brush my teeth. Let’s hope I’m awake enough to remember not to drink Orange Juice again as I look for breakfast. Now how long until I have to catch my train? And if I miss it how long until the bus? It’s not a terrible walk but I need to eat. Maybe I can get to Uni from here. Why does London have to be so confusing!

I’m not originally from the UK but my parents moved back and forth for a variety of things while I was growing up so it’s like a second home. I came here for my graduate program in Art History and made a few friends…moved in with them and now there’s 5 people in an apartment made for 3. We all go to University College London and live off campus in the cheapest place we could find. I was fortunate enough to get a job and internship at The National Gallery here. I’m lucky and I can pay rent but that’s about it, I’m by no means well off and trust me I could use a few extra of any sort of money. 

“You’re up early y/n” William, my flatmate’s boyfriend said passing by the open door.

“Work.” was all I mumbled as I head back to my room to pick out my outfit for the day. I stayed up writing this stupid research paper all night and what do I have to show for it…the not so designer bags under my eyes. Most days are filled with a plethora of alarms going off around the same time, lucky for my flatmates, I’m the only one with work today I guess. Alright, which combination of suit pants, blouse, and jacket am I going to wear today…All Black? All Black. I finished setting everything out before heading downstairs to eat just in case I got something on my shirt again. Last time I decided to make this beautiful breakfast sandwich with a runny egg and it broke onto the bright pink blouse I had picked for the day on the tube going to work, my boss was not happy about the spill. Did I cry, yeah…hey the saying is crying over spilt milk not spilt eggs.

“Oh hi y/n!” my other flatmate's girlfriend Emma cheerily said. “I’m just making Becks some breakfast do you want any?”

“Sure Ems…thanks.” I nodded. If I didn’t have to cook I wasn’t going to complain. Oh that’s the other thing you should know, I’m the only one single in this apartment anymore…or flat. Whatever you want to call it. 

The two sleeping while their partners roam around are my best friends for 2 years, Becka (Rebecca) and Liz (Elizabeth), I only use their full names when I’m angry at them, there have been plenty of arguments in the small confinement of our apartment. There’s 2 bedrooms upstairs, one above the living room, one above the downstairs bedroom, the bathroom is in between the two and just up the set of stairs. Downstairs is the living room, and subsequent dining area. Kitchen is just through to the back and off to the right is bedroom number 3. Yes we all share one bathroom, no it’s not as fun as it sounds. I live in the room at the front of the place above the living room. I was going to take the downstairs room because I came home late and didn’t want to wake anyone until Liz and Will got together, when they started dating they went at it like rabbits. Becka offered to switch with me since she was barely home to begin with, she and Emma had just started dating so she was with her a lot, at school doing lengthy research papers, or at her internship at the hospital. Her internship slowed down so she had a lot of time to be home and spend time with the love of her life. They’re cute don’t get me wrong…just unfortunate to be the only one single here. 

“Thanks again Ems.” I said cleaning the plate I used as I got up to finally get dressed. “It was really good, Becka is lucky to have you.”

“I certainly am.” said woman came into the room perking up at her partner. “Thank you again love.”

“I’ll be going before that breakfast makes a fast journey back up.” I laughed receiving a towel to the face. I put on the outfit I had picked out, touched up my hair so I didn’t look like I was coming out of bed, and set off for the day. Thankfully I didn’t miss my train so it was only 45 minutes to get to work. I know that sounds like a lot but it’s not so bad when you’re used to it. I get to listen to music and relax a little more before starting a long long day.

The opening of a museum is never exciting, there’s probably 10 maybe 15 guests in the first 3 hours of opening, not much to do, luckily the museum lets me work on my internship first on these long days so I’m not bored out of my mind by the time I’m done. I usually clock in around lunch time finally and sit or stand around for the rest of the day depending on what they want me to do that day. 

“Y/n” you’re going to be in Room 43 today.” my boss Henry looked at me.

“Well at least I get to look at some of my favorites today.” I sighed, knowing I was going to be on my feet for the rest of the day was not something to invoke joy. Room 43 on Level 2 had our Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Seurat paintings, most notably Sunflowers by Van Gogh, Van Gogh’s Chair, and Motherhood by Picasso. One of my favorites was-

“A Vase of Flowers, Paul Gauguin,” said the smoothest voice I’ve ever heard. Like butter melting on bread.

“Yes, one of my favorites in the room.” I smiled before turning towards the man. My breath hitched, there before me stood a man about 6 foot 1, dressed in a suit that looks like I don’t know how to pronounce the designers name, oxford shoes, no tie,his nose had a slight point to it, a jawline that looked like it was sculpted by Michelangelo, full eyebrows, his eyes soft and warm, finally his black hair. He was perfect, absolutely stunning, I wanted to look at him more than the art around me.

“Can you tell me about it?” he smiled.

“Oh, yes absolutely.” Anything to talk to him. “Painted by Gauguin in 1896, painted with Oil Paints-”

“Ah so it needs something breathable to not ruin the paints?” he smiled. “When transported for cleaning?”

“Yes, since oils are very hard to fix if damaged and excess moisture can ruin them like the whole water and oil thing... So um anyways, Paul Gauguin painted 'A Vase of Flowers' when he arrived in Tahiti for his second stay in 1895. The vase is bursting with exotic flowers including hibiscus, white and yellow frangipani and white tiare. The flowers look as though they are past their best as some blossoms have fallen onto the table. This suggests that Gauguin was not interested in the horticultural detail but instead the decorative shapes and interweaving of colors of the display.”

“Very interesting.” his smile grew. “Sorry one of my friends is very interested in this piece but I never knew what it was painted with.”

“Excuse me ma’am.” an older woman called my attention. “I had a question about this piece.”

“Oh, well I’m glad I could help sir. I’m y/n.” I shook his hand. “Please let me know if you have more questions.I’ll um..be over there” I nodded, giving him time to look at the painting. A handsome stranger interested in learning about one of my favorite pieces…he’s probably married. I’m going to be alone forever.

“Thank you beautiful.” he flashed a smile my way. 

The beautiful stranger hung around for quite some time staring at the piece, he even had a notebook where he wrote some notes and made a sketch of the painting. No I wasn’t staring at him…okay maybe I totally was but it’s not everyday you see someone that attractive in here, he was practically an art piece himself. No I wasn’t fantasizing about him taking me away in some fancy car with the engine revving going way to fast down the street to a fancy restaurant where the prices aren’t even on the menu and he tells me not to worry about it and to order what I like, he’d probably call me something cheesy like baby, honey, sweetheart, dear, starlight, honey bun….darling…his. NO! Oh my god you can’t fantasize about that stuff he asked you a question. You really are deprived. 

Work was the same as ever after the man left, I was stuck making sure no one touched the art until the museum closed and then I got to go home after clocking out. Back to the happy couples…I put on my earbuds and walked to the station, after staring at someone all day I wasn’t really ready to be reminded I was single forever. Oh well, no choice…maybe I’ll stop and get food and just head up to my room so they won’t notice.

“Hey y/n!” a voice yelled in the tunnel. “Aww hey do you have your earbuds in?” he tapped my shoulder.

“I have mace!” I whipped around feeling someone tap me. Oh. “Wooyoung! Don’t scare me that way!” I hit him gently and took my earbuds out.

“Heading home?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just got off work.”

“I was hoping you were going to say a date,” he sighed.

“Can’t find one. I stare at paintings from the 1800s all day.” I chuckled and nudged him. “Let me know if you find Degas or Van Gogh walking around, I’m pretty sure I know more about them than myself at this point.”

“I’ll be sure to point them your way.” he smiled. “Not even one of your coworkers huh?”

“I went out for drinks a while ago with David but he was so boring, no spice you know. Plus he’s one of those water is too spicy guys.”

“Oh yeah, ew.”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just always going to be single. I just want someone…who’s a little interesting you know?”

His eyes lit up, he had heard that sentence a few days ago from someone else, he knew what to do.

“Well maybe I have this friend?” he started.

“Oh god not matchmaker Woo again.” I rolled my eyes as we got on the train.

“Hey look I really thought you two would hit it off.”

“Woo he just wanted to make his ex jealous…and I ended up with a ruined dress and a large bill.”

“I apologized and paid you back for his meal. I’m sorry!”

“I know you did.”

“Okay but seriously, this guy is one of my best friends, he’s got some money, he’s actually single single, like hasn’t had a partner in years single, he likes art, he’s tall, he’s not a scumbag, and he’s interesting. I promise you’ll like him.” he pleaded.

“Woo I just-”

“Pleaseeee just one date and then if you don’t like him you can tell me to fuck off whenever you want, please please please!”

“Okay okay fine…one date. Just…one ok?” I sighed. I trust Wooyoung. I do. He's a good friend, great even…his matchmaking skills are just…hit or miss.

“You won’t regret it, and be sure to thank me at the wedding!” he got up at his stop.

“Woo there won’t-!” the doors closed… “be a wedding.” I groaned. Just what have I gotten myself into.

“Hey sour puss what’s with the face?” Liz asked as I came in.

“Ran into Wooyoung on the train.”

“Oh how’s he doing? Also what did he do, you’re not in a bad mood every time you see him” she smiled. “Will is in the bathroom.” I motioned to head up and stopped at her words

“He begged me to go on a blind date with someone he knows.”

“Oh god because that worked out so well last time.” she smiled.

“What did?” Becka came into the room.

“Woo set y/n up on a blind date…again.” Liz smiled.

“Oh god, you have my number I will come get you.” Becka chuckled.

“He promised it wouldn’t be as bad this time but I don’t know I’m still worried.” I rubbed my arm. “He did apologize for last time but still…that was so bad.”

“Do you know anything about this one?” Liz asked.

“Apparently he’s tall, very single, likes art, and has money?” I said remembering what Wooyoung told me on the train.

“Ooo tall handsome rich single man?” They both chuckled. “How does Wooyoung know someone like that?”

“Beats me honestly, but I said I would try…even though I regret it already.”

“And when is said date?” Becka asked.

“Dunno….he’ll probably text me about it later.” I sighed. “I mean I guess it couldn’t be too bad to try.”

“It’s probably worse to trust Woo than to go on the date.” Liz smiled and Will came down.

“Who’s got a date?” he asked.

“y/n” Liz said and made room on the couch for her boyfriend.

“Oh y/n has a date?” Emma sat next to Becka.

“I’m off to bed, it looks like a date night.” I waved. 

No need to be reminded I’m still…very much single.

~~~~~~~~~

“Hyung Hyung Hyungie Hyung-ah Hyunghyunghyung” Wooyoung began annoying the older man at his desk.

“Yes Wooyoung?” Yunho looked up from his computer, blueprints and notes scattered around the desk. “Do you need another reference photo or something?”

“No no that’s fine, it’s all coming together.” Wooyoung brushed the man off. “I found you the perfect date!”

“Woo we’ve talked about this, I don’t date.” he sighed.

“No no listen really, she's perfect for you, she’s single and lives with two other couples so she’s practically begging to get out, she doesn’t ask a lot of questions, she knows a bunch about art and everything.”

“Wouldn’t that make it easier for us to get caught Wooyoung? She could tell fakes from the real ones?”

“Nah her eyesight is too bad for that unless she’s up close and personal. She could help us out with transporting them properly, you know, how to keep them undamaged. Plus she’s really pretty, you’d like her…oh and she’s funny, sarcastic, looks good on your arm at a party.”

“Why don’t you date her then?”

“Oh hyung don’t be silly, you’re the one getting old, you need to settle down, don’t you want to spend time with someone, you know spend some of that money on them, have someone besides us…help relieve some stress?”

“We’re the same age Wooyoung.” he closed his laptop.

“Oh no, my birthday is in November, yours just passed.”

The room got quiet.

“You’re not letting this go until I say yes are you?”

“Oh come on just one date! You’ll like her, I bet you’ll even get married come on! Please please please please please please please please please please please please pleasepleasepleaseplease-”

“Okay!!...Okay fine, just one date, and we’re not-” Wooyoung left. “Getting married…”

Yunho couldn’t help but think of the beautiful stranger he met at the museum earlier, he caught her staring a few times but couldn’t bring himself to say more in case she got suspicious, but man did he want to, her smile was infectious, her clothing choices mimicked his own, she knew about the art he wanted…but he’s a criminal, no one would ever want to be with a criminal, it’s not that he can’t do the time he just wouldn’t want to drag someone else into it, although he certainly wouldn’t mind coming out to that beautiful face…if he ever got caught that is, he has no plans on making that a reality. 

“One date.” he sighed to himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

I smoothed over the dress I chose for tonight, Wooyoung couldn’t wait to text me and tell me his friend said yes. Why did I bother saying yes this is…no let’s..let’s be hopeful, maybe he’ll be nice, and funny, and hopefully a little good-looking….please Wooyoung…don’t do this to me.

“You look gorgeous y/n!” Emma and Liz squealed, their partners on the couch. 

“We definitely won’t be seeing you tonight.” Becka chuckled.

“Oh please I’m definitely not going to sleep with this guy, it’s the first date and it’s a Wooyoung blind date.” I rolled my eyes.

“I mean if he’s lucky we won’t see you tonight.” Liz laughed. “He’ll certainly only have his eyes on you this time.”

“One can hope” I groaned. “I better go, I don't want to show up late.” I grabbed my purse and a long black coat to keep warm. Of course there’s a hole in the pocket…I really need to get this fixed. 

“It’s going to be warm out, just forget the coat and get it fixed later.” Liz called out. “Go go! You’ll be late.”

It feels weird to walk around the city in just a dress and heels, I feel a little exposed but it’s not any different from the other people I’ve seen I guess…I made my way to the station to go to the restaurant Wooyoung had picked out, he told me to dress fancy so I got the fanciest dress I could. Black and white, a little lace, elegant but not over the top, stops at the knee, a cute little black heel and my hair pulled up into one of those fancy buns. Hopefully I remembered my glasses this time in my bag.

When Jung Wooyoung says fancy restaurant he wasn’t kidding, I’m pretty sure an appetizer here costs my entire rent, there’s not even prices on the menu how am I supposed to afford-

“Miss y/n?” A voice called. Sounds….familiar?

“Yes?” I turned around and it was the guy from the museum. “Oh hello.” I blushed

“It’s nice to see you again, are you waiting for someone?”

“My um..my friend set me up on this..silly blind date.” I chuckled lightly.

“How funny me too.” he smiled. “I wouldn’t be rude to assume you know a Jung, Wooyoung?”

“That would be the one.” I nodded gently.

“Well how funny would it be if I told you the very person sent me here on a silly blind date as well?”

“Well I suppose that would be…quite nice actually.” I sighed. “Last time I let him talk me into this…it didn’t go well.”

“Ah I know the feeling. She went after her ex after spending 30 minutes with me.” he chuckled.

“Ironic, mine used me to get back with his ex.”

“Now isn’t that just something.” he offered his hand to me. “Shall we go in?”

“How gentlemanly.” I let out a chuckle.

“Oh I’m Yunho by the way, Jeong Yunho.” 

“Oh a James Bond type I see. Last name first.” I chuckled. “Y/n L/n. Sorry I went the other way.”

“Oh god!” they both thought. “It’s you from the museum! What should I do?...stay calm, it’s just a date.”

I never thought I’d thank Wooyoung for setting me up on a date but, I might after this one…he’s so…he’s almost too perfect to be true, he’s interested in what I do, he’s charming, funny, he’s handsome…I..I almost feel like I’m dreaming. I’m pinching myself and not waking up so this has to be real, please be real. If this is a prank Wooyoung I’m never speaking to you again. 

“I should warn you beautiful, I’m quite dangerous.” he chuckled

“Oh are you now? Maybe I should’ve brought a bat.”

Time felt forgotten, it passed by so fast but so slow. Before we knew it the restaurant was closing and asking us to leave.

“Oh don’t worry about the bill.” he waved his hand at me reaching for my wallet. “It’s on me tonight.”

“I couldn’t possibly let you-”

“I insist beautiful.” he smiled and handed the waiter his card….A Black Credit Card!??!?! Oh my god.

“Next time is on me.” I said my cheeks were heating up. “A-As long as it’s pizza.” I joked…not really.

“Pizza sounds perfect if you’re there.” he winked. Oh man he is dangerous. “Can I walk you home? Or perhaps drive you?” he beeped his car…his very expensive silver car. A Rolls Royce?

“Oh my god.” I whispered. “What do you do?” I laughed.

“Oh I just inherited a lot of money from my uncle.”

“Oh sure, do you sell organs on the black market?” I nudged him gently.

“Oh no way, blood freaks me out.” he laughed. “I invest.”

“Sure.” I smiled and got in the car.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Oh right.” I gave him my address and we were off. It was bittersweet driving with him, I really didn’t want it to end yet. If this was going to be my only date with Yunho then…I just wanted to feel special for a little while longer. “Um, would you mind if we made a short stop first? It’s just…a really nice night out and I don’t want to…with my roommates and all.”

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind staying out myself.” he smiled.

“There’s a park just up ahead.” I said bashfully. “We could just…walk around?”

“I like that idea.” he pulled over to the park and before I could even think about opening my door he had sprinted around the car to open it.

“Ever the gentleman.” I stepped out and he offered his arm.

We walked around the park for a little just continuing our conversations from earlier, he shared about his childhood days, some of the stuff he and his brother used to do, his friends and how he met Wooyoung. It was all great until a breeze swept through.

“Here.” he shrugged off his coat and pulled it around me. “Better?” he smiled and his touch on me lingered slightly.

“Better.” I whispered and looked at him. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” he cleared his throat and pulled back slightly. 

It was close to 11pm when we finally decided we had been out long enough, I would hopefully not get hazed about the date and he would hopefully be able to go back to whatever he wanted. Even if it was just one date, it felt like a million and it just felt wonderful.

“Oh your coat.” I started taking it off as we pulled up to my little flat.

“Just give it to me next time Beautiful.” he smiled and put his hand up to stop me.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

I leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek leaving a slight pink imprint there.

“Goodnight Yunho, thank you for the…probably most perfect night of my life listening to me talk about work.” I smiled and got out of the car. I’ll miss him.

“Goodnight Beautiful.” he smiled more to himself as he drove off when she walked in her front door.

Did I receive the interrogation of a lifetime? Yes absolutely.

Could I stop smiling? No..Not at all. He listened to me ramble about work and school and how overwhelming it is, he listened to me talk about different paints and how to preserve them and take care of them like it was the most interesting thing he ever heard. I almost hate him for how perfect he is.

“Jung Wooyoung, I'm going to kill you.” I said as he picked up the phone.

“What?! Why!? What happened!?” he sat up on the other line.

“How could you literally give me that after all the shit dates you’ve set me up on!”

“Was it bad? You guys have been out for hours!”

“No! It was amazing! I can’t believe you!” I groaned and flopped onto my bed. “He was…kind and sweet and charming and caring and…everything and I hate you for it.”

“...BECAUSE I WAS RIGHT???”

“BECAUSE YOU WERE RIGHT!” I sat up. “Why did you have to be right!?”

“Because I’m amazing, excuse you. You liked him.”

“Yes.”

“You liked him a lot?”

“Wooyoung I literally would drop everything right now to just listen to his laugh.” I sighed. “It's pathetic.”

“I’ll let you know what he says, I just heard the front door.”

“No Wooyoung please, it's fine. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” I sighed. “I’ll have to give you his coat too.”

“He gave you his coat? Oh my god. See marriage.”

“Goodnight Woo.”

“I’m the matchmaker god after all.”

“Goodnight! Woo.” I hung up. I hate this.

I hate men.

`Next

[ask-sibverse]

Prompt: hiking date with Killer (As much fun as explicitly diabetic related situations are, it's nice to do some things where the main focus isn't diabetes. I do have another diabetes focused drabble planned, but for now, fluff! Mostly.) Set in the same version of things as this

TW: violent intrusive thoughts

(Like this? Want more? Send a prompt!)

Cgm, check. Pump set to activity mode (one of the author's favorite damn settings about the Omnipod), check. A boatload of granola bars and other low blood sugar snacks to shove in your inventory, check. Plenty of water? Got it.

"I think I'm ready," you said.

Killer had suddenly texted you that he's taking you on a hike, before immediately backtracking and asking if it was too much with your diabetes. You tried to resist the urge to smack him as you reminded him you swim regularly in the summer and did martial arts several times a week for years. You know how to balance diabetes and exercise.

So here you were now and hour later about to go on a date with Killer. Was it a date? He hadn't called it one. It could just be a friendly, platonic outing. You shouldn't make things weird.

But you were ready to go, either way. You walked out of your room to find Killer on the couch with your cat. Cats are tiny hunters and Killer is, well... Yeah. So it didn't really surprise you that he got along great with your cat. Said cat was currently purring in his lap.

"I'm ready to go."

"I'm trapped, go on without meeeee."

You stared at him. "I don't even know where we're supposed to be hiking."

"Oh yeah. But the caaaaat."

You snorted and scooped up your cat. He meowed in complaint but let you move him off the murder skeleton. "Lets get going, shall we?"

He nodded eagerly. "You ever been to Mount Ebbott?"

"No, I don't think I have."

"Its not too horrible a hike, and the view is great from the entrance to the Underground."

"Okay, let me get my car keys."

"Why bother? You've got someone with you who can teleport."

"I keep forgetting that."

Killer snorted and extended his hand. "Hang on tight."

Shortcuts were sometimes more disorienting than portals. Portals you at least were passing through something to get from point A to point B, shortcuts you were one place and then you blinked and were somewhere else. So to suddenly be in the woods at the base of Mt Ebbott took a moment for your mind to catch up with.

Killer started dragging you up the path as soon as you collected yourself. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and it was just the two of you on the mountain.

"Is it usually this peaceful?" You asked. "I don't think anyone is up here."

"Depends on the AU, and the time of year," Killer said. "But yeah, no one but us here right now." He paused. It seemed like thoughts were running through his mind. "I could do anything to you, and no one would know."

"Killer."

"I wouldn't, I promise!"

"Killer."

You sighed. "What's going through your head?"

"... That no one would hear you scream. That I could chase you through the woods and kill you, watch my knives make you into a pincushion and no one would find out until it was too late. But I won't do that, promise!"

You put a hand on his shoulder. "Do we need to go back? It sounds like your mind is getting to you."

"No! Ill be fine, I want to show you the view from the top!"

"Alright, I trust you."

So you filled the silence to give him a distraction. Talking about your hobbies and cats, asking what he and the gang had been up to. It seemed to work, at least to distract him if it didn't fix things. You almost didn't notice the entrance to the Underground until you were about to fall in, Killer having to grab you by the collar of your jacket.

"Don't fall in. You're not a Frisk." he snorted. You stuck your tongue out before turning.

The view took your breath away. You could see all of Ebott City from here and the surrounding valley. You could imagine how incredible it must feel to see this for the first time after centuries kept underground.

"This is..."

"Incredible, yeah. I saw it a few times before my human really lost it."

You squeezed his hand gently. "I hope Chara doesn't reset here, I'd hate for everyone to lose this." Especially your friends

"Eh, who knows." He shrugged. "Don't have a high opinion of most of those brats. Or humans in general."

"What about me?"

"You're... Different. Special."

[hyacinthoideshispanica]

An idea for a Gwynriel college/fake-dating au

Azriel's mother is visiting him at college for the first time, and he wants her to think he's a responsible adult who knows how to cook real, healthy food. Not just ordering pizza and reheating takeout. So he goes to the library to check out some cookbooks, and Gwyn, who works there, helps him out.

Azriel, carrying a stack of at least 15 different cookbooks to the checkout station: I'll take all of these, please.

Gwyn: Ummm....wow. Alright then, if you don't mind me asking, why so many cookbooks? Are you majoring in culinary arts?

Azriel: Not even close, I'm just cooking dinner for my Mom tonight.

Gwyn: Are you making her a 15-course meal with one recipe from each book?

Azriel:... It's too much, huh?

Gwyn: Definitely. Maybe I can help you. What kinds of food does your mom like?

Azriel: She's not very picky, but we tended to eat more simple stuff when I was growing up.

Gwyn: Ok. Well, if you're going for simple, I think we can take out the fancy French cookbooks...

Eventually, they narrow it down to three, and as he's walking away, looking through the recipes, Azriel realizes he has almost none of the ingredients for any of them at home, and he has to go grocery shopping.

Gwyn materializes at his side and hands him a paper and pen.

Gwyn: My shift ends in twenty minutes. Why don't you write out everything you need for tonight, and I'll help you grab it at the store. That way, you'll have plenty of time to get home and cook.

25 minutes later, Azriel is in his car, following Gwyn's little teal blue car with a pegasus decal on the back to the grocery store in town. Azriel had been there before, during the first week of classes, but as time went on, he just found it easier to order takeout, grab stuff from the campus cafeteria, or stop by the small convenience store by his apartment for food instead of going 30 minutes into town.

He parks next to Gwyn, and she's already out of her car, leaning against the hood, waiting for him.

Gwyn: By the way, we never really introduced ourselves. I'm Gwyn.

Azriel introduces himself, and they go into the store and start hunting through the aisles.

Azriel notices Gwyn grab some tea and a few packs of cookies.

Azriel: Those aren't on the list.

Gwyn: Oh, these are for me. You're not the only one who needed to come here today. But you should probably grab some extra stuff, too. After all, don't you want your mom to think you regularly shop? You gotta make it look realistic.

Gwyn tosses a few large bags of chips and a case of beer into the cart to make her point, and Azriel follows through, adding some of his favorite protein shakes and a pack of pudding cups to the cart.

Gwyn: So, I've seen you around campus a few times, but ever really in the library. What's your major?

Azriel: (I can't think of anything), yours?

Gwyn: Norse Mythology. I'm fascinated by the Valkyries.

They talk a little more as they load their bags into their cars, and Azriel gets a text from his mom saying that her flight is actually landing sooner than expected, and she'll be there in a few hours. Azriel panics because he won't have time to finish cooking everything, and again, Gwyn offers to help so things go faster.

They get back to his apartment and start cooking. Azriel prepares a salad while Gwyn makes a quick batch of dinner rolls from scratch. They put the chicken, covered in lemon and herbs, in the oven to roast. And then make some brownies for dessert.

Azriel profusely thanks Gwyn for her help, saying he owes her big time and she shrugs it off, saying she'll gladly accept some leftover brownies as payment, and Azriel promises to bring her some tomorrow. Then, when he opens the door of his apartment to walk her out, they run directly into his mother.

Azriel's mother sees Gwyn and assumes she is her son's girlfriend and immediately invites her to stay and eat with them. Gwyn awkwardly accepts, and an even more awkward dinner ensues.

Azriel's mother: So, how did you meet?

Gwyn: Well, I'd seen him around campus a bit, but we didn't officially meet until he came into the library where I work.

Azriel: I needed some books but didn't really know what I was looking for. She was a big help.

Azriel can't help smiling at Gwyn appreciatively, and she blushes a little while smiling back. Azriel's mother sees and makes a comment about how Azriel never mentioned a girlfriend before, and Gwyn covers for him by explaining that they only made things official recently and she wasn't expecting to meet his mother so soon.

Azriel's mother ends up visiting for, like, a month and the entire time, Azriel and Gwyn fully commit to a fake-dating trope, and of course, real feelings develop.

Bonus idea: This happens freshman year, and the next year, when his mother gets ready to visit again, she says she can't wait to see Gwyn again.

After their month of fake dating last year, Azriel and Gwyn do still talk and hang out sometimes. They even have a class together this semester. So one day, he asks her if she's willing to pretend again. She agrees, she really liked his mom and she knows he'll pay her in brownies.

And so, at least once a year, they fully commit to pretending to be a couple, and during her visit during senior year, she pulls Azriel aside and asks when he's planning to propose.

It's at this point that Azriel realizes just how badly he's fallen for Gwyn over the years, but he thinks she sees him as just a friend (she doesn't). So, one day, he's talking to Gwyn and suggests they "break up," and to his surprise, Gwyn seems very upset by this. He tries to smooth things over by making a joke about how he'll still make her brownies, and that just makes things worse. Gwyn stalks off and ignores Azriel's attempts to talk to her. A few days go by, and Nesta and Emerie, Gwyn's best friends, show up at Azriel's doorstep and scold him for toying with Gwyn's heart for years because he was too much of a coward to tell his mother the truth.

What neither woman realizes is that Azriel's mother is in the next room and can hear every word. She comes out and asks Azriel what they're talking about, and after the girls leave, he sits down and tells his mom the truth. That Gwyn was never his girlfriend. He met her the same day she did, and he just wanted her to think that he was doing fine on his own, so he got Gwyn to pretend for him. But he actually has feelings for her now, but she doesn't feel the same.

Azriel's mom tells him, affectionately, that he's an idiot. Gwyn clearly has feelings for him and encourages him to go fix things with her.

As always, I don't have the talent to write an actual fic, so this prompt is up for grabs.

[poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow]

Kiss in the moonlight with dot? Thanks man we stan

it’s been idk even how many years since you sent this ask originally (at least a billion); here’s the latest gift you’ve ever received bestie ily

----------

1900

They meet on the Manhattan side of the bridge, this time. Spot is standing down by the riverfront, staring at the reflection of the moon on the water. It’s nice out tonight, still warm, the last vestiges of summer beginning to give way to fall. It’s late, almost midnight, but Spot doesn’t mind. He’s always been a night owl despite his job requiring an early start, and there’s something about the night, a certain calm that’s different than that of the dawn. It’s difficult for him to be alone in the mornings, anyway, with the bustle of the other newsies, and his walks across the bridge on certain evenings allow him to sink into his own thoughts, if only for an hour or so.

He’s lost in thought now, still staring out at the water, when a hand on his shoulder startles him. He spins to see Davey, who looks surprised but is already smiling.

“Sorry. I scare you?”

Spot scoffs. “Hardly,” he retorts, but there’s no heat in it. He smiles back at Davey and puts a hand on his upper arm, giving it a fond squeeze. “Good to see ya, Mouth. Been a while, huh?”

“Yeah, too long. Sorry,” Davey says again. “It’s just… it’s been hectic lately.” He doesn’t have to say anything else; Spot knows him well enough. Davey’s dad started working again a couple months after the newsies strike ended the previous year, which meant his mother wanted him and his little brother back in school. Davey and Les still sell papers in the mornings, though, and Sarah works full time as a seamstress. And Davey has been studying much more lately, preparing for…

“So when do you start?” Spot asks.

“In a couple of weeks.” Davey sighs. “Still not even sure if I’m gonna go.”“Of course you’re gonna go,” Spot says, more roughly than he intended. “You’d be stupid not to, Dave. You’re booksmart, it’s part of your charm. Now you get to use it.”

“It’s gonna be so different,” Davey says, staring out at the river like Spot was earlier, a wistful expression on his face. “I mean, it’s college, Spot. I won’t be able to hawk papers anymore, and I won’t get to see… well, see anyone, ya know? And my folks, and Les and Sarah, what if something happens again, and—”

“You’re babblin’,” Spot says, and he places his hands on Davey’s shoulders. “Look at me, Dave.” Davey does, tearing his gaze from the water. “Your dad’s workin’ again, so is Sarah, so is Les, even. And it’s not like you’re gonna be gonna be a thousand miles away. It’s what, an hour, hour and a half walk from your folks’ place? Hell, get a job down there near the college, bring money back to ‘em, and when you get your fancy reporter job, you’ll be makin’ more than you even know what to do with.”

Davey doesn’t say anything, and Spot gives him a gentle shake. “You hearin’ me? Change is hard, Dave, I get it, but you’re gonna get yourself a good life this way.”

At this, Davey cracks a smile. “You sound so wise, Spot. You sure you don’t wanna come with me?”

Spot drops his hands from Davey’s shoulders. “Like they even would.”

“You’re plenty smart, you know that.”

“College ain’t for me, I don’t think,” Spot says. “And I still got kids to look after.”

“Yeah.” Davey takes one of Spot’s hands and holds it in his own. “You ever think about the future, Spot?”

“I do,” Spot admits, “but it’s not here yet, is it?”

“I guess not.”

Davey looks downtrodden. Spot squeezes his hand. “We’re all gonna be alright, Dave. You know that. Hey, how’s Jack, by the way? Still goin’ for that art school he’s been talkin’ about?”

Katherine finally convinced Jack to pursue an art career beyond political cartoons, and Governor (or Vice President now, rather) Roosevelt had put in a good word for him at one of the new private schools, practically ensuring him an acceptance letter and a scholarship.

“He’s excited,” Davey says. His smile hasn’t returned. “He won’t be selling papers for much longer either, I guess.”

“Race and Crutchie and them got those kids well in hand, though, I bet.”

“Yeah. And Jack says he wants to propose to Kath after he gets out of school.”

This surprises Spot, only a little. “Her dad gonna go for that?”

Davey snorts. “Like Katherine would care. Or Jack, for that matter. Anyway, that means they’ll probably take off in a couple years, too. Jack never did stop thinking about Santa Fe, ya know?”

They’re all growing up. It’s a sobering thought, but growing up isn’t that bad, Spot thinks, especially since there was a time when he wasn’t sure he’d get the chance.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Davey says. “College, I mean. Getting older. It’s exciting.” He pauses, like he’s thinking about something. “You’ll… you’ll come visit, right? I mean, like you said, I won’t be far away at all, ‘specially with all the walking we do anyway, but what if I can’t get to Brooklyn, or I want to—”

This time, Spot shuts him up by leaning forward and pressing his lips to Davey’s, soft and quick. When he pulls back, Davey is blushing so fiercely Spot can see it in the dark.

“‘Course I’m gonna visit, Dave,” Spot says. “See you at your fancy college, readin’ your fancy college books and everything? It’ll be like finally seeing you in your natural habitat.”

Davey finally smiles again. “Then it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, it will.”

They stand in comfortable silence for a long time after that, holding hands and watching the moonlight dance on the water.—1905

The room is thick with cigarette smoke, and Davey feels slightly embarrassed as he suppresses the urge to cough; many of his classmates in college smoked, and most of his coworkers do as well, but he has never understood the appeal. He had tried it once, his first year at school, and immediately coughed so hard he thought he might vomit. Spot had teased him for weeks.

Davey stares into his drink, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the memory.

“Amazin’ you haven’t hacked up a lung yet, Dave.”

“...Shut up, Spot.” Davey clears his throat again in an attempt to get rid of the persistent tickle and hands the cigarette back. “Don’t know how you do it.”

“What, this?” Spot takes a long drag, smirks, and blows the smoke up into the air. “Brooklyn boys was practically raised on the stuff.”

“So that’s why you all smell so bad.” That earns Davey a punch in the arm, but he just laughs.

“Just full’a jokes, aren’t you, Mouth?” Spot flicks a bit of ash off the end of the cigarette. “Hey, wanna see me blow a smoke ring?”

“Thinking hard there, David?” Bryan Denton, editor at The Sun and Davey’s new boss, lays a hand on Davey’s shoulders and startles him out of his reverie.

“Just, uh… thinking about old friends, Mr. Denton.”

“No need for the ‘mister,’ David, I’ve told you that,” Denton says. “Old friends, you say?”

“Yeah, a kid I knew back when I was in school.” Davey doesn’t quite know how to quantify his relationship with Spot, and he certainly won’t talk about it to his boss, anyway. “We actually sold papers together for a bit before that. You remember when I told you about the strike?”

“Oh, yes.” Denton takes a sip of his own drink. “Quite an affair, wasn’t it? Shame I was overseas at the time, but that Plumber—I read her articles, you know, once I returned. Fantastic stuff. It’s no wonder she moved up into investigative journalism so quickly. At her age, and as a woman—it’s something to really admire.”

Davey smiles. “It is.” He knows Katherine travels now, selling her stories to newspapers all across the country, really making a name for herself. Jack always sounds so happy in his letters, so proud of Kath’s accomplishments.

“And how are you faring?” Denton asks. “I know sometimes everything feels like it’s moving far too quickly, but that’s the beauty of the news. It’s always moving, and it’s up to us to capture it and give it to the people who need to hear it.”

“It’s fantastic.” And Davey doesn’t have to fake the enthusiasm in his voice. It’s so strange to think that once he was just hawking the news, and now he’s writing it. And with more assignments coming his way every day, he has ample opportunities to make sure he tells people’s stories right.

“I’m glad,” Denton says. “You know, I see a lot of myself in you, David. You’re going to go far. Just make sure to keep your head up and your words honest.”

David feels heat rising in his face and takes another sip of his drink, hoping Denton will think it’s just the alcohol. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good lad.” Denton reaches over and gives Davey’s shoulder a warm, brief squeeze. “I will see you tomorrow. Early day and all that—the news never sleeps.”

“The news never sleeps,” Davey agrees. Denton gives him a nod before rising from the table. Davey watches him gather his coat and hat and leave the building. He should leave, too, he thinks, even as he orders another drink and sits back in his seat, watching other patrons come and go.

Some time later, Davey has finished his second drink, and the smell of smoke is beginning to make his head pound. He gathers his things and is headed for the front door when it opens again, and another group of men floods in.

Dockworkers, probably, Davey thinks, noting the smell of seawater wafting into the room as well. He waits for the crowd to thin so he can leave, and when it doesn’t—surely, the saloon is not large enough for all these people—he resorts to pushing his way through. He is nearly to the door when someone bumps his shoulder and he staggers.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man says, and Davey is about to wave him off when he realizes he knows that voice.

“Spot?”

They stare at each other for a moment; Spot looks as surprised as Davey feels. But then Spot’s shock quickly melts and he gives Davey a grin and a hearty clap on the shoulder.

“Dave! How are ya? It’s been…”

Too long, Davey thinks. He and Spot had lost touch somewhere in Davey’s second year of college, after Spot got a job at the docks and Davey got busy with the school paper.

“It’s been ages, huh?” he says. “It’s good to see you, Spot.”

“Wow, I haven’t heard that name in a while,” Spot says, taking his hand from Davey’s shoulder. Davey pretends he doesn’t miss the warmth. “Mostly Sean now, down at the docks.”

“You know, I didn’t know your real name for months after the strike,” Davey says. Spot laughs, and it’s a wonderful sound.

“I was probably the one who told ya, wasn’t I?”

“I think so. I asked Jack once, but he said, ‘he’ll soak me good if I let it slip, Mouth.’”

“And he was right,” Spot says, but his voice is light.

“Hey, Conlon!” a burly man close to the bar interrupts, waving toward them. “You gonna order?”

The spell of the moment is broken. Davey suddenly feels like an intruder; he’s not in Spot’s life anymore, they’ve both moved on.

“I should go, Spot,” he says, turning back toward the door. “It was, uh, it was good seeing you.”

Before he can change his mind, he gives Spot’s arm a subtle, fleeting squeeze and pushes through the crowd.

He opens the door and escapes into the crisp evening air. Winter hasn’t tightened its grip on the city yet, and the night is cool but comfortable. Davey takes a moment to breathe, pushing away the guilt that has begun to encroach upon his thoughts. But he’s only taken a few steps when the door opens behind him.

“Dave, wait.” Spot’s voice is enough to make Davey hesitate for a moment, then Spot’s hand is on his shoulder again.

When Davey turns, Spot looks sadder than he’s ever seen him, his eyes suspiciously shiny under the dim light of the waning moon. To Davey’s embarrassment, his own eyes prickle almost painfully. He glances around; for the moment, they’re alone in the street. But before he can gather his courage, Spot surprises him by leaning forward first. Their lips graze each other tentatively, and Spot starts to pull back, but now Davey is ready. He tangles his fingers in the front of Spot’s sweater and drags him closer, and this time their lips crash together. The kiss is deep and hot, desperate and soul-crushing and perfect.

When they finally separate, Davey can see the tears on Spot’s cheeks. He realizes this is the first time he’s ever seen Spot cry, but he doesn’t mention it; his own face feels damp and there’s a lump in his throat.

“I can’t lose you again, Dave,” Spot croaks.

Davey laughs, raspy and relieved. He had forgotten what this felt like—what Spot felt like. He closes his eyes and leans forward until their foreheads are touching. His hand finds the back of Spot’s neck and stays there, squeezing gently.

“You won’t.”—1910

Sean walks briskly down the street, straightening his cap for what feels like the hundredth time as he dodges another pair of people walking too damn slow. It’s his first night of shore leave, and the moon is full and high in the sky. The weather is perfect, a warm breeze carrying the promise of summer drifting between the buildings, but Sean barely notices it; he just wants to get home. He tries to resist the urge to jog, but once his apartment building comes into view, he can’t help it. He runs the last couple blocks and wrenches open the front door, nearly bowling down his elderly neighbor.

“I am so sorry, Miss Leary,” he says, taking off his cap and nodding his head in apology. But she just laughs.

“That is quite all right, son.” She gives him a wink. “I saw your friend get back just about two hours ago; he looked just as excited as you do. Better get upstairs.”

Sean feels his cheeks heat. He grins and nods again, then holds the door open for Miss Leary as she leaves. Then he’s hurrying up the stairs two at a time until he reaches the seventh floor.

He passes Miss Leary’s apartment and then he’s standing in front of the door at the end of the hall. He turns the knob and enters the small but well-organized living room, places his cap on a nearby wall hook, drinks in the sight of home. And there, in one of the armchairs that faces the large windows overlooking the rest of the neighborhood, sits David, scribbling away in one of his many notebooks. A small pile of the things has already accumulated on the floor beside his chair.

“Still working?” Sean can’t suppress his smile as David jumps, obviously startled. “I thought this was supposed to be a break.”

David recovers quickly and jumps up from his chair, dropping his notebook carelessly on a nearby end table as he crosses the living room. Sean meets him halfway, his fingers tangling in David’s hair as he presses his lips to David’s own. They take a moment like that, then David pulls away just enough to smile at Sean.

“Hello, sailor,” he says cheekily.

Sean rolls his eyes. “Hello yerself. How’s life on the front lines?” He tries to keep his voice light, but he can tell by David’s falling expression that he didn’t quite succeed. David knows his job as a war correspondent for The Sun worries Sean, and Sean’s naval duties aren’t much better at the moment. But there will be time to talk about that later, Sean decides.

“Never mind,” he says, pulling David close again. “But you gotta stop workin’ so hard; I’m sure the news can survive a couple nights with you, huh? I only got a few days on shore, after all.”

“Yeah, it can wait.” David toys with Sean’s neckerchief. “I’ve missed you, Spot.”Sean laughs at the old nickname, but it warms his heart to hear it again. “I’ve missed you too, Mouth.”

Now it’s David’s turn to laugh, and it’s the best thing Spot’s heard in months. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since their jobs took them to opposite sides of the world near the beginning of the year, and Sean is going to enjoy every moment of it. He pulls David toward the windows and they stand together, staring out into the darkness. The city looks better at night, Sean decides, when it’s lit up only by the streetlamps and the light of the moon.

“I’ve always liked this time of night,” David says, as if reading Sean’s mind. “Especially when the moon is full.” It illuminates his face and reflects off his eyes until they almost seem to glow.

“Me too.” Sean leans over and kisses David’s cheek. If he had his way, they would stand here forever, under the moonlight. “Me too, Dave.”

[crownmemes]

Miss Marple Sentences, Vol. 2

(Sentences from Miss Marple (1984-1992). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"A murder! Isn't it scrumptious?"

"I wish you wouldn't talk about things like that!"

"If somebody was going to murder you, they'd hardly advertise the fact in the newspaper."

"Do you think you could make a huge effort and behave yourself?"

"Are you going to arrest me?"

"Have you found any decent clues?"

"I get so confused. It's all such a blur."

"People in the dark are quite different, aren't they?"

"You know, some of the best murderers are women."

"Well, I must say, you've turned my entire investigation inside out."

"I have no guilty secrets about myself, or anybody else for that matter!"

"Shall I be charming and terribly amusing?"

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"I didn't want to fall in love with you!"

"Nearly everyone assumes that people murder out of hatred but, of course, it may be out of loyalty, or even love."

"Is it the fate of the innocent to suffer?"

"One is quite alone when the last one who remembers is gone."

"We all know what dirty dogs men are."

"I can't stand people doing my thinking for me!"

"When I shoot, I shoot to kill."

"Oh, I'm a good girl. There's plenty that'd say it."

"Your father was a rogue and he married a harlot."

"The journey from vice to evil is but a step."

"Oh, alright! Be boring then!"

"If you continue to look into my affairs, and are extremely clever, you will find certain minor discrepancies."

"You're the only thing I've ever really loved."

"You're behaving like a tart."

"For a man who's supposed to have seen the world, you really are extraordinarily childish sometimes."

"You're very quiet. What are you thinking about?"

"I shall never forget what I saw this evening."

"Well, I don't think I've ever been complimented quite like that in my life before!"

"In life, coincidences do happen."

"Good advice is almost certain to be ignored, but that's no reason for not giving it."

"I wish we'd never started this."

"It's very dangerous to believe people. I haven't for years."

"People seldom notice the man behind the uniform."

"Why mustn't we be seen together? Everybody knows we're 'friends'."

"A young girl needs a mother's watchful eye."

"For you, I'd risk anything."

"It's always sad when a work of art has to be destroyed."

"I know what it's like. When I was your age, I also thought I was in love with someone."

"You don't know what it is to love someone!"

[violetvelourr]

A little bit of whining venting

I’ve spent 3 hours today trying to draw something. Anything…. I have plenty of sketches and I tried linearting several but nothing worked out, they were just straight away hopelessly ugly.

At moments like these I feel like I’m a complete fraud because one week I’m totally fine and then the next one I can’t do shit.

But in fact it’s been like that for a while now - we are halfway through August and I’ve only managed to finish one artwork which was in line art stage already back in July. So strictly speaking I haven’t produced anything this month yet. ‘Melancholic Arina’ is stuck in the face/hair phase, I spent two evenings trying to draw her body and arms with no progress. And there should also be Kakashi in that artwork which is also not going to be easy.

Today in one of the lineart attempts I couldn’t even draw Kakashi’s hair though I had zero issues with that part of him for a long time already 🤯 like it was always the easiest and most enjoyed part for the past 6 months or so…

I’m in mild despair because no matter how much I repeat to myself that it’s alright to not always be in the high (after all, July was rather productive with 7 artworks), I still think about it all the time, like I’m not doing anything and time goes on, and I am stressed because I feel like I have forgotten how to draw and even more stressed because I try to draw and just fail again and again. But I have to keep trying because I’m afraid that if I’ll stop now to give myself a break it will be again 10 years like the previous time. 🤦🏼‍♀️ and the cycle repeats. Trying. Stressing out. Trying. Stressing out…

I’ll change my screen protector tomorrow perhaps - could be the fact that it’s way too slippery - now that the ‘paperlike’ protector is completely worn off - is affecting my ability to control the line. I know that with writing the feel of the pen affects my writing a lot. Maybe here it’s a similar thing… Also I want to do something that always seemed to help me reset my artist anxiety a bit - redraw some anime scene in my style. Suggestions for the scene are welcome, by the way…

But if that doesn’t help, I don’t know anymore. I haven’t had it hit me that bad in a while, I even cried today because of it. 😖 I didn’t even cry that much when my previous artwork got corrupted 🤯

The problem is that my motivation is not as high as it used to be. Previously it helped me get through my tough times. I was driven by inspiration. I hardly have it left now, unfortunately… and the recent events killed the spirit off even more… 😔

Anyways, another day wasted, off to bed… 😖