#so have this warm up sketch of twilight!

[chellychuu]

Human Twilight sketch ⭐️

[blood-grove]

The Hunt

previous hunt <- part 2 -> (hunting)

x tws; violence , blood , injuries , gore , slight suggestiveness , sickness. <- more will be added possible depending on the part.

x pairings; soap x male!reader (😲)

x characters; soap , ghost , price , gaz + (others will maybe be added? idk ive never written a whole lot of characters cuz i get confused in my own head)

Soap ran his hands through your hair gently scratching your scalp as you purred lowly.

"God ah loue hearing ye purr git a real overgrown moggie as mah boyfriend dinnae ah?" Soap mumbled as he moved his hands to your face tilting your head up enough to look up at him from his lap.

"Such a nice view mm?" Soap grinned as he gently reached hand down brushing over the slight stubble around your chin and cheeks you preferred a clean shave and had quickly learned how to do it yourself.

Especially after all the cuts Johnny gave you trying to do one side of your face.

"Mm.." You hummed as you shifted in the water a near by lake you both have found yourselves at to clean up clothes set aside Soap always carried another pair for the both of you.

Your medallion hung heavy on your chest when clothed you always hid it so you didn't feel like it getting stolen and shifting into a giant dragon while out shopping would be ideal for you and Soap's little business venture.

"How much do we have now..?" You mumbled as you focused on washing instead of Soap's touch.

"Mm..We lost a guid bit we hud tae rush tae th' lea back then..we got 300 silver from you..We'll have to eat today so that'll be around 40 ish- We have about uhh mm.." Soap went quiet in thought as you huffed silently washing some more mud off yourself.

Money.

It had been a problem for you both you could never kept it.

You both had gotten greedy one village ago too many dragon attacks the dragon causing no damage and not even stealing livestock.

They figured you out.

You panicked.

And all remains is a burnt ashy waste.

You tried to repress the memory they were going to hang Soap what else were you supposed to do? You can't take on a whole town, You didn't have Soap's wit and agility especially not back when your human form was still so fresh.

For being such a strong creature you felt helpless in that moment, Soap still wore some scars from it all.

You shook your head as Soap's concerned look brought you back to the present.

"You okay love?"

"..Mm..Yeah.." You nodded as you gently nuzzled him slightly before going to get and dry off with the cloth you both brought.

"...Alright..I think we've got around 1,200"

"..Still not enough.."

"Yeah.."

For the rest of the evening you both ate and soon found an inn to stay in, You both planned to leave before dawn you didn't feel like getting up so early, especially with the cool chill of the twilight air.

You weren't cold-blooded per se but heat has always been a luxury to bask in getting in enough rays just to wake you up enough has always been a pleasure.

But being a literal fire-breathing creature meant your core ran warm perfect for Soap to cling onto too And an excuse to bury his face in your chest.

You didn't mind of course you always woke up to him running his fingers through your hair or sometimes he'd be sketching while one hand rested somewhere on you.

You feel you hit the jackpot with him he's always been physically affectionate yet he never overstepped a line you both hadn't crossed yet.

It was way past dawn when you both woke up again.

You were the clingy one this morning as you tried to keep Soap in place despite his groggy voice mumbling that you both had to get up.

You refused.

He stared at you as you admitting childishly locked your body around his limbs looking up at him.

"Oh noo whitevur shall ah dae a dragon haes me trapped in tis sleepy embrace..maybe a few kisses wull convince it tae let this poor warrior go?." Soap grinned as he looked at you cupping your face as he freed his arms.

"Possibly..I don't know the dragon has a very high kiss toll..I might have ta' turn you into a pile of ash if you don't abide by it.." You teased as he gently pecked your forehead.

"Ohh I'm sooo scared" He chuckled as he finally leaned down and embraced you into a kiss which you quickly melted into letting the rest of his body free as his hands slid down to your hips gently squeezing them as he deepened the kiss.

Soap chummed as he pulled away placing a quick on your forehead before he slipped away.

You both finally got dressed properly as you both packed up and got ready to leave.

Today is another day and another village was ripe for the pickings.

In your head it sounded sort of like thievery.

Maybe you both were scam artist thieves and not relieving people of there excess wealth.

Maybe you were both bad people scamming and scaring the richer folk.

Nah.

It took a week or so to reach the next town and you were both back to your routine.

Soap headed to the nearby guild or tavern if there wasnt a guild, He had a knack for charming the drunk passerby with his exaggerating his dragon slaying tales.

You just hoped he wouldn't get too drunk on the first day here.

You on the other hand were scouting out the town maybe getting a few treats for you and Soap.

You were so preoccupied in your thoughts and potential sweets you would buy you bumped into what could only be mistaken as a brick wall sending stumbling back.

"Ah fuck- What the-"

"Sorry."

You flinched at the voice as you looked up meeting not a magic talking wall which you would have preferred but a man tall and draped in dark clothes and a hooded cloak a skull mask fitted on his face and cloth covering the rest of it.

You got up quickly as he picked up your satchel and book holding them back to you as you stood there for a moment before finally composed yourself.

"Ah um- No its alright I wasnt paying attention."

He just hummed which you couldnt decivier if its good or bad.

"Wheres the guild house here?"

"Uh um I think back near the far markets and again I'm so-"

He just left following your honestly vague directions.

"Oh.. uh okay."

Weirdo.

a/n; sorry if it isnt that good just got back from vacation

[miharuki]

I'm thinking about something...or rather...someone.

Just a few sketches...

—Y-your highn- I mean, sir Link...—the man with long hair looks up, observing his figure as he nervously clasps both hands in front of him—D-do you... need any help?

Oh, no, thank you. I'm fine here—you glance at the container filled with food that the boy is preparing, witnessing the skills of the so-called "Link Chef" or just "Chef" or even "Wild Hero" as the group calls him, working on the group's meal.

You feel lost and, above all, guilty for not being able to help at all, even though you don't really know these guys well, and this isn't your land.

—Alright...—you walk away a bit quickly, heading to the corner where the group's temporary camp would be, the group you feel disconnected from, despite being a hero, technically.

Watching everyone chatting and even joking and laughing with each other, while you remain in the corner, waiting to be somehow useful.

Looking at where the chef is, you notice many cooking items he has with him, perhaps things that you don't even know what they are, much like how did you get here? Or, what world is this?

—So, what about it?—you say challengingly while flexing your fingers, looking at the boy in the blue scarf, your arm positioned for an arm wrestling match.

—Afraid of losing?—you devilishly smile beneath a seemingly gentle gaze.

The boy just sighs before smiling challengingly, raising his arm and clasping yours.

—I bet I'll win!

"You got this, War!" shouted the newest group member, watching the scene unfold and the arm wrestling match begin. Though it didn't mean much when you had already won.

—Ah, now it's my turn!—Twilight says, tapping War's shoulder, smiling confidently, thinking he might have a chance, especially after all he's been through.

But it was a surprise for everyone, including Twilight, when you held his arm on the table for a while without even giving him a chance to try.

—I told you!—you smile again as you watch the boy shake his hand.

—Dude, you lost to a woman!—War says, playfully hitting Twilight's shoulder—Look who's talking!

—f.fou--..muhpmm?!?!—surprised at being interrupted when the blacksmith boy decides to make you stay quiet, kissing you, while holding the back of your neck, so you don't stray. It wasn't enough that you arrived at the time he separated but also being extremely adorable. You tried to push the boy, but he held you tight, if that wasn't enough, you felt something wet enter your mouth, it was at that moment that your face was redder than ever, this boy not only stole your first kiss but also your first French kiss.

-fuck! How did we let this happen!

-I don't know! But…

. —oh man! she's so cute, I can't help it! —I think I want to stay longer….

—we want…! It had been a few minutes since you stopped pushing, you didn't know why, but you liked the feeling, he was warm, and for some reason, it was actually good, except for the part where you saw 4 people just like the blacksmith, but you were already forgetting, how could you think about that when the boy in front of you felt the need to take you right there, to make you stutter, and not bear it any longer until you forgot what you saw, until you could no longer bear the pain in your pants , he wants to take her Right there, they want to, and maybe that happens, maybe that way you keep secrets, maybe you like being fucked by all of them. And then, you can go out on a date, maybe even be together, he wants that so much.

Just a fanfic prototype that might come out, if you like it maybe I'll turn it into a fanfic.

[whovianofmidgard]

Day 1 – Maedhros – Coping

For @feanorianweek You can also read it on AO3

Maedhros used to think he didn’t have a traditional Noldorin craft. That his craft was the same as his grandfather Finwë’s, excelling in diplomacy, politics, being a skilled orator and an attentive listener, a natural leader among brothers, cousins and his people. That his talents ended there and no further.

He knew his father was proud that he had found in him a worthy heir in court. Yet Maedhros always knew that Fëanor secretly wished he had skill and passion in creation, in the works of his hands.

So, Maedhros applied himself, and took lessons in any and every craft he could find. He weaved and stitched and embroidered. He carved and apprenticed with carpenters. He did masonry, wove baskets, and painted landscapes and portraits alike. He played with clay and chiselled stone together with his mother. He hammered hot metals and cut precious gems under the tutelage of his father. He hunted in the company of little brothers and cousins, and sang songs and played instruments privately, only sharing with steadfast Maglor or beloved Fingon.

In every craft he tried his hand at he did good, solid work, but never exceptionally, and never passionately.

Now, Maedhros lay bundled in soft furs and linens, steadily healing from wounds, starvation, and exposure to the elements, grateful for dear Fingon’s kind and valiant heart, grateful to be alive. Yet he was left short of one hand, and with no craft to keep the nightmares at bay.

Relearning to merely write with his off hand was a slow and arduous process, what chance did he have for anything more involved than that? He could not hold an embroidery hoop properly in place, and his fingers shook and cramped up from pinching a needle for more than five minutes. He was more a hazard and a liability in the forge, he had too few hands to play any instruments other than a drum or tambourine, and his voice was shot to gravelly rumblings from screaming it raw in pain. He would eventually learn to hunt once more, but never with bow and arrow again, and more out of necessity.

Then one afternoon a bundle of charcoal sticks lay waiting on his office desk with a pile of blank parchment. Maedhros stared and contemplated it for a while, and shoved it aside to ignore in favour of hours of paperwork. Eventually, though, his mind grew weary, and as the Sun dipped low on the sky into twilight, he reached for a fresh unmarked parchment. Maedhros mindlessly sketched shapes and lines, the soft scratch of coal on paper and the repetitive motions of the hand soothing to his mind. By the time a servant came in with the dinner tray, he had scribbled the interior of his office down.

He thanked the servant as she left and regarded the work of his hand. The lines were uneven, and the perspective was off, yet the image was recognisable. With practice it could be improved upon.

Maedhros doodled and sketched every night, his office over and over again, until it looked perfect. Then the view outside his window, the crow on the ledge, a still life of his dinner, and many, many portraits of his staff, warriors, his people.

One day he found his charcoal sticks replaced with a brush and watercolour paints. Then months later it was gouache, then egg tempera, and finally oil paint. The walls of Himring were soon lined with landscapes of fierce mountains and sleepy meadows, of riders on planes and warm torchlit halls full of revelry. In Maedhros’ private rooms he kept only two paintings. One was a tableau of himself with his brothers arranged around him, proudly displayed above the mantelpiece. The other a simple portrait of his dearest cousin, kind smile and gold braids falling to his shoulders, guarding his dreams beside his bed.

When next Maedhros found a lump of clay on his desk and a pottery wheel by the window, he knew he was up for the challenge.

He quickly saw that forming the clay with only his one hand made the process more difficult, the cups and vases under his touch turning wonky and lopsided without the counter pressure. Maedhros thought of being stubborn about it, trying again and again until endless practice yielded results. But it only takes one mistake that almost had the lump of wet clay spin right off of the wheel, and he instinctively reached for it with his right, and his wrist ended up pushing it back onto the wheel.

Maedhros experimented after that. His single hand pinched and manipulated as dishes and mugs spun into form, while he could push and smooth the soft clay with his stump, and easily reaching inside his creations with it to widen the mouth of a vase.

Sitting down to do pottery at the end of a long day calmed his mind and nerves perhaps better than painting. The motion of his leg working the treadle was a steady rhythm he matched his breaths to. The slow yet decisive movements of his hand and stump required just the minimum of focus to empty his head of all worries and nightmares. The coolness of the clay sticking to his fingers and scarred skin grounded him in the present on dark nights when his memory wished to steer him towards pain.

Washing away the residue from his stump at the end of it all almost felt like healing.

[rubylace]

𝑮𝑶𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑰𝑪𝑵𝑰𝑪

heeseung

heeseung was arranging the games, his meticulous planning evident

he surprise you with a homemade dessert, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he waits for you to take the first bite.

he set up a small campfire as the sun starts to set, you'd all gather around roasting marshmallows.

singing a beautiful song to you while enjoying the breeze.

his voice blending perfectly with the gentle rustling of the leaves, creating a magical moment.

jay

jay was unpacking the food, his eyes twinkling with anticipation

he scenically spot by the river, his eyes lighting up as he talks about the beautiful view and the peaceful atmosphere.

he bring out a guitar, strumming a few tunes as the rest of you sing along.

his voice would blend perfectly with the gentle rustling of the trees.

he then share his favorite book with you, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he talks about the characters and plot.

jake

jake was already exploring the surroundings, his curiosity adding to the excitement

you and him play fetch with his adorable puppy, enjoying the warm sunshine and the crisp, fresh air.

he lead a fun scavenger hunt, his laughter echoing through the park as everyone scrambles to find the hidden treasures he's cleverly placed.

he nature walk around the park, his enthusiasm infectious as he points out different birds and plants.

he noticing you admiring a beautiful flower, would carefully pick it and tuck it behind your ear, his gesture making your heart flutter.

sunghoon

sunghoon was preparing the ice cooler, ensuring everyone's favorite drinks were there

he post-picnic ice skating session, his face lighting up with excitement at the thought of teaching you some moves.

his knowledge of constellations would leave you all in awe.

he teach you how to ice skate, his patient guidance and warm encouragement turning the experience into a sweet memory.

he surprise everyone with a telescope, inviting you all to stargaze and stargazing together at night.

sunoo

sunoo had his camera ready, capturing these precious moments

he capture the day's memories with his camera, promising to make a photo album so you can always remember your picnic with them.

he also capture a candid photo of you, later presenting it to you with a heartfelt note about the wonderful day, making you feel truly special.

as the day ends, he taking a group photo capturing the perfect end to a perfect day.

his warm smile would be the last thing you see before heading home, a perfect memory to cherish.

jungwon

jungwon with his infectious energy, was setting up the picnic blanket, his laughter ringing through the quiet morning

you and jungwon pack a picnic basket together, laughing as you argue about the right amount of sandwiches to bring.

he play a friendly game of soccer with you after lunch.

his competitive side would show, but it would all be in good fun as you both laugh and play.

he gently drape a blanket around your shoulders when the sun starts to set, his soft smile lighting up the twilight as he ensures you're warm and comfortable.

ni-ki

riki was testing the music system, a lively tune filling the air

he bring his favorite music, and you two would have an impromptu dance party in the middle of the picnic, your laughter echoing through the park.

he surprise you with a hand-drawn sketch of you, his talent and the thoughtfulness of his gift leaving you speechless.

his usual playful nature, he makes a water balloon fight.

his laughter would fill the air as everyone gets soaked and joins in the funddle.

[jaydaaasworld]

The Love Beneath the Stars

a/n: just a little something tell me if you want more

In the quaint town of Serendale, where cobblestone streets meandered through charming cottages and blooming gardens, lived a young woman named Clara. She was known for her kind heart and captivating smile, which could brighten even the gloomiest of days. Clara spent her mornings working at the local bakery, filling the air with the sweet aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of pink and orange, Clara decided to take a walk by the serene lake on the outskirts of town. The lake was a special place for her, a quiet retreat where she could unwind and reflect. As she walked along the water's edge, she noticed a figure sitting on the old wooden pier, sketching in a notebook.

Curiosity piqued, Clara approached quietly, not wanting to disturb the artist. She was surprised to see it was Lucas, a young man who had recently moved to Serendale. Lucas was an artist who had come to the town seeking inspiration for his paintings. He had a reputation for being quiet and reserved, often lost in his own world of colors and creativity.

"Hello, Lucas," Clara greeted softly, her voice blending with the gentle rustle of the evening breeze.

Lucas looked up, his eyes meeting Clara's. For a moment, he seemed startled, but then a warm smile spread across his face. "Hello, Clara. What brings you here?"

"I often come here to enjoy the peace and beauty of the lake," she replied, taking a seat beside him on the pier. "What are you sketching?"

Lucas turned his notebook towards her, revealing a beautiful drawing of the sunset reflected on the lake's surface. The colors were vibrant and lifelike, capturing the magic of the moment perfectly.

"It's beautiful," Clara said, her eyes shining with admiration. "You have an incredible talent."

"Thank you," Lucas replied, his cheeks flushing slightly. "This place inspires me. The tranquility, the way the light dances on the water—it's magical."

They sat together in comfortable silence, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the twilight sky. Clara shared stories of her life in Serendale, her dreams of opening her own bakery one day, and her love for the simple joys in life. Lucas, in turn, spoke of his travels, his passion for art, and the solace he found in painting.

As the night grew darker, the connection between Clara and Lucas deepened. They found themselves drawn to each other's company, discovering a shared appreciation for the beauty in the world around them. It was as if the stars had aligned to bring them together.

In the weeks that followed, Clara and Lucas spent more time together, their bond growing stronger with each passing day. Lucas would visit the bakery in the mornings, sketching Clara as she worked, capturing the light in her eyes and the grace in her movements. In the evenings, they would walk by the lake, talking about their dreams and aspirations, finding solace in each other's presence.

One starlit night, as they sat on the pier watching the moonlight dance on the water, Lucas took Clara's hand in his. "Clara," he began softly, "meeting you has brought a new light into my life. You've shown me the beauty of love and the joy of companionship. I don't ever want to be without you."

Clara's heart swelled with happiness. "I feel the same way, Lucas. You've brought so much joy and inspiration into my life. I can't imagine a future without you by my side."

With the stars as their witnesses, Lucas leaned in and kissed Clara, a tender, heartfelt kiss that sealed their love. From that moment on, they were inseparable, their love story blooming like the flowers in Serendale's gardens.

Years later, Clara and Lucas opened a bakery and art studio together, a place where their passions intertwined. The walls were adorned with Lucas's paintings, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of Clara's pastries. They had created a life full of love, creativity, and happiness, proving that true love, like the stars above, shines brightest in the darkest of times.

And so, under the starlit skies of Serendale, Clara and Lucas lived happily ever after, their love story a testament to the magic of finding a kindred spirit and cherishing the simple, beautiful moments in life.

I hope you enjoyed the love story! I have the next chapter ready if you'd like

[signanothername]

How did the turtles become villains in your villainess brothers au?

Buckle up time for some lore >:D

Admittedly however, I’m still working on it, so what I’m about to write can change over time, other than that enjoy my infodump

————

It’s actually not a matter of the turtles starting as good guys and ending up as villains, they’re the villains of the story to begin with

How so tho?

Let’s say the Krang didn’t stop at corrupting Oroku Saki

Karai’s story is pretty much the same, of her starting her own clan and calling it the Hamato clan, she banishes Shredder and herself to the twilight realm

That however leaves the rest hopeless, an opening the krang took to strike to corrupt them as well, so instead of the Hamato becoming a clan of Honor that keeps watch for the Shredder and keep peace, they’ve technically become another Foot clan that seeks destruction

So while Splinter’s story is mostly the same, he gets raised under completely different circumstances, instead of being raised to defeat Shredder one day, he’s taught that Shredder could become a valuable ally if released, or their enemy that they should destroy, and by extent destroy the Foot with him, whichever Shredder chooses (if you’re not with me you’re against me mindset between the Hamatos and the Foot)

Splinter story is pretty much the same afterwards, he becomes a star, gets kidnapped by Big Mama then Draxum, sees the turtles and his hearts warms up to them, immediately adopting them, eventually leading to his and the Turtles’ mutation

He raises the turtles the same way he’s raised, still a loving father, but not a great role model or a great teacher when it comes to what’s morally correct or wrong, and with Draxum’s genetic engineering of them to eventually become warriors, and their situation of being mutants, as well as the fact Big Mama is still out there, Splinter taught them to do what it takes to protect each other even if it means taking the lives of others

Teaching them that only the strong remains, and that subconsciously makes the turtles’ outlook towards life and the world negative, that the world is out to get them, so they should be out to get the world first, that eventually leads to their moral values to mush and the line of what’s good/bad or right/wrong very fuzzy to them

That obviously influences their personalities in negative ways, hence why Mikey is a lot more aggressive and openly angry for example

Cause to them? As long as they keep each other safe/ happy and get what they need/ want, then there’s nothing more they care to do

In short, the Krang may have lost the battle but they won the war

———

Anyway I’m actually pretty happy someone asked about my villainous brothers au so as a thank u here’s these sketches I made a while back that I haven’t at all shared

I actually really adore this au 😔❤️🌷✨

[writerwithbrainrot]

Chapter one: Reader and the Ancient Waterworks

It started out as a simple exploration in an underground facility built long ago. But there's a reason you don't run after strangers.

Warnings: none, but if there are, just let me know. :)

Note: I got a tad bit carried away and went past the limit mark so I'll be splitting this into two parts.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

    Ever since childhood, the child's interest in the past had always been peaked. Their curiosity of what had happened in history and the buildings that had been built long ago always made [Reader] thirst for knowledge and the answers to the questions asked about old ideology and beliefs.

   Even when they had first gotten an old game console for Christmas (a used Nentendo 64) and a beat up cartridge of the game 'Ocarina of Time', they became enamored by the prospect of adventure. Not to long after that Christmas, their mother could always find [Reader] in the back yard with a coloring book in hand and a stick in hand, pretending to be one of the chosen heroes and coloring pretend ancient languages to solve puzzles or drawing a giant maze in the snow or mud and using that as a forgotten tomb or an abandoned manor in the mountains.

     But time passed, and [Reader] became older, and had eventually played every Zelda game made, made endless theories and listened to other theorists on the internet. They even made a book that looked like an archeological notebook with Zelda history explained, a sketched timeliness and artifacts like the Mirror of twilight and those ever infuriating Kinstone. Theories and other things held within that notebook practically became [Reader]'s best friend through highschool. However, when they went to college, the notebook became forgotten in their old schoolbag.

     Soon however, that notebook would become [Reader]'s greatest weapon and garrentee for survival. . .

»»————-　★　————-««

     [Reader] sat in the bus leading out of Ceanda city, with a few others also on the bus. An elderly couple holding a basket with a checkered table cloth ontop, a fine dressed man typing away on a laptop, and a tired looking woman. These people were the least important thing to [Reader] Reader at the moment, however, as more exciting things lingered on their mind. They twirled with their white hair, messy and unkempt, their grey fingers getting stuck in the white knots.

     [Reader] was born with a rare condition, one that was caused by the heavy pollution of the cities build around the world, this condition messing with their color pigments. So now they had erie gray skin and snow white hair and solid black eyes. Yet it stopped bothering them after their second year of college, when looks stopped mattering ro them.

     They looked at their bag, their old highschool one. They had decided to use the old bag to carry their notebooks and sketchpad as well as some tools they may need for the exploration they were going to do in a few hours. [Reader] smiled seeing the faded colors and looked back out the window at the dull forest outside. Their home was originally a kingdom in the past taht was advanced for their time, creating an underground place that used water to create heat and keep the palace and town warm during the harsh winters. Later, the unnamed kingdom started to find ways to use this technology in new ways, however, was invaded and taken over. The kingdom was demolished and replaced with the country that the leader lived in now after over 300 years. But the old place stayed hidden and now, was about to be explored and [Reader] as well as several others would be able to take juicy bites into its history.      The bus stopped, and [Reader] stood, throwing their bag onto their back and got off, and smiled seeing their team lead waiting for them to arrive.

    Thomas was an older man, but still very active and was to be the leader of the exploration into the underground Waterwork. He smiled at [Reader] before speaking "Reconed we'd have to start without ya, kid." he said, turning and starting to walk, [Reader] following close behind, their two silver necklaces bouncing on their forest green sweater. "But we'd be damned if we didn't have someone more agile than Serena. Kid may be younger than you, but she is as flexible as a log. Glad to see you're wearin' the charms I gave ya."      [Reader] rolled their eyes. "The scent one I understand, I can change the pad in it for a different color pad and scent to keep bugs away. But I don't understand the dream catcher looking one." Thomas chuckled, speaking up. "Ah, yes, well. . . You know it's better to be mentally safe than manipulated by dead spells."

"So. . . You only gave me these to. . . keep my mind safe?" [Reader] asked in a monotone voice, a brow raised. Thomas turned his head to look at them, the old green eyes meeting [Reader]'s, the green holding wisdom within. "In Egypt, Tombs are protected with spells people of the ancient time believed them. The knowledge of these can cause even a skeptic to go mad. The magic may be imaginary, but the mental warfare is more lethal."

     They reached the small group of explorers near a thick forest entrance, the trees beyond suddenly a lot more intimidating than before. [Reader] couldn't help but shudder at the breeze that blew past, goosebumps appearing on their skin. "You're here!" a girl's excited voice called and soon, Serena, a 19 year old girl with dyed pink hair and a jacket on, as well as leggings and a well worn side bag. "I'm so glad you came!"

   "You act like I'm planning on running off." [Reader] said with a chuckle. "Like I plan on missing this opportunity. To see such an ancient and important peice of history in its rawest form?"

      Serena giggled "You make up excuses to skip out on food! Free food, might I add!" Footsteps approached and the two turned and Serena grew read seeing the tall and dark male who approached them. Marco grinned at the two. "Serena. [Reader]." he said, leaning down and kissing Serena's hand. "Excited, I presume?"

      "Drop the gentlemen act." [Reader] said sarcasticly, but a smile on their face. "We know you freak out when you see an arachnid."

      Marco frowned and stood up straight, his backpack hanging off a single shoulder, his black jacket zipped up. "Where's your jacket? Your gloves?" [Reader] raised a brow and frowned. "What are you talking about?"

      "It's going to be chilly down underground, and it's going to be worse as it's fall." Serena said, showing her dark red gloves. "Mr. Thomas told us to wear warm clothes."

      "What's wrong with my sweater and jeans?" They asked, smiling "I've got stuff on under these."

     "Then change. You're wearing too much green." He said jokingly "Next thing we know, you'll trade that green bandana on your head for a butterfly net cap." He picked up a stick and held it like a sword "Hya!"

Thomas blew his whistle, catching everyone's attention. "Get ready! We're heading out!" [Reader], Marco, and Serena all started to rummage through their bags, Serena pulling out a pocket knife, Marco Unsheithing a machete and [Reader]pulling out a hatchet with a cover on the blade, a worn journal dropping on the dead grass below. "What's this?" Selena asked as she readjusted her bag, picking the notebook with a hard cover up and opening it as [Reader] put their bag back on, taking the cover off their hatchet. "Woah! You really are a nerd!"

      [Reader] looked confused "What?" they asked, walking over and looking, Marco also taking a peak. [Reader] grinned and took it. "I remember this. I made this during highschool. I wanted to practice being a historian and archeologist, so I made a journal based off the history and theories on My favorite game franchise."

     The group began walking, and the trio followed behind, starting to cut their way through think brush and forest. "I stand corrected. You're a sad nerd." Marco said, earning a harsh punch to the shoulder. They laughed, and turned their attention to the rough road ahead. . .

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Goodness, this chapter is so long I had to split it into two parts! I might also post this on ao3. I am proud of my writing hehe! Part 2 with be linked down below!

Pt. 2

[litanyrobin]

Will you be there tomorrow? | Hitman!Bernard AU

Summary:

The song that Tim and Bernard considered as their own caused them to wonder about each other's stay in their lives the next day. Tim was sure that Bernard would be there for him every morning for the rest of his life, and Bernard would make sure to make that a reality.

Will you be there? Tomorrow (Bernard Dowd / Tim Drake) by anyrobin in AO3

Bernard Dowd kept his temple pressed against the cold glass of the bay window on the overhang of the house, watching the snow that was slowly beginning to melt even under the cloudy dawn sky; he fiddled with the ice in the glass that still held a little whiskey and took the last sip without pausing to savor the taste. On the spot, his husband Tim appeared from behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder to catch his eye. 

"Mm, good morning," he said in a hoarse voice. His eyes weren't even fully open and his touch was still warm, fresh from between warm, expensive cotton blankets. 

Bernard sketched a smile and set the glass aside so he could stand up straight, stretch his neck and deposit a light kiss on his opponent's lips. Tim received it somewhat groggily and smiled as well, sitting down across from Bernard to receive his cool arms around his neck.

"You're up early."

"No more than you. The bed was starting to get cold without you." 

Neither added anything else. Tim's hands rubbed his husband's exposed knees, while the other slid his hands up to his wrists to soon after stop the action and entwine their fingers together with their eyes on the outside. The large plot of land they owned, formerly owned by Timothy's birth family, stretched for at least a couple of miles and the wooded plains covered in snow and frost were a perfect postcard to gaze upon each twilight.

"Bern?

The aforementioned didn't answer, closed his eyes and, after taking a soft inhale, began humming the beginning of a song. A delicate melody that must have come from a piano rather than the human voice submerged the room for a few seconds that Tim enjoyed with open eyes, but closed mouth. He knew the tune perfectly, from the rhythm it carried to its lyrics and meaning, it never failed to enrapture him, lowering his defenses for the relaxation and warmth in his chest. They sang it together their wedding night and would spontaneously repeat it when the mood was right, each time in a yearning, melancholy tone. «Tomorrow» didn't narrate a love story, let alone one comparable to theirs and perhaps even distanced itself from the reality they shared; nevertheless, they liked it. The best part was when it ended and, without needing to add anything, together they would look at each other and blurt out an affirmation. 

"Of course I'll be here with you and for you tomorrow and every day after that for the rest of your life, and I know you will be too for the rest of mine."

Bernard stopped humming and laughed without parting his lips. It was the first morning they had woken up together after their honeymoon and marriage, and he felt the need to hum that one to sweeten the other man's morning. He slid his hand to Tim's cheek and left a quick caress there before taking a deep breath and standing up.

"I'm going to kill a man today," he declared. 

Tim made a grimace that hinted at a smile. 

"So soon you have to work already? I thought you'd be off work for a while considering our situation." The opposite blinked questioningly and tilted his head, causing Tim to sigh as he stretched his legs. "We're newlyweds, I thought you had some time off or something and wouldn't be working. And I'm supposed to be the workaholic?"

"I'm always working, Tim. You know that better than anyone. And at least I sleep while I'm doing it instead of subsisting on energy drinks and pure caffeine."

Tim squinted and nudged him lightly with his elbow.

"Sure, I don't need your arguments, just go," he snorted, resigned. "I had to get back to work on my own code soon anyway. I'll wait for you with lunch." Bernard pursed his lips and averted his gaze. Tim rubbed his neck and stood up. "I see. It'll be with dinner, then."

"Thank you, darling."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Go now."

Unlike Tim, Bernard was already up and well dressed, so he immediately grabbed his jacket, deposited a kiss on his husband's temple, and ran to the car to get to work quickly before morning fully broke. He had to take advantage of the fact that the sun hadn't finished rising to be at his assignment site at a perfect time. 

Inside the car, a red 67 Impala that Tim guarded with his life before meeting Bernard and handing over the keys, he waved goodbye to the beautiful mountain view and its snow covered flora to soon pull away from the countryside and arrive at a town on the outskirts where the snow had long since finished melting and his next job awaited him. 

The mission was simple, nothing he wasn't used to. Steal the life of the man who would inherit a fortune worth millions that, according to the client, he didn't deserve without leaving any traces or suspicions behind. For his luck, nothing new or complicated, although perhaps it would be a bit bloody considering the story he would put together behind the crime. 

Target 107, as his most recent victim was named, had been followed and duped for a long time. The latest update was that he spent the night exactly where and with whom he was supposed to spend it, "unknowingly" following the plan to perfection. Now Bernard was only supposed to finish the job started by his colleagues, his part was always the dirtiest; there were those who prepared the ingredients and he was then the one who cooked them. Luckily, his part was also the best paid. 

Even with the sun struggling through the mountains to show its splendor, he parked the Impala outside a sleazy hotel where his target should never have been. It was all planned; his clerks had taken it upon themselves to send continuous messages to the target posing as an alleged lover despite the victim being engaged, and to also send her partner texts and images insinuating that they were being unfaithful. If everything went as it should (and it did), the two had spent the night together in that hotel, because to finish the job Bernard took it upon himself to send them fake and untraceable emails (courtesy of his husband's software) on behalf of the alleged lover so that they would end up meeting there.

From what the hitman understood, his target's partner was classified as submissive and tolerant in attitude, so even with all the evidence of a betrayal going on, there was almost no way he would carry out a crime of passion that would benefit the client, but that's what Bernard was there for. 

The cameras had been hacked by one of the few members of his team an hour after the entry of Target 107 and his scapegoat partner, in order not only to allow Bernard to enter in the morning without any problems, but also so that there would be no recorded records of the prime suspect's departure many hours before the murder was carried out. The receptionist, the only likely witness, would be dealt with later.

As it should be, his patsy had retired early, leaving his target alone and scorned in a hotel of ill repute and ready for Bernard to carry out the last phase of the plan. 

In general, he liked quick and, if possible, clean kills. He preferred headshots; quick and precise, with no more blood than a single puddle on the floor. Poison was clean, but it took long enough to have to see the victim's reaction to it and he hadn't been interested in that sort of thing for quite a few years. He had seen so many different deaths that over time he lost the satisfaction he felt when he saw faces full of fear and pain, now he only liked to finish everything quickly and get paid to continue drinking expensive liquors and leading a good and relaxed life of which he was not worthy. The road he had to travel until he could carry out a murder that left no traces or tears behind was sometimes tedious and required him to give his all, however, that was the part that bothered him the least, because when everything culminated he could go back to being the selfless person he always was and bask in luxuries like the big house in the mountains he now shared with Tim or the almost two million pounds sterling whiskey he was drinking at night. 

Already on the second and last floor of the hotel, he tapped twice with the knuckle of his index finger on the door of the room where his beloved victim was, giving himself a second to get into the role he would play in that murder, after all, Bernard was never Bernard while he was working. Today, at that moment, he was the fiancé of someone who happened to be being unfaithful to him, with his jealousy boiling and rage built up, ready to do whatever it took to make his partner pay for betraying him. So without waiting a second longer for permission, he entered the room and after making sure to lock it tight, jumped onto the bed where Target 107 was looking at him puzzled and denoting his fear in his facial expression. 

"Who the hell are you?" 

"The last face you'll ever see, sweetness."

ههههه

"Oh, I want to break free!" cried Bernard, thumping the steering wheel of the Impala. He was happy, happy enough to sing a Queen song at the top of his lungs as he cruised down the road. 

Luckily, the job was still satisfying from time to time. The screams of the victim as he beat his bloodied skull structure with a candlestick, struggling not to fall into unconsciousness, was something he didn't see as often anymore, so he took it upon himself to revel in every second until he was sure that Target 107 was no longer going to wake up again, but he also didn't overdo it too much or it wouldn't look so much like something not premeditated. The smile he drew on his lips at the image of the white nightgown stained in blood still remained on his face as he sang loudly. 

Twilight was an amazing sight for the soundtrack and emotion he carried with him. He was in high enough spirits to reach over and pour himself a glass of the lemonade Tim loved so much instead of a glass of wine.

His most recent mission, Target 107, had just become his one hundred and sixth successful homicide since he had been in the business. Of all the targets he had been assigned to that day, the only one he hadn't killed was Timothy Jackson Drake and instead had co-written a dramatic love story with him that if Tim's adopted brother Jason knew about, he would write a novel about it.

Like all his works or many of them, Tim was a rich kid whom his younger brother wanted out of the game so he could receive the full inheritance and the title of CEO of the family company without having to beg fruitlessly since, even though he was the rightful heir by blood, it was the eldest son, albeit a bastard, who got the better part in the end; however, taking him off the board would leave his father with no choice but to keep the fortune in the family through his son or by letting his outside shareholders wipe him out, enriching outsiders instead of his offspring, and that was hardly an alternative. That's when the Dowd micro-mafia entered the equation and resulted in a clean win for the young boy, but an unexpected outcome for Bernard and Target 102.   

When Bernard's planned assassination disguised as a mugging failed as he missed his chance to give Tim a clean shot to the temple inside his beloved 1967 red Impala and suspicions began to surface of a possible conspiracy against him, he was left with no choice but to come up with a new plan to make the guy disappear from the Wayne family line of succession. However, instead of eliminating him from the list of heirs, he let his own father disinherit him at the same time that Tim decided to renounce his family for love. A forbidden love with another man that his parents would not even have been slow to reject and disown, and which his adoptive father refused to accept when he learned of the dangerous ancestry of his son's lover, erasing his name from all records within days after he fled far away with Bernard. 

Of course, that happened some time after the suspicions of the misfired gunshot accident had completely vanished and love emerged to the point where the young master gave up his position of power in order to be with another man. All it took was, "Your brother hired me to kill you, Tim, that's why I approached you in the first place, but I couldn't do it because I fell in love. I've never felt this way before. I love you..." for the sympathetic and in love Tim to accept Bernard's reality and decide to leave with him without ever looking back again. Then to have a token marriage, a honeymoon and a precious romance along with a naïve happiness that he knew would last for the rest of his life.

"I'm home," Bernard crooned. He tossed the keys to the Impala on a plate on the entryway cope and shook his head as he rolled up his shirt sleeves making his way over to Tim, who was setting the plates with dinner in the dining room.

"Welcome," he said. Turning, he raised his eyebrows in surprise and smiled. "Wow, you're back in a good mood."

"Totally. I could sing the duet from Grease any time. You know, you're the one that I want, you ooh ooh," he sang, snapping his fingers. 

Tim let out a laugh. 

"Of course, you'll be Olivia Newton-John?"

"Obviously I'll be John Travolta, honey."

They both laughed and sat down across the table from each other. Just as he had thought on the way home, and for the first time in the two years they had been together, Bernard drank from the lemonade his husband made almost every day. It was sweet, as sweet as he was with everyone most of the time. 

"Did everything go well today?" dared Tim to ask. 

Bernard hesitated for a moment, oscillating between saying what he really thought and the less coarse version that perhaps the opposite would prefer to hear. Little by little, Tim was getting colder, enough not to get uncomfortable or make things awkward between the two of them when they talked about work. As such, he decided not to go easy on him.

"That woman seriously put up a fight before she died, she was pretty dignified, but it's not like willpower can stop a hemorrhage either."

"I thought you said you'd kill a man today."

"Yeah, I did say that, honey."

The lemonade was gone. The only sweet thing Bernard wanted to drink now was a glass of brandy before going to bed. 

Without even finishing Tim's parched meat and over-seasoned potatoes, Bernard stood up shaking his head and index finger as he advanced to the radio on one of the shelves, humming an upbeat tune all the way there, under the watchful, amused gaze of his husband. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, chuckling.

"Let's go dancing, Tim," he proposed. He inserted a cassette into the tape deck and their song began to play after a few seconds.  

Between stifled giggles, Tim walked over to him and let him take one of his hands to lead him in a slow, frightening choreography, which didn't amount to a waltz or any smooth dance that resembled it, yet they both moved uncoordinated between smiles as the tune played loudly in the room. 

"Will you be there tomorrow?" sang Bernard before the song became just instrumental again for a few seconds and Tim helped him around taking his arm.

They continued to shake their heads with exaggerated slowness, spinning around until they fell into each other's arms and stayed glued there for a few moments before separating again and releasing their hands only to take them again from a different position.

"Walk by my side, and follow my dreams," Tim vociferated, trying hard to mimic Joey Tempest's lyrical tenor. "And bear with my pride, oh, as strong as it seems."

Bernard allowed himself a chuckle in the middle of the ballad just as the song was reaching its climax. He helped Tim take one last lap and when the song lowered its intensity he hugged him until the song ended, erasing all traces of happiness that had been there for the previous three minutes.

As they parted, his husband gave him a faint smile and deposited a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I'll be here tomorrow, Tim." 

Tim nodded with moist eyes and then turned his back on her, heading to the table to pick up the half-eaten dishes. 

«It's too bad you won't, honey.»

Turning off the radio, Bernard was also ending his terribly long lie. He opened the chest of drawers under the mantelpiece and pulled out his beloved old Colt Python, the equivalent of the '67 Impala in Tim's life to his own. 

He carefully stroked the trigger after making sure it was loaded, just as he had left it during the previous early morning, and settled his hands on it, touching it like his most valuable treasure. 

"You knew I'd kill a man today, honey," he murmured. "You should have prevented it."

With Tim's back to him, he felt a small glimmer of sadness that he was ending two years of his life where he went through experiences he could not erase along with the man's existence, but the story of the killer in love with his victim began as a lie and had to die as such, it could not come true at the end of the road. He would not allow it. Bernard Dowd left no room for mistakes and finished every job as stipulated, he had no mercy. Besides, he was disgusted from the beginning to have to be with another man and he would strive to make that feeling of disgust and dislike the one that prevailed in the act and for the rest of his existence.

She was not breaking his promise. He was for Tim every day throughout his life and the only reason he would not be tomorrow would be because he would no longer have one. Their song would die as his and the words would fade away as truths without Tim knowing that they were all falsehoods. 

Or so he wanted to, but either way his hand trembled as he held the revolver, hesitating between pressing the trigger as he so enjoyed doing or just putting the gun down and returning it to the drawer that commonly held it. 

However, if he stopped to think about it for a moment, and it was for the first time he did, Tim and he really did have a life together, it was short, but it existed nonetheless. And perhaps without realizing it, there were times when the charade would fall away and what he said or did was nothing more than what he really felt. The laughter, the caresses, even the dancing and Europe's "Tomorrow" duet they had done minutes before, all of it was real and the fun and warmth he experienced were not entirely part of the charade. 

The mornings he woke up next to Tim, the tears he watched him shed during their wedding, even when it was just the two of them separated from everything they ever cared about, and the honeymoon spent between romantic gestures, it was more than just him chasing after Target 102 to make it his one hundred and seventh kill so he could have a perfect streak...

Her hand closed over the trigger again with his husband in his gaze, now without hesitation or trembling. 

Yes. It was true. Those were all special moments and he would treasure them all in the name of his most precious mission, Timothy Drake. He was fulfilling his promise to him. 

He was with him every morning of his life. Until he shot him in the back and finished him off.

[deepseamuse]

Some poems I’ve written over the past two years

The Fragile Geisha

I bump into the wooden bookshelf,

And instinctively grab

For the mug at its top, painted with

A scarlet-robed geisha.

The clattering of ceramic skin against oak

Fails to disturb her, and despite the danger

Her eyes remain closed,

Her expression calm.

The arrow she holds pointed towards

The floor that nearly destroyed her.

The same as the last night we drank,

Together,

Of green tea and the moon.

A cheap teapot had whistled, and as I ran,

The old wooden floor

Creaked in complaint.

Despite the chilly autumnal wind, the water

Seemed hotter than normal.

As if it wished to warm

The rest of the aging house as well.

I filled her mug to the brim,

A trickling stream

Scorching ceramic skin

As it mixed with powder and leaves.

And I waited for her to prepare the tea

Under the moon's light.

Deus Ex Machina

Whirring, Ticking

The ancient machine activates

Intent on granting

An old man's dying wish.

“Eternal Prosperity”

Would come at the cost of too many

For mankind to reach!

Set on a path that leads to

Self-destruction,

They’ve forgotten

His first wish, his reason

To bring the machine,

The mechanical god

To life long ago.

To bring a young girl

Who'd perished long ago

Back to her father's side.

Wishing for decades, he forgot

The face of the one who drove him;

If only he knew!

She'd never fallen, and returned

Changed, but alive.

If he would only look in her eyes

One final time,

He’d know his wish was granted...

Unexpected Downpour

I open my mouth, but not a word flows out.

What can I say? How can it be done right?

I’m just not sure.

One thousand words pour through my mind,

But which to choose? And what to ignore?

It’s all too much.

I close, leaving my torrential thoughts behind.

You’ll never know the words I cast aside.

Perhaps I should apologize,

For being too afraid of what could be

And whether you’d understand.

Or perhaps it’s better left unsaid.

The storm within my mind rages on,

And my lovely day is ruined by rain.

Star-Crossed Midnight

The clock ticks on,

Gears turning along,

As moonlight shines through the pane.

And there I sit,

Letting blankets shift,

As I enjoy the ending of day.

The blackened sky

Holds stars snuffed out by lights

From the streets so far below.

How I wish that I could see

That vast tapestry

Of glimmering sparks above;

Those eternal lights

Piercing through twilight

In the forest I once had called home.

But the cold, dark skies

Of this peaceful night

Are everything the city knows.

And as I rest,

It feels like the clock slows.

The Sakura Tree

A thousand flowers bloom,

But each will find their doom,

In one week, countless petals

That shall wilt far too soon.

Blossoms holding tiny lives

That will fade before my eyes,

And I wonder if this really is how

Things are meant to be.

Are all such beautiful things

Destined to merely fade away?

Only my memories keeping them

From disappearing into the gray?

If only I could hold them close

And keep each one alive;

Perhaps by my fervent wish

These blooms may yet cease to die.

But in a way, I suppose

There is a point to all this death;

It is in this fragile artistry

That these flowers are their best.

So I’ll let each life continue on

And someday disappear.

I’ll enjoy their fleeting grace and charm

Until they bloom again next year.

Impulsive Desire

When you’re seventeen, and in love

with that boy you hooked up with last month

who always smiles and laughs at your jokes

no matter how bad they are,

do you really get into

that cheap car your dad bought you

and drive over to that one kid

who says they’ll give you a tattoo?

Do you hand them a quick sketch,

and a couple of names,

and ask for your love to be memorialized

in blood and black ink?

You’re so smitten, at the moment,

you don’t even consider how

in a few years, you’ll be over him

and wishing the oath on your arm could be erased.

And sure, it could. But then

you’d have to think about it:

the words he’d said that night,

and how you’d thought you could devote yourself at seventeen.

History has a way of catching up

no matter what you do;

but such brazen, impulsive acts

keep it from having to move at all.

You fueled your fire with bloodstained ink.

Now, though it’s burnt out, the cinders always remain.

[suninthestars]

wjat about . stained glass. that's technically two words but,

:3 inkmare BLAST

one would never expect the temple for the supposed god of negativity and nightmares to be as open as it is. this chapel in some obscure universe does not match with the supposed terror of the multiverse. that doesn't stop it from existing, though, and it doesn't stop it from being gorgeous at sunset.

a lone monster sits in the pews with their eyes closed, listening to the birdsong and watching the patterns the warm violet light creates as it dapples their face. they're a rabbit, or maybe a dog, with a rounded snout and long ears that press back against their skull as they rest. a paintbrush dances back and forth against their paw.

there's a subtle click as a door opens behind them, and the temperature drops a few degrees. a cool voice calls out after it. "you know, ink, the sermon doesn't begin for an hour or so."

the monster - ink - sighs. busted.

they turn to face the newcomer, face squinted in mock annoyance. "can't a guy enjoy her quiet?"

"if it was anyone else, maybe," the figure responds. voi pads across the relatively small distance between the entrance and the pew ink is sitting in and rests voids head next to their right shoulder. "as it stands, i think you want something."

they meet voids good eye. "and what's that?"

a pale hand emerges from voids cloak, dark fabric shifting as voi holds up their satchel. they know it's theirs because of all the patches, and if they squint, they can make out the small loops on the strap that normally hold their vials. "this. you seem to have forgotten it at my house last night."

ink reaches for it, but it's snatched out of their meager reach before they can grab it. they huff. the other smiles in a way that could be considered unkind if it weren't so familiar to them.

"night, come on," they whine, turning fully around in their seat to reach for it.

"you know not to call me that here."

"well, you're calling me by my name, so i figured maybe you didn't care today or something."

".. or something." nightmare's voice is flat.

"yeah! we're both supposed to be undercover here. that sorta defeats the point."

"you say this like we're on some kind of mission."

voi drops ink's satchel into the pew next to them and then uses voids now-free hands to adjust voids eyepatch. it's not covering anything, really. that part of voids face is paralyzed, unable to shapeshift with void, but it's easier to hide it in shadow than it is to explain the situation.

"maybe you aren't, but i am," ink responds, reaching into their satchel for their sketchbook. the paws make it difficult, not as precise as they're used to being, but they open it up and begin to sketch in the dying light. nightmare squints over their shoulder at it.

"oh? what would that mission be?"

there's a pause and the sound of pages flipping as ink skips back to the beginning of their sketchbook. there in chicken-scratch is their mission statement. "discovering the religions of the multiverse," they read off.

"is that why you come to listen to me preach?" nightmare teases. "nothing to do with the person delivering the sermons at all?"

"never said that." ink glances from their book to the stained glass window, paw skimming lightly across the page.

their company watches as they sketch, basking in the comfortable silence between the two. unfortunately, by the time they've actually begun what they came here to do, twilight is falling, and the moment doesn't last long.

at some point, nightmare has gone from resting voids head on the pew to directly on ink's shoulder. voi only notices how their breathing has synced after the door clicks open again and voi starts, straightening up and clearing voids throat.

quietly, to ink, voi says, "come find me again after the service. i have some things i need to do, and i would appreciate the company."

then nightmare disappears. the frogs and crickets have replaced the sound of birdsong, drifting in with the worshipers through the doors as voi props them open, and the golden light of lanterns replaces the sunset as they're lit. soon voi is gone altogether, disappeared into the back room to prepare as the seats fill up for the night.

the chapel gets even more beautiful at night, if that's possible. the cool air is staved off by the warmth of communion and talk of dreams. someone pulls out a violin and the sound of them tuning it echoes under all the voices. ink turns toward the front of the room, no longer a lone monster, and waits to hear someone speak about voidself in a way nobody else could.

[keefwho]

May 02 - 2024 Thursday

10:35pm

2.5/10

I woke up tired and in a bad mood. I decided to go back to bed for however long, I only slept another hour. I got up and figured I should try to go through my usual schedule, I have an obligation to the people that pay me so that was my motivation. I had also decided to quiet Discord for a little to focus on my work and myself. My tummy hurt so I only ate a pack of soup for breakfast. I was able to stream on time.

On stream I warmed up with chinchilla sketches. Then I was trying to find the sketch I was commissioned to upgrade but I couldn't. I was also in a hurry because I had asked mom to take me to the store later so I couldn't waste too much time. I moved on to a different drawing for the time being. Then my stomach was upset again and I had to end the stream. I redid my schedule to give myself a little break and go to the store early. At the store I did my best to complete my therapy homework. I asked the girl if she had any super cool plans this evening and she said no, probably just gonna curl up under a blanket. That was about the extent of that interaction but it was better than usual. It also made me realize I can probably come in and ask any ol random question until I can probe deeper. Next I might ask what her current favorite show is or something. When I got home, I did an hour of commission work. I was in a poor mood and was trying to hang out with TK and friends in their server. They were playing a free hockey game I planned to join them in which I did. I hated it though so we only played a few rounds. Then TK and her boyfriend left to watch a movie in theater and I left to make lunch. I wasn't hungry but I ended up making tuna spaghetti. It was a little bit hard to eat it all but I did. I tuned into Tomato streaming hardcore Skyrim and that was my cozy content for the afternoon.

I had an afternoon schedule planned but it sort of fell apart. I knew all I really had to get done was commissions so I did that at least. I had planned to also work on idea requests and some of my next VR world but I skipped all of that. Given how I felt both physically and mentally, I gave myself the rest of the day off. A lot of it was spent curled up watching Skyrim. I felt very lonely but like I couldn't reach out to anyone. I thought about how hard it is to have fun anymore and how I'm not looking forward to anything. My day looked like being alone and unfulfilled, waiting to do it all again tomorrow. I asked DS for some company later. In the meantime I joined TK again and just chilled with them while I started installing mods for a KSP1 run.

When DS was ready, I kept preparing Kerbal and she put on a 90s EPCOT Barbie birthday video. Then we went down the rabbit hole of ASMR with Maya's channel. I felt very sick when we started watching and I almost wanted to ask for something else but I ended up really liking the Jimmy Neutron one we watched. It was hilarious and a great distraction from my body. Then we watched one as Buzz Lightyear.

In bed we did our puzzles, the crossword was stupid. We read a good chapter of Monster High and I progressed Twilight Town in KH2. After she fell asleep I booted up KSP to just barely start my campaign and the old UI is kinda grody but I found a mod to hopefully help that. Also not a fan of the loading times but it is a much more stable game.

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

Fusions part 2! (Part 1 here)

These are from the same chart/pool of characters as the first one <3

Crossposted on Equestria Unofficial amino under my name "Pink Lake" and maybe eventually on my insta, "darling.doly.darlene"

Daybreaker + Twilight Sparkle: At first I was a bit nervous with this one, I wasn't sure how I could mix all the fire and light of Daybreaker with all the purple and cool tones of Twilight, until I remembered they're both sorta based on stars! So I based the theme of this fusion after planetary nebulas, which are later in the "life span" of stars

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King Sombra + Good King Sombra: Presenting! Uh. "Sombra the sorta malevolent but also kinda benevolent?" XD

Naturally I couldn't resist drawing him in the same pose the canon Sombra's can both be found having in comic :p

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Daybreaker + Princess Luna: Eclipse!! Gosh I love making any Luna n Celestia fusion be based on a solar eclipse. Though it puts me in a bit of a tight spot considering there are like 4 ways Luna and Celestia can fuse-

I really like the wings on this one :3

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Queen Chrysalis + Good King Sombra: I was a bit worried on how this one would turn out when first sketching it, but honestly it ended up becoming one of my favorites! The colors are so nice <3

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Demon Sunset + Good King Sombra: Hah,, this one is a bit of a mess 😅. As much as I adore sketching and doing lineart for these fusions, colors are a whole other beast. Whenever I end up with cool colors + warm colors I always create a rainbow mess trying desperately to make it work

But in the end I think it tuned out pretty alright? The hair colors are quite nice

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Midnight Sparkle + Good King Sombra: Ooo this one turned out super nice! The colors were all so easy to put together, and these Midnight Sparkle fusions always turn out so cool <3

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King Sombra + Sunset Shimmer: This one was my absolute favorite sketch of this batch! I am ridiculously proud of coming up with the idea of fusing the cape and leather jacket into red leather fluffy jacket. And I adore the eye color! However this one definitely caused me some of the most coloring trouble, I swear I spent like an hour trying to work out the fur color alone 😅 (andimstillnotentirelyhappywithit-)

Though on the bright side! I think the hair, eye and jacket colors all turned out really cool! And honestly designing the outfit was so fun <3 if only I didn't have to color it </3

[nokwisi]

Hi, hi! Can I request a Viktor prompt with an S/O who happens to be a botanist or just loves to garden? The winter cabin fever really be hittin different rn 😅❤️

hi, hello! if there is a word for a sketch equivalent of writing, this would be that. I wrote the first thing that came to mind, and actually had so much fun with this prompt, thank you so much! I sincerely hope it tickles your fancy, anon! ^^ [sfw, fluffy fluff fluff]

Whereas Viktor has his laboratory, you have your greenhouse; juxtaposing rooms that mirror their owners, like open-spaced glimpses into your very personalities.

He is most comfortable when he is surrounded by the aesthetics of knowledge: schematics, densely defaced chalkboards of sprawling equations, books and prototypes strewn about as casually as knick-knacks on a shelf. But, he will readily admit, there is something rather inviting about your greenhouse. It is, he supposes, a laboratory of your own design, warm and balmy in a manner so cuttingly different than that of his own.

The room feels like you. Welcoming, grounded yet ethereal in a way that is so entirely organic; cozy and bright—a marvel in and of itself.

There are more windows than wall, stretching high to converge into a cavernous dome above, gilded with shimmering gold latticework that refracts winking light down unto the myriad of plants below. And there are a myriad of them—Honeyfruit, Scryer's Bloom, rose bushels and Verdant Ivy alike, their leaves and buds painting the room in a collage of color. They pack the air with an earthy, damp type of heat, one that settles comfortably in Viktor's chest like the gentle glow of a hot drink.

He comes to your greenhouse often, more so when he finds himself at his wits end, the familiarity of his lab closing in around him with pressure on all sides. Your greenhouse—you—are remedial in a way he can't quite explain.

Sometimes, he will simply sit, and watch, and there is a beauty in everything you do, he thinks.

Tending to each plant with a gentleness that feels reverent, your delicate hands flecked with soil, you mend broken vines and caress vibrant leaves with a deftness similar to that of a tinkerer; a scientist, or a creator. That is what you are, in a sense. Creating organic life, an iteration of science that he has since come to greatly admire.

He asks about your work, as though he wishes to be reminded of what passion sounds like. You patiently explain the characteristics of the plants, their qualities and their uses, and you do so in such a way that it feels proud, like a mother boasting her green, spindly children.

Viktor listens rapt, his gaze always split between watching your hands, and admiring your gleaming face. He thinks you look beautiful; soil streaked across your forehead absent-mindedly, hair frizzled just so with the humidity in the air, glowing with the light that pours from all corners of the room.

People are made for their passions; you are made to be a botanist, a caregiver to the very core of you. It comes as no surprise to Viktor when your mending touch reaches beyond the flowerbeds and unto him.

"You're looking pale, Vik." You say, and it's with a gentle type of reprimand, "you haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Viktor's gaze slants from where you are tracing the stem of a mint plant, up to meet yours. He says plainly, "I had sweetmilk, earlier."

He smiles affectionately at the playful roll of your eyes, the fond curve of your lips. "Such a well rounded diet you have." Then, you carefully pluck a leaf from the plant and approach him.

Night is descending over Piltover, and Viktor finds that he wouldn't have noticed if he were in his lab; the windows closed up, the curtains drawn tight, shutting out the world. Here, that is not an option. The darkness lays over the dome of your greenhouse like a twilight-blanket, firelights buzzing lazily around the garden, undulating like buoys of luminescent green. They've crept in from the open windows, drawn to your paradise in a dazed want like that of Viktor himself.

"I think you may be hopeless." You tease, stepping between his long legs as he sits perched on the cusp of a large, marble flowerbed. "Open, please."

He does. He parts his lips, and he keeps his aureate gaze locked with yours through the fan of his lashes. He tastes the bite of mint on his tongue, feels the graze of your fingertips against his mouth. The richness of soil and the sweetness of flowers linger around you like a heady perfume; Viktor breathes in deep, letting it coalesce with the mint that seeps into him.

"It curbs hunger." You inform him, softly. In the dwindling light, he sees the rose blush that blooms on the apples of your cheeks. "But make no mistake, it is not a viable substitute for a meal."

Viktor huffs a laugh, a touch of heat dusting the tips of his ears at having been perceived so easily, "you may know me too well."

"I know you well enough."

You smile, then you sweep your thumb across his lower lip, moving to cradle his face in your soft palm. Viktor preens at the touch, leans into you as though you are the sun itself, and he is a wilting flower.

[mae-gi-writes]

Yūgen | Sunwoo (The Boyz)

Yugen (n.) a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe that triggers a deep, emotional response. 

Requested by anon! In which Sunwoo, the ace of the volleyball team, is curious about what you’re drawing all the time. Until one day, he stumbles upon a drawing of himself made from yours truly. 

Genre: fluff, volleyball player! Sunwoo and art student reader, shy love, softness, and inspired by haikyuu because I have been obssessed with the anime lately TT__TT  A/N: It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve posted here! Slowly but surely, I’m going through my inbox and replying to your requests. Thank you for your patience, stay safe loves, ily all xx 

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Sunwoo wasn't artistically inclined.

But that never stopped him from admiring those that were. He was always so curious as to how just a flick of fingers managed to create a shadow, or how just one glance at a subject made it through onto paper without so much as an effort to remember the details. It was like it was automatically recorded into one's brain, hands already registered to mimic the curves and the folds and the shadows that turned into nothing short of a miraculous piece. So when he caught sight of someone drawing, it always piqued his interest. He stumbled upon you one late afternoon after his volleyball practice, with sweat dotting his forehead and his training bag slung casually over his shoulder. He was about to direct his way to the parking lot upon exiting the gymnasium, only to spot a lone figure huddled upon the bleachers and curled into a ball that caused Sunwoo to frown. Slowly sidling up to the stranger in question and peeking over the railing to catch a glimpse of your face, his eyes are instantly driven to the sketchpad in your hands.

You didn't notice him though, so absorbed in your own world with earphones blocking out reality that a tsunami could've gone unnoticed. So Sunwoo took advantage to climb over onto the opposite bleacher and, after ensuring that your back wouldn't turn to greet him, leaned over the separation to catch sight of a lone figure cartwheeling freely over the page. Woah. You were talented alright. There was nothing else to describe the fluidity of movement you caught with your pencil. It made Sunwoo's breath catch in his throat. He had the sudden urge to know exactly what kind of face hid behind the visual mastery manifesting before his very eyes. After all, there must be other things for them to see rather than the boring literal reality that most people settled for. What kind of imageries were they creating in their heads? What beautiful stories were they crafting? Worlds they got lost in? You moved then, causing Sunwoo to jolt back and scurry away with his heart beating out of his chest, deciding that it was enough spying for the day. After that day, he made sure to seek you out every time after practice although he noticed you never strayed too long in the same place, always moving about like a shadow lingering in the corner, invisible yet omniscient. Sometimes you would find a quiet spot in a patch of sunlight by the tennis courts. Sometimes you'd be found on the bleachers, alert eyes observing every pass, every move, every twist of a body like  camera taking everything in. Sunwoo never approached you. Not that he didn't want to, but he found it awkward to just come up to you and present himself as the guy who'd been stalking your drawings. So he admired you from afar instead, relished in the passion of your dark coffee coloured eyes and in the attentive focus dipping your eyebrows in a soft frown, lips paeted slightly in concentration. "Do you know her?" He'd asked one of his friends from the volleyball team once, during their lunch break as he saw you line up at the cafeteria. Changmin took a peek at your face before he shook his head, "she might be in one of my electives." "Which one?" "I think it's art." Sunwoo forced his face to remain in a mask of calmness as he grabbed a steak sandwich, no fries, "do you know her name?" "Nah. I don't think she's ever spoken in class," Changmin's eyebrows quirk up then, "why'd you ask?" "No reason." Changmin's pointed look defined anything but that.  Although he did have the decency to drop the subject as soon as the rest of the volleyball team joined the table. Sunwoo got his answer a few days later when he practically toppled over you and your drawing crayons. It was his mistake. He'd been leaning too far out from the top of the basketball bleachers, struggling to get even the smidgest glimpse of what amazing piece of art hiding under your jacket sleeve, only for his foot to slip. Down he went with a curse, crashing straight into your body and quickly scrabbling to wrap his arms around your head, a pathetic attempt to cushion your fall as you fell into a heap in front of the bleachers. "You--you okay?" He huffed out, breathless and heart beating like a time bomb. Pulling his arms away slowly, gently, he finally met your gaze straight on and --oh my, your eyes were not coffee coloured at all.  But more of a honey-brown, wide open and framed by soft lashes. Currently dilated in panic. "I'm fine! What--What about you? Oh gosh, I'm so sorry--" "No it was my fault," he made a grab for your sketchbook and scattered pens only for his orbs to register the face messily etched onto the paper. His breath caught. For a minute, he could do nothing but stare at the replica of his face made in charcoal. Those were his eyes, his slightly crooked nose. The scowl he wore during his soccer matches. That was him. The resemblance was akin to that of perfection. That was before your hands snatched away the sketchbook before you quickly slammed it closed, cheeks blazing red, "that's-- I swear I"m not a creep, I-- I just do that for practice--" "It's amazing." Your head-- which had been bowed this entire time for fear that anger would be his response -- shot up in surprise, "what?" "It's amazing," Sunwoo repeated. He wouldn't mind repeating it forever, he realized, if that meant he got to see that aforable blush of yours. He reached out with his hand, "can I look at it again?" So you allowed him after some slight hesitation, and if he noticed, he didn't comment. Fingers brushing against yours slightly, he handled the sketchbook with utmost care as he flipped through the pages with child-like awe. He'd seen your drawings, sure, but mere glimpses here and there, a sneak peek, always accompanied with the fear of being found. But now, he could take his time and actually relish in the soft tracings of your crayon, admire the gentle shadings that made up the tip of his nose. You had managed to capture that frown -- the one he used whenever he concentrated -- to perfection and for a minute he swore he'd fallen in love with himself. "You're really good," he murmured, though that definitely banalized the array of praises popping through his head, "you should keep doing them. I mean it." "So, you're not--" you paused, "mad?" "Well I think you'd have more reason to be mad if you knew I was stalking you from before." "What?" Oh Sunwoo, you idiot. Your eyes had tripled their size and you were looking at him like he'd just grown a second head. He lifted his hands as defence, "that sounded so much better in my head. I swear I'm not that creepy, or a stalker, I just--well you're always drawing and I got curious but I can't really come over and tell you to show me so I had to hide and peek and--" You burst out laughing in his face and despite the fact that he was the cause, he couldn't help joining in with a small chuckle, a grin spreading across his features at how alive you looked at this very moment. "You can ask me next time," your grin settled into a soft smile, "I don't bite." "Your words, not mine," he said, tone lighter and teasing. He helped you gather your belongings and as the pair of you started towards the school gates, he asked for your name. "Y/N," you answered, "and you?" "Sunwoo," he noticed the sky was darkening into purple, a sign that twilight was approaching. Usually, he'd be in a hurry to catch the last bus of the evening to avoid the pain of traffic after six. But it was like his body was slowing down on its own to join your pace, as if he was automatically tuning in to the rhythm of your steps. He found he didn't mind. "So why athletes? Any special reason why you like drawing them?" He asked as you reached the gates. "I just like watching the way they move. It's ...graceful," a hand went to rub the back of your neck, "and they come in handy for figure practice." "I mean, we're not that graceful when you're on the pitch ready to get blown away," he chuckled, "but thanks. At least we know we don't play like animals." "Oh god no. The volleyball team's pretty good. The rugby team on the other hand..." you sigh before you shake your head, "that team is nearly impossible to draw." His shoulders shook as he laughed, "well I don't think they aim for graceful. They look like a pack of wild dogs. Even I don't understand how they play." You had reached the said bus stop by then before you spotted your mother's car along the sidewalk, "oh, my mom's here," you turn to him, "where do you live? Maybe we can drop you--" Meeting your mom? On the first day of meeting you? Sunwoo's hands flew up, shaking them wildly in response, "oh no no, that's not necessary. I'll see you tomorrow!" Thank god for the bus that pulled up at the right time so that he didn't have to linger longer than he needed to. But he didn't miss the small wave of your hand as you watched him go, the smile on your face warming his heart even when it was one of the coldest winter days of the year. From that day onwards, Sunwoo made it a must to make his presence known whenever you were deep in your sketches, always observing, sometimes silently keeping you company and sometimes getting so wrapped up in conversation that your pens would lay forgotten by your bag as you bantered back and forth about subjects that would've made people throw you looks of concern. It became routine to have Sunwoo's head pop up from behind the bleachers or to see him walk up the path to your special hiding spot, right where your gaze would meet the tennis court. You sketched him more and more, folding your drawings into your bag so that he wouldn't see although the urge to catch his face on paper was a growing addiction you couldn't ignore. Even your friends had noticed his lingering presence, proceeding to prod you with questions reflecting their curiosity. "He's from the vòlleyball team isn't he?" Yeji asked one time during lunch, upon noticing the way the said young man's stare lingered over the back of your head before turning away just as quickly, "do you know him?" "We've spoken once or twice." "How do you know him?" Your other friend, Saeron, nudged you with a wriggle of her brows. You brushed her teasing away, "we bumped into each other and then he saw my drawings." "Oh right, you do sketch athletes," Yeji leaned forward, mouth full of bread, "did you sketch him?" "I did, actually." "Oh awkward," Saeron giggled, "he's handsome though, can't deny that. You gotta introduce us sometime." You mumbled out an agreement even though you sat with them just for the sake of having people around. It wasn't that you didn't appreciate them. You did. But they seemed to speak a language you couldn't quite grasp. You would rather sit in your own silence, enjoy your own company if that made sense. Maybe that was why it was so surprising, that you allowed Sunwoo to linger as long as he wanted to. There was something authentic about the way he reacted to your words, an unguarded expression that made you comfortable enough to speak up without fear of judgment. Spending time with Sunwoo was listening to water trickle down the river. Smooth and free. Peaceful. But Sunwoo seldom knew of your high regards, was not aware of the tiny sketch of his figure in mid-spike that was hidden in the pocket of your school skirt so that you could take a peek whenever you felt out of place or nervous. It calmed you down to admire his composure, even if his expression was a mere mimic that could not replace reality. "Do you have any material in particular that you like to use?" Sunwoo asked one cloudy afternoon, breaking the silence while huddling a little closer to peek at your newest sketch of Lee Juyeon; a basketball star player known for his quick reflexes and adept playing style. Not only was his skill on par with that of a Nationals team, but his looks had garnered him quite a fanbase from the get-go. Sunwoo would've liked to say that he wasn't jealous of the way your thumb gently applied shade to Juyeon's lower lip. But the spike in the middle of his chest proved him otherwise. "I like charcoal the most, it's the easiest to work with," pausing to admire your work, your eyes glanced over at him, "do you draw?" He scoffed, "like a five year old." "Wanna try?" "No way. I'll ruin it. I'm okay with admiring it from afar." You hummed an unknown tune as you pulled back your sketchbook, "how is practice?" "Alright. Could be better. We won a practice match last week so we're kind of taking it easy." "That's good though isn't it?" Your gaze met his. His eyes were various gradients of warm maroon and you wished-- at this very moment -- to paint his features into memory. That was when you realized how close you were. You shuffled slightly back and didn't notice the frown Sunwoo threw you in response, "it is. And I'm happy we get to rest. The team deserves it." "You're pursuing it in College?" Your eyes tried not to linger too much over his lips, "volleyball, I mean." "Depends," he smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, "if we make it to the Nationals." "You will." "Someone's confident," he chuckled. "Well I'm no pro but even I can tell you're talented, Sunwoo," you peeked at him from behind your fringe, glad that you could blame the cold for your red cheeks when just the intensity and closeness of his entity made you want to squirm, "so if there's anyone who can do it, it's you." It was impossible to keep eye contact after such a confession. You lowered your gaze, glad for your sketchbook that acted as a distraction. It was at that very moment that the paper tucked so neatly in your pocket slipped out, causing Sunwoo to quickly make a grab for it. You made a noise of protest before trying to snatch it back, but the boy only chuckled before unfolding the creased page so that there he was, depicted in all his glory. "Is that--" his voice was hoarse and you took this as your chance to steal it from his grasp, reddened cheeks burning and fingers shaking as you folded it back to its tiny square shape, "is that me?" "Y--yes." "You--you keep that with you?" "I--I do," you lifted your chin up defiantly, though you felt your limbs trembling. His eyes, they pierced your own, piecing together a coherence that caused your stomach to fill with butterflies. When he spoke next, his words were a mere murmur. "Why?" "I--I don't know," eyes darting towards the ground, you mumbled, "I just like watching you...play." A pause. Then, Sunwoo shifted a little bit closer. "You like watching me play? Or do you like," he cocked his head, "watching me?" If you were red before then you were probably the colour of a fire engine truck by now. Averting your eyes and turning your head away were instinctive responses due to the blood rushing through your face. "Stop flirting with me," came your mumble. Laughing softly in response, he scooted himself a little closer, so close that his shoulder brushed your back. He leaned over, head tilted to catch your expression. "Cute," his lips broke out in a crooked grin and you swore you felt your heart explode. Flustered, you shoved him away out of instinct but he wasn't having any of that. His hand grabbed your wrists and with a yelp, you were dragged even closer to his chest. "You like looking at me that much huh?" His tone was teasing while his eyes glimmered with playful mischief, "why is that,Y/N?" "You ask as if you don't know," you mumbled out through jumbled words and you were glad he actually understood you. But instead of laughing some more, his features softened into a smile instead as he proceeded to gaze down at you with an expression you couldn't quite place. It was in your normal behaviour to admire people. Not the other way around. And at this very moment, you felt way out of your comfort zone. "I don't know." Your orbs flew up to his in surprise and what you found in those coffee-coloured pupils made your breath stutter, heat coiling through your abdomen. "It...it calms me down," your whisper was barely louder than a breath but by the way Sunwoo's smile widens to reach his eyes, you could tell he heard you just fine. "I like watching you too," he replied. A strand of your hair caught in the wind and he raised his hand to curl it around the back of your ear, his touch ghosting with sparks wherever flesh bumped into flesh. You felt warm. He didn't pull away. Didn't bother hiding the slight dust of pink in his cheeks either, as he slowly allowed his palm to cradle the side of your face. Gently. As if he feared you might run away, recoil back. But you didn't. Even with your breaths going staccato, even if your heart felt like a wild animal. You calmed yourself down with the knowledge that he seemed just as nervous as you were and suddenly, out of a stroke of boldness, your hand went up to hold on to his, pressing it close to your cheek. His breath hitched. You shivered. The wind blew against your figures, a gentle reminder that the day was coming to an end. You weren't exactly sure what changed that day. There were no verbal agreements, nothing that suggested your relationship had changed. Yet, the subtle touches of his hand against your back, your shoulders, moving your hair from one shoulder to another, complemented by his gentle doe-eyed stare that made your toes curl, these changes were small, but significant. And you couldn't find it in your heart to say that you disliked it. What are we? The words lingered at the tip of your tongue, as bitter as the aftertaste of coffee as you stole small glances in his direction. You were sitting comfortably under a tree that overlooked the tennis court where Sunwoo had decided to join you. He'd fallen asleep halfway through your beginning sketch and was now leaning against the tree trunk, face relaxed and body leaned towards yours, close enough that you could admire his face. Countless hours you had spent tracing Sunwoo's features on paper. Countless times you had imagined tracing his lips with your thumb, wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. Maybe it was just curiosity or maybe you had let him walk into your heart so easily that you hadn't realized it yourself. But if there was one thing you could swear your heart upon it would be that you could no longer imagine every day without Sunwoo's presence at your side. As if on instinct, your fingers took a life of their own as they reached up to push a few strands away from his face. They gently carved a path down his cheek, landing at the corner of his jaw. Dangerously close to his open mouth. There was no denying it. Sunwoo was beautiful. Handsome. Had those features on par to that of a model's. You were so focused on edging your way to touch his lower lip that you didn't realize you had been staring, until you glanced up to see his brown orbs fixated on yours. You froze. Shit. "Like what you see?" He murmured. Then, before you could scramble back and probably run with your tail between your legs, his own hand grasped your own and he pushed himself off the trunk before his head angled towards yours, finding your lips. Soft. Sunwoo's lips were soft. You panicked. Not used to the closeness. The fire that sparked between your lids. But his other hand went to clasp your jaw, holding you close as he kissed your next protest away and unconsciously brushing his thumb against your cheek. Shivering in his touch, there was no running away from the way his mouth molded against yours so snugly, and you didn’t want to. You found yourself addicted to the sweet pressure of his upper lip meeting your lower ones and soon enough -- without realizing -- you melted into his touch. 

Sunwoo made a noise that sounded like a soft grunt, his other hand lacing around your waist to pull you closer so that you tumbled halfway into his lap. With embarrassment suddenly flooding through you, you let out a squeak that he answered with a chuckle of his own before distracting you once more with a series of kisses that left you gasping.

Your hands, initially balled into fists in your lap, went to rest against his chest and you didn’t realize that you were gripping onto his school shirt until you parted for air. Only were you aware of your compromising position, of the hard ridges of the young man’s thighs, of the firmness of his chest against your palms, of the way he seemed to be so much bigger than you even though he was a lean athlete, meant to be light and as speedy as the wind. 

Breaths coming out ragged, you tried to slow the beating of your heart. Though it seemed to be quite the challenge, given how lovingly, how intense, Sunwoo seemed to be in making love to your neck, nibbling on your pulse point and causing a soft whimper to fall from your lips. 

A whistle blew in the distance.

The soccer team. They’d be crawling up the hill any minute now.

“Sunwoo,” you breathed out, eyes hazy with mixed feelings of desire and embarrassment. You feebly tried pushing against his chest, to no avail. He merely groaned, head tilting upwards to catch your mouth into another kiss. 

“Sunwoo,” you groaned against his lips. But he held on for dear life, one hand clasping the back of your neck, tangled into your locks. The other around your waist, pressing you as close as he could possibly get you to be. 

“Just one more,” he mumbled in-between kisses, hooded eyes fluttering closed and head slanting to kiss you a little deeper, a little harder.

Your body was on fire. You weren’t used to this intimacy, nor all of the affection he was raining down upon you. 

But it felt good. It felt amazing. Eye-opening.

He finally relented after what seemed like an eternity and you quickly made a move to scramble out of his lap. Though he wasn’t having any of that, grip made of iron as he held on. You looked up to snap at him to let go before everyone saw but was faced with his pout instead, which was enough to bring down your defences. 

“Please,” his pout deepened and your heart practically vaulted through your chest. Cute. Cute. Cute. Stop. Burying his face into your neck, he whispered, “I just wanna hold you.” 

So he did. And thank god the team had decided to take a different route so that you would avoid their imploring, questioning gazes. Though Sunwoo admitted that he’d already known they would go up from the other side of the gymnasium, considering they did that every other week to train their stamina in the process. 

That earned him a light smack on the side of his head, making him whine, “What did I do to deserve this Y/N?” 

“You knew!” You wanted to throw him a glare, but it was impossible when you were busy fighting the grin spreading across your face. 

He grinned back at you, that crooked smile that always resulted in a burst of butterflies roaring through your abdomen. Just like now. 

“So, since you have a drawing of me that you keep staring at every day--” his words died into laughter when you tried smacking his arm, proceeding to cage your wrist with his hand before kissing your knuckles. You squirmed as he continued, “does that mean I can get a picture of you?”

You let out a noise of protest, “that depends,” you mumbled, unconsciously finding refuge in his neck.

Chuckling, Sunwoo grasped your chin lightly to pull you back so that his brown orbs gazed right into yours with a gentleness that had you weak at the knees, “on what?” 

“On what I get in return.” 

“What if I say I’ll take you on a date?” he said wickedly. 

You couldn’t help your smile. 

“I guess that could work.” 

[crimsonyuu]

Hello everyone, I'm Yuu and I decided that I want to use this tumblr as a little weekly diary to show off what I've been creating each week! For a long while I've enjoyed writing blogs and did it quite frequently back in the day on amino (yes I know😅) but haven't done that for a while. So I hope you enjoy my little weekly diary enteries from now on!

Week 1: (7.2.-13.2.2022)

Currently I am on uni break (we have a semester break all Feburary here) so I've had plenty of time to experiment with my art style and make bigger illustrations. So that is exactly what I focused on this week!

My first artwork this week:

*fateful encounter*

This piece was made for an event called "loz_artfight! This piece is a counterattack for @/jelli_art featuring a Zora OC we made together for another event. The OC's name is Kiri and go by they/them pronouns. They are part of a Zora tribe that lives in the Faron woods, we gave them a whole backstory and family.

This piece was the biggest and best I've made up to this point, it has been outdone by me twice this week already (as I said I have plenty of time) I'm still a big fan of this and think I did a pretty good job with the deph.

My second piece:

*fishing hole*

Yet another piece for the artfight event and yet another Zora! What can I say, they are my favorite Hylian race alongside the Rito. For this piece I depicted this Twilight Princess Zora at the fishing hole featuring the different fish you can actually find there! I'm still absolutley in love with this and the way I made the water look. Underwater scenes are surely some of my favorite to create.

My third piece:

*Acryli*

Here we have the piece I love the most. It features my friend's OC named Acryli, that was made for the same event as Kiri. Here I painted the beautiful Hebra Mountains (which was quite exhausting to be honest hahaha) The colors are really warm and beautiful for such a cold region and I like it a lot.

Lastly my current wip:

Art trade

I will talk a lot more about this piece next week when I'm done but the sketch alone is really worth sharing!

I hope you liked my little weekly overview, let me know what you think about the pieces and I'll see y'all next week!

Much love~Yuu