#its just me going wild with an inking pen

[no-light-left-on]

Late night view of the clocktower

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

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[xoxo-greed]

idk this might be kinda too specific but like imagine the twst mc isn’t a prefect but a magic user aswell and they’re just some normal student in nrc but they keep using magic excessively and their magic pen is like so so dark and their housewarden s/o is like ‘you should stop’ and yhe mc is like ‘no’ so then the housewarden like fucks them for the whole day so they can stop using magic for the time being

—> minors dni. hardcore smut ig ? all chars aged up, all of them being absolutely meanies.

an - lets give this guy an applause 🗣️‼️ I was running out of ideas and you saved me 🫶 I don’t have a bunch of time, so instead I’ll do Leona only since he seems like the right call. Its pretty long, sorry I couldn’t do more </3 ily tho ! buybyeee and enjoy !

———————————————————————

Pent up frustration that didn’t let him sleep, the fact that you look so tired and miserable because of your magic pisses him off. To him, he’s the one thats supposed to take care of you, for some reason he cares about you more than any other. Then he has an idea.

After a long day, Ruggie walks up to you, poking your shoulder with a cheeky grin. “Hey, Y/N! Leona wants you to go to the botanical garden with him.” He tells you, you raise an eyebrow “What for? He always tells me to leave when I go with him.” Ruggie shrugs. “I don’t know, but I think its something serious.” Upon those words, you decided to take care of it.

You leave to the botanical garden, where you find the hidden space Leona always resides in. In which, when you enter, he instantly jumps on you, pressing you onto the ground. “What the hell do you think your doing?” He says harshly. You’re stunned ‘Why is he acting like this?’ You never see him like this. You frown “If this is about the magic thing, forget about it.” You say, turning around, about to crawl away, when you feel him put his hand on your head, instantly pressing your head down onto the grass. “Le-Leona, what are you doing?!” You yell, startled as he covers your mouth. He looks down at you with an angry expression.

“I’m going to fuck some sense into you, thats what.”

——————————————

Your clothes on the floor, his hands spreading your legs open. Everything was so.. exciting.. He had ripped of your clothes and his clothes alongside that. The pool of warmth that was in the pit of your stomach had now traveled down to your legs, Leona’s precum covering your wet lips, tongue lapping over them.

Everything felt so warm, your juices soon covering his mouth, and then helping his rock hard cock slip into you, all your thoughts getting fucked out when his first thrust registers into your body, legs bent onto his shoulders and claws holding your thighs open.

“fuck— how are you- god damn it your so tight” he groans out, long hair stuck onto his sweaty face. He missed this, YOU missed this, the feeling of his hips rutting into yours, the way you’d feel full with his cock, as if you’d just eaten a full course of food. It was too fucking good, too good. Its like the both of you became two wild animals in heat, you couldn’t say much about him though, he was technically one with the way he was acting.

“Leo- Leona- Ngh.. stop it.. I have to.. give me my pen b-“ Your cut of by your own moan, the feeling of your pens cold magical stone pressing onto your clit, bundle of nerves causing your back to arch and a dam to open inside of you as Leona releases his own batch.

Your legs felt like as if they’d been liquified.. a little.. too.. liquified?

“leona..”

“Yeah?”

“You put a spell on me didn’t you?”

“Sure did, bunny.” He responds, kissing your forehead and covering your naked body with his blanket, leaving you to rest inside his room.

All the black ink was gone by the time he came back.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 25. fuck party

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “merry christmas”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ the ministry is all decorated in festive decor and it truly feels like the holidays are in season! now… what do these ghouls want to do with you?

pairing: era iv nameless ghouls x gn!reader

a/n: first off i just want to apologize for the last few days being so late. i really did try my best to make sure that each day had a good fic. this is the only fic that doesn’t really follow the prompt, but i tried my best. consider this fic a nice little letter for the start of 2024. happy new year, and please enjoy !!!

cw: slight nsfw content. horny ghouls. poly ghouls. implied orgy near the end. there’s nothing nsfw that really happens, just mentioned.

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“we want to make this holiday special, dear. come on down to the nave of the ministry… you won’t be disappointed. merry christmas, sweetheart~” —❤︎

┅✦┅

the entire month has been a rollercoaster of emotions. each day you felt like something wild and absolutely ecstatic happens to you every day. it has only made your holiday season more and more interesting.

and now here you were, all cozied and nestled in your room, the scent of roasted chestnuts and currier ives lingering in the air. you sat atop your wooly quilt, with eight different letters in hand.

the slips were underneath your door when you came back from a long shift of working in the ministry. they were all decorated and colored differently, each envelope having its own unique flair and personality to it. you didn’t even have to read the names to know who’s was who.

smiling to yourself, you opened each letter one by one, excited to read what’s inside.

—

you had started off with the shiny white envelope. it was decorated in cute stationary stickers and the front was written in a glittery pink pen. at the bottom left corner of the envelope was a pink laced ribbon tied neatly with your name on it. if there was anyone that loved colors more than the entire human population, it was your favorite colorful ghoulette.

“aurora’s letter of thanks”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ to my dear y/n,

hello my darling! i hope this letter reaches you well, because i know how the others can get at times~ happy holidays, my love. i know that this month has been busy for you because of the constant yule traditions, but i’m delighted that you were able to make some time for me and that we could make gingerbread houses together like usual! and i gotta say… your tongue skills never fail to impress me~ you made me come so hard i swore i was going to pass out!! but really though… thanks for being such a sweetie to me, the ministry really doesn’t deserve you. i hope to see you soon for our little surprise~

with lots of love,

aurora ghoulette

—

the next envelope was colored in a dreamy grey, with cute hearts inked in pen on the cover, it gave off a much more serene and calm vibe compared to the vibrant letter of aurora’s. at the back was a little pocket that contained a written song. after careful observing, you had determined it belonged to an infamous air ghoulette. oh what a songbird she was.

“cumulus’ dreamy songbird”

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫༄ؘ hello darling ♡︎

what a beautiful winter night, is it not? i often like to be in touch with nature when i’m writing, helps me keep my mind at center. how have you been, darling? i hope you’ve been better after our little passionate night in bed. you were so cute with how you were eagerly trying to get my lingerie off… it was charming, really. though, putting the promiscuity aside, i just want to really want to send this love letter to you as a token of my thanks. you’re my little songbird, and you inspire me to do better, whether it’s songwriting or performing. so as a token of my gratitude.. i’ve prepared a … special song for you. i hope you like it. anyways… come see me later, i’ll sing it.. specially for you~ i love you, dove, and i wish you a happy new year ♡︎♡︎♡︎

your dearest,

cumulus ghoulette

—

the texture of the next letter was earthy and coarse, but it emitted the soft aroma of fresh pine leaves. it seems that this letter was specially crafted personally for you. just from the scent and touch alone, you smiled to yourself knowing it came from a certain earth ghoul. upon opening it, there was a little sunflower necklace attached to the sand paper letter.

“mountain’s delighted memories”

*:..｡o○ to y/n,

hope you’re doing well, and that this year has been treating you well. i appreciate you approaching me that night… and throwing me into the passions of bed. i gotta say, those faces you made when i came deep inside of you, filling you up with me seed, it still gets me going. just being honest here. the reason i’m bringing this up is well… i want to make more memories like that with you. ones that we can share together, and make ourselves feel like we’re ascending to the heavens we can’t reach. you’re really someone that makes me want to just go all out, and in many ways. which is why my gift to you this year.. is going to be imprinted into your mind for eons to come. so, if you want to find more… stop by soon please, i’ll be waiting. ‘till then, have a good christmas.

from your love,

mountain ghoul

—

this paper was crumpled and slightly torn. it looked like it was made in a rush, but it held a certain charm to it. there were little trinkets and treats attached to the letter, all of which had a cute homemade vibe to it. the faded streaks of purple pen gave away who it belonged to, and you couldn’t be more happy when a certain bug came to mind.

“phantom’s sweet treats”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ hi y/n!

i missed you :(( and i know that we live in the same ministry, but you’re so busy and i barely get to see you! which is why i dragged you out to ‘look for a christmas tree’ with me. i gotta say, i was nervous… but seeing how you reacted when i pounded you against that tree.. satanas, still sends shivers down my spine. after that night, i just can’t stop thinking about you. the way you reacted to my touch, oh it was so good. i put together some handmade goodies for you, hope you like them. think of it as my way of saying thanks for a good night :) on that note, i’m sure the other letters have talked about meeting in a special place. i’ll be there, and i’ll be sure to give you all of my attention <3

love,

phantom ghoul

—

closing the envelope shut, you grabbed the next one. lipstick marks stained the paper perfectly, imprinting kisses everywhere. looking at the particular shade of red of the lipstick, you instantly thought of a certain keyboardist. there was a soft pink rose attached underneath the slip, and you opened the envelope with ease.

“cirrus’ gratitude”

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤ evening darling,

i take that christmas has been well for you, huh? it certainly seems like it has been, considering how you were with me during that night in the log cabin ;)) we have to do that more often, sweetheart. you were so cute, with how your face was squished up against the window while i went to town on you… oh, still gets me wet, i can’t lie. it’s one of my favorite memories this season, and for that, i thank you. thanks for being such a delightful and loving partner. you’re honestly a saving grace for me, and you always make me feel good, both in and out of the bedroom. honestly, i’ve never met someone as good in bed as you are. so, as a token of my gratitude, i want you to meet me with the other ghouls tonight. it’ll be fun sweetheart, i promise.

from your dearest,

cirrus ghoulette ❤︎

—

looking at the next letter with intrigue, you were greeted with a faint smell of cologne, the scent of it was soft and reminded you of the beach. laced over the envelope was a red ribbon with seashells and shark tooth carved trinkets at the end. what a gorgeous sight. you opened it, and smiled upon recognizing the stunning calligraphy ingrained on the paper.

“rain’s poem”

｡･ﾟﾟ･ dear y/n,

having a good christmas? you better be, otherwise i’ll make sure you are. but for real though, i’m sure this year has been great for you. i would also like to thank you for.. ‘helping’ me with my own personal gift. you looked so goddamn good tied up in my bed like that. i’ll admit, i got carried away with my words, but i know damn well you were into me treating you like my bitch while i dicked you down on the mattress. though, that made me realize how much you love my honeyed words, so i’ll use this opportunity to praise instead to degrade. y/n, you’re an absolute starlight in my life, a treasure like no other. i’d move the heavens and pits for you. it’s cheesy, but it’s true, and i promise to show you how much i love you in any way i can. come by soon ❦

from your favorite water boy,

rain ghoul

—

the next letter had an ashy and brazened texture, but it shone with a brimstone-like layer to it. the paper was slightly calloused, and there was a fiery flair to it that could only be from one infamous firecracker you knew of. popping off the sloppily made wax seal, you opened it to find an equally burnt letter, but the sight made you smile.

“sodo’s confessions”

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒 to my y/n,

i’d ask you how you’re doing n’ shit, but i’m not good with words, or greetings nonetheless. so to get things out of the way, i’m going to be as straightforward as possible. y/n, i want to fuck you so badly this christmas right now. that night we shared, in my bedroom, fuck that was so hot. i loved the way you reacted every time i brought the candle wax down on your body. you looked so goddamn sexy covered in all of that… and the memory still makes my dick so hard. call me a pervert or whatever, but i’m proud to be one for you. i can’t help myself when i’m around you. your body, your scent, everything, it drives me fucking insane. don’t tell the other ghouls, but you’re my favorite, and i really can’t figure out why… guess i’m just so drawn to you. at midnight, when you meet the others, i’ll be sure to let them know who can make you feel the best in bed. and that’s not a threat, that’s a fucking promise. but ‘till then, i’ll be waiting for you, sweet thing

i love you,

sodo ghoul

—

the final letter had a reddish stain on it. bringing it closer to your nose, you got a faint whiff of red whine from the stain. the designs on the letter were intricate and creative, but there was a suave and sultry feel to this letter. if there was any infernal who knew how to be smooth, it was a certain multi ghoul with the voice of an angel.

“swiss’ invitation”

❤︎*♡∞:｡.｡ to my love,

welcome, darling~ i know how much you like the smell of wine, so i indulged you a bit in my envelope for you. merry christmas, and thank you for being such a passionate lover. gotta say, bunny, you looked so cute that one night when you were sitting on my cock. the way your rosy cheeks just got more pink every time you looked at me, desperate to stay warm… ooh, that’s what you call hot. good to know that i was able to keep you warm during that snowy night, and i got to get my dick wet too. so it was a win/win situation for the two of us, dear~ but all jokes aside, i had come up with the plan to treat my favorite sibling of sin to some… fun this season. i conspired with all of the other ghouls and ghoulettes to help me, and i’m sure they all mentioned in their letters that they want to meet up with you too. we want to make this holiday special, dear. come on down to the nave of the ministry… you won’t be disappointed. merry christmas, sweetheart~

forever yours,

swiss ghoul

—

folding all the letters neatly and piling them on your desk, you smirked to yourself, and got up from the bed to start walking over to the nave of the church. each step carried your eager body closer to a lustful, passionate and loving location.

whatever your lovers were planning… you knew it was going to be a good one.

eyeing up the tall, church doors, you pushed them open to be met with a glorious sight.

the moonlight streamed through the glass panes windows of the dimly lit nave. candles aligned everywhere with ribbons decorating every corner and crevice. but the best sight of all… were the infamous nameless ghouls themselves.

they were all dressed for the occasion, all dolled up to your liking. the ghoulettes were in matching lingerie, but in different colors. aurora in a rose gold, cumulus in white and cirrus in black. they all huddled together and perked up upon seeing you. you looked to the other side to see another group of ghouls. rain’s expression was neutral, but there was a promiscuous glint in his eyes as the red ribbon twirled between his fingers. sodo’s expression was as hungry as ever, eyeing like a piece of candy while holding onto a candle. phantom looked excited, but jittery, claws digging into his seat, and mountain looked as calm and collected as ever, albeit, not minding the little problem in his pants.

from the center, swiss emerged, and he looked down at you with a wicked, yet lustful grin. his tail flicked about to the side, and you looked up at him with curious eyes, chuckling, his long fingers traced around your jaw and gently clasped around it while craning your head up, making you look at him.

he smiled at you,

and in return you smiled.

“merry christmas, y/n.” he spoke suavely, his words still as honeyed as ever.

he then stepped behind you, gently massaging your shoulders and holding onto you. with a snap of his fingers, the ghouls and ghoulettes giggled and approached closer to you, lust on their minds.

oh

this would certainly be a christmas to remember~

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[ep2nd]

@remy-a

Today's topic- the change in animation in LMK

I know like the majority of the Fandom has probably been sent to the ER after season 5 animation (or the emotion couldn't tell) but I think someone said that the animation slightly changed from like the Pilot to s 1-3, somewhere there, so like 3 different animation at this point, maybe??

Alright here's my thoughts

AGGAGAGAGGGGHHHHHHHH

Okay for real this time-

When I first watched LMK, I fell IN LOVE with the fluid motions, the active movement, the anime-style Influence, the exaggeration, the most random fun moments, pop ups, yse of environment, angles, camera movement, facial and body expression and other stuff I don't know the name of

Now as someone who's never watched Anime, please don't kill me, I don't exactly know what that looks like, but try going anywhere on the internet without tripping down the stairs and falling into the basement of ANIME

Also, I'm used to more rigid, beautiful backrounds, great lighting, or basic show animation. Such as Trollhunters, Amphibia, The Owl House, Big City Greens, Ninjago, How to Train your Dragon, Carmen Sandiego and others

So as you can see, this was new to me, and I fricken loved it

Now I can tell there definitely has been change from the Pilot to season 4, more refined, less sloppy

So, when season 5-

Oh dear, I love you Wild Brain, I really do, Ninjago and Carmen Sandiego WERE BEAUTIFUL

BUT AHHHHHH

I will say this, this is a new artstyle, they need practice, and I'm sure it'll improve, but this is not that time it's time to CRITISIZE GET THE RED PEN (maybe I am an English Teacher)

Remember what I said about what I love about LMK animation? Okay now throw it out the window into the Fire of FRICK THIS

Now I will say, they used some angles pretty well, such as using the environment to show emotion/tension, like when it would Pam out and something was blocking the two characters, from Wukong to Macaque to the poll in the Pagado and then a mountain between MK and Wukong near the end- look for its cool- someone pointed it out here on Tumblr can't remember name sorry

2nd, the expressions look really typical, like I miss the shot eyebrow from Wukong, or the the pathetic puppy eyes of MK, or the :3 for Mei, or the furious faces of Pigsy, the sparkly pure joy of Sandy, the chaotic gremlinness of MO, the evil Edit maker smiles of Macaque (I've seen your tiktoks) ALL THE LITTLE EXTRA THAT MADE THE EXPRESSIONS AND HUMOR/TENSION/EMOTION BETTER

3rd, the movements. Seen especially in the second episode when they escape. It's just, so basic running, like compare them running to MK's run in s2 running from the LBD and then when he ran in s4 away from the Ink scroll. Just so much more fear and dread. Also talking bout LBD, her voice actor? Phenomenal as always? Her movements and how they animate her? She seems more like a red headed doll with button eyes than the horror of something like FNAF(haven't played FNAF so can't really compare) what I'm saying is she seemed less huanting, a weary, fear-instilling, and bone-chilling(shut up let me pun) presence this time around, which really makes the scene less dramatic, but the camera angles, voice acting, and some animation still make it somewhat good.

Okay, this post is getting long and I can rant all day, and that's not even with me rewatching the show to pick it apart, someone probably already has good for them I'll look for it👍

In conclusion, comes of more dull, simple, rough, and rushed. S5 story, which has some problems, really hit deep in the last few episodes, mostly MK and Wukong, and if the studio beforehand continued animating, then I think it would have been a masterpiece, really sad to see the wasted potential

I know it's a new studio, but I wish they took more time to practice and learn, and maybe do it on a season that wasn't like the big reveal and end (I'd say a more happy season but let's be honest the Trauma train ain't stopping for a LONG TIME)

so, I guess I'll give it a 4/10, points for using the backround to storytell, still got some great angles, some funny bits here and there (the soldiers where a joy), action scenes were somewhat good, not a lot can't judge more, and pity points because I know they're still learning

[aimfor-theheart]

wolfwood office au but hes a new employee (and ex felon) and youre assigned to help the new hire

anon i love you this is so specific. have you been thinking about this for awhile or something.

office au

wolfwood x reader

cw: maybe like. potential workplace flirting. reader flusters easily and has glasses. reader referred to as "miss"

∘₊✧───────────────────✧₊∘

you adjust the glasses slipping down your nose, flicking through the paperwork on your desk. it's already a little rumpled somehow and you smooth it out carefully. your neat, french manicure gleams in the stark light from the window beside you. your cup of tea sits cooling beside your cup of adorably colored pens.

you read the filled in answers, written in messy scrawl, the ink bleeding across the page. there's a coffee stain in the corner. and—tobacco stains, maybe? a burnt orange dash of color near the bottom.

your eyes flit across the page.

you catch the checked box next to have you been convicted of a felony in the last five years? the little dash beside the yes stands out sharply for a moment.

carefully, you keep a neutral face and keep reading. there's no space to see what crime he may have committed and you certainly won't ask. it doesn't matter, anyways. he got the job, didn't he? and besides, before the felony, his resume is rather impressive. seems like he made some incredible deals—damn near a con man—

you shuffle through more of the papers. you'll have to file all of them.

a knock on the wall beside your desk.

you pick your head up to take in an unfamiliar man. tall and broad shouldered, all shaggy raven hair and olive brown skin. he's handsome in that roguish, wild way. he's in a suit, at least, sharp looking. his ears are pierced. some rings on the fingers that rapped against the wall to get your attention.

"i heard you're my new assistant."

your brows raise. he doesn't exactly look like what you imagined the new vice president of sales to look like, but here he is nonetheless. he's younger than you'd thought he'd be. but when he smiles, you could see how it might be smarmy enough for sales.

"nicholas?" you ask in response, rising from your desk to greet him with a handshake.

"nick's fine. i heard you could show me the ropes around here a little." and this time when he smiles, he really takes you in.

your hand is so small in his.

you don't know why but heat touches your face. you pull your hand away from his quickly and adjust your glasses again to look up at him. "alright, nick. it's—um, nice to meet you."

"nice to meet my next partner in crime, too."

you swallow. funny choice of words that—

"and—yes. i can do that—show you around, i mean. i'll help finish getting you onboarded."

he glances around at your desk area; the flourishing plants and the color-coded pens and cute mouse pad. everything is in its place. even the papers of his you'd been reading are laying neatly on your desk.

"you seem...organized." he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, wandering a little closer to your desk. "which is good—i'm no good at that shit."

you clear your throat, "that's what i'm here for." your eyes flick over him; the lopsided smile and the cursing and the faint smell of tobacco clinging to him. and a cologne—something muskier. amber. and tonka. it's not that he looks like an ex felon or doesn't—just that, he isn't exactly what you were expecting either way. "shall we?" you ask.

he inclines his head, gesturing for you to go first like some kind of faux-gentleman. "after you, miss."

you smile nervously and turn, "um—i guess i can start with the tour?"

"that the fastest way to get coffee around here?" he asks, trailing behind you, your massive shadow.

you peak over your shoulder at him, glasses slipping down your nose again, "um—you can just ask me too, if you want—the old vice president of sales asked all the time—"

"not gonna make you get my coffee. you'll be doing more important shit for me than that." he says casually, and his eyes lock with yours again.

you quickly duck away from his gaze, focusing ahead. you shove your glasses back up your nose.

"i like your glasses, by the way. cute frame. they fit you." he says easily.

heat smarts your face. you blink rapidly.

"uh—thank you, nicholas."

"nick's fine, miss."

"nick. right." you say, swallowing around the name, "thank you."

"i'm real excited to work with you—i think this is gonna be a great pairing."

and you don't turn around to see it, but you can practically imagine the smile in his voice. just on the wrong side of wolfish.

in another universe writing game!

[hiperacid2]

A letter from one's aching heart.

╰┈➤ nanami kento x reader ･ﾟﾟ･｡ wc: ~600

╰┈➤ post shibuya 2018 incident, spoilers for the recent s2 ep (18), gender neutral!reader, angst, mostly hurt/small amounts of comfort, grief, unedited . ･ﾟﾟ･｡posted on ao3!! ･ﾟﾟ･｡ @bitchcraftinc ੈ♡˳

"I've lived and I've loved, I've drank bitter and cold coffee, and I've drunk it warm and sweet too. Lately the world lost its color, and with it the respite of love went away. Maybe it's still there, in the way I still cook, make coffee, load the laundry, buy takeout, and more; everything for two. I keep forgetting I'm going to wake up in an empty, cold bed, that my towels won't ever be warm again when I get out of the shower; sometimes I speak waiting for a response, but what answers me is the silence of a hollow house. I keep saying 'I'm home!' with a smile every once in a while, but then again, hollowness is all I get back. Sometimes I wonder if things could be different, if we could have had an eternity of warm embraces and late sunday mornings. Wondering is futile, you taught me that, what matters is the present, the now. There's days where I buy myself a flower bouquet and put it in your favorite vase, the one that I think is boring and dull, and other days I treat myself to a dinner date, always pouring something for you too; I hope you're enjoying that. Don't worry about me, I'm doing good, it seems I was prepared to live without you, it's so hard, but I'm doing good. Though I loathe the day your clothes stop having your smell, I keep spraying your cologne in your pillow, hoping that the smell brands itself in my brain. I've had no luck yet, maybe if I try harder I will achieve it. I hope you forgive me, but I made one of your ties my lucky charm that I tied to my bag, and I had to cut it in half, with the rest I made a bracelet which I use almost every day, hoping to have a piece of you with me always, at least physically. Maybe I will adopt that little kitten, the one you insisted I should stop feeding. His mama vanished, and he's doing relatively good by itself. But I have all this love inside me that is for you, overflowing and drowning me; it seems to like the charm made out of your tie because they always play with it when I put my bag down. Even when you're not around you still are a magnet of strays. …I am making this longer than I planned, maybe I will write you another letter next week, or when I feel ready. I hope you don't mind the ink a little smudged because I'm crying. With love, always and forever, until we meet in another life, Kento."

You carefully folded the letter, chest full of sobs and tears completely clouding your vision. Nestling the pen you just used against your chest carefully, it's weight heavy in your hands, is Nanami's favorite.

After calming down enough to move, you take the folded paper and move it next to the plain cream vase that now holds half wilted flowers, leaving it there, with the pen over it as a weight.

Grabbing your bag as you take a tissue from beside the door, you put on your shoes. The keys on the door jingle, a solitary keychain with now no pair dances. Closing the door, your next destination is the pet store, the kitten is going to need a lot of new things… absentmindedly you wonder what name would suit them as the sounds of the city engulf you.

╰┈➤ a/n: this has been rotting in my docs since SEPTEMBER !! i'm so happy to finally release it here into the wild, it's not much but im thinking about grief and him allllllll the time. thank u for reading!! ♡

reblogs are greatly appreciated

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Master Post and Intro

Hi, I’m so glad you’re here! This started out as a small blog but has developed a horrifying (^jk) life of its own over the past two years, so it was about time I organised the links and tags to all my Sandman stuff for you to make it easier to find your way around.

I love getting asks, about analysis, about my fics, prompts or generally just to chat, so see this as an encouragement to slide into my inbox…

[For quick reference:]

[The Ultimate Sandman Character Tag Library]

[The Women of the Sandman Tag Library]

[Sandman Comics: Original Artists Library]

[Sandman Reread (Comics)]

[Sandman Rewatch (Netflix)]

[Sandman Reference: How to Collect the Comics, Companion Books, Annotations/Reference Literature etc]

[In Light of Recent Allegations]

Ordered by topics (recommended):

Sandman Meta-Analysis (general "sandman meta"-tag, also contains contributions to other people's posts. You can find my own metas grouped into literary/conceptual/psychological, musical and art, and I definitely recommend perusing both links and the main tag)

The Sandman Book Club Community: Just follow the link if you’d like to join

Sandman Fics (m/f and f/f, both OC and canon pairings) & Poems

I’m also Dream’s Therapist. I think we all agree he needs one

Sandman Art (general tag that contains all art posts. I have also grouped them into my own art and art of others). Separate tag for official Sandman artists

Sandman March Mania was an event we specifically ran for the comics art lovers, so check it out

Sparkle Content Curation (a not-quite-serious collection of Dream/Morpheus thirst-trap fan-art and unhinged posts). Please also peruse the tags #contraceptive sparkles, #glitter herpes and #murphy and his cool hat (yes, I am sort of responsible for the #muhulhu tag on here) if this hell-site has left you in a state of being desperate for laughs

A Little Intro…

…and why this blog will keep on existing

Once there was a girl with so many words, so many images, so many songs in her head that had no place to go. So she decided some of them will just go here…

Well, that sounds a bit contrived, but it’s not entirely untrue. Apart from the “girl”-part, because I’m at the younger end of Gen X. Or the “no place to go”-part, because some of my work actually *did* go places. Just not the stuff I decided to put on here…

Which is mostly Sandman stuff right now, let’s be honest (I fell in love with it when I was 16, and it still has a tight grip on me three decades later). And the fact that my blog a wild mix between my metas, my fanfic and a bit of my doodling already shows the pull in different directions I have experienced for most of my life:

I’ve worked in science/academia, creative/performing arts and mental health. I guess I’m just a multi-hyphenate who can’t make up her mind what she wants to do with her life, so she tries to do it all and ends up burned out half of the time.

Somewhere along the way, I managed to publish a few novels under a pen name, and only a select few people know about it. And I intend to keep it that way.

I used to draw much more (mostly pencil and ink), but between working and having a family, something had to give, and if I have to choose, writing always comes first. But I doodle and experiment a lot in Procreate, and it usually helps me when I procrastinate on my writing. I drop the odd drawing in here (like my profile pic), but I don’t see myself as a fine artist, and I’m in perpetual awe of the talent I see on here.

This is just an account for unapologetically being me, with all my hyperfixations—and undoubtedly some pointless shitposts just for fun…

In light of recent happenings, I explained my personal stance and, by extension, why this blog will keep on existing.

[thedrotter]

not-yet-dead-person

silly comic of a conversation in-game i thought was too funny not to make something proper for instead of a doodle ww

(timelapse + wip images (thus silly process commentary in read more if you like artist commentary :3)

i think the sketch looks silly and goofy and funny so i find it important to share with you the mere presence of the faces i drew on it. i drew it on top of the boxes without staying inside its borders because i find my proportions can get wonky if i draw them cropped in a restricted space. and I feel trapped otherwise and i will draw BAD!!! give me spaceeeee to go wild!!!!

the head circles are there for emotional support

very low res speedpaint because truth is the canvas was much bigger than the space where my comic was placed. i didnt account when exporting my timelapse in 720px that that tiny space would look so pixelated ... but it's able to be percieved, so its okay.

(i will now comment on my process and it is not brief sorry)

usually i would try to clean up my sketches and figure out what goes on top before jumping into linework, but since there are multiple panels and drawings i chose to jump into inking right away for the sake of brevity. i just went in with a brush that uses pen pressure and drew what was needed. i added extra line thickness and contrast in areas around the face because it helps direct your eyes there more easily that way.

according to her equipment rei has a chain belt but i only remembered it existed once I was going to color, and i did not like that discovery... I chose to ignore it to maintain my peace. i already have the color palettes for these characters figured out, and i didnt really want to think about a new element at the moment www I tend to overthink those things a lot so i skipped it

the rest is rather straightforward! not that anything else wasn't, but in here i could turn my brain off and sing. linework and sketching require mumbling so i cannot turn my brain off. just block in the characters with a solid color so i can have a mask (something along those lines,) where the color can stay inside. then just color in !!!

Base colors just had slight cell shading on the skin, and for the hair i airbrush a bit of the skincolor in low opacity near the forehead... I'm not sure what it means, but i can look at the faces easier with it somehow. i like the gentle subtlety it adds even if you cant really tell. it makes things look nice.

background was just me blocking in the color of the wall and floor, shade the wall a bit, then slap a noise and free use wood texture on top. work smarter not harder ! yet it took a bit to make it look stylistically fitting with the characters, and even now i think bottom middle panel looks odd. whatever!!!

for the middle panel i thought itd be funny if the background was a solid silly and colorful one to contrast the next panel's sketchy black one. a contrast to how the word widow is seen. on that note my handwritting is not pointy. i gaslighted my hand into thinking that it was indeed pointy in that moment so i could write "not-yet dead person" in letters that didn't seem cute. my hand did not fall for it but it complied anyway

that's basically it! I'm not sure what else i could say that doesn't feel barebones because it really is that straightforward. if you're curious I used clip studio paint for this. only special brush used was for linework (a brush named Lemon Brush), the rest used were just the default. my computer gets the least credit. it was trying to convince me a 20mb file was going to nuke it all the time and hardly let me save multiple times so i do not appreciate it

[rcmclachlan]

That makeup poll reminded me of when you used to do the makeup giveaways and lipstick recommendations. What have you been wearing lately?

Holy moly, I'd completely forgotten about the giveaways! Talk about a blast from the past. The last one I did (according to my #giveaway tag) was 8 whole-ass years ago. Absolutely wild.

Anyway, hit the jump to see what I'm rocking these days as far as makeup goes:

Here was today's look. Admittedly, it was a teensy bit more than my usual day-to-day look, since I went out to lunch with one of my closest friends (who always looks 13/10).

Anyway, let's pretend it's 2014 again and do a makeup look breakdown.

Most of what I wear these days is drug store makeup. The prestige brands must be sweating bullets, because the drug store brands have really stepped up their game.

Lipstick:

I've been really disappointed with Beauty Bakerie's formula over the last couple of years—it just doesn't have the staying power it once did. Probably because the company has been in a tailspin since like 2019. I think it just got bought out.

So my go-to for the last year or so has been Maybelline's Super Stay Matte Ink Liquid Lipstick. I'm super impressed with both the longevity of the wear and the color selection. Since I started dyeing my hair teal, "Romantic" (#30) has been my shade of choice.

The Matte Ink Liquid Lip goes on pretty thick and tacky, and it takes a long time to dry down on its own. I'm not that patient. My recommendation is to dry it in stages with a hair dryer on the lowest heat setting. Apply your bottom lip first, dry it completely, then repeat with your upper lip. Once it's dry, it ain't budging. It will last all day and through all types of meals, including soups and oil-based foods.

Also, it's $9.19 at Target and even less on Amazon. All the staying power of OG Beauty Bakerie and half the price!

Mascara:

I use two mascaras, because I have two sets of lashes that need to do two different things.

Bottom lashes: E.L.F. Lash XTNDR. Because bottom lashes are much more delicate, a regular defining mascara is fine. E.L.F.'s mascara gives me length and definition without clumps or flaking. My eyes aren't irritated by it at the end of the day, either, which is always a plus. Currently $7.00 on Amazon.

Top lashes: Maybelline's The Colossal (waterproof). This was actually recommended to me by a coworker. Her lashes always looked incredible and when she told me it was Maybelline I was floored. No Tarte, no Too Faced, no Benefit, and no Urban Decay has ever given me the definition, length, and fullness that I get with The Colossal. I wear waterproof because my lashes are stick straight and, even after being curled with a curler, will fall after 30 minutes with a regular mascara. It's currently $7.73 on Amazon!

Eyeshadow

I don't really wear eyeshadow on the regular anymore, mostly because I get so much glam from the mascara that I don't need it. But when I want to go the extra mile, my tried and true is a prestige brand, but it's lasted me forever so it was well worth the price.

The Urban Decay NAKED palettes really do live up to the hype. I got myself the NAKED3 version about a year ago, which has more pinky-neutral tones that really complement my skin tone and green eyes.

Because I have hooded eyes, I don't go crazy with it (it's not like you'd see a lot of it anyway). I stick with one to two matte shades ("Limit" and "Nooner"), and then I'll use one of the dark shades ("Darkside") as eyeliner. Hooded eyes means having more eyelid skin, which doesn't always jive with liquid liners or pens. I have an easier time applying a thin line of shadow with a tapered eyeshadow brush (again, nothing fancy or winged—my eyelid/brow folds eat most of it anyway).

The NAKED palettes are pretty pricey at $59 each, but a couple of times a year Ulta does a 50% sale and you can get them for $24.50!

Foundation

Sike! I'm 37 years old and I still don't know how to apply foundation or how to contour. At this point, I'm too afraid to try.

Luckily, I have my mom's good skin and I stay out of the sun as much as I possibly can (and wear sunscreen every day no matter what), so I don't really need it.

+

So, for those of you who wear makeup: what are your go-to's? I'll happily take recommendations!

[devinescribe]

Older Now

Ch. 14 of "My Sunshine" [Treech x Reader] Warnings: Swearing and suggestive content(Spicy poetry that implies but is not explicit)

You thought it was funny, hilarious even.

When the expected "no funny business" line was delivered from his mom, his face turned so red you thought he would die.

"Ma!"

Oh yes, you had missed this.

You giggled and looked up at him.

"It's alright, come on now..." you whispered. "You promised you would show me your poetry and I still have one notebook for you."

——

I find solace in sitting in the woods. The ghosts of our youth call out. I replay the memories in my head over and over again. Some days, I feel certain I see you, but you're always just close enough to trick me, yet too far for me to reach you.

------

When my name got called, I froze, I wondered if you were watching. So for that reason, I didn't cry. I marched up there and glared at the ''peace'' keepers. If you were watching, well, I didn't want to see weak in front of you.

The handwriting was messy and quick. He had hidden it haphazardly and ran back out before the Peace Keepers could pull him out. He hugged his Ma and promised he would be back.

-----

District Seven will always be home. No matter where I am, I will always go home. Home is the creeks rushing downstream, the tall trees and the smell of pine. Home is the dirt road and hiking trails we took. The still lake, the birds chirping, the frogs croaking. That is home. The wooden walls, your arms around me, our hands interlocked, and my head on your chest. The sound of your heart beating, your sweet words filling my ears. You are home. And district seven is not home without you.

You were proud of this one. One you'd give to him as soon as he stepped out of that arena. You gently put it on top of your desk.

____

I feel like a circus performer. I get dressed up and parade around making a show of myself. Capitol people love the circus. They love entertainment. What could be more entertaining than a district girl pretending to be one of them?

——

I've always wondered how I've survived so long without you.

There were no other words he wanted to say. That was the only sentence he could think to write. There was no space within him to write long beautiful prose about how much he missed you.

____

I decided to stop writing for a bit. My mind runs through everything. One second I feel like crying, at another time I am angry. How have I survived this long without you?

The writing on the paper was short, you admitted to yourself, but after a month of not writing this was all you could get out.

____

I play pretend like we used to. I pretend you never left. I pretend I'm not alone.

____

Most nights, you invade my thoughts. Your pretty hands, your lips, and those beautiful eyes. One hand on the pen as I write, the other distracted. Soon, it's one hand over my mouth; paper and pen forgotten as my mind runs wild with thoughts of you. Ink spills over my lap and I curse myself as I pick up.

He looked at the paper in shock as if he hadn't just written that. As if it just magically appeared. He groaned, running his hands through his thick dark hair, and hitting his head on his small desk. It shook and he winced hoping no one would wake up from the noise.

____

I sit and write at my desk till late. I fill pages and envelopes... fill other things. Until my hand becomes shaky and the writing falls off of the page. I force myself to continue, to focus. To write. The shaky letters will be obvious. When I give them to you, you will notice. I can't focus on that thought for long as I knock my ink over. It spills and covers my hands.

You stared at the writing, blushing, as if those words were not your own. What are you doing (Y/N)? you thought to yourself as you hid the poem.

____

Quick breaths. It feels like waves crashing against me. I'm glad my imagination can imagine things. Redundancy at its finest. I'd put this crudely, but you've always liked pretty words. So I'll write pretty words for the pretty girl. On every other paper but this one. Here, I'll say this: I want you. Hell, I need you. I need you to touch, to feel. I want you to need me to.

———

By the end of finishing each other's writing, your faces were bright red.

"I... um..."

"Yeah..."

You then laughed and hugged him, peppering his face with kisses. He protested, saying you were getting your lipstick on his face. In reality, he didn't care.

"(N/N) st-stop it!" He laughed, finally gently cupping your face.

You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips before grabbing his hands from your face. You intertwined your hands with his and then put your head in the crook of his neck.

He let out a content sigh as you did this, placing his head on top of yours, and hiding his face in your hair.

"I haven't been this... happy... since... well, since you were here. And I mean, there's no objections to us... Ma loves you. And I'm sure Pa will be happy too. You know he used to say that when I finally opened my eyes and really saw you, I'd realize I was in love... I used to tell him that we were just friends and he was gross," he laughed. "But... after you left... well... I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder."

You smiled at him talking. Just hearing how he didn't sound exhausted or scared made you happy. There was the thought in your head that he would snap. But right now, he was ok. And when he wasn't, you would be right there to hold him, comfort him, and make everything okay again

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you holding on to each other. There was no talking needed for the words you were both thinking. The silence said all that needed to be said.

—

It was a few hours later when his father came home. He was overjoyed at seeing his son.

You had never seen anyone cry as much as they all did. It made your eyes tear up as you stood off to the side. They were so happy, and seeing them be so overwhelmed by the joy that they were crying made you cry.

No, you weren't upset about his reunion.

You were... jealous?

Seeing his family be a family. Loving and hugging each other. You hadn't felt your family's love since the beginning of your father's relationship with the Capitol. Your mother becoming a living ghost in your house. Elusive. Your father said that affection was unnecessary and only the lowly gave any comfort to their children. That affection was how you

They talked and talked and you quietly stepped out onto the steps in front of the house.

You should be happy! You should feel ecstatic about him being with his family again! The one thing he missed the most while in the Capitol were his Ma and Pa and now... Now you were upset? No not upset... you just longed for what he had...

You felt horrible. You should be inside celebrating his return, and helping him not feel like a horrible human being...

Yet you sat outside.

It was about two hours later when the door opened behind you. The steps behind you creaked and groaned as someone stepped down and sat next to you. You gave a glance and saw Treech.

"Hi..." you whispered.

"Where did you go? I mean we just noticed but um..." he trailed off.

Don't be upset, you have no reason to be upset don't be upset.

You kept repeating that in your head.

"I've been out here for about... two hours? I uh... needed fresh air," you whispered.

"Oh? Two hours? I'm sorry I didn't notice before then (N/N)..." He mumbled, sitting on the step next to you.

His hand found yours and you sighed, leaning into him. He brought your hand to his lips and softly kissed your fingers, then your palm, and finally the back of your hand, before looking up at you.

"You doin' ok?" He whispered, noticing how sad your eyes looked.

You could not, absolutely under any circumstance, tell him that you were upset. He had way more to be upset about, and you were supposed to be happy and be there for him. How come every time he needed you, you somehow seemed to need him in the same way?

"You can be upset... It's ok..." he mumbled.

You smiled and kissed his forehead, "I promise... Now, how did they react to the news?"

His smile widened, and he stood up taking both of your hands in his.

"They're excited. Both of 'em... But, they will kill me if they find out that I haven't taken you on a proper date. So, that is our plan for tonight sunshine," he said.

You blushed at the idea of going on a 'proper' date with him. Of course, you had only imagined the moment, but now that it was finally happening, you became nervous. The prospect of going out alone for the first time as a couple with him made you squeeze his hand tightly.

_____

It was later in the night, around 8, when you said your goodbyes and headed out into the woods behind his house. He had a medium-sized bag on his shoulder, and he would not tell you what was inside.

You remembered the path, one of the hikes you two used to take up to the lake. This one led straight to the old willow tree you spent so much time at.

"Is it still...?"

"Yeah, it is still there. And it is still just our secret spot. I never brought anyone else there," he reassured, offering his arm to you.

You happily took it, hooking your arm in his as he led you through the woods, a lantern being your only form of light.

There was a warm breeze flowing through the leaves, fireflies blinking around you two.

Soon, you reached the lake and the willow. You smiled widely at seeing the spot. It looked the same. Nothing had changed about the spot. Treech put the bag down and grabbed your hands.

"Ok, well, let's go," he said, spinning you around.

You laughed at him twirling you and looked confused.

"Let's go? But we just got here," you questioned with a pout.

He laughed, taking his hat and placing it on top of the bag.

"Sorry, let me rephrase that: Let's go swimmin'," he smirked.

"But I didn't bring any swim-"

"Don't need it. I brought some towels and a blanket for later. But if you want your clothes to stay dry then..." he gestured to you and your clothes. You got the memo.

"Let me get this straight... for our first official date, you take me to our spot and are asking me to go skinny dipping with you?" You said, a smirk playing on your lips. "If you wanted to see me naked you could have just asked."

His face turned bright red at your words as he tried to defend himself, panic-stricken that you thought he would only ask you out here for that. You laughed, and went over, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

"Treech, darlin', I was just teasin'. Now, I bet I can beat you in," You giggle, beginning by taking off your shoes and socks, and tucking them neatly by the bag.

He scoffed and laughed, "Oh you're on (Y/N)!''

You took your time, knowing that when he got competitive, he got clumsy. You were so cocky as to neatly fold all your clothes as it came off. You laughed and ran into the water, deciding to keep your underwear on. It could dry later. Treech did the same.

He shook his head and groaned as he waded over to you.

"Can't believe I lost. God damnit,'' he jokingly groaned. 

You laughed and kissed his cheek before grabbing his hand and pulling him a little deeper. You could both stand, yet were up to your chests in the water. He quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and leaned his head into the crook of your neck. 

"I love you so fuckin' much (Y/N) (L/N), I can not wait to be completely and utterly yours," he mumbled into your neck.

"And I love you, Treech Mori, as much as there are stars in the sky. Hopefully, you can be as patient as them too."

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

Born to kill

Summary: Lyle thinks about his tattoo

Idea from Me and @thevanityofthefox chatting!

Lyle lovers come get yalls pain! 〒▽〒

Born to kill

He had this tattoo over his heart, bold type face, black ink, simple. He bore it through war-zones, spraying hot lead into the dust, praying he'd hit something, someone. Watching friends and enemies alike succumb to the machine of war. He barely remembered the burn, the needle jabbing in and out in a foreign tattoo parlor that smelled of stale alcohol. Maybe it was just him, the nights whisky still clinging to his tongue as his brothers in arms cheered him on. Then again burning on his chest as he watched them torn to shreds in oncoming fire.

Then he was home. Cold in the grey smog that clung to the buildings, the shaded streets bellow. The run down paint chipped bar had offered him a place behind its sticky counter. The closest thing to honor his service got him. Nightly patrons chatting loudly, throwing away what scraps they earned for whatever he was pouring. He barely made enough to keep a roof over his head but he was happier than he'd ever remembered being. He was happy because he had them.

His girls. A beautiful, sharp, hard working woman, who never failed to make him glad he survived till now. Even when they spat venom at one another. Her touch soothing his soul, her kiss that made him thankful for the cramped flat they shared. Just meant she was always near, just in arms reach to be tugged into his arms.

Then there was his daughter. A wild little thing, with ever messy hair struggling to stay tied up. Her hands always sticky and her face always caked in something. Brilliant eyes shining brighter than any jewel and a big gaped tooth smile that took up half her face or more.

Right now she was stained in pen ink. He'd scraped every penny of tips up all month and got her them. They weren't great, streaking dry ink that smelled too chemically but she didn't care, they marked the paper well enough. Old bank statement, overdrafts and red inked notices, made to blue and purple grassed fields with smiling moons.

In all his years he'd never seen real nature like it, neither had she but her school had shown her pictures of Pandora. Lyle had insisted it was a necessary expense. He'd never gone and she was just so bright, already learning her letters. He'd been almost 12 before he'd had a handle on them, his brother a harsh and inattentive teacher.

His wife grumbled, trying her hardest the convince herself the money was needed elsewhere. Lyle could see in her face though, how their daughter's delight meant more to her. She pecked her nest of hair before kissing Lyle where he rested on the battered couch.

"Please brush her hair before you go to bed." She smiled wearily before going to get ready for her night shift. Lyle scooped his squirming child up into his lap, tickling her sides as she squealed in delight.

"We gonna get your hair all nice before Mummy leaves right?" He chirped fighting the weight of his eyelids. She nodded emphatically playing with his dog tags as he teased out the knots.

She stood in his lap fingers playing against his chest. Lyle took note of the tickling feelings, peering down at her tiny finger nails. They followed the letters over his heart and he felt it freeze. Her stained cheeks hallowed as she silently sounded it out. O, R, N.

Lyle felt shame build in him. How could explain to her what he'd done, who he'd been. She was too young, her bright eyes hadn't seen what he had. He couldn't bare them glassing over, her hopeful shine dimming even a fraction.

She tapped from foot to foot on his leg, never aware of the weight of her feet. The pain as she stomped down briefly distracted Lyle. How many years out in war zones and he'd been felled by a 4 year old.

In her tiny fist she brandished her pen, scribbling over the last word. Lyle couldn't tilt his chin low enough to see but he felt her movements. Scraping over then smoothly as her shaking hand would allow she penned something new, engraving it with force.

"What've you written there buttercup?" He cooed, scooping her up under one arm when her hand stopped. She squealed in laughter under his arm as he carried like that to the mirror. In the warping plastic he saw her work-

Born to kill HUG

Scribbled in wobbling letters. He stilled at the sight. His tired eyes, loose comfortable joggers and a little glitter from something still on his bare softening chest. Then his laughing child still kicking under his arm. He pulled her up, letting her sit against his side swiping hair off her face. He smiled at her through the mirror, both admiring her work.

"Honey come see my new tattoo!" He smiled as his daughter wriggled and laughed into his neck.

"Babes I told you we don't have money for-" She paused in the door frame, hands still in her hair tying it. She barked a sudden laugh, snorting and grabbing the door frame. Lyle's chest feels so full, warm and light as he laughs with her.

She takes their daughter into her arms, kissing her cheeks.

"Oh baby it's lovely! Maybe we've got a little artist one our hands!" She jokes, pressing more pecks into her hair and she laughs.

Lyle's alone now, tracing the tattoo in the dark. He came here for them. The recruiter had set it all up, every pay cheque made it home to them. He'd smiled at his daughter's growing form, just a few more years then he'd be back he kept telling himself. He'd see her graduate and grow up, fall in love, everything, just next rotation.

There was no next rotation now. His large blue body shifted in bed, his hand clutching at his chest. Tracing over the words written there, trying to claw new ones. In his mind he could still feel her fingers tracing, even as he screamed inside. Begged the memory to warm him instead of leaving him so cold.

He still felt the pit in his stomach, the sinking feeling as they explained what was happening. There'd been such a huge payout when he died, surely that'd been enough to see them through? He felt numb lying in the small bed, his eyes raw. Lyle couldn't know for sure if they were okay and there was no going home now.

[themetalvirus]

good news! i got a kaweco sport (in pearl) and an ink that's actually somewhat silver the hedgehog colored (diabolo menthe from j herbin)!

bad news: the kaweco sport in pearl feels overpriced even at $22. there are visible seams, the barrel and cap make loud unpleasant plastic squeaking noises when you unscrew them, and the plastic is partially transparent, making it feel even cheaper. don't buy the plastic kaweco sports, go for an AL-sport or something, anything but the plastic ones. jeezum

the nib of the pen is pretty nice though - a smooth writer without feeling overly slippery like nahvalur nibs sometimes feel, and the sliiight feedback feels intentional. i'm not sure if the ink is dry or the nib is dry, but this particular combination of pen and ink DOES write a bit dry. the dryness of the nib (at least with this ink) actually compliments its status as a portable workhorse pocket pen - less ink being put down on cheap paper at work (or school or generally in The Wild) means less feathering on the paper and more readable writing.

the nib is nice and fit for purpose, but the creaky, cheapy plastic is god awful and brings the pen down. the form factor is advertised as being portable, but i wouldn't trust this pen rattling around in a bag with other crap.

i'm aware the tiny ink capacity is inevitable with a pocket pen, but it makes me feel a little robbed as someone who likes to be able to pick up a pen and use it for days at a time before i need to refill it. it's a worthy sacrifice for its actual purpose but as a desk pen it is practically worthless and you can pick up pens in this price range or cheaper with much bigger ink capacity.

to be fair, i bought the sport knowing i would probably dislike it, but everybody seems to love the sport so much in the fountain pen hobby that i figured i would pick one up anyway just to see if i would be proven wrong (like with the lamy safari). unfortunately, i only proved myself right. the form factor and nib are all in service to a particular use case that does not fit with what i bought it for. if you truly need a portable pen (that's maybe an inch and a half shorter than any other everyday carry pen and just as girthy) then the sport may be worth it. it's for carrying around. i dunno man it writes good but the form factor is NAWT for me. i may pick up a perkeo or something though

EDIT: when capped, the kaweco sport is a pocket pen. in use, you're meant to post it (put the cap on the back of the pen) and it'll turn into a standard full length.

[uk3d]

Sketchbook work Padbury brook #sketch no.3804 Padbury brook is surprisingly wild given its location. Visited many times when my daughters were young. Just one of my many sketchbooks that I take with me wherever I go. Pen and ink and watercolour mostly. My online shop #sketchbook #art, #drawing, #sketchbook, #doodles, #painting, #sketch, #artwork, #print, #artist, #creative, #Sean_Briggs https://www.seanbriggs.co.uk/sketchbook-work-padbury-brook/?feed_id=4348&_unique_id=66d74d82beac6

[cheolism]

congrats on 3k!!! 🎉🍾 for create a story how abooouuut woozi? 3 random words: ink, scandalous, taste. go crazy!

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 join my 3k celebration!!

: ̗̀➛ warning for reader having a mother. this takes place sometime before modern day, let your imagination run wild as to when exactly!!

the room was dim, the sun having set hours ago. only jihoon and his desk were lit, the dancing flame of his candle making the shadows of his face waltz. his black hair was pulled from his face, though small strands framed it, hanging as he kept his head ducked.

you sighed, entering his office fully. the general lifted his head, dark eyes flicking to you. he then went to the time candles across the room, swearing. "i didn't mean --"

you laughed softly, going to him. you rounded jihoon's desk, resting your hand on your fiance's arm. you squeezed. "lose track of time again, general lee?"

jihoon sighed, setting down his pen. ink stained his hands, marking his pale fingers. "it was an urgent letter," he expalined, voice muffled as he brought his hands to his face. "i set it out already, but then i just --"

"lost track," you finished. you hummed, bringing your hands to his and lift them from his face. "let me look at you, jihoonie."

he blushed; even in the dim candlelight you could see how his face reddened. jihoon had dark shadows beneath his eyes, weariness seeping into his face. "what're you looking at?"

you grinned, cupping his face in your hands. "my future husband," you returned, thumb swiping over his lip. his face continued to turn red. you were powerless to ignore it, pressing your lips to the apple of his cheek.

he shouted out your name, eyes wide. "stop! that's -- that's scandalous! we're not married yet, we'll get in trouble!"

you laughed loudly. then you were setting yourself on his lap, ignoring his protest for propriety. "lee jihoon," you cackled, looping your arms around his neck. "you're a high ranking general. i'm the daughter of one. everyone in this household answers to you. i'm sure they'll overlook a few kisses if we tell them to~"

jihoon grabbed your hands, bringing them between the two of you, creating space. "what if your mother asks?"

you giggled. quickly you darted forward, pressing a kiss to his chin. "and what if she does?" you ignored his squawk of indignation. "what will you say, hm? fiercesome general lee, the emperor's favorite official? will you simper and beg before my mother for forgiveness, apologizing for kissing her dearest child when we aren't yet married?"

jihoon blushed some more, pouting. "you're horrid," he mumbled. "absolutely ridiculous."

another loud laugh began to bubble out of you but was quickly silenced by jihoon. he pressed his mouth to yours, insistent. shock hit you like a lightning strike, rendering you useless, pliant under his clever lips.

jihoon kissed you fiercely, as if he was punishing you for your silliness. his tongue found its way into your mouth, exploring. you were helpless to him, weak to his hands as they grasped your waist and to the taste of his mouth.

when he pulled away, it was with a smirk. jihoon laughed as you lurched into him, burying your face into his neck to hide. he looped his arms around you, holding you. "not so cocky now, are you?"

[writ-in-violant]

💫 and 🥀 for all!

Ooh, thanks!

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

Vivian's is probably that they were roommates with the Lily -- from the Moloch Street ES -- for like, a year and a half because Vivian needed help with rent and the Lily needed to get his feet back under him after All That. They're still friends but the Lily got married and he and his husband moved in together. Vivian writes plays for his theater sometimes.

For Blake it's probably that he's adopted a teenage girl, Sara, and is excusing it to himself as her being a fantastic spy who feeds him good information. He's definitely not a father. Absolutely not. Particularly notable because, well, the exact same thing happened to him as a kid. So you'd think he'd know that this was functionally an adoption.

My favorite Art fact is probably that his dad was a sailor up on the surface who made up wild tall tales about the monsters he encountered out on the sea. He was also the one who named Art; Artemis, because he'd been listening to stories of the old greek gods and liked the idea of naming his daughter after the huntress, especially as she was pale as the moon. Course, Art didn't end up being a girl, but he liked the name Artemis so much he kept it.

For Celestine, it's that she chose the name she uses as a gentleman-thief/cat-burglar-style burglar entirely to be a joke for herself. She uses "Ciel" which is androgynous and only really gives away that the person using it knows french...but it's also pretty much just her initials, C.L. She thinks she's very funny and in her defense, she hasn't gotten caught yet, meaning it is kind of funny.

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

Vivian tends to have inksmears on their journals, often in interesting colors; they write stream-of-consciousness and often include doodles or turns of phrase they find poetic or compelling. Something like this:

Blake, meanwhile, would be curt and more pragmatic, full of bullet-points and quick notations to keep track of what he's talking about. Bullet journalling doesn't exist yet but Blake would be a fan of its most pared-back form, the thing it was before it became a cutesy aesthetic. Dark journals with no ornamentation.

Art's is less a full journal and more a series of memos, disconnected notes, and tallies he's keeping that are generally labelled very poorly. Things like "context" or "most of the vowels in a word" are unnecessary and make him write slower. He's 90% sure he knows what he was talking about for most of them! It's fine! picture this page but smeared with more dirt, I didn't want to get my notebook too messy:

Celestine would realistically be writing in French, but I do not speak French and so could not pull that off. That said, she tends to use her journal as a way to practice her penmanship -- and also to make sure she has nailed down the stories she's telling about what happened. Her actual life events rarely go into the journal, and if they do, they're always veiled behind other comments.

There's probably a wider range in handwriting styles than I could capture there but alas, I am but one person, with but one type of handwriting and many fancy pen colors. One day I'll actually put OS Nitrogen ink into a pen and then we'll see Vivian's correspondence notes in violant ink.

Feel free to ask me more questions from the ask meme here: https://writ-in-violant.tumblr.com/post/727735080951463936/soft-oc-asks