#my pencil died before I could finish so I did it without

[ocapmycap]

so i had this idea where like, after mike and max become friends she teaches mike some tricks on a skateboard and … the thought wouldn’t leave my brain so here is my quick sketch so it wouldn’t consume me <3

[sfwregressionfanfictions]

Aaron Hotchner X Little! Reader: Accidental Slip

Summery: Requested

W/C: 1056

It was a long day of paper work after a brutal case. Involving regressors, that one hit too close to home. Thank goodness the team promised to not profile each other anymore, otherwise they would have discovered my regression. 

As I stare at the paper in front of me, the words begin to grow to large and complex. My brain is becoming too fuzzy for this. I look at a note I was writing, the words appear blocky and nearly illegible. I have to options: 1. Fight the regression and get the report done, or 2. Tell Hotch I’m gonna finish the report tomorrow and leave.

The second option is a no go, Hotch is the definition of a daddy. He’s strict and stern, but is also gentle and caring towards the team. I would regress the second I looked at him. So the only option is the first one, which is harder than it sounds.

I try to work on the papers for over 20 minutes but I’m just not able to focus on it. The words aren’t wording! The frustration is growing and as is my want to regress.

“What are you doing?” 

Uh-oh, it’s Hotch!

“Ummm tryin’ to finish my work…” I mumble trying to sound big and strong.

“Hmm… Well from what I saw, you weren’t doing much work.” Hotch said, his voice flat.

“‘M sorry, can’t focus” I choked out, tears welling up in my eyes as I try to speak.

“It’s okay, it’s too late for you to be working, how about you take a break in my office and then I’ll drive you home… You seem a bit out of it, you shouldn’t drive.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. You will take a break and then go home. “And I will finish your report today.”

“But-“ the sentence died short, he had a daddy face on that said ‘quit it now’.

“Come on now.” He already collected your bag, paperwork, and jacket. Walking towards his office. I was quick to chase him, a little clumsily, I’m too little to walk well without a little help.

Once we were in his office he shuts the door.  He places my stuff on the chair near his desk, before moving to pull the sofa/futton thing out, making the couch into a little bed. I stand still by the door watching him walk to the closet and grab a few pillows, blankets, and a small stuffed animal (your fav animal).

“There if you get sleepy, you can nap. I don’t have any toys, but I have a few coloring books over on that shelf,” He paused to point, “and some colored pencils. I won’t be too long then I’ll drive you home.”

The wheels spun in my head for a few seconds before I realized what he was saying, “I’m not a child! I don’t need to be entertained by toys!”

God, I sound like I’m trying to convince myself. I want those toys and coloring books and I want to be treated like a baby! But my boss can’t know that!

“I didn’t mean to offend you, I just could tell you are regressing. Is there someone I should have called instead?” Hotch said as he sat at his desk, only concerned that my daddy would want to know.

“How did you know? When did you figure it out?” Suddenly I’m nervous, fidgety and aware of my breathing.

“Since I met you. I’m a profile, that’s how I knew.” Hotch answered flatly, “now is there someone I should call? Someone who watches you when you are regressed?”

“N-no” my voice was small, I felt safe again. He knew and he didn’t care. He is okay with me being small.

“Come here,” Hotch said, ushering me further into the room towards where he was sat. I was quick to get behind his desk, standing infront of him, almost between his legs. “Wanna sit?” 

I nod, hoping he meant in his large lap. I wanted him to comfort me, tell me being little was okay. Calling me a perfect little baby. Telling me he was proud of me for being brave during the case.

I was lucky, he lifted me quickly. Wow, he would be a strong daddy! And he was warm and his arms wrapped around me just right when I was in his lap.

“Now, I have a few questions, can you answer them for me?” Hotch asked, I nodded quickly, “such a good baby, how often do you get to be little?”

“Not much,” I say with a huff, I was slipping and I wasn’t scared to do it infront of him.

“Well, when you start feeling small, I want you to come to me, can you do that for me?”

“Mmmhmmmm!” I reply, “dis make you my-?”

“I want to be your daddy, but only after you feel comfortable with that idea. For now, I just want to help you.” Hotch said, rubbing my back.

“Wan chu,” I say leaning into his chest, “wan you ta be dada…”

“Okay, you sleepy baby?” The answer was obviously yes, so before I could answer he quickly moved me around until I was super duper comfortably. Then he started rocking me, mumbling to me how good I was, telling me he adored me and how I was a perfect little baby.

I fall asleep smiling. Tomorrow, he was gonna talk to me more about being his girlfriend when I was big and being his baby when I was little. I made sure to tell him he doesn’t have to do both of those just cause of the night before, and he said he wanted to. He said he wanted to since I joking the team.

Thinking back, he always helped carry my bag of the plane, with the excuse that the ramp was steep and I was more likely to fall. He would always make sure I got a hot cocoa rather than a coffee or tea. He would always have my seat next to his. He would yell at cops that were trying to flirt and harass me. Or him telling me to leave early whenever I started to feel slightly smaller.

This wasn’t a random night, he was waiting to be sure I wanted and needed him.

[faffreux]

can you tell us about when you fell in love with fawful? :)

Yep. In fact, I'll write a whole mini essay for you so I can add it to the FAQ section of my website coming up shortly LMAO (SINCE I NEED TO FULLY ANSWER THIS QUESTION FOR THERE ANYWAY, RIGHT???) CLICK UNDER THE READ MORE TO SEE IT BECAUSE THIS IS GOING TO BE THE LONGEST THING I'VE EVER POSTED HERE, LMAO.

To preface, I have been a fan of the M&L games going back to the early-mid 2000s when I was a kid. I had no involvement with fandom or anything of the sort back then but I used to hop on my mom's bulky computer and look up fanart and other related content as early as 2004/5 and as a result, ended up captivated by the characters long before I knew who they actually were. (As a result of this, I have the names and art styles of various old M&L fandom creators permanently ingrained in my head and often wonder where they are today since a good deal of them vanished..!) It wasn't until 2006 that I got my first handheld console (DS Lite) and of course, what did I do? Immediately begged my mom to order me a used GBA copy of Superstar Saga. 

When I finally had the game in my hands it was like coming home to a colorful world that I'd been captivated by for so long but never gotten the chance to actually explore until now. The characters felt like old friends and the Beanbean Kingdom as a location felt familiar and comforting to me. (As a side note, Popple quickly became my favorite. Shocker, right?)

I used to sketch various beans in my notebooks as well as on printer paper we had lying around the house. Long story short, I finished Superstar Saga and then a few years later in 2010 I picked up Bowser’s Inside Story and THAT’S WHEN THINGS SHIFTED–

BIS brought Fawful and his personality to life in a way that captivated my imagination like nothing else had prior. He quickly overtook Popple as my favorite character from then on forward… and that’s where it ends! Or.. is it?

Nah, that’s where it gets funky. Life got a little chaotic after that and not only did I stop playing video games altogether for many years, but I also almost completely gave up on art - the one thing I was most passionate about above all and thought I would make a career out of someday. A series of depressing events caused me to lose all hope and motivation for anything I created and the spark I’d kept inside of me for so long all but died out as a result.

We’re going to timeskip again, this time to late 2019. I’d just moved away from home permanently for the first time and had been getting settled in and no matter what I did to make my new apartment a cozy place it always felt like something was missing. My mind would keep wandering to the fact that I never made art anymore despite it having been such a key part of my life when I was younger. I so desperately wanted to change this and over the next few months the frustration only kept growing until on January 1st, 2020, I sat down in the living room with a pencil and paper in my hand and shut my eyes tightly before saying under my breath:

“I do not care what it is, I don’t care how it comes. Just please… PLEASE send me something to bring my art back. Anything… anything at all. I don’t care what I draw, I just want to be drawing again.” And with that, I placed the lead onto the paper and began to sketch…

And from there… a familiar face appeared!

(Now I could ramble to you about how much I do NOT like this drawing and how off model it is from how Fawful actually looks… but I’ll forgive myself since I hadn’t touched the M&L games in over a decade at this point and had forgotten most of Fawful’s character. And yet?? Here he was.)

How else can I explain it except that in that moment it felt like the pencil in my hand had suddenly become one of these:

A joy that I hadn’t felt in SO long suddenly filled my entire being and without wasting another second, I immediately went online and ordered both Superstar Saga and Bowser’s Inside Story to replay again. In the time waiting for the games to arrive I had started drawing daily again - sketching out various old characters of mine with dozens of doodles of the bean man stacked in between them all.

There he was… always smiling, always happy to see me, and oftentimes with his arms outstretched as if to give an encouraging hug. When the games arrived I worked through them quicker than I ever had prior - finishing up Superstar Saga in less than a week and subsequently moving onto Bowser’s Inside Story with a LOT of excitement built up for it. 

It was my first day playing and I was having the time of my life! The way Fawful looked in his little grey cloak with that enormous, charming grin of his as he bamboozled Bowser into eating the Vaccuum Shroom had me giggling with joy while words repeated in my brain over and over of: “I need to draw this later, I NEED to draw this later!!!” I WAS EXCITED ABOUT ART AGAIN… AFTER ALL THESE YEARS. I was practically hopping in my seat from the happiness I felt in my heart and chest every time Fawful appeared at this point!

This was how it felt until the moment I arrived at the Fawful Theatre and watched as he began dancing on the stage floor. THIS time.. something different came over me. If you’ve felt it before, then you’ll know what I mean when I say that it was like my entire body turned warm all at once, like some sort of flame had been lit inside. I’d never felt it for anything or anyone prior to then, and that's partly why it hit me as hard as it did. I was practically sweating.

Heck, I was so absorbed in my feelings that I had forgotten there was anyone else in the room with me! That is.. Until my roommate at the time spoke up: 

Her: Are you alright? Me: Uhhh… yeah, why? Her: You’re red as a beet. Are you sure you’re okay?

By this time I had realized what was really going on so I reassured her I was fine, grabbed my 3DS, and ran to my room to finish the playthrough on my own so I wouldn’t embarrass myself any further, hahaha.

In the days, weeks, and months following that moment I became dedicated to drawing the best art of Fawful I could possibly create! What started as a challenge to myself to ‘give back’ to the person who’d given me back the ability to create again turned into someone I genuinely could not stop drawing for how much fun I was having doing it. The desire to make better and better art in order to honor him drove me to improve at a speed I never had prior, and soon thereafter I created Jolligig as a way for me to be in this colorful world with him and to express the deepening affection I was feeling for him with every day that passed by.

By some miracle, my prayer had been answered and here it was in the form of a grinning lima bean.

[End of Part 1. Interested in the rest? Yes… there’s more, I’m sorry. Please let me know in the comments. This took a while to write so I thought splitting it up would be best if folks are interested, LOL.]

[theblackphoenixwritings]

Unsaid-Marius/Armand(Armand's perspective)

Trying to express my feelings openly again, without masks, as I once did, was the first ostracism that formed between us. I lived in fear that I could no longer give sound to all my words, to my love for him. Actually I think it was a terrible condemnation this, perhaps the one I deserve, or that God in whom my being continues to believe, thinks I deserve for the pain and destruction I have brought to others. I felt that fear like a slimy worm clutching my throat. I hoped that my hands around his, and my kisses, or my eyes, which I could not turn away from him, from his light, were all that my Marius needed, to see past my silences. And so it was, the Master knows and has always known, and as words are important to him, so is time, and all his patience and love are directed toward letting me find both.

Everything I wanted to say died on my lips, but Marius, he kept letting his eyes sail into mine, his lips graze my skin, as my fingers his hair, and my mouth his hands. Inside, I wondered if he had ever noticed, my beloved Master, how I had always looked at him, exactly as I had on those golden nights in Venice, if I had really been as good as I thought, I had been at not letting him discover me. Out of the corner of my eye, moving a lock of hair, as he turned his back on me, or when he was intent on something and his handsome profile stood out in the evening light. I was convinced I was extremely good at hiding the turmoil of my heart, good at not letting anything out, never saying anything openly, a mask of seraphic beauty. Once when I walked at his side, proud and warm in heart for that love that was ours, the Master had given me words and let me be the warrior with them, calling me back only if I objected, which I often loved to do, just to get his attention.

I have always known well how important words are to Marius, how strong and determined, an expression of his lucid and rational mind, and incredibly also of his feelings and heart. It was a time that seemed endless that I had walked accompanied by those words and those lessons, and in the end I was left with the silence of everything I had failed to tell him. Always every night, every hour, every moment I could I had confessed my love to him, but that honey had turned to ashes that night when everything burned. That night, I still hadn't told him, "I love you." and I couldn't tell him anymore, for so long, so long screaming it inside me. That boy so proud and defiant curious even talkative …. Transformed into a puppet. A puppet with a heart of stone and a face of marble. Looking back what had I had before Marius? And what had I had after him? A frightened but loyal fanatic in search of sanctity before, a puppet of a creed after, intoxicated with power and ruthless, hungry for something I could not name.

And now that I am here, next to my Master, maybe I could give it a name…but it would be like chasing a shadow in the sunset, everything we had is here among us, in us,and all fear and doubt are gone. Marius' elegant, large hand, with which he holds the pencil, traces a figure on my white skin. The shape of the graceful movement reveals to me what it is before he is even finished. It is strange, now, to feel the shape of a smile, a real heartfelt one, opening on my face.Stranger still is my will not stopping or erasing it, but letting it bloom and blossom. As I gaze into Marius's cobalt blue eyes, and his sweet and tender smile, I realize that his eyes glisten, a transparent red thread wraps around them, and I realize that the pencil in my hand has penned the words of my heart on his skin.

" I love you."

And while my eyes also blur red, my feeble but firm and clear voice speaks those same words, what I have not said for so long, but has always been inside me, now has the sound of my love for him again.

[guiraguira]

Red Lipstick ✨

Rei, Hitoya and Ichiro x Fem Reader

A little fiddling with lipstick trying to paint them.

Notices: none I think? just a little kissing with mild nsfw

Rei

°Did you seriously try to paint her lips? Obviously it wasn't going to work. The next thing you know, he is now the one holding the pencil in one hand while gently holding your chin.

 ° "Part your lips for my love, yes?" You obey observing how concentrated it is in your mouth. Sitting on his lap voluntarily, with your hands massaging his chest, you wait for him to finish. 

°"Hey..." A laugh springs from his broad chest. A sudden squeeze from you on his pectorals makes him lose his pulse for a second and he leaves your lips. 

°He lowers his glasses and stares into your eyes when he runs his tongue over his thumb to moisten it and correct his mistake. 

°Your small feeling of triumph for making him nervous dies instantly, a strong blush covers your face and you exhale visibly, which causes another laugh in him.

 ° "My naughty girl... Now if you can paint me" you try to grab the lipstick but he pushes it away on purpose. 

°Moving his legs, he accommodates you in his skirt and holds both sides of your face with his hands, attracting you to him. His tongue gently pushes over your lips to make you open your mouth. 

° After a few kisses you walk away to see if she really has any lipstick left, but you can only see her arrogant look and some very slight red marks. 

° "You'll have to try harder" he says before getting closer again.

Hitoya

 °Again it is impossible to get him to let himself be painted, but you know that he is more flexible on certain occasions, so you wait for the weekend when he is relaxed and in a better mood.

 ° "mm? I already told you no..." you put your hands together begging him to please stop. He knew you weren't going to stop until someone finished painting and the job was already boring him, so he didn't really insist on stopping you. 

° Sitting on his desk, with Hitoya's head resting on your thighs and his hands caressing your calves, you begin with your objective. 

° Before you finish with the upper lip, he abruptly separates your knees and kisses them while looking at you. Ah, you knew that he was strangely docile. 

°You rush to review the upper lip but again he kisses your legs, removing the little lipstick that you managed to apply.

 °"Oh? ... What's wrong?" The smile along with his caresses distract you for a moment, but this wouldn't end that easy, not once you finally convinced him. 

° You accurately outline his mouth before he can move, causing him to growl and cluck his tongue. Don't think you won. His hands move up your thighs and he ends up giving you a rather rough kiss to your surprise. You exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding.

 °Not for the unexpected kiss, but for the sight of Hitoya with her crimson red lips smirking, believing that she had thwarted your game. 

° You let him act like that for a while longer, after all... They're both enjoying it.

Ichiro 

°Oh! He would jump off a bridge for you if you used the right words. When you propose to paint it, he just stops what he is doing, sits in front of you with his hands on his knees and stays still. 

° You begin to pass the lipstick but it is difficult without holding her face, delicately you approach and put a firm hand on her cheek. Automatically her eyes that were attentive to you close accompanied by a slight blush.

 ° Half-painted and so vulnerable you can't resist kissing him, a sound of surprise comes out of him before he can avoid it. 

° "Is this what you wanted to do...?" You don't have the courage to deny it, since it was partly so. You wanted the mark of his lips on your skin to last a little longer, so you could admire them in the mirror remembering the sensation. 

°"ah, so... hurry up... Please" this sentence comes out almost like a whisper, as he shifts in his seat and looks away.

 ° In less than a second you finished her makeup and she began to give you small kisses all over your face, barely enough to mark them, but so close one to the other that they cause you great tenderness for the love with which she treats you. 

° "mmm Y/o could you?" He kindly asks you to paint your lips too and leave the same marks for him. You can't say no, not when he responds so well to your whims.

[noisyballofvoidmuffin]

I finally started reading Good Omens (NO SPOILERS! I've already spoiled myself enough.) and this is so far (59 pages) one of the best things I've read. It's so clever and fun, and I must have left a dozen "hehe" notes on the sides of my book (in pencil. I only just started writing in books and I would die before I used any sort of ink that could seep into or smudge on the pages.).

What I can't stop thinking about though, is that one woman who named her sons, I think twins?, Crowley and Aziraphale. Because, alright, my opinions may be a tad skewed bc I started being interested bc Tumblr and tiktok have bombarded me with details about these two from the show (Tumblr also some book stuff) that gave me some preconceptions but,,,,

Lady, how did you not notice that this could be interpreted as like, romantic? They have the most 'married couple' vibes on multiple occasions.

Spoilers under the cut! I go on a gush.

They are hilarious.

"Well I'll be damned"/"It's not too bad when you get used to it"

The start of this book, ugh, and yes, I'm back to the book now, this is my book rant and I'll take it to whatever direction my brain wants to, the fucking, the song choice for the Bentley to play!! It's so clever!!

"It wasn't a dark and stormy night. / It should have been, but that's the weather for you. For every mad scientist who's had a convenient thunderstorm just on the night his Great Work is finished and lying on the slab, there have been dozens who've sat around aimlessly under the peaceful stars while Igor clocks overtime."

And later on fucking BOHEMIAN PHAPSODY PLAYS- excellent music choice btw- AND IT'S SO GOOD

They it should've been a stormy night and just the EXACT PASSAGE OF THE SONG TALKING OF THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTNING PLAYS OUT RIGHT AFTER STAN GETS OFF THE RADIO-

The pacing and detail work is just phenomenal in this book, PHENOMENAL

"For Americans and other aliens" (paraphrasing) had me chuckling out loud. Been identified an alien.

There's at least 3 doodles of snake Crowley I've drawn in the book so far.

Also the bit about this being the most repaired book? I would've died of that was any of my books, grieving, but I admire all of these people so much. The sheer DEDICATION!!

Really hoping I get this book signed at some point, even if I just about die of anxiety and embarrassment if I ever get the chance.

Also, it took me, honestly, way too long to recognize David Tennant played Crowley in the series/ the bits of the series I've been force-fed by tiktok and Tumblr. Not because I'm blind to faces (partially, maybe) but because it took a whole fucking slideshow with both Crowley and The Doctor from doctor who for me to realise it's the same DAMN ACTOR!! LIEK, I KNEW I NO GOOD AT RECOGNIZING ACTORS BETWEEN ROLES IF I HAVEN'T SEEN MULTIPLE THINGS THEY'VE BEEN ON AND REMEMBERED THEM AS THE CHARACTER THEY'VE PLAYED TO THEN MAYBE UPGRADE ONTO KNOWING THEIR NAMES LIKE CHRIS EVANS AND HUGH JACKMAN BUT COME ON! My brother was laughing at me for that. How do people just, recognize others without the set context they were in at the time?

Anyhow. Back to this BRILLIANT BOOK!!!

Crowley is like, so me coded.

Wasn't feeling Crawly, changed it to Crowley. Only man-shaped, not man.

I too, wasn't feeling my og name and changed it slightly while it's still based on the first one, and am only human-shaped.

There's too much going on in my brain and I forget my vessel is a human being at some points, purely because I don't see the vessel as who I am.

Anywho,

I have in fact just noted 'Transphobe' next to the bit where Crowley is handed the Antichrist and has to sign a damn thing like it's a post package and told "Not [Name you literally chose for yourself, A. J. Crowley], your real name." mostly for myself because I'm funny like that, and bc it's my book copy, not because I don't understand the significance of "true names" or whatever. Sigil names, now those are cool. I'd make me one if I didn't feel like it'd be more intricately connected to me and in turn more vulnerable.

This book. This book I swear-

I've had such a hard time reading printed books after so long reading only fanfics online and this? This is perfect. It reads like the most fun fanfic I've ever read.

Like that one dp x DC fic where Danny wanted a grimace shake and it was spilt on the road or sth even if he said it was mediocre.

The brilliance of Crowley's sinventions (hehe) are so good.

I have doodled 👀 over Hastur saying he tempted a priest. Because I somehow didn't expect it.

This is comedy to me. I adore it.

The footnotes too. The one about the added verses where God asks Aziraphale where his sword is 😭 and that literally everyone recognized his handwriting as the one who added them in 😭😭😭😭

This is gold, man. Exactly what I needed to get back into physical reading. My eyes could for sure use a break from my phone.

Also, the little tongue my book has as a built in bookmark? Bring that back. Bring books with that feature back. I love this thing so much. Even my school books had it when I was younger, WHERE IS IT NOW?? HAVING MY OWN BOOKMARK IS ALL FINE AND DANDY BUT THIS IS ELEGANT, AND PRETTY, AND PRACTICAL, COME ON!

End rant uwu <3 I must sleep

[theink-stainedfolk]

Two Strangers

Old Autumn Boulevard street wasn't as lively as it used to be, but the magic is still felt by the true story lovers. Autumn Boulevard was a Books and Writing street, famous for brewing stories and magic, writers and story lovers used to visit frequently. As the love for stories died, so did the willingness of the people to visit. Tyche was an avid story listener, her mom used to tell stories about people and greek gods and the idea behind her name. But Helios was different, he wasn't just a story listener, he was a story lover. He lived in them and for them. The passion for stories still lives even if he doesn't admit. Beauview Library existed on this street, they used to visit every weekend. After it was closed, they were sad but Helios was heartbroken. He never visited the street again.

But here was Tyche, again but this time she decided to stay till late night. She sat inside the library reading and listening to music for 2 hours. It was 12 now and she stretched her arms and got up "Time to practice violin. Cuz nothing beats this vibe of the old library."

So she picked it up and began playing to the flow of her heart. She was lost in the moment and when she stopped,  the sound of someone clapping behind her freaked her out.

"Wh-who are you?! What are you doing here?!"

The boy was nervous too. "Umm hello. I-I'm Nilo... i... I come here every night after 12. And I happened to listen to your... music. It was beautiful so I stayed. Sorry for scaring you. Do you mind... if i just sit.. if just sit and do my stuff... you can continue playing.."

The boy just sat on the seat and placed a canvas and a paper and sets of brushes, pens, pencils and paints on the table and did his work.

"You wouldn't.." she said "you wouldn't mind if i play my violin right?"

"Of course not. Who would mind listening to such a beautiful melody?"

After contemplating for a while she took the courage to play in front of the stranger.

This was a new melody. A new feeling. 

Something she hasn't felt before.

After finishing, she turned behind to look at him, as if expecting some reaction from him. But his black eyes were on her as he scribbled something on his sketchbook. They stared at each other for a while before Tyche nervously packed her violin and started leaving.

After successfully getting out without further embarrassing herself she took a sigh of relief. 

As she continued walking she felt someone running behind her. She clutched tightly at her chili spray in her pocket.

"Hey wait!" That was the voice of that boy, her grip loosened and she turned around. 

"What?" She asked. She realized that her words may sound rude, but she could not take her words back.

He held his knees and panted for a while before standing up straight. "I... I thought that you looked very beautiful playing the violin... I mean! The music was pleasing to the ear as well! But.. I really think that you looked really, really beautiful. "

She wasn't sure how to react with that unexpected compliment. The boy was fondling his sleeves "I think you could... help me?"

"With what?" Her voice trembled. Though the darkness of the night could hide her blush, it couldn't hide her voice.

"I.. am an aspiring artist... I thought you looked pretty so I drew you here." He handed her the sketch of her. 

She couldn't believe her eyes. In Front of her on the paper was her. But it looked as if she was a magician summoning a mythical creature out of thin air. In other words. The drawing seemed to be her, but it was also, not her. The art was magical. It should be hanged in the museum.  She didn't know she looked so ethereal while playing violin. He managed to make her look so beautiful with just a delicate stroke of his hands.

"I was hoping.." her attention was brought back to him. "No. I want you to be my muse." He said, and suddenly grabbed her hands and his eyes sparked with determination. "You are very beautiful miss..."

"Tyche.."

"Yes. Tyche. I want you to be my muse. Everything about you inspired me to draw something I've never drawn before. Perhaps, in the future, I'll be a help to you too. I will repay the favor in any way. I hope you will agree. If you do, then please come back here at the same time. I'll be waiting. Here.."

He wrote his name behind the paper with her sketch. "I'll hopefully see you tomorrow. " and he ran off. Tyche looked down to see his name. Nilo Lexington. The boy who managed to find beauty in the simplest things. Even in her. 

[dreamlandforever]

@writersmonth Prompt: Day 5 - Sun

I have to be honest, this whole writing something everyday is getting harder and harder, and we haven't finished the first week yet. Either way, here's today's story:

Fandom: Teen Wolf | Sterek WC: 1.6K

AO3

V. Damsel in Distress

The sunlight coming through the window was illuminating Stiles’ notebook. He frowned slightly, unable to read some of his notes from the glare on his mechanical pencil. Before he was able to even move the notebook to avoid the glare, something covered the light and he was suddenly able to see what he had written in the notebook again. Stiles said nothing and continued reading, taking advantage of the fact that he could now read without trouble. 

When they were in middle school, Scott would sit down and play with Stiles for a few minutes without saying anything. Once the first few games were won or lost, Scott would talk a mile a minute, much too fast for just anyone to understand, getting whatever was bothering him off his chest. So, Stiles gave him a full five minutes before his impatience got the best of him. 

“You know, there’s an actual door downstairs.” He said, going for nonchalance but failing for a mile. The eagerness in his voice to find out why his best friend was there, especially entering his room via the window when he literally has a key, is more than obvious even if said best friend wasn’t a werewolf.

“You mean to tell me this isn’t one?” And the way that the joke falls flat makes Stiles turn for the first time to face his best friend.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, all business. Because if he’s learned anything the last few years is that things can go bad in an instant. 

“Why did you do it?” Scott asked softly, stepping inside the room to sit in Stiles’ bed.

And Stiles should have really seen that coming. He moved carefully, being mindful of his leg. Ever since they were kids, Scott has always been the kind of kid to try and help anyone who might be injured. Showing any kind of pain right now will only make Stiles’ situation worse.

“You were in trouble.” Stiles said simply. Because to him, it made sense.

Scott knows him enough for the answer to be enough as well. 

“Stiles, I am a werewolf.” He sounded a lot more wounded that Stiles had thought he would, but he waited him out. “I heal.” His voice was almost too low for Stiles to catch, but not quite.

“It still hurts, Scott. We are best friends. They tried to kill you.” He spoke slowly, as if he were explaining things to a child. Last night they had been attacked by hunters. They had gone after Scott, and he was distracted trying to get Liam away from the arrows and bullets, when one of them was standing right behind with a knife. Stiles did not have to think twice before standing right in the middle, taking a stab to his leg, but giving Scott and Liam enough time to get away. A wolfsbane laced stab wound would heal for him, and it might have meant something far worse for either of the wolves. Luckily for them, not much happened after that once Chris Argent had reached them and called the hunters off. 

A lot more trigger happy hunters had been coming down to Beacon Hills since Gerard died, thinking there was no one around to guard the land. They usually don’t get into situations as dire as last night, but they had been caught off guard in the middle of the woods, only Isaac, Scott, Liam, and Stiles. They had been surrounded before they had a chance to realize what was going on.

“You don’t get in the middle of that!” Scott half-yelled, exasperated. “Maybe next time I’ll just kill you myself, it will go much faster!” 

“It’s who we are!” Stiles was yelling now, but he wasn’t able to stop himself. “And I got stabbed in the leg, Scott, I wasn’t trying to hold my entrails inside. Which you have done before, might I add. You were in trouble, Scott. It’s not werewolves and humans, you know that. That doesn’t apply only to when I’m in trouble, or I speak up during a meeting. It applies all the time!” Scott’s face was enough for Stiles to know Scott knew that. 

“I know.” He mumbled. “But when the hell did a stab wound become something normal, Stiles? It isn’t. You shouldn’t have to know what that feels like. Or how to treat it. Or how to keep it hidden, Stiles.” 

“You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain.” Stiles said solemnly. 

“Don’t you dare quote Batman at me right now.” But there was a small smile on his face, even if he was trying his best to hide it.

“We are brothers, Scott. Your fight is my fight.” 

“So you decided to be Daphne?” 

“Hey! Daphne is a great addition. And I was not a damsel in distress. I was fully aware of what was going to happen. I made sure he hit the leg and not my spleen!” 

“You’re our strategist, let me be the fighter, will you?” 

Stiles doesn’t say anything, but he just smiles sadly at Scott. They both know they will be at this point again next time. Because they always do. Stiles will do what he has to, and Scott will worry.

“Why the window?” Stiles asked finally, standing in front of it and letting the sun bathe his face. It felt good after any kind of injury to remember that he was alive. That they had pulled through.

“Your dad was at the door having words with Derek.”

“WHAT?” Stiles asked, way louder than he had expected himself to be.

“Apparently, the Sheriff does know when you are limping, and he decided to blame Derek.”

“He wasn’t even there last night!”

“Derek was indeed trying to say that.” Scott conceded. 

Stiles made a move to go downstairs, and Scott was immediately by his side acting as his crutch. Stiles just let it happen, and made it downstairs in half the time it would have taken him on his own.

The Sheriff looked at them from his position on the couch next to Derek, both with a beer in hand.

“It wasn’t Derek’s fault!” Stiles defended valiantly the moment both his feet were off the stairs.

Derek was by his side almost immediately, crouching down to check at his injury. Stiles fought him off, but Scott the Traitor moved to help Derek look while holding Stiles still.

“You'll be fine.” Derek said finally, standing back up and turning to the Sheriff. “He’ll probably limp for a few days, and it will take a few days for it to heal, but it’s mostly superficial. The hunter probably thought the wolfsbane would do the job, not the stab wound.”

The Sheriff nodded, before letting out a sigh. “Are the rest of the kids okay?”

Derek just nodded. “Chris got there in time. Stiles getting in the middle of whatever was happening was not… the worst thing. When they hurt a human it made them hesitate. Also, not having one of us be poisoned is always good.” He turned to Stiles then, brows furrowed. “That does not mean you get to pull shit like that again. Ever. You see a knife and you run the other way.” 

Stiles was about to complain, but ended up remaining silent. He nodded with a smile. This dance he was familiar with, too. Somewhere in between trying to stay alive and becoming a Pack, Derek Hale had become a friend. A friend who worried. A friend his father had just yelled at.

“Wait! Why were the two of you having words?” He asked, confused.

Derek just shook his head. “I heard what happened, wanted to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“I didn’t.” Stiles answered immediately, like it hadn’t already been established.

Derek completely ignored him. “They told me you got stabbed and that Scott was sulking.”

“I wasn’t sulking!” Scott defended himself, dragging Stiles to a nearby chair.

“You so were, bro.” Stiles said. Because if Scott could betray him then so could he. Scott shot him a look, but still sat right next to him and helped him prop his leg high on another chair. 

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t dying from gangrene and the Sheriff was on his way out. We just went over a few details of what happened.” Derek explained, the tip of his ears turning a very interesting shade of pink.

“I need you to be more careful.” The Sheriff said to Stiles, arms crossed over his chest. 

“He’s not allowed to die on us.” Scott said solemnly, arm firm and unmoving from Stiles’ shoulder. 

And the Sheriff just nodded, like that made sense. It didn’t make sense to Stiles.

But then Derek nodded too.

“He’s not.” He agreed.

“Glad we all established that?” Stiles asked nervously. “I want to go for a walk.” His leg hurt, and he was not going to spend all afternoon trying to understand what unspoken conversation and weird camaraderie thing was going on with his dad and one of the Alphas. He could focus on that when he felt no pain. 

Derek rolled his eyes, but helped Scott by acting as Stiles’ crutch on his other side.

“We'll bring him back in a few minutes, when he gets tired.” Scott said to the Sheriff, guiding Stiles towards the door.

“Hey! I can so stand a lot more than a few minutes.” Stiles defended.

“Come on, let’s see if we can get you to tan a little.” Scott said, and Stiles followed obediently. His friends were okay, and he was going to be okay, too. He could deal with some awkward conversations every now and then if it meant they were all alive at the end of day. 

[baileyjane3769]

Original Copy is on Quotev, for a better viewing experience and chapter by chapter reading head on over to my Quotev page @BobbyWolf3769 or click the link here

***

When a game is over and all hidden things have been found, what is there left to do? Move on. That's what you would have liked to have done after finishing the disappointing secret ending of a popular otome game. But when the story is over, and all things were said and done, you find yourself trapped in that very game. Faced with the task to keep everyone alive, can you make it to the end without falling in love?

Long read ahead

Chapter Nine

Mid-Morning Crisis

That night was probably the best sleep you’ve had all week.

It was around eleven p.m. when you finally woke up, you guess your mother decided to let you sleep in after all that you went through yesterday. Sitting up in bed, you stretched your arms wide over your head, humming in satisfaction, you actually felt good today, despite how sore your face and hand felt. You had a feeling today was going to be a great day. While yesterday didn’t pan out the way you expected, seeing as you found yourself back in the hospital, you still accomplished your main adjective and saved Makino. You did end up more battered and bruised than you expected, you were just glad to get past that chapter of your life, but now comes the more tricky part. 

With the first week technically over, the actual plot of the game starts next week, and with it comes many uncertainties. Even though Akui hasn’t gotten his first taste of murder there is still the possibility he could end up killing someone anyways, he is at his breaking point after all. He’s been at his breaking point ever since Yuki first left him, and when she came back he became obsessed with the idea of keeping her to himself. Makino’s death might have been an accident, sure, but so was Suzuki’s. It was Suzuki’s death that really gave Akui a taste for blood, and he couldn’t escape the sickening sweet feeling he had after killing to ‘protect’ his love. Actively killing anyone he saw as a threat to him and Yuki. There was no doubt that, if you left him alone, Akui Minato would eventually kill someone.

With your mood temporarily soured, you left your bed and made your way to your desk. On it was pretty much the same contents as before: school papers, a cup full of pens and pencils, sticky pads, and your calendar. Nothing has changed on it, the date that every character died on is still circled in red. ‘So nothing changed even though I prevented Makino’s murder,’ you think to yourself, picking up the calendar. ‘Does that mean I have to stop each of them? Wait, but some of the characters can only be killed in certain routes. Even if this world followed the plot of the route with the most deaths, only five dates should be marked. Hold on, let me…’ Flipping through the calendar, you count every date that was ominously circled and came to the conclusion that ten dates were circled. Ten dates for ten different people’s deaths. Seven rivals, three love interests.

‘The only ending where everyone dies is the secret ending, but I stopped Makino’s death. There should be no investigation, no snooping around, no reason for Yuki to–’ your train of thought was cut off by your own realization. ‘Yuki has already met two out of the three love interests that I know of. Already, they have gained an interest in her, and, because I was so distracted with dumb Makino, I completely forgot that Suzuki was slowly growing attracted to Yuki this week. Have those two even properly met yet? And what about the other boys who fall for Yuki? Sure, I can prevent the bullies from harassing her so that they don’t die, but can I really keep the love interests from falling for her? 

Akui is so sick in the head that I doubt it would take much for him to want to kill someone. At this point, what is the use of knowing the plot if most of it revolved around Yuki trying to solve a string of murders. Events, the investigation, and opportunities to gain favor with the love interest were all factors that prevented Akui from killing all willy-nilly, a fact I picked up in the secret ending, but now that I prevented the original plot, what’s going to stop Akui from killing someone one day out of jealousy. Saving Makino meant nothing, and I’m still gonna have to prevent so many more murderers, but look at how I turned out after just the prologue! I have been hospitalized twice already, am I really gonna have to keep this up for nine more people?’

As your mind began to spiral, you failed to realize how labored your breathing became, nor did you notice the quivering of your hands, and you didn’t even bother to care about the globs of tears rolling down your face. You didn’t know it at the time, but all those feelings of dread and turmoil that your brain was subconsciously burying were finally breaking to the surface. ‘How–how am I even gonna be able to keep doing this? I-I can’t, I don’t think–’ Feeling like the room was spinning, your eyes seemed to dart around before they settled on the brightly colored sticky notes on your vanity mirror.

One note in particular caught your eye. 

‘You’ve got this!’

It was such a small and simple declaration, but reading it brought you clarity. It kept you together before you could fully fall apart.

‘Okay stop,’ you assertively thought to yourself. ‘Being pessimistic won’t get me anywhere.’ In an effort to try and calm yourself down, you laid your head down on the desk, savoring the feeling of the cold surface on your hot face, and closed your eyes. You took in a few deep breaths to try and stop your racing heart, to stop the shaking of your hands, and to stop the whirlwind of thought and emotions that were overwhelming you. ‘The timeline might be off now, but I can still do this, I can still figure out how to save everyone.’ 

Sitting up right, you reach into the very bottom of your junk drawer, and you pull out the notebook that you wrote down all of the original plot in. Your junk drawer was the only place you could think of where most people wouldn’t go snooping because of how cluttered it was, later you would buy a small lockbox to put it in. Opening it, you turned to the page where you neatly wrote down everything and began to analyze all the information. ‘Even if the plot changed, now that there is no murder investigation, there are still plenty of opportunities that I have to prevent Akui from wanting to kill one of the targets. School events, field trips, festivals, all points that didn’t necessarily connect to Yuki’s investigation, and if they don’t connect to the investigation then they will happen regardless. Now for the plot events that are connected….’ Uncapping a black pen, you draw a thin line through every situation that happened in correlation to Makino’s murder. 

School was closed for investigation until Monday, crossed out.

Talk around town about Makino’s supposed suicide, crossed out.

The police released a report that stated Makino was actually killed, crossed out.

Suzuki changes econ partners…

‘Actually,’ you think to yourself. ‘Suzuki changes lab partners in home EC because Makino was his old partner, and she died, so he needed a new one. Class 2-A, our classroom, originally had thirty-six students before Yuki arrived. With her addition, the class became an odd number of thirty-seven, leaving her without a partner. That is until Makino’s death. With an extra spot open, Yuki became partners with Suzuki, fully kickstarting the romantic feelings he would grow for her. Romantic feelings that will get him killed. 

How can I keep those two apart?

Even though Makino didn’t die, she was still expelled, and a spot is still open for Suzuki to become Yuki’s partner. It’s unavoidable, really, because I can’t ask to be Yuki’s partner since I already have one, who I don’t even remember because I have only been to that class one day this week, and I can’t trade partners because the teacher is the one who assigned them. Think, Y/n, think. There has to be something that I can do.’

Vigorously flipping through your notes, you try to come up with a solution, a plan, to keep Suzuki from pursuing Yuki. 

“This is hopeless!” You groan, face flopping down onto your desk, hands limp at your sides. ‘I don’t have enough information about the guy to even try and formulate a plan. The only hard info that I have is that he goes missing next weekend, doesn’t show up to class that Monday, and his body was found a few days later. I don’t even know he got so attached to Yuki, the two of them only ever interact in home EC for some reason, and he asks her out on a date Friday afternoon. Surely that boy needs more than an hour a day of interaction to apparently ‘fall head over heels’ for someone.’ It seems the plot holes and irregularities of the story have finally come back to haunt you. ‘And of course she agrees because who cares about a murderer on the loose when you have teen romance in the air, not them apparently.’

Lifting your head up, you pinch the bridge of your nose in annoyance. “Great,” you scoffed quietly to yourself. “All this crying and thinking is giving me a headache.” Your eyes were squeezed shut in a pained grimace, and you softly began to message your head. It felt like every injury you sustained yesterday was throbbing.

“Ignoring him for now, what happens between now and Friday?” Still messaging your head, you think aloud to yourself. “Students are scared… bullies are quiet… Yuki starts investigating…” ‘But most of that happened because of the murder, people should be acting normal now that it never happened. There might be a bit of gossip surrounding Makino’s expulsion but other than that this week should otherwise be normal.’ The thought of a normal week allowed you to give a small sigh of relief. ‘So I don’t have to worry about psychotic people trying to hurt me, that should give me breathing room to figure this out and stop Suzuki before Friday.’

Relieved by the idea of having a normal week ahead, you decide to finish up marking in your notebook before you put it away. With a yellow highlighter, you mark every detail, or event, that relates directly to the murder mystery aspect of the game. As long as you did your job correctly then none of what you highlighted would be that important.

Feeling like you aged thirty years in the last thirty minutes, you robotically closed up and put away your notebook, burying it again at the bottom of your junk drawer. Despite it being mid-day, you just felt like going back to sleep. Of course you wouldn't actually go back to bed, to you it felt like a waste of time, so instead you decided to get ready for the day, the start of it wasn’t as great as you had hoped but you still had the rest of it to make the most of. 

Lifting your gaze up, you caught a look of yourself in your vanity mirror. “Geez, I look awful.” You didn’t actually take a good look at yourself until just now. Your hair was ruffled and tangled, sticking up in various directions; your face was puffy and bruised, irritated from all of Makino’s assaults; your eyes were red and swollen, a faint black eye had formed under it. The bandage on your forehead would also need to be changed but you didn’t have any more supplies in your room, which was fine, you needed to go to the bathroom to clean up anyways. Right now you were a mess and not the hot kind.

Sluggishly, you left your room and were about to enter the bathroom that was across from it, but your mother calling for you briefly prevented you from doing so. “Y/n,” she hallard from down stairs. “Is that you?”

Pausing in your step, you replied, “Y-yeAh.” Your voice cracked mid-way, so you cleared the frog from your throat and continued. “Yeah, it’s me. I was just about to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh, okay. Well, your little friend came by this morning and dropped you off a package. I left it in the living room for you, so come check it out when you’re done.”

“Okay, I will.” Curious as to what the contents of the package were, you did your best to hurry and complete your morning route without straining yourself. You couldn’t use the products that you would normally use to wash your face, not with all the cuts and scratches that littered your face at least, so instead you opted to just use water and an antibacterial soap. Washing your face was probably the hardest part since you couldn’t get your cast wet, but everything else was pretty easy to do, brushing your teeth, changing your bandage, all were quickly completed. You ended up not doing anything to your hair, your head still felt too tender after everything that happened yesterday, and you were not willing to try and sort out your bird's nest.

Now that you were done you could finally satiate your curiosity. Making quick work of the stairs, you enter the living room and quickly spotted a small white box, with a yellow ribbon tied around it, sitting on the coffee table. After untying the bow and lifting up the lid, you realized that it was a little ‘feel better’ package that Yuki prepared for you. Inside was a small assortment of gas station goodies: a box of matcha flavored poki, strawberry wafer cookies, a strawberry flavored soda from a brand that you have never heard of, a box of yogurt covered raisins, a few boxes of milk chocolate candies, and a bag of dried fruit. There were also a couple of non-food related items too like: a brand new pair of fluffy socks, a packet of stickers, two blind bags from an anime that you have never seen before, and a handwritten card.

Picking up the card first, you read it to yourself.

‘Dear, L/n-chan, I hope that you are feeling better by the time you get to read this. I heard about what Makino-san did to you today, and I am so sorry that I wasn’t there to help you out. I promise that I will try better as a friend to stand up for you and keep you safe! (Did you know I have a black belt in Judo) Anyways, I have put together a few of my favorite snacks for you and a couple of other goodies (I didn’t know what you would have liked so I hope these will do :(  ). Please get well soon so that way we can have a proper hang out and I won’t have to guess on your favorite snacks. In all seriousness, I hope you feel better soon. Sincerely, Kobayashi Yuki’

You almost felt like crying again, touched by Yuki’s kindness, but you already had a headache from the last time that you did, so you instead chose to indulge yourself a bit in the tasty treats she got for you. 

“I hope you don’t just plan on spoiling your appetite with junk,” Your mother playfully teased. She stood by the door leading to the kitchen, hand on her hip, waiting expectantly.

“What? Noo…” The pitch of your voice raised as you nervously tried to play off the situation. “I was just lightly snacking.”

“Hmm, sure. Alright, Ms. Lightly Snacking, I have breakfast ready in the kitchen.” Your mother turned back into the kitchen. “Well, it’s more like a brunch, but it’s better than whatever you were just about to eat.”

You scrambled to put up the nice gift that you got before you hasten your way to the dining room. The same time you sat down at the table, your mother entered from the kitchen’s side door and placed down a tray of steaming hot food for you. It was different from the other breakfasts that she prepared for you previously this week. While those were a more traditional Japanese breakfast with white rice, tofu soup, a slice of grilled salmon, and different vegetables (which was very different to how she used to cook you breakfast), with this one you could tell she was trying to spoil you after yesterday. It was what you liked to call an American breakfast which consisted of bacon, easy-over eggs, hash browns, and a plate of pancakes. You also had a bowl of fresh fruit with yogurt. In true American fashion, it wasn’t the healthiest but this was supposed to be a treat anyways. It helped that it all was homemade, your mother would never dare to use box mix anything.

As you began to dig into your food, you chose to ignore the hovering of your mother. You didn’t need to look at her to know that her face held a more worried look than normal.

It almost startled you when she reached to fix your hair a bit. “Your hair is a mess,” she stated.

Putting down your fork, you responded saying, “Yeah, my head hurt too much to try and tame it.”

“Oh, my poor baby…” your mother sadly said, motherly cupping your face with her hand. “I’m sorry this happened to you, my love.” Tenderly, she rubbed her thumb under your slightly bruised eye. “Don’t worry though, I have already taken care of most of the legalities, we have court in a few weeks, so you will get justice.”

“Court?”

“Yes, I am suing them for all the trouble they caused you, and I am hoping to get a restraining order placed against that crazy girl.”

“Oh, okay.” Was the only way you knew how to respond to that before you went back to eating. You finished the rest of your brunch in relative silence while your mother left to quickly do the dishes. With your meal finished you took your dirtied dishes to your mother and sat down in the living room. You didn’t do anything in particular, you didn’t even put on tv, you just sat there in silence.

A few moments later, your mother peaked her head into the living room. “Do you want to do puzzles with me?” she asked.

You contemplated for only a second before you turned your head and said, “Hm, yeah…” And that is how you spent the remainder of your day, quietly completing puzzles with your mother until your father got home. That quiet afternoon served as a break that took your mind off of the inevitable reality that you will have to face. The day didn’t start off like you expected, having a midlife crisis at the age of seventeen really dampens one’s mood, but by the end of it you felt you could forget about everything. Forget about Suzuki; forget about Akui; forget about the world that you were stuck in. At least until tomorrow, you could forget about all your worries.

[galaxy-m1st]

Unaffected

Chapter 2: What are you saying?

When I was 16 my grandma passed away from old age. I was devastated, but my grandpa was heartbroken. He shut down after she died and I started to take care of him. I didn't mind taking care of him, but seeing him in this state was sad. He pretty much lived in the rocking chair in the living room. All he did was watch TV all day. I think he was just trying to distract himself.

When I was 17 and in my last year of high school something weird happened.

I woke up at six in the morning to prepare for school and make breakfast for my grandpa. As I went downstairs, I noticed that the TV was on and it was playing an English channel. I felt confused and wanted to investigate, but I didn't want to disturb my grandpa who was still asleep.

Upon entering the kitchen, I was struck by the realization that everything was in English - the rice bag, the packet of seaweed, and even the mat on the floor had English words printed on them. It was an unsettling experience, and I could feel my anxiety rising. I couldn't help but wonder if I was in some kind of dream. In an attempt to calm myself down, I decided to go about my usual routine and make breakfast. However, even the act of cooking felt surreal and I found myself waiting for something to happen, half-expecting to wake up at any moment. Despite my unease, I managed to quickly whip up breakfast and pack my lunch before heading out for the day. On my way to school, everyone was talking in English and all the signs were in English. This is a dream, it has to be. Once I arrived, guess what, everything was in English. My friends were talking to each other, so I went to talk to them. I knew a little bit of English, but there was no way I could speak it fluently.

"Hi Akari," one of my friends said to me, "How are you?"

"I was fairly certain that I understood the meaning, but I hesitated to respond in English for fear of sounding foolish. Instead, I opted to reply in Japanese with "Good, and you?" She paused briefly before bursting into laughter. "What was that?" she said in a fit of giggles. "Why are being silly, you're usually so serious?"

"What do you mean?" I said while giving her a confused look.

"Yeah, you don't usually pull this type of stuff Akari," one of my other friends "It doesn't fit you very well."

"I looked back at them with confusion. I tried to convince myself that it was just a dream, but my limited English skills made it difficult to process everything. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts, so I quickly said goodbye and speed-walked towards school."Once I made it to the classroom I took a seat in the back so I could think in peace. When class started I barely understood a word the teacher was saying. Today was going to be a long day. I made it through the day without being called on. Thank the lord above for that.

The day was long, but a blur. Hopefully, a good night's rest was all I needed. I am trying to be optimistic here. On my way home I picked up some groceries. I didn't say a word to anyone. It may seem rude, but they understand what I am going to say anyway, so it is either be rude or be judged. I would prefer not everyone look at me like I'm crazy, even though I feel like it right now.

As soon as I entered my house, bags of groceries in hand, I felt a sense of relief. I quickly put away the groceries before tending to my homework. I tried my best, but after a few minutes of attempting to complete it, I gave up. Frustrated and in need of a distraction, I picked up a sketchbook and started to draw. The sound of pencil on paper was soothing, and I lost track of time as I mindlessly sketched. It wasn't until my stomach grumbled that I realized I had been drawing for hours. With a deep sigh, I put down the sketchbook and headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner. I made something quick and easy. I gave my grandpa his dinner and ate mine. We ate in silence like usual. After I finished, I did the dishes before heading up to bed. Today was long, so I didn't mind going to bed a little early. I fell asleep pretty easily and fell into a dreamless sleep.

I woke up at six again and went downstairs hoping everything was normal again. It wasn't. The TV was still in English. I sighed and started to make breakfast. I was trying to think why this was happening. I couldn't think of a logical explanation for this. I don't know what to do now. I couldn't just tell them that everyone I knew forgot Japanese overnight. They would send me to a mental institute.

In the morning, while contemplating the possible explanations for the unexplainable scenario, I took a break to attend to my grandpa. I prepared and served him his breakfast, ensuring he had everything he needed. After that, I made my lunch for school. Once I finished, I set out to school. The walk was calming, and I enjoyed observing the sights and sounds of the neighborhood. Soon enough, I reached my school campus, feeling refreshed and ready to take on the day's challenges. To my surprise, I heard someone talking in Japanese. I ran over to the voice to find a boy with orange hair. He was yelling at his friend to stop talking in English. He continues to panic when nobody seems to understand what he is saying.

A man in a suit comes up behind him with a taser and I run towards him.

"Watch out!" I yell. He looks at me before he gets tased by the man and passes out. The man in the suit then looks at me and tells to other men to get me too. They charge at me and I do the only logical thing anyone would do in this scenario. I run. I run outside the school's walls and into the street. They are very fast and catch me in a couple of seconds. One of them holds me in place while the other approaches me with a taser, then everything is black. 

[cheeto-flavoured-pasta]

APS Book One Excerpt (10)

x Taken from "Chapter 15: Time Passes." x If you would like to know more about APS, here is the WIP intro. x You can read the full chapters here. x You can find the excerpt masterlist here.

Dropping my pencil on the desk, I huffed a sigh, leaning back in my chair and glancing up at the ceiling of my dark room. My sleep schedule was screwed up beyond repair the minute PowerGen started, but why bother trying to rest when I'd wake up at five and repeat the same day all over again while running two hours of sleep? Why bother trying to fix myself now?

I slammed my book shut and stuffed it back on my shelf, where all my other notebooks sat, building up into a stack over the years. It wasn't that I liked journaling, but more that I had to — that, if I didn't, I would probably die at any minute without any remnants of my life left behind. My house was empty, and it wasn't like anyone else knew me except for the president and the other PowerGen employees. So, the only thing I could do was store my life on paper, in a bunch of shitty journals — not for anyone else to see, but for me to have some peace of my mind.

It was something I did since I was little, after I ran out of my old house that was covered in blood and death. Mom left her necklace behind, Dad left his old switchblade knife. My three sisters dropped their favorite instruments — a guitar, uke, and a flute — before they ran into the living room to where their murderers were. They left traces of themselves behind, and I'd gathered them all to keep with me. 

And now that I was constantly on-edge every single waking moment of my life, worrying what would happen next, how long my mind could last through the day, maybe it was time to wonder what I'd start leaving behind. 

Just in case I died young. Just in case these superhumans killed me before PowerGen finished its plan.

Three quick beats of shuffling footsteps came from behind, and I whirled to see a lanky man with white hair and a tank top walking across my room. 

Oh, right. Walter. The only other person in my family to survive. The one who freeloaded in my house and lived off whatever scraps I allowed him to eat in my kitchen.

As much as I pitied him, I couldn't help but think that he'd die with nothing left behind.

x Current taglist: @writeblr-of-my-own, @yesireadbooks, @leisoree, @poetinprose. Ask to be +/- to the list.

[sunset-peril]

Successors - Chapter Nine - The Bard's Atonement

*Forty-Five Years Later* 

~~~

Despite everything he'd done over his long life, he'd failed at one thing. He'd failed to truly apologize to Her Divine Majesty for everything that occurred in his youth. He’d seen her many, many times over the years. Within the last forty years especially, he’d found her almost exclusively within Korok Forest, chatting the days away with her lost husband as they shared their dead men’s tales. Neither had ever shooed him off, and had always welcomed him warmly, but still he didn’t feel like he should interrupt their far and few reunions to dredge up the transgressions of the past. 

And besides… only a large scale apology would do. 

He must find a way to accelerate Calamity’s defeat. 

All he knew were songs, information passed along melody after melody. To ensure these melodies survived his old age, he must find an apprentice. 

But where to begin? Who out there would be up to the task, and where were they?

…

His talons ruffled the pages of a small notebook even at a late hour. Everything was coming together… and with nice timing too. Something was coming, he could feel it even in his thickest feathers. He didn’t know how soon, but it was coming. He had to be ready. 

“Kass, you’re still up? You usually retire much earlier…”

“Yes, Amali. I’m putting the finishing touches on… a song of sorts.”

“Ah. What about?”

Kass was distracted once more, toying with the pencil on the page. “The Prince and Princess.”

“The ones that died during the Great Calamity?”

“The very same!”

"But… what is there left to tell?"

"There is something… I can feel it. I’m not sure what it is or when it will come, but-"

"Is there something you need to do? Please, feel free. The eggs are fine." 

He nodded, relief gleaming from his eyes, and headed off to Revali's Landing. His thoughts swarmed the whole time he was in the air, about whatever it could be regarding the Princess and Knight. They both were long deceased, so what could lay in store for them and Hyrule? Although he was ashamed to admit it, he was terrified to find out. 

...

“Are you Kass, great-grandson of Revali?” An elder Sheikah man suddenly appeared in front of him, leaning up against the three-holed pillar at Warbler’s Nest. 

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve been referred to as that.”

“But you are Kass, correct?”

“I am.” 

“Ah, good. This almost became awkward.”

“Who are you? I can tell you’re a Sheikah, but that is it.”

“My name is Horacio. I’m Lady Impa’s husband and an advocate for Her Grace.”

“But how? Her Grace died long ago, didn’t she?” 

"The Champions did. Her Grace has been sealed away in the Castle all this time, waiting on her husband's return from the grave."

"Return from the…?"  

"Such a tale is not worthy of mere words. To offer my services without doing so, I was the last Court Poet for the Royal Family."

Beak scraped against itself in confusion. "You have a poem?"

"A song. Do you, perhaps, want to hear?"

"I would love to. Do you need music? I have my grandfather's accordion." 

"Later, child. One day, I should hope you'll play before the Champion when he returns, but for now please just let your heart listen." 

Edited - 04/14/2024 

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments ] ♡ Diavolo

8 - That moment when you found out what Diavolo did with your doodles.

✿ part of a series now! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

“Your Highness,” you called out, your knuckles rapping against the door of his private office. The sturdy wood muffled the three knocks, softening the crisp sounds. “It’s me. Are you inside?”

Immediately after you lowered your hand, the door opened to a beaming Diavolo. He wore his polite and friendly smile, restrained in the emotions he showed through his face, but his eyes softened when they met yours.

“Please, come in,” Diavolo said, his smile unfurling into a bright grin. He opened the door wider for you, letting you pass through before shutting it.

“How’s your work going, Your Highness?” you teased, dropping your bag next to your desk. “Still have a stack of papers?”

Ever since you agreed on a weekly hangout session with Diavolo, he immediately installed a new desk next to his, furnished with everything you would need—pens, paper, ink, pencils, colors—there was even a paper weight shaped as a golden nugget.

It must be nice to be a prince.

Diavolo wrapped his arms around you, gently latching onto you, and rested his cheek on your head. This side of him was something that only you could see. You bet even Lucifer didn’t know how puppy-like the prince of the Devildom was.

Diavolo pouted, blowing out a huff of air. “I understand being formal when we are in public, but we are in private, currently. Why don’t you call me by my name? Hm?”

You laughed and patted one of his arms crossed over your chest, but you dryly responded with, “I see Your Highness has plenty of free time. Your Highness must have completed so much work during the week.”

Diavolo drooped over you, his head burying into your neck as you tried to break free of his hold. You had some work to do, but you knew he had even more work waiting for him. Even though your weekly sessions were scheduled so that you could hang out with him, almost every session was spent working. You didn’t blame it on him—rather, you quite liked these sessions since they were calm, without the chaotic mess of the brothers, and you managed to get work done. You also get to spend that time with Diavolo, so it was definitely, one hundred percent a win-win situation.

In response to your veiled reminder to start working, he clutched tighter onto you.

“Be good, call my name,” he said, his voice leaving in a higher pitch than normal. It was even a bit nasally. Was he… whining? Diavolo, the future king, was whining? “Please? Say my name, hm? You know I love hearing you say my name.”

When he finished his sentence, he blew lightly into your ear. The warm air tickled at the inside of your ear, numbing it with a tingling sensation that remained even after he stopped.

You flushed and covered your ear with a hand. You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes only to see his pouting face, his own golden eyes misty with unshed tears.

Coupled with his voice, it was an effective and deadly double KO.

Flustered, you cleared your throat. “Di-diavolo… Diavolo, I think you should go work on your papers.”

Diavolo beamed at you, his eyes regaining their clarity. If you weren’t busy avoiding his eyes as you tried to rub away the color on your cheeks, you would have seen his eyes narrowing with a hint of smugness.

Before he pulled himself away from you, his mouth pressed against the junction of your neck where your shoulder joined together, the sensation of soft lips warming your skin for just a moment, and you swore your heart missed a beat—tripping over a figurative line and tumbling around in your chest until it landed flat on its face.

Diavolo sighed as he turned to the stack of papers on his desk. “I’m so sick of looking at these papers. I much rather look at you all day. You are, by far, more interesting than whatever Moloch has to report on his governing.”

You gave him a helpless look. “It’s your kingdom that you’re looking at.”

Diavolo ran a hand through his hair, his slender fingers separating the dark red strands, and you couldn’t help but stare at the way they fell back over his forehead.

“I can still be bored of it,” Diavolo replied. The teasing and playful expressions that were just on his face had now faded away, leaving behind a blank face that carried hints of exhaustion.

As a demon, Diavolo wouldn’t show any signs of aging like humans would, since demons had amazing regeneration abilities. And with the magic suffused in the Devildom air, it wasn’t any surprise that demons could keep their youthful appearance or even alter them to their preferences.

Diavolo had the face of a human in their early twenties, but you noticed the dark bags underneath his eyes, the way his eyes drooped, and the dazed look he often showed when he forgot the world existed around him.

“Besides,” he continued, sitting down on his seat, “You haven’t read Moloch’s reports. He’s a bit—how do I put this… Moloch pays high attention to details, especially when it involves… certain emotions and feelings. He’s easily excited by them, and since he wants to make sure I don’t miss anything, he includes everything into his report.” He stretched his thumb and index finger to measure the stack of papers. “This much is his.”

Diavolo pointed to basically one-third of the stack.

“That’s a lot of paper,” you said, also sitting down. “This is a weekly report, right? How do you still have so many trees?”

He blinked in surprise, probably from your concern about the Devildom trees, and then, he laughed.

“You are so cute,” Diavolo said, smiling. You were basically right next to him, so he reached over and lightly squeezed your cheeks. His voice became softer. “Don’t worry, we recycle all the paper, and we are replanting whenever we can. Anything that is within the territories of my kingdom will be well taken care of.”

“That’s good,” you said, returning his smile. “I wouldn’t want a beautiful place like the Devildom to reach the state of the human world.”

Diavolo picked up a sheet from the stack on his desk, the nail of his thumb scratching lightly against the paper. It was a subconscious habit of his that you accidentally noticed from the several sessions you’ve spent with him.

“I appreciate your concern for the environment,” he said, skimming the paper before setting it down on your desk. “But won’t you spare any for me? My eyes are so dry from reading for hours non-stop.”

You thought back to when he teared up earlier, appearing pitiful in order to make you say his name, and unwillingness welled up inside you. You had to stop spoiling him, or this would turn into a bad habit.

“Be good, hm?” you said flatly, mirroring his earlier coaxing. Only this time, there was mild indifference on your face. You brought out your own homework and grabbed a gilded pencil from the pen holder. “Get to work. Your kingdom awaits your guidance.”

Diavolo didn’t respond. You stopped flipping through your chemistry notes and turned to find him staring at you with a smouldering gaze. The dark pupils of his eyes nearly swallowed his golden irises, leaving behind a thin ring of yellow that reminded you of a fire’s core—a blazing, molten yellow that threatened to intensify into something that burns.

You swallowed hard, the air pausing in your chest. If you weren’t sitting down, your knees might have given out from how intense his eyes looked.

You managed to get some words out. “What—what is it?”

“I’m sorry,” Diavolo said. There was a hoarseness to his voice that roughened his words and lowered his pitch, seeming to rumble from his chest. Despite the hoarseness, the way he spoke was undeniably smooth and even a bit… deliberate. “It seems… I experienced momentary deafness. Please, would you repeat what you said?”

There was absolutely no way Diavolo experienced “momentary deafness,” or however he put it, because you knew that, as a demon, his senses were outstanding compared to humans. He had always been healthy, and today would be no exception either. Although it resembled more of an excuse than anything else, you had no resistance to that stare of his and could only agree to his request.

“Di—Diavolo,” you said, but when you found that your voice came out slightly wrong, you cleared your throat and repeated yourself. “Diavolo, be good. Do your work.” Your voice subconsciously became softer, but this time, it didn’t contain the same indifference as before.

Diavolo’s long eyelashes fluttered, trembling as he took in your words. After a short period of silence, he hummed softly.

“Yes,” he said, looking at you. “I will listen to you.”

To your surprise, he actually returned to his work without saying anything else. The only sounds that filled his office afterwards were the smooth slides of parchment against parchment as he placed the ones he finished reading onto your desk.

You returned to your own work as well. Your chemistry class had an exam coming soon, and you still felt ill-prepared for it, so you couldn’t miss out on this quiet time. However much you would like to study at the House of Lamentation, it was impossible to do so most of the time. One brother after another would just invite themselves into your room, often bringing their little arguments with them, resulting in them always asking for your opinions without fail.

Tapping the edge of the golden pencil against your notes, you took in a deep breath and cleared all irrelevant thoughts from your mind. No more nonsense. It’s time to study.

And so, the time quietly passed in this manner.

Before you knew it, you reached the last pages of your notes. You sat back into your chair, closing your eyes as you enjoyed the soft cushioning against your back. Diavolo’s taste was just fantastic, although you suppose anyone would after living in luxury for thousands of years.

The sound of scratching filled your ears, suddenly reminding you that you weren’t alone in the room. You lazily opened your eyes to see Diavolo slide another paper onto the growing pile on your desk.

Diavolo had made some good progress. He was nearly done with his stack, which earlier had towered over him. Some of the papers were signed and stacked to his other side, some were set aside to be reviewed again, and the remaining unnecessary ones were set on your desk.

The reason for it was because Diavolo knew you had a habit of doodling when killing time. You often finished your work before Diavolo, and so while resting your brain, you found yourself reaching for some paper and letting golden ink flow and form random shapes.

The pen scratching against the paper, the twinkling of the golden ink as the lights casted their glow against it, the shuffling of fabric against wood, the scritch scritch scritch that would occasionally murmur in the office—they all came together to form something comforting to you.

It became extremely familiar. Sometimes, when you studied alone in your room, on the rare quiet days when no one bothered you, you found yourself scratching against paper with the edge of your nail. Because, otherwise, the silence didn’t sound right.

How wonderful it was—to have this sort of secret connection.

“Oh? This is different from your usual doodle.”

You blinked, waking up from the trance of your drifting thoughts, and saw that Diavolo was smiling at you as he leaned into his hand.

“Ah, did you finish?” you asked, returning his smile as you set down the pen in your hands. “I think you finished faster than usual.”

“Of course, I did,” Diavolo said. “I had to in order to fully enjoy your drawing.”

He reached over to your paper, and then you realized that you had spaced out the entire time you were doodling. You had no recollection of what you drew, so when you looked down at your work, you couldn’t believe your eyes.

The golden lines winked back at you, teasing you with their sparkles as you tried to process the fact that you accidentally, very much so, drew the prince of the Devildom while he was working.

Indeed. Now, you remembered.

On the back of a report was a Diavolo in gold ink—the eyes half-lidded, focused on the paper in his hand; his mouth set softly with the ends curled down, matching with the minute wrinkling of his brows; the taut lines of his neck gently trailing into his collarbones, which were exposed due to his unbuttoned collar; the protruding knuckles on his hands, linked to his slender fingers that held onto paper.

It was a rough sketch, but it captured so much that the roughness gave it a sense of life. Of course, it wasn’t perfect. It was drawn in such a short amount of time that it could hardly be considered a masterpiece.

But with how Diavolo was handling the paper, you almost felt like he was treating it as such.

“Can I keep it?” he asked, setting the paper down and turning to you.

You looked at the drawing in his hands, and then back at him. Your sketch felt like a mocking copy of the real thing, and a creeping feeling of shame crawled up your neck.

“Are you sure?” You fiddled with the pen on your desk. Why did you have to go and draw him? “It’s not that good. I don’t mind if you keep it, but—”

“It’s not a matter of being good or bad,” Diavolo interrupted. He tenderly traced the lines you drew with a finger as he spoke. “To me, when I see this sketch, I don’t see the technicalities of art, but rather, the time you spent thinking of me. And it is this time and thought you have put in that I treasure the most.”

You didn’t know what to say in response, so you looked down, away from the soft indulgence on his face that only appeared when he was alone with you.

You looked away because you couldn’t bear the way your heart stuttered from it, because you couldn’t bear to allow yourself the growing familiarity of that expression, because you wouldn’t be able to bear it if one day you were no longer the receiver of the same expression.

Diavolo left a lifelong impact on you that was slowly suffusing through your daily life, but what about you?

How long will you last in his heart?

You clenched the pencil you were playing with, your mood dipping at the depressing thoughts sneaking their way into your head, but then you remembered something.

Looking back at him, bracing yourself against that expression on his face, you asked, “What did you do with my other doodles?”

Diavolo tilted his head, the strands of his hair brushing against his eyes, and he smiled at you mysteriously, like he relished in knowing something that you didn’t.

“Are you curious?” he asked.

You stared at him, face blank as various snarky replies flew through your mind. You were so tempted to sass back, but you decided on a mild, “Well, yeah. Why else would I be asking?”

Diavolo laughed, eyes squinting into crescents. “Fair enough. Then, I’ll show you.” He leaned over to his other side, away from you, but right before he pulled open the drawer, his hands paused.

“Are you ready?” Diavolo teased.

You were not impressed. At your deadpan expression, Diavolo stopped playing around and finally pulled the drawer open, carefully taking out the glass display box from inside.

You couldn’t tell what was displayed inside until Diavolo placed it down on the desk and removed the casing around it. Six golden seal stamps, each with a beautifully carved wooden body, were meticulously arranged so that the patterns could be seen clearly.

“Are those… seals?” you asked, leaning in closer to confirm what you’re seeing. “What do seals have to do with my doodles?”

Diavolo rubbed your head. “Look closely,” he said. “These are my favorites out of all your doodles.”

You blinked, then carefully studied the engravings. The first one was a doodle from long ago, from when you had just started the weekly sessions with Diavolo. In fact, it was so long ago that if Diavolo hadn’t told you that it was your doodle, you wouldn’t have recognized it at all. The others were all from your previous sessions. Some you couldn’t remember when it was from, but some you remembered doodling in the previous months.

“To answer your question,” Diavolo said after a while, “I made all your doodles into seals. My favorites are kept close to me in this case, and the others are placed in a protected cabinet at the back of my office. I also made another set so that I could look at them and use them back at the castle.”

“You…!” you choked, whipping your head towards him incredulously. You thought it was already crazy that he made six seals of your doodles, but not only did Diavolo make a seal out of every doodle you drew, he made two sets! Two! “Isn’t that overkill?! Why did you make two sets? That’s such a waste of resources! I thought you would just keep the papers I doodled on, not… not… this!”

Diavolo ignored your scolding and picked up a seal from its stand. “Do you want to give it a try?” he asked casually, taking out another box. This one held wax sticks, a spoon for melting wax, and some tea candles. “This penguin of yours is really cute. I love how chubby it is!”

“No, no,” you breathed out, rubbing at your forehead. “No, it’s fine. As long as you’re happy.”

After all, Diavolo was a prince of an affluent kingdom. It was also part of his nature to indulge in these sort of eccentric little things. And it wasn’t like you were angry or anything, since you did give him permission in the first place. You weren’t angry at all, just perhaps a bit embarrassed at having something you made with barely a thought and any effort to be turned into high-quality seals that rivaled the manufacturing of the royal seals…

Diavolo was really too much.

“Then, you can watch me,” he said, grinning. “What color should I use?”

You curled the edges of your lips. “How about blue?”

Diavolo nodded, grabbing the dark blue wax stick from the box. The golden specks mixed into the wax sparkled under the light as he broke a piece off. Lighting the tea candle with a spark of magic, he placed the piece of wax into the spoon and watched it melt into a puddle of gold-speckled blue.

Now that you thought about it, it was rather endearing. You smiled at the pure glee on Diavolo’s face when he poured the wax out on some paper, delicately pressing the seal into the wax.

This wasn’t bad. You could get used to this. Maybe you shouldn’t, but when you saw how Diavolo beamed after lifting the stamp from the wax, when you saw how he showed the penguin to you after peeling it from the paper, when you saw how this moment held you two so tenderly that you felt like time stopped—you were rather reluctant to let all of this escape from your grasp.

Crackle, stamp, peel.

This sound, too, you decided—if the sound of nails against paper was the sound of comfort, then, this sound of joy—you won’t let it escape.

It was yours to immortalize.

————————

Masterlist!

Phew, this one took a while. I'm sorry it's so long ;-;

Barbatos is next!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table. 

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

[babymilkawa]

random boyfriend headcanons no. 2 with:

bakugou katsuki

gn!reader :)

no. 1

Bakugou rubs his head on ur neck because ur warm and he wants you to pet his hair

sometimes if you’re chilling and sitting face to face, he’ll ✨softly✨ slam his forehead with yours and u guys have a glaring contest

u lose obviously

but he’s there for that cute scrunch u do that’s meant to be intimidating

if he wants you to pet his hair he’ll even nudge your shoulder with his head so you can get the frigging hint 😤

at this point I should just do cat!bakugou hcs amiright

and whenever you yawn, he’ll put his finger in between your teeth and maybe get a little excited when you bite them 👀

bakugou loves anything squishy

and if it’s part of you? even better

he’ll just rub his face on them

give them vacuum kisses

by now, he’s used to the fact that your mere presence can have his heart doing jumping jacks

he’s given up on trying to deny it

that doesn’t mean that he won’t do the same to you

man will find ANYTHing to get you flustered or annoyed

not straight up pissed tho, that’s somewhere he doesn’t wanna go

if he does manage to piss you off, unintentionally, his lower lip will droop down to his feet I swear

if you’re passing by each other at the hallway, he’ll just whoop, pick you up by the waist, turn you so that you’re going the same direction as he is and drag you to wherever he’s going

your body is like this straight stick when he does that it’s hilarious

whichever hand you write with, he’ll sit on that side of you and go nudge

your pencil, flying across the page

he gives you forehead flicks period

just a “dumbass” flick

if you do that to him, he’ll scoff like he can’t even feel it but when he thinks you’re not looking, frantically rubs that spot on his forehead LmaO

dammit why do they flick so hard

on lazy Sunday mornings, he’ll cling on to you unless he’s got work to do

if he has to get up before you, he’ll just sit at your desk and watch you

asks you to go the hell back to sleep if you wake up early on a relax day

he’s soft during the night ok

will look at you straight in the face in the dim glow of your lamp and just caress your cheek

he has so much to say but he doesn’t know where to start

he wants to tell you that looking into your eyes makes him fall deeper into his love pit

he wants to tell you that kissing you feels like he’s tasting heaven

that holding and touching you makes him want to put a ring on that finger

he wants to keep you, he wants it all

but he’s bad with words and doesn’t want to mess anything up

instead he speaks with his eyes and his actions

you seem understand exactly what he’s feeling and you feel the same way too

except you tell him exactly that

that you can’t believe he’s yours, that you don’t want to imagine a life without him 

the emotion swimming in his eyes don’t change but his thumb stroking your cheek, falters, clearly flustered from your words

presses his forehead to yours and nudges your nose with his

your limbs are tangled together and bakugou’s heart is just at its limit when you plant the softest kiss on his lips

it bursts

you can practically see red hearts bouncing off his body and flying around your room

pulling you back to his lips, he tries to cover the heat in his cheeks but you can feel them against your own

yikes did not mean for this to be a Drabble for how much he loves you 

anywaysss, bakugou sneaks money into your wallet huehue

if you’re going out with friends, he’ll put some extra cash in there, or slip in a small plastic water bottle

he also carries your bag for you, no buts

I don’t understand why some men are uncomfortable with this

if you’ve been out for a while and you’re feet are tired, he’ll offer a piggy back ride

but only cos “u won’t stop whining abt ur feet”

will complain about you being heavy, receiving a wack on his head

but he’ll also massage your cute ass feet when you’re home

maybe even kiss your toes a little

when you’re eating together, he’ll fill up your plate first with the food u like

maybe stuff it a little too full to hear you complain and pass it back to him

..only for him to sneak it in there when ur not looking

whenever you start reading/watching sthing he’s already seen/read, he’ll PRETEND to spoil sthing for you

like he’ll say that a specific character died or sthing but they didn’t and u, thinking that he’s telling the truth, start ur stages of grief and he’s like “tch just watch, brat”

so you’re mentally preparing yourself for the death of that character and you’re complaining abt getting attached to them but once you finish it, it never happens

“HAAa??” you look at him instantly and he’s there snickering his ass off

he’ll never really spoil it tho, he just loves to see your reaction

at this point, just don’t tell him you’ve started sthing

even then he’ll find out, I mean he won't purposely snoop around, it’s just cos u suck at hiding things babe

n ur trying to cover his mouth with ur hands before he can utter a single word

he wants you to tuck him to sleep

but it doesn’t happen very often because a. he won’t verbally say he wants it and b. it only happens when you’re not sleeping together bc he’ll just pull you into his arms if u do 

but he almost never does it to you unless you need sleep more than he does or you won’t stop your whining

he just looves to have ur face be the last thing he sees and to have ur comforting hands tuck the blanket all snug around him

and oh my god the finishing touch is having you kiss his forehead

man goes over the moooon

will take candid pics of u

like he’ll grumble if you pull him in for a selfie but he’ll be that person who shows the corner of his face and you behind him lolol

you’re not looking at the camera in any of them but he still thinks u look stunning

ur side pROFILE UGH

has that photo widget for iPhones where you can put a picture on ur home screen and it changes every day

yea he does that

with his album for photos of u

yk sometimes bakugou just randomly slumps on you

like you could be standing and on ur phone answering a text rq when he just puts almost all his weight on you, almost

obviously enough to startle you but not enough for the both of you to fall

then ur forced to wrap ur arms around him and he can snuggle in ur neck mmm

a/n: wow I've had this in my drafts for a while and I’ve just been adding on to it lolol

bnha masterlist

[dotster001]

This Sounds Familiar

Summary: Kuya x gn!reader. You're sleepy tengu boyfriend actually writes a book.

You hadn't seen your boyfriend in a week. It was definitely odd, because he claimed the best place to sleep was in your backyard, and you usually barely went a day without him there. You hadn't even heard anything about him from your other ayakashi. It was like he'd disappeared off the face of the planet.

You and Nachi had been out grocery shopping, and you were passing through Koga and Kuya's neighborhood. You bribed Nacho with a fish snack when you got home, and detoured to check in with your boyfriend.

Koga was the one who answered the door.  "Y/N! It's great to see you. What brings you here?"

"I'm here to see Kuya? Do you know where he is?"

Koga gave you a knowing grin. "Yeah, he's writing in my study."

You were starting to head there when Koga suddenly grabbed your arm. 

"I think you may have, rightfully, misunderstood me. He's actually writing in my study."

You found yourself in shock. Despite Kuya telling everyone he was an author, you'd never once seen him pick up a pencil.

"How long has…."

"A week ago, he woke me up, and asked me on a hazy voice where I kept my pens and parchment. After showing him the supply he just started writing. He hasn't stopped since."

You were still in shock, but Nachi was not. "Oh, I gotta see this!" And Nachi was gone, marching off to Koga's study. You hastily followed behind, and sure enough, there was Kuya, glasses on the edge of his nose, pen in hand, and a stack of papers in front of him.

You went to look over his shoulder to see if you could read his work, when he snapped, "It's not finished yet!" 

"Sorry!" You were startled. You'd never heard him use that tone before. 

He seemingly realized this as well, because he looked up at you in shock. "Y/N? I thought you were Koga snooping again." You were about to say something when he interrupted. "You know I love you, but you have to go or I won't be able to focus. I promise I'll come take a nap with you when I'm finished."

"That seems more like a reward for you," you joked. 

He grinned and stretched his arms over his head. "We'll see. Now go, before I decide that this is just a pain."

You gave a giggle and left the room.

                                …

It was another two weeks before you saw Kuya again. You had come home to find him sleeping on the veranda.

He lazily opened an eye at you. "I'm done." He held out the manuscript. "You can read it if you come sit with me. You're too far away."

You complied and sat next to him. Immediately his head was in your lap. He looked like he was almost asleep when you reminded him, "I thought I could read your book?"

He gave a heavy sigh, "what a bother." Then he handed you the manuscript. You thought you were prepared. You weren't.

The book was a tale of two lovers. One of them died in battle while the other was forced to live on alone. Eventually, they died as well. But after one thousand years, their souls met again. Both were lonely and broken when they came to find each other, but together, they helped each other heal. 

At the very end, the one who had lived longer in the previous life had made a promise. No matter how much time or space lay between them. They would fight to come back to their side. 

By the time you finished, you realized you were sniffling a little. You looked down at Kuya, and noticed him staring back at you with his piercing golden eyes.

"Was it really that good?" He gave a lazy grin and wiped a stray tear away.

"Shut up. You know what you did." You sniffled, your own smile giving way on your face. 

"We'll, now that that's done," he took the manuscript from your hands, and pulled you down so that you too were laying together, "you can finally have that nap I promised." 

You laid together for a moment, before you asked, "So when is the great Kuya going to release his next book?"

Kuya groaned, "this writing stuff is such a pain. I think this is the only one. So cherish it."

You giggled at your beloved tengu. You definitely would cherish it. For one thousand years.