#so many notes this time... I had to make the font so small I was worried ppl won't even be able to read them hence the extra image

[keiksy-cake]

Hetalia Poll Results pt 3: character who you'd want as a best friend

I started this one back in October lol. Sorry, I was busy with college and work but I am now a free man!

all collezione pages

[Please note, I’m an amateur in Japanese and have to use various resources and translation machines to help me. If you notice a possible mistake or want clarification, please bring it up to me *politely* and not aggressively or hostile.]

[mockerycrow]

Frozen Fingertips [2/2] (Ghost x GN!Reader)

ghost masterlist - part one

Summary: Ghost struggles to keep you alive through these harsh times.

A/N: I’m so glad you guys enjoyed part one!! i did not shrink the font of this one because i realized that it may strain some peoples’ eyes. this is not as angsty as i wished it to be, and it isn’t as long as i hoped. i apologize. tbh i don’t like this, but i hope y’all enjoy

[WARNINGS: Descriptions of developing hypothermia and frost bite, delirium, near-death experience(s), angst to fluff.]

THE BLIZZARD WAS not stopping and it didn’t show signs of stopping any time soon, which honestly terrifies Ghost because of your awful condition. Despite his previous efforts, you quickly slipped back into a delirious state of developing hypothermia—a state you weren’t completely aware of, but you knew something was wrong. You could vaguely acknowledge the way that you were fading in and out wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. What you hated was the painful tingling and the weird.. harsh cold entering your lungs every time you took a deep breath. You’re so warm, yet your lungs burn cold.

You only saw times in glimpses—what you thought was likely a matter of hours, expanded across a matter of a few days. The harsh blizzard was unwavering, it’s snow falling from the sky harshly messing with the radio signals. Ghost would sit by the window with his personal radio on his vest, along with the emergency signal radio he had stowed in his pack. He would get small glimpses of other peoples voices—Price’s would come through occasionally, luckily long enough for Ghost to update him about their situation and their whereabouts, your condition; but Ghost was never able to provide an update about an exact location. The windows were frosted over and even when they weren’t, all Ghost saw was endless snow and pine trees far as the eye can see, until they eventually faded from view due to the snow coverage. Every time Ghost suddenly becomes aware of his breath, he can’t help but glance over at you; wrapped up in two sleeping bags, sitting way too close to the fireplace—sometimes shuddering, and sometimes.. not moving at all. His heart drops to his stomach when he doesn’t see your breath in the air. He calls your name loudly, firm and demanding and when you don’t answer, he scrambles from his position by the window. “Fuck,” He utters. “Fuck!”

Ghost ignores the pain in his knees when they harshly bash against the ground as he kneels next to you. He grabs your face by your cheeks, startled by the hue of blue on your lips. “Bloody bell—wake up!” Ghost snarls, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. He holds his breath until he sees your chest slowly yet shakily rise—and then you exhale very slowly, and clearly with amounts of trouble. Relief floods Ghost’s veins, but it’s quickly replaced by frustration and panic. You gasp quietly before you begin to shiver uncontrollably again, and taking Ghost completely by surprise; you open your eyes. Your eyes are glazed over, your eyelids puffy. “[Name]?” Ghost questions, his eyes staring hard into yours, silently noting your dialed pupils. “[Name], can you hear me?” If you do, you don’t make coherent indication. Your tongue darts out and wets your lips before you croak out, “I gotta pee.” Ghost huffs and shakes his head, his hand shooting up and laying on your chest—which is covered by many thicker layers, so disregarding Ghost’s hand, it’s not very likely you could’ve gotten up without help, anyway. “You went an hour ago, yeah? You need to stay layin’ down.” You groan and despite your arms being tucked into your multiple covers, something moves against the fabric as if to swat Ghost’s hand away. Ghost can’t help but swallow nervously; he isn’t stupid, he’s aware you’re in one of the stages of hypothermia, he told Price as much. He’s been able to keep the frostbite at bay, but he’s running out of firewood. It’s snowing way too damn hard for him to even pick up stray logs and sticks laying around. Your slowed heartrate, increased urge to urinate, slow cognitive functions, slurred speech, cold skin—blue lips..

It’s not looking good and Ghost doesn’t want to think about that, but that’s all he can see of you right now, so how could he not? And it’s hard both mentally and physically to stay in this cabin, seeing you deteriorate while he himself is getting absolutely fucking freezing. Ghost has had to shed a layer or two just to keep you alive. He can’t deny the way the cold air is scratching at his skin, seeping through his balaclava and into his jaw, nearly making his bones hurt. Ghost clenches his teeth as he shudders for a moment, eyes fluttering closed just long enough to gain his composure. Fuck. Ghost doesn’t want to die here. He doesn’t want you to die here, not like this. Not in a run-down abandoned cabin with shitty insulation, where frostbite is nipping at your fingers and where the cold is finally getting to Ghost’s head. He grits his teeth and sits back on his ass normally with a gloved hand to his head, his vision absolutely swimming. “Stop it,” He grunts quietly. “Hafta stay up.” Ghost takes a deep breath and grunts as he pushes himself to his feet, his boots booming against the wooden floor as he walks over to the area where the firewood is kept. He grabs a few of the pre-cut logs and he makes his way over to you and the fireplace, tossing the logs into the ashes, slowly refueling the dying embers. Ghost sniffles a little under his mask as he grabs a piece of paper and takes out a lighter, lighting it on fire before quickly tossing it into the fireplace to make a better fuel source. He crouches near the growing fire, taking his spot by your feet. Ghost sucks in a shuddering breath and rubs his upper arms, and he can’t help but take another glance at you. You stopped trying to get out of your warm enclosure of blankets, but your eyes were darting around the room slowly, unfocused and hazy.

Ghost’s chest clenches for a moment and he walks back over to your shivering form, and he already did it, but he presses his fingers against your lukewarm skin—nearly cold. Your eyes flutter again and then they vaguely glance in the direction that you think he’s in; which you’re almost right, but a few inches off. You try to speak but a quiet choked noise leaves you, your breathing shaky—finally from fear this time. Ghost puts his finger to his mask in a shushing motion, trying his best to keep you calm. “You’ll be alright, yeah? Gotta wait until the storm’s done brewing out there.” He attempts to reassure your delirious brain, but you can only make another “out of it” noise before your eyes flutter shut once again, you losing consciousness. Ghost feels an ugly and dreadful feeling deep in his gut, scratching at his veins, climbing them until his fingertips are cold both due to the temperature and panic. Ghost has always insisted he doesn’t panic, and he hasn’t—until now. Not until he fears the storm won’t pass over and help won’t arrive until you’re frozen and stiff under your fear, despite his desperate attempts to keep you warm—and alive. Ghost doesn’t want to admit it, but fuck, he’s terrified to fall asleep because out of the two of you, what if he’s the only one who wakes up?

Ghost’s eyelids flutter for a moment before he inhales in a sharp manner and his spine straightens up, his hands clenching together for a moment. “M’not going to fall asleep.” He mutters to himself as he takes his place next to you on the floor and holy hell, the floor is cold—so he silently scoots closer to you and wraps an arm around your body, and Ghost uses his other arm as a pillow. Your chest very slowly rises and falls, and he finds comfort in the sight of a sign of you being alive—you’re still here with him, and that’s all he needs.

Ghost is awoken from a banging on the cabin door. He jolts ever so slightly, but he’s immediately hit with chills, his limbs trembling. Fuck, he fell asleep. His eyelids feel like sandbags and and he can’t stop fucking shaking—and he feels so heavy.. so tired. “Ghost!” A familiar voice yells outside of the cabin. His arm wraps around your form tighter when he doesn’t immediately recognize the British accent behind the door, he grunts as he clumsily sits up and pulls you closer, his trembling hand grasping as his hip, taking out his service pistol. The door opens as he attempts to aim it, his weak and low voice hissing out, “I’ll blow your fuckin’ brains out—“

“Ghost, it’s Price. We found you. Put the gun down.”

Ghost blinks slowly as he looks at the figure who slowly approaches, two others trailing behind—and it is Price—with Gaz and Soap. Ghost sharply inhaled and his arm lowers, the pistol slipping out of his grip. Gaz rushes over to him and your limp form, taking off his gloves. “We got you, Ghost. We got you.” Price assures, but his lips are pressed together as he watches Gaz. Ghost’s head rolls back for a moment, blacking out for a few seconds—Soap’s hands catching his head before it hits the floor. “They’re alive,” Gaz grunts out, leaning down to pick you up bridal style while keeping all of the layers around your body. “Barely, but we gotta get ‘em both to warmth. Now.”

When Ghost finally comes to, the first thing he notices is the smell—it doesn’t smell like rotting and burning wood; his lungs don’t burn with every breath and he can keep his fingers. The second thing he notices is the ache within his throat and his limbs, and the third thing he notices is that he is not wearing his mask. He still feels heavy, but it’s not the kind of heavy where you want to sleep forever heavy. It’s a.. comforting heavy. Someone laying on top of him heavy. It takes him a hot second to open his eyes, and another second to adjust to the harsh lights of the hospital room—oh, wait, they’re not that bad, his head just hurts. Ghost notices someone laying their head on the bed on top of Ghost, their arms under their head as a cushion. He blinks blearily as he doesn’t register it at first; the hospital gown, two IV drips for two separate patients, and the bandages covering your fingers—it’s you. His eyes widen and he lets out a quiet noise, causing you to lift your head up immediately and look at him with the most vulnerable look you could ever have, your eyes wide and bulging like when a child doesn’t know whether to believe the adult in front of them. “Ghost?” You ask, and fuck, your throat croaks. Your vocal cords sound like they’ve been torn apart and reattached, croaking with relief and pain. He swallows thickly and he nods for a moment, unable to find his voice. Your eyes soften for a moment before you whisper to him. “Hurts to talk, huh? Me too.”

Then don’t, said his silent gaze. Yet, somehow, you manage to catch on his memo. Wordlessly, you reach up to one of his hands—covered in scars and calluses, but you don’t mind. Your hands are similar as you nervously glance at him, grabbing his wrist and turning it over so his palm faces up. Ghost eyes your movements, but makes no move to stop you. You take one of your pointer fingers—the one that isn’t bandaged—and you trace letters into his hand slowly.

T H A N K Y O U

Ghost meets your gaze, and you have tears in your eyes. His hand is grossly limp as he grabs the hand you were moving away, and he instead pulls your hand closer to his face for a closer inspection. The bandages concern him, so he looks at you again. You reach for the clipboard you left by his feet and you place it in his lap, pointing to the part of the medical report about your frostbite blisters. Ghost inhales deeply for a moment before his fingers tap against your hand—rhythmically? Oh, it’s morse code.

Ghost is tapping SAFE over and over while looking at you, to reassure himself—and you. You nod in response and offer him the smile he’s been waiting to see and you tap back to him, SAFE.

[jobean12-blog]

A Place Made for Love

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (No-outbreak Joel)

Word Count: 5,081

Summary: You're new to the small town Joel's lived in all his life and just the sight of you has him feeling a certain way so when he learns that you've bought the old bookshop and you're moving into the apartment above, it turns his familiar world upside down.

Author's Note: This one got away from me. I love the idea of Joel just living his life and doing construction and being grumpy and then reader comes along and really gives him a run for his money. Had to include a bookshop for this because along with Joel, it's one of my favorite things. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always!❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS Bold font means texts and anything italics is like an inner thought lol

Warnings: grumpy Joel, sassy reader, tension, flirting, softness and smiles, fluff and sweetness

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You trudge down the canned food aisle feeling completely indecisive but hungry and growing more aggravated by the second.

As you round the next corner you’re sifting through the contents of your basket when you walk headfirst into what feels like the wall.

“Ow!” you yelp as you stumble back.

A strong arm wraps around your waist to steady you and you look up, blinking.

“Better watch where you’re goin’ there darlin’.”

Your body tenses at the feel of him pressed against you and you mutter something inaudible under your breath before slipping from his grasp.

“Not even a thank you,” he muses as he turns to follow you.

“Weren’t you going the other way?” you shoot back.

“Just realized I forgot the pasta,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to whisper the words close to your ear.

You force your betraying body to remain calm at his proximity and then ignore the comment.

“What the hell are you gonna make with that mish mosh?” he asks as he peeks into your basket.

“Why do you care?” you counter with a brittle smirk.

He shrugs as the corners of his mouth turn up into a grin.

“Maybe something to poison you with…that would be nice.”

Your sassy remark makes his whole face light up with a smile and it momentarily roots you to the spot.

With one last disgruntled glance you stomp off in the other direction. “Since I’m new here you’d think you’d be a little more neighborly!”

“Fuck,” Joel mutters as he follows you.

“Ok darlin’.”

“Ok what?” you ask as you turn to face him.

“Maybe…” and he paused, studying you. “I could be a bit more friendly.”

He looks back down at your basket.

“You know if you grab some beans and a pepper you’ll be well on your way to making a great chili.”

“Chili,” you repeat.

You look between him and the basket. “That works. Although…”

“You’ve never made it before?”

At his question you fight back a sigh.

“No. I haven’t. But I’m capable of looking up a recipe.”

“Or I could just tell you about some good take-out places.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can manage to cook my own dinner, thanks!”

At the sarcasm in your tone his grin widens before he starts to step around you, his arm brushing yours with the motion.

“Great darlin.’ Just don’t burn the place down or anything. It’s the only bookshop in the neighborhood and we all love it.”

He winks and saunters off.

The urge to turn around and watch him is almost overwhelming but you square your shoulder and keep your chin up. “I can make chili,” you assure yourself.

Joel sits across from Tommy and sips his beer, waiting for his brother to make a dinner choice.

If Tommy notices Joel glancing too many times at the small bookshop across the street, he doesn’t mention it.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tommy remarks as he drops the menu and leans back. “What’s on your mind?”

Joel grunts before looking across the street again. “Work.”

“This new job we have is a big one. I want it to go perfectly so they hire us for the rest of it.” Joel continues.

Tommy nods in agreement but he’s battling a smile.

“Somethin’ you wanna say brother?” Joel asks.

Tommy grins. “I might have somethin’ to say.”

Joel grinds his teeth and tightens his grip on the beer bottle.

“Heard you had a little exchange with our new bookshop owner at the grocery store this mornin’.”

“Who said?” Joel asks, pinning Tommy with dark eyes.

“No one of importance,” Tommy shrugs. “You’re starin’ a hole through the window.”

Tommy’s eyes glitter. He’s clearly enjoying himself. “Heard she didn’t back down and run off over your…charm.”

“You’re worse than a school girl. Spreadin’ gossip around.”

That makes Tommy laugh and he takes a swig of his drink.

“Still,” Tommy says. “I can’t blame you…she’s real nice to look at and probably a lot of fun when you get her goin’…which you seem to enjoy doin’.”

“Tommy,” Joel warns as his jaw tightens. “Don’t go sniffin’ around any of that and don’t ask me to explain why.”

Tommy dips his head in understanding, his mouth tight in a straight line but his eyes bright with amusement.

“Not a single sniff. You’ve got my word brother…”

Tommy’s head swings around and his attention settles on something happening in the street. “What the hell…?”

Joel jerks his head in the same direction and in matter of seconds he’s out of his chair and charging through the door.

Without thinking he runs toward you and let’s out a breath when he looks you over, the large pot between your fingers and a garbage bag over your shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” you breathe, staring at him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

His relief at the fact that you’re unharmed is obvious even as he takes the pot from you and grabs your wrists, turning your hands over to check.

His skin is warm and his fingers are calloused. The sensations cause your mind to go blank and you stand there motionless.

Once he’s satisfied he looks down at the pot and the black contents inside. He’s still holding your wrists.

“I burnt it,” you say quietly. “The whole upstairs apartment smells awful so I thought I’d better get rid of it quick before the shop started to stink.”

“I can take care…” Tommy begins to speak and Joel whips his head around just now realizing he was even standing there and glares so Tommy snaps his mouth shut.

Joel looks back at you and slowly releases you, the loss of his touch something you instantly feel.

Tommy covers a cough and you drag your eyes away from Joel to glance at his younger brother.

“Hey,” Tommy says and extends his hand.

You reach out and shake it to introduce yourself.

“I was saying I could help you out with that but I think my brother here has it under control,” Tommy quips.

“Damn right I do,” Joel says, hands on his hips.

“Thanks Tommy, I appreciate the offer,” you smile.

Tommy tips his head and walks back across the street to the bar.

Joel’s hard eyes turn to you in an assessing way but he remains silent.

“Aren’t you going to make some shitty remark about my cooking skills,” you snip.

His broad shoulders slump and he holds out his hand.

“Here, give me the bag.”

You hand the bag over and watch as he empties what he can of the contents and then stares down at it with pursed lips.

“Might have to…” he starts.

“You can just get rid…” you say at the same time.

He drops the pot into the bag with a laugh.

It catches you off guard and when he meets your eyes again the surprise is evident in your wide-eyed expression.

“No shitty remarks darlin.’ Just glad you’re ok…and you didn’t burn the place down.”

The last part of his comment trails off into quiet mumblings but you still catch it.

“Couldn’t help yourself huh?” you say but you’re fighting back a small smile.

The two of you stand there on the sidewalk for what feels like forever until Joel clears his throat and you look up at him through your lashes.

“Guess your dinner’s ruined,” he states.

“You could say that. I’ll have to go aimlessly walk around the grocery store some more in the hopes of finding food.”

His large hand runs through his already mussed hair before it settles on the back of his head and he shoves his free hand into his jeans pocket.

“Hey uh, listen darlin’…I’m sorry if I was rude earlier…at the store…and the other times before that. It was wrong of me.”

Your expression softens.

“Thank you, I accept.”

Joel hums and flicks his head toward the bar. “I had just ordered dinner before you came running out. Go in and eat it.”

When you stare at him he plays back his words and realizes they came out as a demand.

“If you want to,” he adds. “Join me. For food.”

You smile and slide past him. Your distinct and soft scent wafts up to his nose and he instinctively inhales, his eyes closing briefly before he starts to move to follow you.

He motions to the small table and pulls out your chair, waiting for you to sit before he does the same. His thick fingers wrap around the fork, making it look comically small, before he hands it to you and pushes the plate closer.

You stab a French fry and pop it in your mouth.

“So Tommy…you guys work together?”

“Yeah. Construction. We actually have a big project coming up in the city. Working on one of the new fancy hotel buildings.

“That sounds exciting. I guess it’s not really a 9-5 job then?”

“Nah, not really. Some days we spend doing small, odd jobs around the neighborhood and other times we’ll be on one job for weeks or months.”

You nod. “What do you do in your spare time? Besides follow women around the grocery store and make snarky comment on their food choices.”

“Gonna hold that over my head for long?” he asks.

You look him over and pretend to think about it. “Not sure yet.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs, noticing you stopped eating and nudging your arm with his elbow. “Eat.”

“Are you always this bossy?” you ask as you chew.

His eyes drop to your mouth and the way you lick the salt from your lips.

“Maybe,” he replies, the sides of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“Fair enough,” you tell him, mirroring his earlier words.

The whites of his teeth appear with his lopsided smile

“You plannin’ on trying to cook chili again?”

“Maybe,” you answer, loving the way his eyes crinkle at your repeated and mocking words.

“So now that you know a little more about me why not tell me why you’re here in our little town?”

He settles his forearms on the table and leans in, watching you with intense eyes.

“Well,” you start with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted to run or own a bookshop but my job in the city was keeping me so busy I barely had time to read and of course it’s easier said than done. For a while I didn’t mind…the work that is. Sure I was busy but I figured my life was just what it was supposed to be. Had a nice apartment, steady job, steady boyfriend…until I didn’t. He broke up with me over a text and then refused to answer my calls and explain why. After that, my job became less and less appealing as did living in the city so when his opportunity came up I had to jump on it as scary as all the change is.”

You wait and hold his gaze. “What are you thinking?” you ask.

“I’m thinking a lot of things,” he says quietly before stealing a fry off the plate.

“Like?” you ask.

Like where I can find your ex-boyfriend so I can give him a proper beating.

When he still doesn’t speak you continue talking. “I’m thinking about the renovations I want to make to the bookshop. It’s nothing crazy. Just some minor changes to make it more of a cozy space.”

“That sounds nice,” he answers. “It could use some upgrades.”

“Definitely. And the door to my apartment upstairs doesn’t even lock! I need to get that fixed first.”

Joel’s eyes narrow at your statement. “That’s not safe.”

You smirk and steal the next fry that’s dangling between his fingers as they hover over the plate.

“Maybe I’ll look up some cute contractors online to come help me.”

He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs wider under the table. Your gaze moves to the way his biceps pop under the tight fabric of his shirt.

“You could. If you wanted the job done poorly.”

“Are you saying you’d be able to do a better job?”

“Damn right darlin.”

Was this still about renovations to the shop?

With that thought still floating around in his brain he watches you stand and pop one last fry into your mouth.

“Thank you for sharing your dinner with me,” you say before rounding the table. “I like it when you’re nice.”

And I even like it when you’re bossy. Maybe too much.

You kept that last thought tucked away and lean down to kiss him on the cheek before lightly brushing your hand over his shoulder and walking out the door.

Tommy drops into the now empty seat, grinning ear to ear.

“How’d that go boss?” he asks.

“Shut it,” Joel growls.

Later that week with the sun just peeking above the horizon you hear a knock at your door. It startles you into alertness and you sit up with a gasp, dropping your book to the bed.

Your feet hit the cool floor and you ask, “who’s there?,” hoping to keep the shakiness from your voice.

“It’s Joel.”

“Oh,” you whisper, now suddenly even more alert but much less jumpy.

Before you open the door you quickly run a hand over your face and scrub away the sleepiness. You turn the knob and have it halfway open before you realize you’re barely dressed, the only thing covering your body is the old tee shirt that hits way above your knees.

You stop and peek through.

“I’m um…I’m not really dressed. I was in bed reading.”

“Shit,” Joel mutters. “Sorry darlin.’ I didn’t even realize the time. I can wait till you’ve put somethin’ on.”

He doesn’t move away from the door and you open it a little wider before slipping away to grab shorts.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly but not quietly enough and your lips turn up into a triumphant smile.

When you return you open the door invitingly and then notice the toolbox at his feet and meet his eyes.

His cheeks are dusted with pink and not even the scruff lining them can cover it. It’s hard to hide your smug satisfaction but you do your best.

“What’s that for?” you ask.

“I came to change the lock for you,” he explains hoarsely.

“Oh,” you answer, feeling your stomach erupt with nervous energy. “Why?”

“I’m leaving this morning. To go to the city and start on that hotel job. Won’t be back for a few days. I just…”

He kneels down and starts rummaging through the tool box, metal clanging against metal so you can barely hear him when he adds, “wanted to make sure this place was safe and secure.”

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your old shirt.

“That’s really nice of you.”

“Well.” He stands and starts working on the door. “I saw you hadn’t done it yet and I didn’t want you calling any random guys.”

“Because you can do it better. Right?”

He doesn’t look up from his work and just grunts his acknowledgement.

You take the opportunity to move toward the small kitchen area and start making some coffee.

“Coffee?” you offer.

He looks up at you as you lean against the counter with your bare legs on display. His eyes drag down the length of them before he shakes his head no.

“Already had a cup thanks.”

He finishes the lock and puts his tools away before approaching. His hand moves to his back pocket and he pulls out some folded papers, setting them on the counter.

“I brought some take out menus.”

“It’s probably too early to be insulted.”

“This isn’t me telling you not to cook. These are just in case you don’t want to cook.”

“Ah,” you answer. “I could have just looked this up online.”

“Yeah well I don’t have your number so how would you know the best places to get take out.”

You stare at him from over the rim of your steaming mug.

“Maybe you should take it,” he says abruptly. “My number…in case…”

“I need cooking advice again?”

He makes an affirmative nod and smiles.

“Ok, what’s your number?” you ask as you reach for your phone.

The relief on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you and he recites the digits as you punch them in.

When you hit dial on his contact his eyebrows draw together as if he’s trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

“That’s you. Now you’ll have my number too.”

You giggle and the corner of his mouth lifts a little. “Right.”

You set your coffee down and push yourself up onto the countertop.

With one more almost imperceptible sweep of your legs he coughs into his fist and turns toward the door.

“Thanks Joel!” you call after him.

He waves with barely a turn and flies down the steps.

The rest of your day is spent figuring out the renovations for the bookshop space downstairs. You clean, declutter, and really start to map things out in your head. By the time the late afternoon sun is setting you realize you’ve missed lunch and you’re starving.

“I should try chili again,” you say to yourself.

After a quick and much less exciting visit to the grocery store you head back with a bag full of Joel’s recommended ingredients and get to work.

Two hours later you have a large pot of bubbling and unburnt chili on the stove.

Without thinking too much into it you snap a picture of the food and send it to Joel with the caption, “I did it! And it smells amazing!”

Before you even put your phone down his response dings in.

“Wow darlin.’ Looks amazing. Save me some.”

You’re about to reply that you definitely will when another text comes through.

“And I’m hoping you didn’t burn anything down?”

He follows it with a silly smiling emoji and you answer with, “nope! Everything and everyone is intact,” including your own smiley face emoji.

“Perfect. And I meant it. Save me some.”

“Please…” you type and then send another message saying, “so bossy!”

He responds quickly. “Save me some. Please.”

He adds a kissy smiley face and you giggle before sending one back with a thumbs up.

It’s easy to flirt over text. You aren’t overwhelmed by his masculine and sexy presence. By the smell of him. Woodsy and spicy. And his hands aren’t there teasing to touch you.

All you can think of while you enjoy your bowl of chili is how you can’t wait for him to come back this weekend.

When Joel returns from his trip he rushes home to shower and change. It’s already late but he needs to see you and you should have a bowl of chili waiting for him.

When he pulls up to the bookshop and parks his pickup he frowns at the darkened space.

Maybe you’re out? With someone…

Pushing the invasive thoughts aside he gets out and walks to the large windows, peering inside.

Nothing.

The scuffle of feet pulls his attention away and he catches sight of you sitting across the street by the park, your feet dangling along the pavement.

He approaches slowly, making noise so you don’t get scared. You look up and tense but instantly relax at the sight of him.

“Was wonderin’ where you were,” he murmurs.

“You’re back,” you say. “I have chili for you.”

You half smile but your eyes fall.

His chest tightens.

“Darlin’?” he asks before sitting down next to you.

His thigh brushes yours and his arm is close enough that you feel his warmth.

Your sniffle and hug your arms around your body.

Hesitantly he lifts his arm and rests it lightly across your shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

When you don’t pull away and instead lean into his strength he tugs you closer.

“I tried to start doing some work on the bookshop. I just wanted to take off the old and peeling wall paper but I think I fucked things up. I’m not sure how to fix it and really I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s a mess.”

Your confession softens him and he runs his calloused fingertips along your smooth skin, sneaking them under the sleeve of your shirt.

“I’ll take a look at it. I’m sure we can fix it.”

You were so soft. It took everything in him not to pull you even closer and wrap you in his arms.

“It’s a mess. I’m a mess. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!”

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t put yourself down. It pisses me off.”

You look up at him and gasp. “You? Pissed off? That’s new.”

The corner of his lips lift and his eyes sparkle. “I deserve that.”

You wipe your nose and give him a smile.

“Maybe. But only a little.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and sigh.

“We’ll sort it out,” he assures you.

You look at him with soft eyes full of gratefulness. His gaze moves lower…to your mouth and his lips part as if to speak but the sound of a loud car horn makes you jump apart.

“How about that chili?” you ask as you start to stand.

“Sounds great darlin’.”

You walk toward the building, tensing at his side the closer you get, knowing he’s going to see the disaster you’ve made.

He stops you with a hand over yours.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispers. “I think you’re really brave for comin’ here to start over.”

The tension slips from your shoulders and you take his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You did it,” you murmur. “I’m still upset but…I feel better. More hopeful.”

He smiles before you turn to unlock the door and your hyperaware of the feel of his hard body behind you. It takes everything in you not to turn around and throw yourself at him but you manage to get the door open and offer him some chili.

The next day, being Sunday, should be a day of rest but your new-found determination has you up and out of bed bright and early, ready to conquer the wallpaper debacle and then some.

You’re saved from wondering where to start when the front door of the shop opens and in walks Joel with a tray of coffee and a bakery bag.

“Hey there darlin’,” he says. “Thought you’d be up and ready to work.”

“Hey back,” you wave.

He fills the doorway with his body and you try to focus on the smell of fresh coffee and sugar.

“That for me?” you ask and point to the tray in his hand.

“Yeah.”

He crosses the small distance and places the tray down on one of the old tables. You reach for the coffee and open the top, inspecting the contents of the cup.

“You know how I take my coffee?” you ask, raising a brow.

“I pay attention,” is all the answer you get.

You stood dumbfounded for a moment until you remembered that you had made coffee the other morning when he fixed the lock on the door upstairs.

“Thank you.”

Your gaze travels to his and there is some kind of silent communication between you. You can’t believe how much he can convey without actually speaking. Your breathing becomes shallower as he continues to look at you and you know, by the determined set of his jaw and confidence simmering in his gaze that things have really shifted.

When he finally pulls his eyes away you let out an audible breath and take a sip of your coffee.

“What’s happening here?” he asks as he looks over the mess of a wall. “You want to get rid of this?”

He moves closer and toys with the wallpaper.

“Yes and then I want to…”

You start rattling off your ideas in a long run-on rambling sentence without taking a break and when you’re finally done you find him eyeing you with both an amused and thoughtful expression.

“Right,” he said. “Well I know a good place to get lumber and all that so we can shop later but for now let’s get this cleaned up.”

He turns and strides for the exit, passing your trash bag from yesterday that was too heavy for you to lift.

“You want this out for pick up?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you respond.

With zero effort, he tosses the bag over his shoulder and walks out. When he returns he’s carrying his toolbox.

You peer through the window and see his pickup truck and one trip at a time, he brings more supplies and tools.

Grabbing the back of his sweatshirt he drags it up and off, bringing his tee shirt underneath along with it, and you catch a glimpse of what’s beneath.

“Shit,” you mutter.

Now that he’s only in a tee shirt you can see the deep cut of his triceps and forearm muscles every time he lifts or handles something.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“You alright there darlin’?” he asks when he hears your quiet reflections.

“Huh? Me? Oh yeah, just fine thanks. Um…I want to help so just tell me what to do…you know be bossy. You’re good at that.”

He steps closer with a sideways smirk, his warmth coasting over you, and his gaze falls to your mouth, taking it’s time before finding your eyes again.

“Keep ripping that wallpaper down. I know it looks a mess but you’re doing it right.”

The words themselves hold no sensuality at all but the way he says them, the way he leans in close and whispers them along your ear…it sends a shiver right down your spine.

As the days pass you continue to work and make progress on the shop. Some days it’s just you and Joel and other days Tommy joins you both to help. On the days when Joel has to work he gives you detailed instructions on what to do and how to do it. You’re proud of how much you’ve accomplished together but also on your own.

At the end of the week, with the late afternoon sun already making it’s way toward the horizon, you notice the shop is oddly quiet. No sound of the saw or hammer.

“I have something to show you.”

His low and gravelly voice pulls you from your current task of polishing the small table tops and your nerves fire up.

When you stand and walk closer he looks you over from head to toe. You’re covered in dust and your skin is glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

You look down at yourself then back up at him.

“Is it that bad?” you ask with a halfhearted smile.

“You look beautiful.”

He holds his hand out and you take it, letting him pull you toward the back of the shop.

You step behind the last row of bookshelves and stop short.

“Joel…”

The large bay window is now framed by two brand new floor to ceiling dark shelves. The polished wood gleams in the setting sun and every beautiful accent swirl and grain is highlighted.

“It’s amazing! I just…I love it. Thank you!”

He takes the rag from his back pocket and cleans his hands while he watches you from under the dark strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead.

“Glad you like it darlin’.”

“No. I love it Joel. How can I ever thank you.”

“Have dinner with me…and not here…on the floor of the shop like we do some days. A real date.”

You suck in a small breath and curl your fingers together. “Did you think you needed to build me this to convince me to go on a date with you?”

“No,” he says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I was workin’ up the nerve to ask you and this was a good distraction.”

“Oh…” You say the words and your mouth forms a little ‘o’ shape. “I…I mean…of course. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

He looks down at his feet and nods firmly, a smile playing on his lips. “Alright then.”

He starts to gather and pack up his tools. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

You shake your head yes and realize you’re not speaking and as he turns to walk away you move forward while calling his name.

One second he’s holding the tool box and the next it’s on the ground next to him and he’s turning toward you. Your momentum brings you right into his chest and his arm wraps around your lower back.

He waits for you to speak, his eyes wandering over the features of your face before focusing in on your parted lips. His fingers splayed along your lower back dig into your skin and he tugs you closer as he dips his head.

Your palms land flat on his hard chest and slowly dance upward along his broad shoulders.

“Thank you.”

The words are just a whisper but you manage to get them passed your lips and he looks like he’s about to speak but instead covers your mouth with his.

The kiss is worshipful but you can feel his restraint in the tense and flexing muscles of his body and your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck and comb through his hair.

His hand slides up your back and he presses you closer as he lifts the other to cup your jaw. The callouses on the pad of his thumb scrape deliciously across your soft skin and he moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

When the need for air finally takes over he releases your mouth just long enough to look into your eyes before he dives back in, stealing your breath all over again.

The door to the shop opens, the newly installed bell atop it ringing loud and clear through your kiss filled haze.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Tommy says sheepishly when he appears by the window.

Joel breaks the kiss, his chest heaving with harsh breaths and he stares at your mouth for a few long moments while you cling to him. His hand eventually drops away from your back and his fingers trace along your jaw and then down your neck to pull your ear to his lips.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmurs. “Six.”

@hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @lizette50 @littleseasiren @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989

[sandfordsmostwanted]

No I don’t care about the new Velma series, but all these Scooby Doo posts have highlighted a deficiency in every Scooby Doo prequel idea. Yes, I’ve seen some amazing ideas for BFF Daphne and Shaggy content...  ... but none for the untapped character goldmine of Freddie and Velma. 

Like just picture it. The series is set in a American private school, where Velma is a POC scholarship kid, always looking to prove herself. She’s bullied relentlessly, but keeps her head down, because she’s getting into the Ivy League, damn it, and there’s no way these assholes are stopping her. She’s a whizz at anything to do with science and math and history and geography, but arts are a bit of a weakness, and she needs one more English credit to max out her resume. Her teacher offers her the opportunity to tutor another student to get the credit. The catch is it’s Fred Jones, the Dean’s son, and no-one can possibly find out.  Velma’s initially pissed at having to spend so much time with this entitled brat. On the surface Fred Jones is everything you’d imagine him to be - a jock, a bro, loved by the ladies and part of the group that have always made Velma’s life hell. She dreads having to tutor him, until he turns up, and he’s genuinely appreciative and sweet. She doesn’t trust him; she’s been burned too many times before. But through the sessions they get to know each other better. They bond over their mutual love of engineering - Fred doesn’t have the technological vocabulary that Velma does, but he’s got an instinctive eye for when a mechanism would fail - and they both realise the other had more depths than they expected. Velma notices the bullies leave her alone now, and though she can’t thank Fred publicly, they share a few subtle smiles in the hallway.  And then the plot of the series happens - a girl gets kidnapped from their school, and Velma’s on the case. She cancels her tutoring with Fred to sneak into the school to investigate. They run into hypercapable badass Daphne Blake and her emotional support Shaggy. Velma’s had a crush on Daphne for as long as she can remember, but her nerves make her even more snarky than usual, and the two spend most of their time bickering. Velma, Daphne and Shaggy also run into Fred in the school while they’re investigating; he left some sports stuff behind and came to retrieve it. Plot plot plot, meddling kids, mystery solved. Velma thinks everything’s going back to normal, but it doesn’t. Shaggy saved her a seat at lunch, and fills her tray with stuff he thinks she’ll enjoy (”And hey, you can sneak some of this in your pockets for when you’re at the library later!”) Daphne picks her first for her team in gym class. Fred tells his shitty mates to get fucked, and sits next to Velma in every class. And best of all, they start solving local mysteries together.  As they become better friends, they learn more and more about each other. Fred tells Velma if she struggles with making eye contact with people to look at the bridge of their nose or over their shoulder, because that looks like you’re looking them in the eye without actually doing it. Velma tells Fred that “the writing swimming when you read” is called dyslexia, and types up their study notes in a easy to read font. Fred is the first friend Velma ever brings back to her tiny apartment than she shares with her parents, and he’s very appreciative of their home despite living in a straight up mansion himself. Velma learns that that mansion life isn’t all its cracked up to be. His parents work away a lot, and when they’re around, they’re shitty and waspy and make Fred feel small. Fred always texts Velma late at night telling her to stop studying and get some sleep, Velma always texts Fred to tell him to stop working out and get a snack. They’re fucking good for each other.   It’s never romantic between them - never even close. Fred takes Velma’s coming out better than her parents did (”Why would I be upset that you like girls? Liking girls is great! I do it all the time!”) Velma tries her hardest not to be jealous when Fred and Daphne start dating - she never told him about her crush, and he’s not a mind reader. Who cares if she notices there’s chemistry between her and Daphne? She’s probably misreading the social cues, like usual. Besides, school’s nearly over now, and she’ll be off to college in a matter of weeks. Leaving it all behind her, just as she planned.  Their final mystery is the biggest yet, and the only time the gang actually fear for their lives. The stress of the mystery, and the building resentment of Velma’s “I’m out of here” energy leads to a huge argument between Fred and Velma, and the gang splits four ways to try and solve this thing. Each of them face their own trial. Shaggy has to face his fear instead of running away. Daphne has to be herself without overcompensation with gadgets or gimmicks. She realises in this process that Velma is the one she’s always loved, and the two share a sincere kiss. Fred has to trust himself, and succeed by himself without the safety net of his family, his wealth or Velma. And Velma has to admit she needs her friends, and that she loves them deeply. The mystery is solved, and just like that, they’re all set to go their separate ways, this time for real.  It’s the last day of finals. Velma hasn’t heard from Fred for almost a week now; her texts go unanswered. She knows he’s taking breaking up with Daphne harder than he’s letting on, though he’s happy Velma and Daphne are happy. She finishes her final paper and hands it in, thoughts of college in her mind as she stands on the school steps where it all began.  A horn honks behind her. She turns. There’s a massive eyesore of a van parked outside. Velma didn’t even know you could get that many shades of neon green and blue, and the little orange flowers are wonky and she knows they’ve been painted by hand and with love. Daphne waves at her from the passenger’s seat, and Shaggy from the back. Fred is leaning against the Mystery Machine, twirling his keys in his hand. He’d traded the sleek, smart car his dad bought him and that he’s been driving all show for this new ride, and he asks if Velma feels like solving a mystery or two before heading off to college.  Thus begins the adventures of Mystery Incorporated.  (End credits song is “Life is a Highway” by Rascall Flatts because you know that’s white boy Freddie Jones’ favourite driving song) 

[beneathashadytree]

SLOW MORNINGS - NANAMI KENTO X READER

Warnings : none I think, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : domestic fluff for daysss <3

Word count : 1.2K words

Additional notes : This was fully inspired by this gorgeous, gorgeous Nanami art I saw on X by @3-aem. I dedicate this piece to my bff Mona (she’s the best ever btw!!!) and to the man himself whom I miss an awful lot.

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Masterlist

Most weekdays, they’d wake up to a gentle kiss to their forehead, almost fleeting. With bleary eyes and still feeling quite groggy, they’d barely make out the figure of their husband, buttoning up his suit jacket as he made his way out of their bedroom. He’d glance back, and the corner of his lips would curl upward ever-so-slightly at seeing them lazily paw at the sheets to pull themself up.

With a quiet, “Good morning. I’ve made you breakfast,” Nanami would quickly set their heart pounding so early in the morning. It didn’t matter how late he was running (he almost never was, anyways, being such a man of routine), he’d always make sure to make enough breakfast for the two of them. It wasn’t anything too fancy by any means, but they were both content by the gesture itself more than anything.

When they’d first started living together, he’d been hesitant to wake them up every morning, but their insistence to see him off to work, and his desire to see them blink up at him so endearingly, won out in the end. And so that’s how their routine was born—out of a gentle love and the little habits that came with it and they built their lives upon.

When their body slowly dragged itself out of a deep slumber and they began to rub the sleep out of their eyes, it took them a bit to register the sun filtering through the slits between the airy bedroom curtains. They danced in the slight breeze, teasing pretty little shadows across the dresser and causing the mirror by the end of the bed to glint a little with each shift of the fabric.

Ah, it must be late morning.

With just a little more difficulty than usual (after all, they had to pay a hefty price for getting to sleep in), they began to shuffle out of bed and across the hall, where they could smell the bittersweetness of roasted coffee beans and fresh cream. It lingered in the air longer than it did on most days, and that was how they knew that their husband had—finally—the time to indulge in his morning cup.

It wasn’t a half-bad sight to wake up to, really. There he was, leaning against the couch’s armrest while his other arm balanced his slumped head, a slightly-weathered book in hand. It seemed that leisurely position was all he could do to stop himself from dozing off, the week’s exhaustion clearly leaving him barely able to stay awake regardless of how engrossed he was by what he was reading.

Though Nanami wore nothing remarkable—just his favorite t-shirt and pants, a little crumpled from the position he sat in—he somehow still managed to look like the picture of elegance. Perhaps it was the doing of the thin-framed glasses perched on his nose; something they’d long egged him on to get prescribed, after having caught him squinting at small-lettered fonts one too many times.

All half-consciousness considered, he seemed to be pretty immersed in what he was reading, and the slow turn of a page despite them having walked in meant that he hadn’t even noticed their presence. A small amused smile came on their face, and they pattered up to him, the cold of the floorboards a little sobering.

“I don’t know how you manage to do it.” Their voice sounded a little scratchy, but that was fine. A slight flicker of his hazel eyes was the only indication that he’d been startled by them, before his face melted into an expression of contentment. His freckles stretched across his fair skin, and with each wrinkle that marked a year of growth, they think they fell in love a little deeper.

They suspected that part of the reason why they found the sight of him so mesmerizing was the knowledge that they get to see him grow old beside them. A fanciful thought, admittedly, but no less true.

“Do what?” Nanami softly asked, shifting his position and setting his legs down on the floor. He didn’t even have to do more than just leave his arms open a little for them to take the invitation and crawl into his lap.

As soon as they settled with their back against the armrest, his free hand began to absentmindedly stroke at their calf, while the other set the book down (a Victorian classic he was currently enamored with, though he regretfully had little time for) in place of the cast aside—and fully drained—coffee cup. Every single object he touched, he seemed to breathe a little life into.

Sometimes, it felt like that was the case with the entire house. Sometimes, it even felt like he did that to themself too.

“Not sleep in on weekends. How you still wake up at a decent hour is beyond me.” They shook their head in mild disbelief, reaching out to push back a strand of blond hair that fell in front of his face. He looked so much more at ease like this; hair just tucked back and not styled to perfection as it usually was. Hell; even his features had softened and the sharp lines and edges of his face had dulled into the familiar warmth they liked to feel underneath their fingertips.

He hummed, partially to voice agreement and partially as he reveled in their touch grazing his cheek. “Force of habit.” It was only when he began to lean in with eyes brimming with affection that they had to put a finger to his lips, causing him to grunt.

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Nanami huffed out a half-laugh, gently pushing their finger down. “Doesn’t really matter,” he mumbled against their lips, before stealing a short but no less sweet kiss. Still, he gave into their wishes, choosing a chaste peck over the slow, all-consuming kisses he liked to indulge them in. He could never say no to whatever they wished.

A quick glance at the empty table brought another thing to their attention. “You haven’t had breakfast yet?”

“No. I thought I’d wait and cook breakfast with you.” His deft strokes against the skin of their leg were almost as distracting as his silken voice. “We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Surely you haven’t missed the mess I end up making,” they said, arching an eyebrow at him, to which he chuckled.

“Not the clean-up part, no,” he agrees, a smile dancing across his lips. “But messy as your methods might be, it’s more efficient that way.”

“And more fun.” They began to begrudgingly slide off his lap, knowing that they would have to get up sooner or later for food before they could laze around for the rest of the day.

“And more fun,” their husband agreed, fondness lacing his softly-spoken words as crow’s feet appeared by his eyes. Like it was merely second nature to him, a large palm rested against the small of their back as they walked to the kitchen, marking the start of a slow, laidback day at home. “Eggs benedict and fruits?”

“Hmm… I’m feeling more like an omelette and sausages today, honestly…”

Taglist : @blondeboyfriend @mrsgiovanna @sherlockscumslut @the-foreigner @thispersoniscrazy @em-3456 @angry-and-yandere @avvsfs

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[tfp-is-my-lifeblood-lol]

How would the bots and cons handwriting be like? (Sorry for my bad English lol)

Ahhh! I love this idea! Had WAY too much fun with this.

Bots and Cons Handwriting

Optimus:

-Can write insanely neatly, and in literally ANY font

-Everything he writes looks like it came straight from Google Docs

-He can perfectly recreate Comic Sans, much to the children's amusement

-Handwriting KING

-He's too powerful

Arcee:

-Her handwriting is gorgeous

-She writes very neatly, definitely in cursive

-Everything she writes looks like a diary from the Victorian era

-Majestic✨✨✨✨

Ratchet:

-Cursive, but MESSY cursive

-Like, REALLY messy cursive. What is he even writing? Who knows? It's a mystery.

-You know, cuz, like, that's how a pharmacist's prescriptions look, and he's a medic. Lol

-Ratchet has messy pharmacist handwriting

Bumblebee:

-His handwriting is so cute😭

-Basically Comic Sans

-Not PERFECT Comic Sans like Optimus, but just bubbly and adorable

-Having legible handwriting is something he practices a lot, since his voice box is broken. Writing is a nice way to express himself if need be.

-He has kindergarten teacher handwriting

-My dyslexia would be so happy

Smokescreen:

-Neat enough handwriting, but HE WRITES SO BIG

-All caps, all the time

-He goes through too many notebooks, because he saves NO space

-Poor guy. He just has a big personality

Bulkhead:

-Unreadable

-His hands are just way too big

-Very messy. Only Wheeljack can read it because he and Bulkhead share the same braincells

-Bulkhead and Ratchet get in arguments, because Ratchet's reads Bulk's handwriting, and is like: "Bulkhead, your attempts at penmanship are downright INCOMPREHENSIBLE."

And Bulkhead's like: "You say that like any of us can read yours!"

And Arcee's like: "I second that."

And Bumblebee buzzes in agreement.

Ratchet just rolls his eyes, like "ugh." Because he can't argue. HIS handwriting is gibberish, too.

Ultra Magnus:

-Opposite of Smokescreen...Ultra Magnus's handwriting is TINY!

-Seriously, where is it? You need a microscope.

-Only the humans can read it, because it's so small. And even THEY have to squint

-It's also PERFECT. His handwriting is very neat

and blocky, like a typewriter

-If only we could actually see it

Wheeljack:

-He's like, a graphic design CHAMPION

-He learned handwriting from Miko, so he loves big bubble letters. He decorates them with cool patterns, like flames, and lightning bolts

-Very stylish

Megatron:

-What I can only describe as "spooky cursive"

-Very formal, and kinda gothic

-He'd use some kind of calligraphy pen with very dark, splattery ink, or, like, whatever the Cybertronian version of a quill is.

-He's an elegant guy...well, sort of, except most of what he writes consists of:

"My dearest Starscream,

It is with great regret (note my sarcasm, Starscream.) It is with great PLEASURE that I must inform you...

I have caught you invading my stash of dark energon, once again.

I will be grinding you into scrap metal momentarily.

Yours truly,

Lord Megatron."

Starscream:

-Starscream has the ABILITY to write neatly, and in cursive

-But he writes very scribbly, because he's angry

-If "ranting" was a font, it's the font he writes in

-Also, he probably keeps a rage journal, where he trash talks everyone he knows

-Somebody help him🥲

Soundwave:

-Handwriting? What's that?

-He probably uses his internal computer to make documents, and prints them

-And when he prints things, they probably slide out of his neck. Terrifying. So he prints things to freak Starscream out

-It's beautiful

-If Soundwave was FORCED to handwrite, he'd do it in computer code, or morse code, or something weird like that. Everyone would be baffled trying to understand it.

Airachnid:

-Very splattery

-But that's what happens when you use energon and human blood as ink.

Shockwave:

-Writes in calculator font

-Like, the font a calculator has

-He says it's "the most logical font"

-Starscream constantly judges him for it

Breakdown:

-Definitely not neat, but not Bulkhead levels of messy, either

-He doesn't have the best handwriting, but he can make some pretty good doodles

-If, for some reason, Megatron assigned Breakdown and Knockout a task involving handwriting, Breakdown and Knockout would both doodle instead of being productive

Knockout:

-Ooo! So majestic!

-It's very bold

-His handwriting is suave and announcer-y, just like him

-It'd also be curved slightly to the right, like italics

-Almost like something you'd see in a commercial, or a movie trailer, or a billboard

-Like a NASCAR advertisement (y'know, because race car)

[silent-raven13]

When Miles rizz Hobie

"Nothing could woo me, mates." Hobie began as his friends were picking on him for turning pink around Miles. "It's merely affection, like how comfortable I'm around with someone I trust." The small group were hanging around Headquarters just to pass the time.

"Huh uh?" Gwen snorted.

Pav nodded having to get on his tippy toes to at least face Hobie on his level, "Dude, you turned pink when Miles even looks at you!"

"No, I have no idea what you're talking about." The punker plays it off still disagreeing.

"Oh yeah! Alright, bet!" Gwen said out loud.

"Hahaha, where's Miles is at?" Pav giggles with sweet delight.

Hobie rolled his eyes, "Miles is just a mate."

"Yet you call him, Sunflower!" Gwen said out loud.

"And luv, darling, dear, Brooklyn, Peter Pan!" Pav uses his fingers to show how many nicknames Hobie used on the young Spider-man. "You like him, huh?"

"Still have no idea what are you two talking about." Hobie pretending he didn't understand what they mean. He's being a cool guy deny their words.

"You always touchy feeling with him!" Gwen throw her hands up in the air, "Do we need to say anymore!"

Miles appeared from the corner of the hallway having to look at his holo-evaluation from Miguel from his watch. The meeting with the older Spider-man ended on a positive note, and it got him super happy. There was progress here!

His honey-brown eyes glanced up to make sure he doesn't bump into anyone, and spotted his friends. "Hey GUYS!" He happily went up toward them with a small jog.

"Ohh, he's here." Gwen whispers to Hobie.

Hobie froze having his eyes on Miles running up to them. Pav said, "Hey, Miles. What are you doing here?" The two saw Hobie turning pink and giggles.

"Oh, I was in a meeting with Miguel! We were talking about my last mission." Miles sounded so happy that it had Hobie's color shit to an awful muted red with murky green and yellow. Is that jealousy colors?

Gwen's eyes widen at the punker's colors being amazed yet not so surprised. Pav being the instigator, "Ohh, you and Miguel, huh? Sounds spicy!"

"Wha?" Miles's being unaware of Hobie's sudden changes in color since he's focus on Pav's questions.

Hobie had newspaper texture with black ink, Gwen leans over to read the fonts, "Fuck you, Pav. Are you going do that in front of me?" Oh. She giggles softly at this.

"You know, Spider-people like to talk." Pav snickers, "So are you and Miguel doing the nasty? Come on, tell us!"

"No! Hell nah, man. He could be the same age as my dad- what the fuck?" Miles quickly held his hands up in defense, "and I'm sixteen years old! Man, you want him to catch a case?"

"I dunno a lot of teenage Spider-heroes would, y'know." Gwen quickly added.

Pav saw Hobie's paper texture changing into a dark red and grey color with aggressive rips and ink marks. Hobie stood with no emotion showing, crazy huh?

"Well, not me! Anyway, my evaluation came out really good. I might go on missions with him. Hopefully." Miles casually said still being naive.

"Solo mission with Miguel?" Hobie thought to himself showing his jealousy, his body went through three different paper textures and turned murky green. Gwen and Pav awed at how fast his reality colors changes.

"Hopefully? That sounds like you're hoping for something, Miles!" Pav giggles having to nudge Hobie, "Huh, Hobie?"

"Not like that." The black Latino Spiderman rub his naked neck being a bit weirded out by his friends' sudden questions. "I see Miguel as a mentor. He's not bad when he's not trying to kill you. Also," Miles went up to Hobie, which causes the punker's color to change with a surprise fonts with a soft purple being surprised by his crush being so close to him.

Miles happily smiled at him, "Hobie, what's up? You been quiet. Something wrong?" His hand touches Hobie's cheek, "Are you sick? Si es así, Puedo prepararte caldo de pollo?"

Hobie turns bright pink staying frozen with his eyes widen. "No. No, luv." he crosses his arms trying to be cool. "I'm only listening."

"Oh," Miles pulls his hand away, "At least you're fine, man." His smile widens showing off his teeth. "I was beginning to worry."

Gwen and Pav look at each other then saw Hobie turning a brighter pink with heart stamps and fonts, a bit of shimmer this time. "Hmm?" They hummed at him.

Hobie scowls a bit at them, "Shut up!" The two laughing out loud.

"What happen?" Miles being so confused.

[shhh-secret-time]

We need more of that Soulmate stuff! Can we get one with Stan??? I've such a weakness for our goth boy!

Oh and thank you for writing gn! It's such a small thing but it makes me feel good to read! 🫶

Of course you can! I love Stan and soulmate shit so literally any excuse! I'm glad my writing makes you feel good darling!

Warning: Strong Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, over use of the word skin and flesh, and a single shit excuse for poetry

Pairings: Stan x GN!Reader

The most annoying habit Stan had was chewing his bottom lip, so many things of lip balm used to try and repair his lips. Little discarded tubes of flavors that were the foulest thing he'd ever tasted, it was Kyle's idea, if it tasted bad maybe he could trick his brain into stopping the habit.

The second annoying habit was drumming his fingers on his desk, he was especially bad about it when he was younger. That was before the little marking on his skin started popping up. Little words and doodles on his forearm dancing on his skin. At first it freaked him out, he was fourteen and these weird little tattoos were popping up on his skin and then disappearing.

The third annoying habit was never learning to not go to his father when he didn't understand something. One would think after it backfiring so many times Stan would learn to go to his mother when he had questions. To his credit Randy did give him an answer. It just led to a whole ordeal of him telling the entire fucking town that his son has a soulmate and that his son was just like him when he was fourteen. It was embarrassing and he hoped that whoever his soulmate was didn't hear it.

Apparently, the little doodles and grocery shopping lists on his forearm was his soulmate’s handwriting and boy did they love to draw on their arm. Stan would be out in the football field practicing his throws when he'd feel the light brush of the pen across his arm. Which always lead to him fumbling a pass. Maybe he had to thank his coach for all the times he yelled at him because it was after one practice that he finally started marking on his arm back.

At first it was just to try and get whoever his soulmate was back. Taking a sharpie to the underside of his forearm, the big blocky letters spelled S-T-O-P. He remembers tugging down his sleeve with a grumble, thinking he would be free from the torment. Little did he know this was a declaration of war.

You were sitting in the science lab when it happened, working on your assignment when the letters appeared. Up until then you never saw something like that happen, so when it did you nearly dropped the beaker. Soulmate or not, who did they think they were to send such a passive aggressive message?! You excused yourself and hurried to the bathroom, ignoring the look of your partner. You pulled up your sleeve and glared down at bright silver words.

Stan furrowed his brows as his eyes scanned over the new message.

"Who uses a silver sharpie?! Are you kidding me?!" You hissed.

Well, you couldn't take that sitting down, could you? Your hands dug into the pockets of your pants to pull out the pen you always kept on you. Dragging the tip of the cheap pen across your skin, you wrote your little soulmate a loving note.

"Eat shit."

The font lit a fire in him as his eyes narrowed. Stan took the lid off the sharpie and drew a crude middle finger on his palm. Once he was satisfied with it, he pulled his gloves back on, maybe his soulmate didn't have gloves and would have to deal with that.

From then on Stan carried that damn sharpie everywhere. He would be in the middle of talking with his friends about something when he'd feel your words sketch onto his skin again. He would stop even if he was in the middle of something just to read whatever rude thing you'd come up with. It was Kyle who finally approached him about it.

"Dude you're gonna get ink poisoning." Stan almost missed the way Kyle scolded him, to focused on writing.

"I don't care Kyle! They're insulting the Broncos!" Stan hissed back.

"How did you even get on that topic?" Kyle rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I-...I don't know but I'm not going to just let them shit on my favorite team!" He looked up towards his best friend, Kyle could see the fire behind those blue eyes and almost chuckled.

"This person is supposed to be your soulmate, ya know? Like your forever partner."

"I know that! But it's like they know exactly what to say to get under my skin!" Stan groans as he caps the sharpie and slumps back against the park bench. "I mean...was it like this for you? You found yours recently."

The red head raised a brow at his friend, the question catching him off guard. "Hm...no? We got along pretty much instantly. Guess it helped they found me before I found them?"

Stan watches as Kyle presses a thumb into his palm. A warm smile plays across his lips as he rubs the golden letters. Rumors of Kyle and his soulmate spread quick, they were the talk around campus for a while much to Kyle’s dismay.

"But I get what you're feeling."

"You fight with your partner like this?"

"What? No! Not yet at least...I mean it's bound to happen eventually, but I mean the thing you said about their words getting under your skin." Kyle shook his head making the green straps on his head swing back and forth. Before Stan could respond Kyle held up his hand and continued. "They'll text me or say something to me and it just...feels like my heart is going to explode. The first time we kissed it felt like my skin was on fire, it felt intense. So... I think that might just be a side effect of having a soulmate. Everything is kinda turned up to eleven."

Stan just sat there and listened to him. He pushed his hands in his coat pocket and squeezed the sharpie, letting the words sink in. Leave it to Kyle to make him think about it more. Stan responds with a long sigh.

"... Maybe."

"Hey at least you can talk to yours. We had to go based off each other's thoughts...it's hard keeping my thoughts in control."

"Yeah, I don't know if I could live with that, probably end up cutting my hand off." Stan chuckles and looks down at his forearm.

Maybe he could swallow his pride a little and just take it easy. It certainly made sense now why your words were having such an effect on him. If everything was turned up to eleven like Kyle said, then maybe he needed to take a step back and try something else.

It wasn't until he was sitting in class bored again that he got the idea. He even went out of his way to use a different marker, one with a smaller point. Pressing the tip to his arm, he watched the bright blue ink bleed into his skin. Stan didn't really know what to write, it was hard to go from writing stupid insults and drawing crude things to something just mundane. He pressed his lips together and stared hard at the little blue dot until his hand started moving. Stan wrote best when it was in song lyrics or his poems.

Watercolor running down my skin.

It's supposed to feel cool but all it does is make my head spin.

You get under my skin like fire.

The tip of your pen bleeds me like sharp wire.

He pulls back and looks down at it with narrowed eyes. Stan can already feel the warm embarrassment spreading over his face and up to the tip of his ears. Quickly pulling down his sleeve again, he tried to push it out of his mind for the rest of the day. An hour went by before he felt that all too familiar feeling, it was something he was getting used to at this point. He looked down and his eyes widened in awe.

"Did you write that? It's good."

No smart-ass comment about his poetry. You didn't make fun of him for putting his words in a silly simple format. You just complimented it. Stan could feel his heart speeding up as he re-read the small sentence under his poetry over and over again.

"Yeah. I'm not good at communicating normally."

"Poetry is just easier for ya huh?"

"That or music."

"Really? You play?"

Stan grinned down as he started running out of room on his forearm, having to move to the surface of his arm now. His face getting closer to his skin as he hunches over his desk to keep writing.

"Yeah, guitar and a little bass. They're kinda similar."

"That's cool!"

"Do you play any?"

And soon his entire arm was covered in back and forths. Talking about music to whatever else the two of you could come up with. He learned about all your hobbies just as you learned his. You started keeping a little journal of all the poems he wrote you, all the little songs he'd write down across his. It was when you'd wake up to a poem, first thing in the early mornings. The sunlight caressing your entire body, wrapping you up like a hug.

The poems spoke of things like how he was excited to talk to you throughout the day. Asking you if blue was starting to become your favorite color. Did you think of him when you saw it? Things like how he was so happy to see you respond and that he thinks of you every time he strums on his guitar. You were just thankful he couldn't hear your heartbeat or see the way he made your face flush.

But there was that longing to finally see this person. You learned your partner was a he but the thought of asking him his name didn't seem to matter. It was like you'd known him your whole life, and because of him blue was starting to become your favorite color. So one night as you sat at your desk, you decided to just go for it.

"Hey. I just thought about how I don't know your name!" You had to move to writing with your non-dominate hand which made your handwriting a little shaky.

You giggled at the little doodle that came up next to your statement. It was a horrible drawing of Kirby pointing at the writing, but his face was scrunched up in disgust.

"I dunno. Didn't think about it."

You waited after reading his sentence, thinking he was going to continue. Nope. Nothing.

"Well, what is it??" You asked as you doodled next to the Kirby, a little frog wearing a hat joining the fray.

"It's Stan."

"What?! No way!"

You circled Stan's name with your pen and drew a bunch of exclamation marks. You knew a Stan; he was the quarterback at your university! He had three little friends that always seemed to follow him! He was the kid who brought a guitar to-

He brought a guitar to class sometimes.

He wrote in his notebook when he thought no one was watching.

He made your heart beat and the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

He was your soulmate.

Did he even notice you like you did him? Did he know you sat across the room from him in history? Or that you were his soulmate? Of course he didn't! He doesn't even know your name.

You break out of your spiraling thoughts when you see the blue ink across your skin again. "Pretty sure way. That's the name my mom gave me."

"You know what I mean dick! I know you! You're Stan Marsh! You live on that farm that's like an hour away from here in South Park!"

There was nothing for a while. Maybe you shouldn't have said all that, but the faster your heart sped the faster you wrote. You didn't think to slow down until you looked back at how hastily everything was written.

"You go to my university, don't you?" He asked.

"South Park college. Go cows." You doodled a little cow next to the response hoping to relief a little tension.

"Go to Stark Pond in an hour."

"What?! Dude it's like 6:30! I can't just leave this late!"

"I wanna meet you and I don't wanna wait. I'm already in my truck."

You could tell from the way the letters were spaced out and slanted. It was almost gibberish, gibberish that had your blood pumping. In a manner of seconds, you learned the name of your soulmate and you were actually considering going out. It would be around seven thirty before he actually showed up. You bit your lip and looked over at your car keys but only for a moment. When the thoughts of how he wanted to meet you were so bad he was willing to drive out again to see you. To see who you were. The fear of disappointing him did cross your mind, what if he hyped you up too much.

You knew Stan Marsh. You knew how pretty he was and how he could make a group of people follow him. You knew he had those beautiful baby blue eyes that seemed to go forever.

God you loved the color blue.

With a huff you grabbed your keys and put on some decent clothes. You waited at Starks Pond for that hour, you could have stayed home to wait but your anxiety wouldn't let you. Not the way your heart was still pounding, every minute that passed felt like agony. Pulling your jacket closer to your body, you almost leapt out of your skin each time a car would pull up; only to be disappointed when anyone that wasn't Stan got out or drove off.

When finally, a beat up brown truck pulled up next to yours. Your breath hitched when you saw movement, breathing out when you saw a familiar pair of red shoes. A blue hat that looked well-loved over shaggy black hair.

He was standing by the water looking around, he looked as nervous as you felt. Just when he thinks you're not coming do you finally find the strength, the feeling, in your legs to step out of the car. The cold air nipping at your skin, it felt like ice right now from the way your skin set ablaze. The sounds of your footsteps crunching against the snow makes him look back and his jaw drop.

"It's you."

"It's me." You respond with a little smile, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stan takes the initiative and meets you halfway, the two of you meeting on the worn out walking trail. It isn't until he steps into the moonlight that you realize he's not wearing his jacket, but you notice the ink going up and down his arms.

"You actually came. I didn't think you would."

"I almost didn't...it's cold you know." You shoot him a little smirk, changing the tone in your voice to a lighthearted tease.

Stan let's out a breathy chuckle, you can see the little puff of air that escapes his lips. He takes a step closer towards you. You can feel the heat coming off him, radiating around your body. "Yeah guess it is. Forgot my jacket."

"Were you that excited?"

"Are you kidding? Yeah! It's not fair you knew what I looked like!"

And when you giggled Stan felt himself walking on air. The way you made his heart soar from that alone. He'd never write something funny on his arm again, if he had something funny to say you'd hear it just so he could hear that laugh.

"Then I hope you're not disappointed."

"Wh... what? Of course I'm not disappoint- You have no idea how much I'm trying not to throw up right now."

"What?!"

"No! Hold on! That came out worse than I meant! I mean I'm nervous because- because you're so beautiful and-....and I'm fucking this up, aren't I?" You watch the panic in Stan's eyes as he scrambled to try and find the right words.

You broke his mind when you laughed again. If your hands didn't come out to take his he would have bolted, ran off to find hole to crawl into. Instead, your hands anchor him to that spot, your smile brings him back down just for him to get lost in your eyes.

"You do suck at communicating." You whisper and press a kiss into his cheek.

"Uh...yeah well...you're the one kissing me. So ...I must be doing something right." Stan mentally kicks himself for that comment, but he can't help that little competitiveness in him.

Stan doesn't let you get whatever you're about to say out, his lips meet yours eagerly. He knows whatever you're about to say is only going to make his face turn a deeper shade of red. When he pulls away and sees your eyes are shut and your lips still slightly parted from the kiss, he knows he's already in deep. Especially when you cupped his face and brought him in for another.

Everything felt like being turned up to eleven. Everything felt right. You felt right being in his arms like this. He never wanted to come down from this feeling and he was sure you felt the same.

[snek-panini]

Happy Halloween! Have a book:

This is Siren's Song by @kedreeva (Hi! I asked to bind your fic months ago, sorry it took so long XD). It's an incredible Good Omens siren AU, which needs no introduction from me but it gets one anyway. It's one of the most in-character fics I've ever read, tackles a lot of the most resonant themes of the original (love in the context of aromanticism and asexuality, human labels in the context of non-human perspective), and has incredible world-building. Later parts of the fic always make me cry but they're good tears. You'll see. When I first learned that fanbinding was a thing and started looking into how to do it, this was one of the first fics I thought of. It just took me a while to learn the skills I needed before I could do it.

More pics and process talk under the cut!

So the cover up there is black faux leather and momi paper that I bought...about two years ago? And just kept on hand till I was ready to do this project. This is the first time I've worked with it and it was fairly nice, though harder to get a nice crease into than lokta or chiyogami. It felt very fragile when I was handling it but I didn't have any issues with tearing or glue bleed-through like I thought I might. It did bleed some color when I got it damp with the glue, and it took way longer to dry than normal, but once that was done it's been fine. Which is nice because I have a lot left over, so it'll probably be making many future appearances in my binds.

Look! It's rounded! I got a backing setup recently and this is my first time using it. It was Very Hard and I am not very good at it yet. But I think it looks pretty good for a first attempt, and there was really no other way to mitigate the spine swell on this one. I used a thick paper so I've got a thick book. I also tried something new with the case, though it isn't visible. Usually I make the text block and the case separately and then attach them as the last step, but for this one I actually built the case around the text. Like, boards attached to mull/tapes (sandwiched between thinner boards, with grooves cut for them so there are no bulges), then covered with momi, then leather corners and spine, then paste down the endpaper. It's got an oxford hollow, too! The tapes and mull actually wrap around the outside of the boards instead of the inside like I've done before. Endpapers are my favorite feather chiyogami. Combined with the marbled momi they make for a very opulent look, and I had just barely enough to do this. Like, down to the millimeter. I had to trim the edges and then glue the endpapers after to be sure they were right. I'm glad they were, because I didn't have a backup plan. Handmade endbands, colors picked to match the cover. Also, last note, I got the corner bits right for the first time. Measured properly, with no weird pointy bits that come out at funny angles. Very proud.

Title page and bookmark/interior shot. Did you know that some basic fonts in MS Word look different when you use a huge font size? Because I didn't until I made this title page. That's Parchment for the title, and it only gets those swirly bits around the capital letters if you take it to 26pt or higher (I used 72 here). Now I wonder if any of the other fonts have easter eggs in them like that. The ribbon is very fancy, to go along with the rich endpaper/cover combo. I think it's pretty appropriate for a mythological golden age of piracy story, as are the text ornaments:

Chapter header image, chapter end image, and section break image. It was a very image-heavy typeset. I was originally planning to only have a header and a section break, but I couldn't decide whether I liked the ships or the book/shell/feather better, and they both suited the story so well that I just went with both. Again, opulent, but I think it fits. All the images came from rawpixel, all I did was resize them.

There was a small error in the trimming process. Comes of having to calculate so closely the exact amount you can trim off, that you have to trim off so your slightly-too-small endpapers fit. I think something got misaligned when I poked the sewing holes because only the first signature is like this. The rest of the book has a more appropriately-sized margin between the page number and the edge. I got very lucky here, and I know it, and I'm never cutting it this close (lol) again. Next time we just order another sheet of chiyogami.

And that's it! I have one author's copy and one new bind in progress right now (that's taking a while because I'm learning more new stuff for it), and then I have two Christmas gift books to do, so it might be a bit before I have another book to share.

[acerathia]

pink camellias || Chapter 1: hyacinth

Chapter Summary:

purple hyacinth: sorrow

Wordcount: 3.2k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

Tags/CW:

royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol

Note:

I got too impatient, so, I'm posting the first chapter today lol, still, i hope you enjoy reading it!

You opened the windows as soon as you woke up. As the soft sunlight warmed your skin, you watched the breeze rustle the flowers of the garden. Beyond that garden was a beautifully constructed posh house, barely blocking your view to the adjacent village. The rows of different houses gave the scenery a special kind of feel. The view was breathtaking, the bustling of all these people making you feel alive under your skin. 

You stood by the window, trying to discern the lives of the common people below you in the valley. There was a small stripe of forest bordering the village and the mansion, which stood atop a hill. 

“I wonder how life is down there”, you mumbled before looking back to your bed.

The softest of fabric was spread over the king-sized bed and you slowly stepped closer, your hand enjoying the feel of silk between your fingers. Then with a tiny jump you threw yourself onto the mattress, sinking deeply in its comfort and warmth.

With a sigh, you tried to imagine living in such a village. Maybe you would operate a bakery, making tasty bread and confects. You would wake up early, which you usually would never even think about, but this was only imaginary. If you were lucky, you could watch the sunrise for some time, while waiting for the dough to rise. Your hands would be kneading and caressing the dough into different, but nonetheless tasty goodies for the day, the lit oven warming your back with a gentle sigh. It would hug the soft dough and prepare it for the day.

After the bread and sweets would be ready, you would open up the shop, awaiting the first jingle of the door. You would, as usual, greet the oncoming customers, the ones you saw regularly with some deep questions, and the newer ones with some welcoming small talk. Your heart would beat in happiness every time something of yours would find its home somewhere else. And if everything got sold, you would close the shop and head to the market to replenish some of your necessities. If not, you would go around and give the bread to someone who would need it at the moment, not wanting to let anyone go hungry. 

You imagined such a routine to be relaxing and enjoyable, especially connecting with so many people. The wish to go out and change something for yourself lit a spark, even if the possibility of leaving this place without guard would never happen. 

Some day you would wake up with the hope of appearing in another place, like the characters in your stories. Landing inside a novel with the knowledge of every scenario, being actively a part of some grand scheme or an adventure. But no matter how long you kept your eyes closed, you stayed in your little bland life. 

Sometimes you would dare to write down some ideas, with your scrawly font. And while doing so you blamed yourself for not listening to your teacher when learning how to write. But you wrote. You wrote every little idea that emerged in your little head. Huffing and puffing when the intricate dreams vanished after waking up. 

With a low grumble, you stared at your ceiling. You grew weary of only imagining things and felt the urge, the desire to actually live your own adventure. 

“My Lady, I’ve brought water to wash up”, the voice of your maid Hana sounded before she entered the room. 

You furrowed your brows, wondering how long you had been lying there, and if you would succeed in sneaking out, if your maid wouldn’t be so punctual. But you only greeted her and rolled from the bed to walk towards a stool.

While you were washing your face, Hana brushed your hair gently and got rid of all the knots taking residence on top of your head. You looked into the mirror, feeling the soft towel on your skin. 

This was your face, even if you wished you were another person. No matter what you think, the baby fat on your face would not dwindle until much later. For a moment you wondered how soon your birthday was. 

“You should go to the dining room to eat some breakfast, my Lady.”, Hana told you, after helping you into a simple baby blue wrapper. Something simple for your indoor endeavors, as you did not plan on leaving this mansion any time soon. 

With a nod you made your way to the dining room, greeting your father, who was leaning over some papers spread over the table. 

“Good morning sweetie, did you sleep well?”, he asked while stretching his arms for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Yes, thank you for asking, Father.”, you smiled with a slight crook, before turning to greet your mother the same way. 

After the greetings, you took a seat and started eating your breakfast. 

Despite the current silence at the table you were quite attached to your parents, as they were to you. They both were loving and warm and so doting on their only daughter. And who were you to resist getting spoiled like that? You would do anything for your parents, and even if you longed to go outside and experience new things, you were aware how your disappearance would break their hearts, and yours. 

“Ah, we’re supposed to return to the palace today, did you prepare your luggage, or did you forget again?”, your mother started speaking with an amused smile after finishing the meal.

“Mother! Of course, I prepared everything! But, I’m still going to ensure that everything has its place.”, you hurriedly responded and jumped from your seat. Soft chuckle followed you out of the room. 

How could you forget the return to the palace? Your father was the marquess and your mother attended to the queen herself. And despite your current young age, you wanted to make a good impression on the people living there, even if they may have already formed one around your person. But nothing speaks against working to better those impressions. 

With the help of your maid, you threw everything you may need in that visit into a tiny case, fitting for your tiny stuff. And when Hana suggested you take your stuffed cat with you, you vehemently refused. Because what if someone saw it and thought of you as inferior? Especially little kids your age, they were usually the most vicious and you refused to be the victim of their bullying. 

After making sure everything was in order, you let your maid help you into some outdoor gown with the same blue color as the other one. With a fitting pair of gloves and a bonnet, you were ready to leave your home for your stay at the palace. 

Clutching Hana’s hand you made your way outside to the awaiting carriage. The coachman already heaving their luggage into its respective space. But you didn’t need his help to get into the carriage, not even Hana’s help. You grabbed some of the fabric of your dress and took the large step with one stride. The next step let you tumble into the insides of the carriage, where you immediately acted like everything went as planned. 

Hana took the seat in front of you and the car slowly left the property. You knew that your parents were in the carriage in front of yours, so you did not fret and simply enjoyed the passing sights of the marquisate.

After a couple of minutes, someone slightly shook you and you blearily opened your eyes. You didn’t remember closing them in the first place. Did you already arrive at your destination? That was weird, you thought the way would take some hours. But beggars shouldn’t be choosers and you didn’t mind that very convenient time skip of sleep. Even if you now felt tired and grumpy. 

With half-closed lids you let Hana lead you to the inside of the palace, where you already occupy a room. This wasn’t the first time your character visited the palace, but every time felt like it was. And no matter how much you wanted to look around, you felt drained and wanted nothing more than to continue your nap in peace. 

The moment you stepped into the room, you threw yourself onto the bed, without care of your bonnet falling off your head. But for some reason you could not fall asleep again, making you whine into the soft pillows, before sitting up. 

And before you could even plan anything for the afternoon, someone started knocking on your door. 

“Hello! We were wondering if you wanted to play knights with us?”, a boy your age with bright green eyes, Izuchan,  asked you with a smile, the moment you opened the door. Another was lingering with crossed arms and a slight scowl. 

You turned to look at Hana, who just nodded with a sigh before you also nodded to the boys in front of you. “Yes! I’d love to participate in a game!”

With that, you followed them outside, where the sun shone upon your heads and warmed you slightly. 

They immediately started clashing their wooden swords and began screaming something about ‘villains’ and ‘crime’. You wondered when it would be your turn, but you didn’t hold a wooden sword in your hands. 

For some reason you felt the need to fix it, so you started wandering to the training camp of the real knights, looking for some kind of sword you might be able to use. 

The only thing you discovered were of course actual knights in training. Their movements and the swing of the sword in their hands were mesmerizing and you could not help yourself but stare. Their flow seemed like a hidden dance, its steps only obtained by the truly worthy. 

You felt trapped in watching the blades clash, eliciting bursts of tiny stars. A desire to wield this magic grew in you and a grin formed itself across your face. Now you fully understood the reason everyone admired knights. And you desired to be one. 

You barely managed to rip your gaze from their dangerous dance only to see the object you were seeking only minutes ago. Without a second thought, you grabbed the wooden sword to return to the fighting boys. Only to see them running towards the training grounds, their gaze focused on something behind you. 

And what were you supposed to do but follow them? So you ran with them towards a group of people converging around a massive person. 

“Allmight!”, Izuchan gasped and started talking about the best knight in this whole kingdom and you couldn’t do anything but listen with rapt attention and interest. 

Kacchan tried to get to the overrun knight, but before he had the possibility of reaching him, Allmight found the right timing to detach himself from the crowd and thus was missed when the boy finally broke through. 

The blond started raging, concealing his disappointment in a fit of anger and screams. The other boy tried to calm him down, yelling ‘Kacchan’ to get his attention.

Undeterred by his outburst you gripped the wooden sword tighter in your hand and declared something to him, maybe you hoped to calm him down or to distract him from his missing hero. 

“I am going to be a knight! One better than you!”, you declared war on these two young boys, who were supposed to be your friends, but your ambitions seemed to destroy any semblance of kinship. 

“Hah? A girl can’t be a knight, are you stupid?”, Kacchan immediately replied, his anger only simmering, but directed at you nonetheless. 

“You’re stupid!”

While you could have replied with a better comeback, annoyance made your brain empty, only the desire to show him filling you to the brim. 

Without waiting for the next words of this brash boy, you turned and ran towards the toy dummy, which has been abandoned offside the actual training grounds. You didn’t care if your dress stained, the seams filling with mud, as you hit the dummy repeatedly, acting as if you were already a seasoned knight. 

The two boys joined you soon after. And while the blond and you could not do anything but push each other into anger, you still played with your wooden swords, even if any of you would have dared to say that it has been a fight for life and death. 

And if your maid clicked her tongue and reprimanded you for ruining your dress, you only responded with your dreams and hopes of becoming a knight. Out of necessity, your maid had, soon after that conversation full of sighs and aspirations, sewn you some proper clothing resembling the ones of a knight. 

With your pants and shirt, you continued to fight your friends at every possibility, even if it meant getting stained in blue blood underneath your skin and ripped hair between your fingernails. 

***

The seasons have passed and you still lived at the palace with your mother. You spent your daily life studying everything this place had to offer and everything your duty obliged you. But the moment you managed to free yourself some time, the people found you in a pair of pants, swinging that old wooden sword with your friends. 

Finally, you had finished your reading for the day, getting some free time for your extracurricular activities. But before the teacher could properly dismiss you, your maid knocked and entered the room, a grave expression marring her face. 

“Miss, I’m afraid, your mother is at death's door…”, she started speaking, but you jumped from your chair, grabbing the fabric of your dress to allow you to run as fast as you managed. 

Your mother, your dear, loving mother, laid there, unmoving in her too-big bed. Her pale frame almost sunk into the soft fabric of the bedding and you were afraid. You were so afraid to step too close and to hurt her. 

Still, you carefully sat at the end of the bed, taking her hand in yours, as soft as your rough hands cared to achieve. You only had eyes for her, everyone around you nothing but a blur. Nonetheless, you caught some pieces of information from the people hurrying around you in a senseless frenzy. The white plague. Your mother has been suffering under the act of consumption for longer than any of the people around her anticipated. Her paleness mistaken for lack of sun and worry. Her feverishly red cheeks and lips simply for a mistake in the chosen shade. 

You wondered how long she had been plagued by this illness. How long had she been suffering without anyone taking notice? Had she already known prior to this? 

Suddenly her lack of presence in your life in the last couple of months started to make sense. She knew you would have noticed her lack of energy immediately. How could you not? Your mother used to be the sun in any dark room. Her presence soothing and warm, even if bright. This woman in front of you was nothing but a pale, sick shadow of her old self. And it hurt you.

It hurt to see the most important person in your life suffer and on the brink of death. Oh, how you would do anything to soothe her aches and take her pains away. 

Something cold dripped onto your hands, but you were not able to find the source of those tiny drops. Not until you took a shuddering gasp and a sob broke free, your lungs yearning to scream and cry. 

Even if you grew weary and bored of your life, you cared for this woman, it drove you crazy. How were you supposed to move on after this? 

People grabbed your sobbing shoulders, but you refused to let go of her frail hand. Someone was whispering empty words into you and you didn’t react with anything but a heartbreaking wail, lowering your head against her hand, pressing her cold skin against your cheeks. 

Despite your vehement protest, someone managed to loosen your grip around your dead mother, leading you into your room. After getting pushed onto your own bed, everything became a blur. 

You barely noticed getting moved around or getting into a carriage. The only thing you numbly remember was the regret of not telling your friends about your hasty departure. Even if you yourself had not known about it until you arrived back at the mansion you used to live at. You supposed this was your actual home, even if the palace felt more like it. 

After your arrival at the mansion, you refused to eat and did not leave your room under any circumstance. At some point, your father's worry grew and he started trying to lure you with different things. Most of them got no reaction from you at all. 

“Hello dear. How have you been?”, he asked with a soft voice, taking a seat at the end of the bed. You gave him a tired smile as an answer, your voice itching and scratching. 

“Good, good.”, he nodded, taking your hand in his. “I know I have said it multiple times already, but you need to get out a bit… I know, I know. But she would not want you to suffer in such a dark room.” He tried to persuade you, already knowing your answer, even just with your nonverbal facial expressions. 

“How about this: You still want to be a knight, don’t you? Well, then we shall get you some proper sword master to teach you. Can’t have you swing a wooden sword without instructions forever.”, and his suggestion made you perk up. 

You still wanted to master swordsmanship, but your father had never supported that particular endeavor of yours. Until to this day, it appeared. Even if the circumstances should have been better, your mother should have been there to celebrate that milestone with you. Still, you knew she would have wanted you to run towards your dreams, even if she wasn’t there. You decided to dedicate this work of life to her before you agreed to your father's suggestion with a slight nod and a hesitant smile. 

And your agreement seemed to spark some happiness in the eyes of your old man, as his smile gained that special depth. Without further words, because you simply didn’t need to, he pecked your forehead, before standing up. And if he pulled the curtains open and let you bask in the warmth of the estranged sun before he left your room, then so be it. Because this time, the sun didn’t symbolize another day without her, but a new opportunity dedicated to her, in remembrance of her. Starting with that day, you promised yourself to think of her every time you held a sword. Your dear beloved memories with her would lend you whatever strength you would have needed in any possible situation. 

Your gaze wanders out of your window, into the beautiful garden. And you were mesmerized by the whipping flowers, almost like it was your first time seeing them. With this breathtaking, familiar view you held your promise close to your heart and planned on never letting go.

[goldenempyrean]

can you do some 'angst' one like, Lizzie's her assistant and Lizzie's being a bitch to her but her assistant is so nice that she even blame her self for that but one time her assistant had a sick/accident so lizzie will take care of her.

Yes Ma'am

〚 Notes - I wrote this when I was meant to be sleeping so we’re gonna excuse how awfully written this is, my sleep deprived brain isn’t good at wording things ;) 〛

〚 Pairing - Lizzie Olsen x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Dealing with your boss was exhausting, but after you get sick and push yourself to the point if exhaustion it seems Lizzie is finally ready to change. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1530 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

Working for one of the biggest news publishers in the country was your biggest achievement. Reaching your position at such a young age was almost unheard of in this field. Everything was perfect…

Well, almost perfect. Your boss was a nightmare. To anybody else, Elizabeth Olsen was a strong, independent, and nurturing boss. Even just working in her department was considered a privilege. But not for you.

Every effort to impress her was met with cold, harsh resistance. She scanned through every page of your work with a fine-toothed comb, critiquing every last detail. Hell, she even criticized the font you used.

Despite her criticisms, your work had been recognized numerous times by other departments. Honestly, you'd lost track of how many transfer requests you'd received from other departments asking you to transfer.

Yet every time you'd gone to Lizzie and asked, no, begged her to sign off on your transfer, she'd decline. She never explained why either, just flat out refused. Eventually, you gave up even asking.

You tried your best to ignore her constant criticism and focused on improving your skills. You spent hours perfecting your writing, researching new topics, and attending seminars to learn from industry experts.

However, it seemed that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't meet Lizzie's high standards. You began to feel frustrated and demotivated, wondering if all your efforts were in vain. But still, you pressed on, pushing harder and harder every day. Honestly, even getting four hours of sleep a night was a rarity.

It wasn't a surprise when you got sick. You'd felt it coming too, that residual stuffiness that never seemed to go away, the small tickle at the back of your throat. But still, when you woke up feeling completely awful, you couldn't help but muffle an exhausted, raspy groan into your pillow.

You dragged yourself out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face and staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot, and your face was pale. You knew you needed to take a sick day, but the thought of calling in and facing Lizzie's wrath made your stomach churn.

After a few minutes of deliberation, you finally mustered up the courage to call in sick. Lizzie picked up the phone, and you could feel her cold gaze piercing through the receiver.

"What's the matter?" she asked, her tone sharp and impatient.

"I'm not feeling well," you replied weakly, your voice barely audible.

There was a moment of silence before Lizzie finally spoke again, “Tough, we're majorly down on our readership. We need everyone working at full speed. I expect you to be on time. Do I make myself clear?”

You couldn't believe how heartless she was being. You knew you couldn't go into work feeling the way you did, but you also couldn't afford to lose your job, “Yes ma'am.”

After a few minutes of contemplation, you decided to push through and make your way into work. You arrived at the office feeling like a zombie, barely able to keep your eyes open. As you sat at your desk, you struggled to focus on your work, feeling fevered and dizzy.

By noon, the pile of tissues in your trashcan was threatening to overflow, and the sound of your ceaseless sniffling was the background track of the office, much to the displeasure of the colleagues around you.

“Hh’tshoo!” Your head bobbed down as you sneezed into a crumpled tissue, sniffling thickly before trailing off into a series of crackling coughs.

“Bless you…” A distinct voice said from behind you. Lizzie cleared her throat as you turned around in your chair, expecting to be met with her cold eyes and a tongue-lashing over the lack of work you’d done. 

But instead, you were surprised to see a concerned look on her face. "You really are sick…” She sighed, she almost sounded surprised. 

You sniffled, reaching over to snatch a tissue only to be met with an empty back, “Why did you think I was lying?” You tried to sound annoyed, but it came out as more of a fatigued mumble. 

Lizzie hesitated for a moment before answering, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off that way. I just… I've never seen you take a sick day before." 

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. After all the times you had begged for a transfer, after all the times she had criticized your work, Lizzie was finally showing a hint of empathy. 

“How about we talk in my office?” She asked quietly, overly aware of the over listening ears of the office gossips. 

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You had always thought of Lizzie as a harsh and unyielding boss, but now it seemed like there was a different side to her. Perhaps she was just trying to push you to be the best you could be. 

Feeling curious and a little nervous, you followed Lizzie into her office. As soon as the door closed behind you, you noticed a distinct change in her demeanour. She was no longer the cold and critical boss you had grown accustomed to. 

"Sit down," she said, gesturing towards a chair in front of her desk. 

You sat down, feeling a little apprehensive about what was to come. Lizzie took a seat opposite you and leaned forward, looking at you with a serious expression. 

"Listen, I know I haven't been the easiest boss to work for," she said. "I can be tough and critical, but it's only because I want you to succeed. I've seen a lot of potential in you from the beginning, and I believe that you can go far in this industry." 

You nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope in your chest. 

"But you need to understand that this is a tough business," Lizzie continued. "Readership is down, budgets are tight, and we're all under a lot of pressure to perform. I need my team to be at the top of their game at all times, and that means pushing you to be your best." 

"I understand," you said, feeling a sense of clarity wash over you. "But why won't you let me transfer to another department?" 

Lizzie leaned back in her chair and sighed. "The truth is, I don't want to lose you. You're one of my best writers, and I need you here. But that doesn't mean I can't help you grow. We can work together to develop your skills and help you become the best writer you can be." 

You felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over you. The weight that had been hung over your chest finally felt like it had been lifted. 

“I realise now that I may have gone too far. I haven't been giving you the support you need to reach your full potential," Lizzie continued, her voice softening as you coughed again, “You really don’t sound well though, I’m sorry I made you come in. Do you feel like you have a fever?” 

You nodded weakly, feeling grateful for the concern Lizzie was showing. She immediately got up from her seat and walked over to you, placing a hand on your forehead. 

"You're burning up," she said, her voice full of worry, “You shouldn’t drive home like this, do you have anyone to pick you up? Girlfriend, boyfriend maybe?” 

You shook your head, feeling grateful for Lizzie's concern. "No, I don't have anyone to pick me up." 

Lizzie paused for a moment, considering her options. "Alright then, I'll take you home myself. I have a meeting that I can’t reschedule for the next few hours but I’m more than happy to let you rest on my couch for the meantime.” She nodded towards the black couch set against the wall. 

You were taken aback by Lizzie's sudden kindness. You had never expected her to offer to take care of you in this way. You nodded gratefully, feeling a little overwhelmed by the situation. 

"Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Lizzie smiled warmly, her eyes softening. "Of course. It's the least I can do." 

With that, she helped you to your feet and led you over to the couch. You sank down onto the soft cushions, feeling the weight of the day's stress and illness start to lift off your shoulders. 

Lizzie disappeared for a moment, returning with a blanket and a glass of water. She draped the blanket over you and handed you the glass. 

"Rest up," she said, her voice full of concern. "I'll be back in a few hours to check on you." 

You nodded weakly, feeling a deep sense of gratitude towards your boss but there was something else As you closed your eyes and tried to drift off to sleep, you couldn't help but feel your heart flutter at the sudden care Lizzie was showing towards you.  

There was something about her tone of voice, or maybe it was that deep caring look behind her eyes. Whatever it was, just the thought was enough to make you feel a little warmer inside. 

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[nightsdreamgates]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is one of my special posts apresenting bit by bit my AU ... To begin with I want to introduce you guys to some of my OCs, who are created by the concept of "first level Nightopians".

There will be a quick introduction about each of them, with other special posts introducing other elements of the AU, such as the Nightopia, Nightmare, Ideyas, Awakers, Levels, etc... So stay tuned for the others!

° . • *

The Guardians:

Origins — Quick introduction

From the other side of the Dreamgates, there's Nightopia's lands, filled with habitats, nature and all that is positive and true from the essence of a `good dream`. Nightopia is filled by diverse of fun, charismatic and sympathetic creatures, which each has their own quirkness. Those mostly called as "Nightopians", residents of Nightopia, citizens that has a history of deep connection with the Ideyas, being their main font (along with the visitor) of life and creation. Nightopians are what is called the "third level" thingies, that are small, social and pretty much the most common one; along with a superpian, who's the "second level" in that situation.

But who are the Guardians? Simple ... The Guardians are the "first level" of a nightopian, the protectors, embodiment of the Fragments of Conscience (known also as the Fragments of Ideyas as well). These Fragments, belongs to Sandmother, the Awaker of Nightopia, bringer of harmony and dreams. These Guardians each of them, were emerged once the Fragments turned part of the lands, with a beautiful story tale, told by common pians' among the young:

" During the periods, where the visitors were attacked by intense nightmares, by the worst centuries and historic moments of their life, their own Ideyas, Land and Self, is what brought Guardians to existence - no creation made by Sandmother's hands, besides her willing to let her Fragments being used only by justice, never by corruption. "

° . • *

Introductions - °.

The 5 Guardians of Dreams:

🔴 Cora the Guardian of Courage:

Embodied by flames, surrounded by power, determination and bravery. The most fearless Guardian, with piercing eyes that leads scared visitors into victory. Cora is a quiet, stern, firm but yet generous and caring, even if his fire seems to burn intensely, it would never harm any innocent. He's the first Guardian to awaken, considered to be one of the most important among his kind — with a sense of leadership. His body also is covered by magma and rocks, wearing nothing much but a armor and metallic fiber that acts like tecid or leather.

🟢 Sage the Guardian of Growth:

Whistling sounds that soothes your soul, keeps your mind and heart connected as wisdom fills into you; the trees are full of history that, if they had mouths, we would had learn so much about our ancestor's pasts. Sage is a philosopher, poet, kindred soul with a hint of sly and tricky nature, just like the woods. He has a monk style looks, specially in demeanor in battles, always teaching visitors to never let the negativity overtake the best of them, that all comes with time and learning. Mistakes to Sage, is nothing but rocks in roads that helps us to grow on how to pass on them and not repeat them. He's the second guardian to awake, to guide visitors to overtake their negativity and grown in soul, person and emotionally.

🔵 Aqua the Guardian of Intelligence:

The seas are filled with wonders, just like the human kind. So many types of fishes, corals, algaes and chemicals in the sea that makes us wonder what's in the deep of the deeper part of a iceberg. Aqua is a smart, analytic and motherly at same time. Intelligence never was about being good in math, on contrary, each human being has their very own type of intelligence, and if we chase after it, we'll overtake the ignorance, insecurities about our capacities and insecurities. Aqua is the third guardian to awake, teaching visitors and testing their knowledge in emotional, critical to dimensional thinking.

⚪ Polar the Guardian of Innocence:

The cold comforting breeze brushes our faces as that smell of childhood comes back to bring us bittersweet memories, reminding us of our innocence that still lives inside of us, like the sense of the snowflakes falling in a christmas night. Polar is a heartwarming, mindful, kind and pure guardian, representing that all ages, all kinds, can be a good person even if they had lose it. Purity never was about being innocent as a child, is about being clean out of corruption from the world, clean from all the loss of kindness and entering to a healing process of regaining that part you never could have when you were younger. She is the fourth guardian go awake, looking for visitors out and giving them the opportunity of a new start in life with no hurting others because of your own hatred.

🟡 Saiph the Guardian of Hope:

Between shadows, at the end of the path, there's always a flickering light that guides us out of desperation and dismotivation. Saiph is a guardian with a heart of gold, forward, opportunistic yet gentle and merciful, the last one to awake, the most necessary among the others. Without hope, it would be hard to believe things will get an end, so don't let the darkness eat out your vision and never stop believing in a better future. Nothing shines brighter than the eyes of a young teen that has hope of better days.

° . • *

So far that will be all I will write about them, is 3am and I am almost fainting here, but besides that, that's just the beginning of the progress, there will be more posts like this one, along with drawings as references for this universe. ASKS are allowed if you wanna know more about my AU or abt my guardians, feel welcomed!

[ikroah]

Wherever I have gone, wherever I've been and gone, wherever I have gone, the blues are all the same —“Blues Run the Game,” Jackson C. Frank (1965)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #23 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding II

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

Let’s talk about two things.

The first thing is burnout. It’s hilarious in retrospect that the notes on the previous issue open with an apology that it’s been three months since the preceding issue, which given that this current hiatus lasted six months, lmao. As I’ve mentioned before and elsewhere, shortly after completing the previous issue of IKROAH, the toll of working on it and other projects so industrially for two years finally caught up with me, and by May I basically had a kind of flip turn where suddenly, I could not stand my own art. More than that, I was repulsed by the very act of drawing, of making. Too many self-imposed deadlines, too many long nights churning comics out in as few sessions of work as possible, too many other things that I wasn’t giving myself enough time for. Something had to give, and when it did, I could barely hold a pencil for months without just getting really angry. I wish that I could say that there was something specific that I did to overcome this feeling, but there wasn’t: I can only attribute wanting to draw again to spending a long time not drawing at all, a time in which I tried to basically forget through disuse all of the bad habits that I’d ingrained about making myself make art. Art is an important hobby and creative outlet to me, but sometimes, you really just need to step away from something for a relatively long time so that you can come back to it with a much healthier mindset. And that’s what I’ve done. Thank you all for being so patient with me during IKROAH’s first real hiatus. There have been “hiatuses” in the past but, for example, one thing that I definitely had to strip out of myself was the anxiety and the guilt that I would feel when IKROAH would go on “hiatus” because more than three weeks or so passed between issues. I had myself on an absolutely insane production schedule for no reason except believing that getting every issue out as fast as possible was paramount. When I first began this comic with issue #1, I thought I could do one issue every two weeks. This was colossally stupid and going in as naive as I did with this mindset was like ingesting a slow-acting poison. IKROAH issues come out whenever they come out and that’s that from now on, and I feel silly because no reader of the comic has ever acted entitled to anything but that anyway.

The second thing I want to talk about is my art itself. My burnout had a point, especially with IKROAH, which is that there are some things about my art that is very frustrating. Did you know that the reason that IKROAH pages are the size that they are (1080 x 1678 px) is because I draw them two-per-sheet-of-paper at 13cm x 21cm each, and 1080 pixels is twice the width of the (possibly outdated) maximum display width of an inline image on the dashboard, and a height of 1678 pixels matches the aspect ratio of the best way that I could digitize my images at the time, which was by taking a picture of my art the best that I could with my phone in good lighting? This was the standard that I set for myself in summer of 2020 and for some reason I decided that it was etched in stone. I made some small improvements over time, such as finally buying a scanner sometime around IKROAH #12, and then changing IKROAH’s dialogue font and switching to digital paneling in #22, but this is going to be the final issue that abides by that old, absurdly small page size. I have finally reached my breaking point in this issue with how it completely prevents me from drawing fine or distant detail, so this is the final issue that is going to be at this size. Were it not for the fact that pre-burnout I hadn’t already drawn the first two pages of this issue and had formatted the paneling and lettering already for this specific size, I probably would have gone bigger already!

IKROAH has been, for the most part, an artistic playground where I’ve honed my skills and experimented with the comic book form gleefully. Compare the art from the first few issues with the more recent ones to see that development in action. But for all of this development and experimentation, why have I felt like page size is unassailable? I can’t tell you for sure what the “new” page size is going to be, because while I have a larger size in mind, it’s another experiment, not a promise of consistency. I used to think that it was easier and faster to work small because smaller art meant less art, but I’m finally sure that it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Now, I’m extremely excited for what a much larger canvas will mean for the look of the comic, and for the rest of Volume 2, I’m sure that you’ll be able to see me experimenting artistically in some way with every issue.

Original Pencils

Unfortunately, due to the way in which this issue was inked, I don’t have the complete original pencils to share with you! I would draw and ink panels one-by-one instead of penciling the whole page first. This is because I my burnout was actually triggered, essentially, by fucking up the inks on the first page after penciling it and feeling sure that I would have to redraw it, and that making me so mad that I couldn’t bear to reapproach my art at all. I didn’t want to make that mistake again, so I went through the rest of the pages with a lot more caution. Still, I can show you some scans.

One major thing that made working on all but the first two pages was finally investing in real non-copy blue pencils instead of blue colored pencils. Real non-copy blue pencils lack the waxiness of colored pencils, making them draw much lighter, erase much cleaner, and generally behave much more like regular pencils that just happen to be blue. It’s been a godsend for my ability to ink more expressively, and I’m experimenting with inking and coloring styles are going to be my favorite part of the rest of Volume 2, because I think that that is something that I want to overhaul the most.

Also, one funny thing: if there was a significant reason why I made Benny’s suite number 1007, I have forgotten it. Just like how I must have forgotten in the writing and penciling of this issue that Benny’s suite is canonically on the thirteenth floor. Oops! Well, not in this canon it’s not.

I do have one complete pencil sketch to show you: IKROAH’s first ever two-page spread! Bang!

Transcript

EXT. THE TOPS CASINO, NEW VEGAS. The Tops’ signature sign shines brightly outside the entrance, brightly even for Vegas.

INT. THE TOPS CASINO, NEW VEGAS. Casino guests hustle and bustle around the main floor, checking in, heading to and from the cashier on the second floor, and mingling. Leaning against a rail overlooking the slightly sunken gaming area is AGNES SANDS. She stares intently and furiously toward the back of the room, where an older man is laughing with a younger man. The younger man is drinking a martini, wears a black-and-white checked suit jacket, and is oblivious to her presence.

AGNES thinks to herself as she watches him.

Hello, Benny.

Her eye narrows.

You’d think that getting shot in the head would be the worst thing to ever happen to somebody, but at this point in my life, I’m genuinely not sure.

On the casino floor, a RED-HAIRED WOMAN seems to accidentally bump into BENNY from behind, knocking his drink out of his hand. It shatters on the ground, and he turns angrily to face her.

When I was six years old, my father died from a bad fall. He was a caravaneer, so they never shipped his body home.

ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stands in front of Benny, clutching a nearly empty glass of whiskey. She raises her hand up to her faced, shocked and embarrassed. BENNY is just as surprised, and even more so when CASS takes his face in one hand and suggests that he come with her to refill her glass.

My mom was our town’s doctor, so after that, she decided to apprentice me as her nurse. I was still just a kid.

She was right to do it. It takes a long time to learn medicine, and it’s a useful skill. She knew it’d do me good.

CASS hurriedly leads BENNY by the hand toward the casino bar. As the pair brush past AGNES, she pickpockets BENNY’s key, and holds it up to glean the room number from its tag: 1007. Satisfied, she drops the key on the ground, and heads for the elevators. Just behind her, CASS points out that BENNY seems to have dropped his keys, and he reacts with relief.

But she was hard, as a teacher. Maybe even more so as a mother. Maybe she had to be.

AGNES’ elevator slowly ascends. First floor to the tenth.

Maybe I wouldn’t have started messing around with locks if I didn’t get it in my head to act so damn rebellious later on. I broke in somewhere I shouldn’t have. Found something I shouldn’t have. I was thirteen.

I had to put my own face back together right there on the concrete floor. Held it in place with duct tape, and two-hundred year old bandages. Pre-war.*

*As depicted in IKROAH #7 and the IKROAH Vol. 1 Special Delivery companion story, “Scar Tissue.”

Ding! The elevator arrives and the door opens.

I still can’t even shave without getting a cold sweat.

Back on the casino floor, CASS and BENNY have it it off. They’re smiling and laughing at the bar, several drinks deep.

Meanwhile, AGNES stalks toward Room 1007.

My mom was happy I was alive, but didn’t care whether I was okay, if that makes sense. She was always like that.

It’s why we fought when she found out about...me, when the changes from the hormones I’d been sneaking got...unignorable.

The lock is easy to pick for practiced hands. It opens with a CLICK. The door swings open and AGNES stands in the doorway, assessing the area.

I wonder what your mother would think of this. What she must have been like. Whether she’s even alive now. I wonder if she loved you, her baby boy, a killer in cold blood.

Eventually, we fought. Physically, I mean. It was a long time coming. I hit her hard, once, and that was it. It was over.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget what that felt like. Maybe I’m not one to talk.

Time passes.

BENNY returns to his suite and puts his keys in the lock.

I ran away to the NCR after that. I was an adult now, and had to start over. And I needed skills that my mom couldn’t have taught me. I thought I’d be a combat medic, out in the field. But no. No, no. Of course not.

BENNY opens his door, looking exhausted and covered in kiss marks. Looks like somebody really wore him out. He shuffles over to his bedroom.

They shipped me to some do-nothing recon station way up north in California, near Gecko. And from the minute I set foot there, my C.O. fucking hated me.

He abused me, berated me, blamed me, because I took his old friend’s position or something. Stupid petty bullshit like that.

I think that he was sabotaging my medical supplies. Messing with my work, trying to get me discharged.

There’s no other way he could have found my estrogen from home.

BENNY undresses in his bedroom, and then flops onto his bed.

Just another thing for him to scream at me about. Or it would have been.

AGNES enters the bedroom.

Never got any military police after me when I attacked him with a scalpel that night and ran.

Maybe he couldn’t cover up his own bullshit well enough, so he just kept his mouth shut. Doesn’t matter. Lucky me.

AGNES rifles through BENNY’s jacket, which he hung on a coatrack near the door.

I ran to New Reno. I’d deserted. The only job I could get was at a charity clinic run by one of the crime families there, and it was dismal. I couldn’t afford to live.

So I started picking locks again. Pockets, too. Got real good at it, too. You’d know.

AGNES’ eyes fixate on something. She’s pulled it out of his coat.

I was stealing to survive. Same dance, different song. Nevermind my hormones, I needed food and shelter. I’d never felt lower.

The Platium Chip.

I was casing one of the casinos there when I saw a man get glassed. I was still a doctor. Still had that oath. So I went to work, and saved the man’s life right there. His name was Yancy Bishop and he made my life a living hell for six long years.*

*IKROAH #12.

Until I killed him.

Something else catches AGNES’ attention in BENNY’s bedroom. Something on his nightstand. A gun.

He came to me helpless in surgery and I ripped him apart from the inside out, thrilled, exhilarated, terrified of myself.

AGNES approaches the nightstand. She picks up the gun.

And after that...I ran away again. Ran until I got to the Mojave. Ran until I fumbled into being a courier. Making deliveries, always running, but not a doctor anymore, not stealing to survive, just some stability in my life for once. For once. And then:

It’s the same gun that BENNY shot her with.

She turns to face BENNY.

You.

AGNES removes the 9mm bullet that she has been wearing around her neck since she left Goodsprings; a bullet made partly from the lead that was fished out of her own skull.

You are not special.

She loads the gun. As quietly as she can.

I’ve been dealing with people like you my entire life. My mother. My C.O. The Bishops...

...your Khans, McLafferty, the Van Graffs...have I killed more people in the last week than you have in your whole...

AGNES approaches BENNY’s bed. She gets one shot.

...was I the only one, Benny? And you couldn’t even do it right. I clawed out. An ugly life, too ugly to kill, even with a gun to my head. Your gun. This gun.

She raises the gun. She aims with both hands. Bodies are easier to hit than bottles.

Rigged from the start—is that what you’d said? You piece of shit. You look like you have everything, have been given everything. So you just had to rub it in, that night. Didn’t you.

AGNES scowls. Her brow furrows with rage.

Always been too big of a target. Too tall, too wide, too mannish. Never been beautiful. Never even got to be handsome, like you. Then you shoot my eye out, butcher me even more—and all for what? A mail-order tchotchke!?

The gun gleams in the sparse light.

I’m going to fucking kill you.

AGNES’ expression shifts.

I’ve killed so many people to get to you.

Her hands start to shake. The gun is heavy in them.

And...and now I’m going to kill you.

Sweat is beading on her face.

Because of what you did to me. Because I can’t sleep at night. Because of you. I don’t sleep, most nights, because of you.

AGNES grimaces as her whole body trembles.

So I’ll kill you, with the fucking gun you killed me with, then I won’t be so...

The gun. The gun. The gun--

I’ll...I’m—

Her eye is wide with terror.

Oh God.

AGNES stands alone in the dark in the bedroom of the man that she has planned to kill. The gun is in her hands. Tears stream down her face, frozen in grief. The gun is in her hands.

BENNY is awake. He has been awake. He is sitting up in his bed. He is staring at her staring at him.

The gun is in her hands.

AGNES fires the gun.

SFX: BANG

[dark-twist-fairytales]

Mm... Mm. How about some fresh uh.. *skims notes* who has been the least traumatized by me so far? Kai's off the list.. Cole's a close second. Zane? Nah, won't work- Jay angst! You guys ready?!

Warning: Bullying (technically). Destruction (minor)

~~~

"Birds of a feather-!"

"-Always stick together!"

Giggling left the children as they fist bumped together, making fake explosions from their mouths as they pulled their hands apart and spread their fingers. "So, I wanna have the party at my house, but I want to make sure you'll be there. Only you, though."

Jay tilted his head at that, the curly-haired boy looking over to his friend. "Why only me? I thought you invited Cindy and Brent and-"

"No, I mean like.." The boy dropped his voice to a whisper as he leaned close to Jay's ear. "My parents font trust your parents because you live in a junk yard." He pulled away, with Jay frowning visibly with a small 'oh'. "But, it's okay! You can still come!"

"I-I don't know.. I kinda.. I mean.." Jay's stammering stopped as his name was called for the car line. "I'll ask my parents, okay?"

"Okay! Bye Jay-Jay!" Jay then rushed quickly to the iconic decrepit car him and his parents lovingly called the 'Jalopy'. Without opening the door, he jumped as high as he could into the back seat, landing face first into the cushioning as he just barely made it over, hitting his shins on the top of it and toppling in. Everyday. Never got old, despite the bruising on his shins. He stumbled his way to sit up, buckling up after he was safely up and secured, before Ed began driving away.

"So, how was school today, hon?" Edna asked, a smile on her face as she glanced in the rear view mirror to see Jay. "It was okay. I got invited to a birthday party!"

"Oh, you did? Let me see the invite." Edna said, looking at the invite once it was in her hands. "This is wonderful, a sleep over too. Do you want to go?"

"Uh-huh! But, uhm.. Chris said that you and dad weren't allowed for the birthday part.." Jay spoke, looking down at the large bench he sat out and messing with the small strings that came out of the fabric. "It's okay, dear. We have to be near town that day anyways. We can stay around until dawn in case you need us. How does that sound?"

That got the spark back in Jay, as he rapidly nodded in excitement. Swiftly rambling on about the current project he was working on.

~~~

Three days later, it was Saturday, time for the party. Jay had a nicely wrapped box in his lap, thanks to his mom, along with a duffle bag of overnight clothes. Once again, Jay was anxiously messing with the fabric of the seat again, this time out of nervousness for the gift and party. Despite how many times he got assured, his head was still swimming with worries.

The drive was only an hour, before they pulled up. Jay looked around briefly, before standing up and shifting over to the end of the car with his duffle on his back and present in hand. Edna got out of the passenger side, lifting Jay from the back seat and settling the boy on the ground.

Even if the attire he wore was his best, he still had stains on his jeans, hair nice yet still a bit frazzled and static-y, and his long sleeve had a good amount of stains on the sleeves. It was his favorite, blue jacket, which wasn't surprising.

Walking up to the door with Edna, the mother gave a knock to the door, offering a smile down to the nervous Jay before the door opened up, her head turning back when it did. Her smile didn't fade in the slightest. "Oh, hello there! I came to drop off little Jay for Chris' birthday party?"

"Yes, this si the right place. Don't worry, he'll be in safe hands." Chris' mom said, as she motioned Jay inside. "I'll call you if anything happens, okay?"

"Thank you so much, dear. Have fun, Jay." Edna spoke, crouching down as Jay set down his bags for a hug. "I love you."

"I love you too, mom!" They pulled away, Jay excitedly waving to his dad in the Jalopy, before he grabbed his bag and present again and moved inside, the door closing as he saw his parents off.

"Alright, is that present for Chris?" Chris' mom spoke, with the small Jay excitedly nodding and handing it over. "Perfect- Chris! Jay's here!"

~~~

Hours passed, and Jay was having a blast! Of course, minor teasing from Brent, but that wasn't an issue. He was having fun! He was surrounded by friends! And Chris was wanting to open his presents. He saved Jay's specifically for last, the boy practically bouncing in his seat as Chris opened the card up. Just a small 'you're my best friend and you're amazing' card, but Jay's smile feel anxious as Chris tore open the wrapping paper and stared at the object in confusion.

"It's.. It's a flying drone..! I built it up from something my dad made!" Jay explained, but seeing Brent's face out if the corner of his eye made him even more confusion.

"A drone..? What's a drone?"

"Whatever it is, it's stupid." Brent said, earning a soft scoff of his name by his own mother, which he ignored. "I mean, seriously! We waited alllll that time for that?? A clump of metal?"

"It's not a clump of metal- It's a flying drone!" Jay argued, Brent standing up and promptly grabbing the drone from Chris' still confused hands.

"It's useless!" Brent then threw it onto the ground, causing Jay's entire body to pause, a gasp leaving him. "You can buy something and it'll be waaay cooler than that!" The boy continued, but Jay's blue eyes had already begun filling with tears as he stared down to the broken drone he lovingly created.

Now broken.

Sobs left the smaller as Brent got escorted from the room to get an earful from his mom. He climbed off of his chair and collected the pieces through teary eyes, getting help from Chris and Cindy and placing the pieces back in the box.

Jay then sat on the floor, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and desperately craving the softness of his stuffed animal Mr. Cuddlywomp. Distantly, he heard the mention of his name and 'Mr. Walker', silently hoping that his dad would come pick him up. He didn't want to stay here anymore, he wanted to go home. He wanted to.. Tears feel more and harder as he wiped them away as quickly as he could.

No use.

About ten minutes later, of just sitting there over the remains of the broken toys, he heard the familiar clunk of boots. The hand on his shoulder cause Jay to turn around quickly, clinging onto his father as he sobbed about the drone he had created, wordlessly obviously. Still, the rumble of Ed's voice was assuring to Jay, causing the younger to simply rest in Ed's arms while quiet sniffles left him.

A conversation that Jay didn't recall or remember happened, Jay being carried out to the car with the gift and his duffle bag. Once settled in the backseat, Ed in the drivers seat and both the present and duffle in the truck, Ed gave over Mr. Cuddlywomp for the smaller boy to nuzzle in and calm down with.

Some memories were bettert and others. This was the last time Jay went to a public school in the sea of sand.

[cobiehaven]

Book Tasting — Kim Younghoon

SYNOPSIS; younghoon has visited you every day since your first day on the job, getting to know you by the small drawings you make for him on his order ticket while you get to know him by his book recommendations and favorite quotes.

PAIRING; librarian!younghoon x barista!reader

GENRE; fluff, fluff, fluff, and more fluff

WORD COUNT; 2.5k

TAGS/WARNINGS; coffee shop setting, strangers to lovers, collage student!reader, “the notebook” by nicholas sparks mentions, “the notebook” quotes, also a quote from the book “tired of me” by kryistine kelly but the quote is used to portray y/n’s favorite authors book quote, that author has not portrayed as the same author but a fake one for the sake of the story, both reader and younghoon are completely head over heels for each other, kind of love at first sight, small second hand embarrassment moments.

AUTHORS NOTE; MOM. I LOVE HIM. 🥹.

“i’ll be with you in one second!” you announced to the new customer that had made his way up to the front counter, you working around anything but the register to get the abundance of orders flying in like left and right. it was a busy day ever since the book sale of one of your favorite authors new releases. apparently everyone else loved her too if there were so many here to gather around and purchase it.

she was a famous author known for writing thriller and young romance stories, the best in your opinion.

sure you could get off on reading fantasy and novels and intimate stories but this, her stories, her genre, was just the kind of taste you were looking for when it came to hard-back and paper. you were glad so many others seemed to think the same. although, you were afraid that by the end of the day, you wouldn’t get to the sale in time to purchase with the same discount as everyone else. you didn’t get paid as much as you wanted to since you were still fairly new to the job.

it was your only loss when it came to working as a barista full time in this bookstore.

“yes?” you turned, sliding the freshly made coffee out on the counter and announcing the name that was scribbled on to the ticket, drawing a small flower next to that persons name. “what would you like?” you finally made eye contact with the costumer you were serving, your eyes growing wide in surprise. “oh, you’re the librarian that walks around the library every day!” you pointed out only to quickly become embarrassed as you had just admitted that you had been watching him since day one. as if being a librarian didn’t require you to walk around and help readers find their chosen or requested book. “yes, i am indeed the librarian that walks around the library every day,” he giggled, seeming to not find your flustered expression, strange. “i’d like a grande cold brew, please,” he replied to your question from before, finding your fumbling fingers cute as you struggled to not blank on the entire english language. much less blank on how to do your job.

“will that be all?” you asked, plugging in the order to your ipad and grabbing the correct cup in size. “yup, my name is younghoon,” he said before you even got the chance to ask. clearly he had gotten coffee many times before to know how the whole process worked.

not that it was difficult to understand.

you quickly wrote his name in your favorite font, taking great pride and joy in that calligraphy class you took for a month or two around a year ago. you learned to be steady with your hands when it came to holding a pen or a pencil. or in this case, a sharpie.

finding no other customers waiting at the front, you were happy to see that people were finally starting to leave after the book sale had gone down. it was always a different kind relief whenever the rush hour was over.

younghoon continued to stick around and talk to you as you worked, not taking the normal customer route and just sitting down or getting on their phone while they waited for their drink. “i noticed you started a few days ago, how have you managed around so quickly?” he asked, resting his arms on the leveled counter as he watched you whirl around the back. “i haven’t,” you giggled which made him smile. “it’s really hard during the busy times of the day since it’s just me here and it’s hard to keep up with the stress of getting all of the order right. half of the time i’m forgetting how to actually make the coffee! but whenever it starts to die down in business, it tends to get a lot easier,” you explained, finishing up his order before asking him if he wanted anything extra in it like milk and such. he shook his head and you proceeded to draw a little drawing on his ticket like you did with everyone’s. “do you draw often?” he asked after observing your small bubbly scribbles after you handed him his drink. you were surprised whenever his fingers brushed your own, feeling a strange spark shoot through your body. did you usually get that feeling whenever you touched other people? you didn’t recall so. “i used to draw a lot back when i used to major in art,” you mentioned, leaning on the back counter as you spoke to him. keeping note to still keep an eye on the front counter if anyone shows up. “now i major in literature.”

younghoon hums as he finally takes a sip from his cup, melting at the taste. “oh? what made you switch?”

“i always liked writing and reading. drawing was starting to become a hobby of mine so after i lost most interest in it, i started thinking about what i actually wanted to do with my life.”

“so you started as an art major because you didn’t know what you wanted to do?”

“yep. when i found my love for how words were formed on paper, i wanted to make the switch immediately.”

he nodded at your choice, seeming to be interested in whatever you decided to choose. it was quiet for a bit as he continued to drink and you continued to stare at the ground, you supposed he had nothing else to say to that. did that mean you should say something?

“what is your favorite line, then?”

he finally broke the silence, your eyes trailing up from the group to meet his dark ones. the message he was giving you through his gaze alone was enough to have your entire world stop in place. the soft jazz music in the background coming to a slow halt and small chatter of other customers fading. your stomach fluttering with butterflies and your blood rushing to any part of your body that seemed fit. in your eyes, it seemed like he was the only one that mattered to you in this moment. the way his hair draped over his forehead and fell into his beautifully shaded brown eyes, the way his shoulders rested broadly and the way his long trench coat dipped slightly to trace his figure. even his hands wrapping around the large plastic cup he was holding was enough to have you melting. why did the man in front of you have to be so stunning?

“you wanna dance with me?” you spoke softly. you didn’t even mind the other people as you quoted directly from one of the most known books and movies around.

“no way, is that from the notebook?” he laughed as you nodded with the hugest smile on your face.

“sure, now?” as he quoted from the same book.

you dared to hold back a smile as the both of you cringed at yourselves.

“mhm.”

“you’re not supposed to dance in the street.”

“you are supposed to dance in the street.”

“yeah but we don’t have any music.”

“well, we’ll make some… bum bum bum bum bum bum..”

“you’re a terrible singer.”

“i know.”

he hesitated to say his last line as the both of you knew what came next. you stared at him with hoping eyes.

“and i like this song.”

even though you both cringed the entire quoting process, you still found this to be a very memorable moment for you. you had never met someone as entertaining as younghoon. nor someone as handsome…

“ah this is nice. i was a little bummed out today that i didn’t get to buy any of the books from the sale today but you totally brought up my mood again!” you smiled, watching as he took more sips of his coffee after it had became watered down from the conversation you two held. “oh? you wanted one?” he watched as you walked out from behind the counter, finally getting a full view of each other as you could only see the upper half of him from behind the counter. you didn’t think the height difference was going to be this embarrassing. “yeah, she’s my favorite author. i love how she can make thriller into a sweet romance story,” you clasped your hands together, needing to express just how you felt about this one person.

he stared at you in awe.

leading you over to one of the coffee shops empty tables, he sat you down. “i’ll keep that in mind. if you like stories such as hers, i recommend trying to read some from….” he kept mentioning on and on about different authors and their works along with minor details and book summaries. you always assumed most librarians liked books if they chose to work in such an environment, but his level of knowledge was insane. you didn’t think you’d get this tied up over someone talking about book covers to the texture of pages to even the types of fonts that were used in certain books. you were completely infatuated with this man.

“you sure know your stuff,” you giggled, watching as his face visibly heated up, turning a light shade of pink that sent a familiar feeling of butterflies off in your stomach. “you could say i read a lot more than the other librarians in this store,” he chuckled. “i would assume you have a lot of free time then?” you played with your fingers, hoping he would say yes as you were wishing for him to come back and see you more often. “you could say that.”

you tilted your head, wanting him to go on.

“i still have a job to work, is what i mean,” he laughed. “oh!” you slapped your hand over your face as if you should have thought of that before opening your mouth. the both of you were just on the topic of his job and you still managed to forget that he was basically your coworker. since you both worked in the same store, technically. “my bad,” you apologized. “it’s all good.”

the conversation didn’t last long after that, he ended up having to leave shortly after to finish his shift. but much to your enlightenment, he mentioned coming back and visiting you whenever he was on his breaks.

you always looked forward to those times.

you always caught yourself looking for him every second of the day.

whenever he did come, he’d always have something new to share with you along with a new quote from the books he reads. some of which were ones that you had recommended him to read. a lot of the annotations he mentioned to you were just for his own personal liking. he always marked the ones specifically of the quotes or even pages he’d like to read to you. to your surprise, he liked to read an abundance of poetry which you definitely didn’t complain about if you got to hear him speak such soft and emotional words to you. you never thought just someone speaking would be enough for you to say that it sounded like he was serenading you in a way other than playing or singing.

in short, you couldn’t get enough of him.

you sat down next to younghoon in the now empty coffee shop after a long hard day of work, it was just about closing hours as he had come to visit you for the last few minutes before you called it a night. “what have you brought me today, mr. kim?” you formally said in a way to lighten the mood, he smiled at your silliness.

it had been about two weeks since the two of you had meet and started talking. somewhere along the way you managed to get his number. which you definitely screamed about for an unreasonable amount of time whenever you came home and observed his contact.

you passed him his freshly new drink, this time being a refresher as he didn’t want to have any sorts of caffeine late at night.

you understood his reasoning whenever he explained to you that he enjoyed a good nights of sleep.

of course, before he did anything, he smiled as he observed the new drawing you scribbled onto his ticket. your shy smile creeping it’s way up across your face whenever he told you that he thought it was cute that you always did these for everybody. “do your drawings ever have any meanings?” he asked. “i always try to draw them inspired by how that person makes me feel or how they make me think of them,” you responded. “does this mean i remind you of someone handsome?” he motioned to the black marking on the cup, you panicked whenever you saw what was on it. your dumbass actually put his name as handsome with small drawings of hearts around the name. god, you actually couldn’t get any more embarrassed than how you feel right now.

“i-i can explain,” you stuttered. he just shook his head, “it’s okay, i don’t mind it.”

you didn’t have to wonder too hard about what he meant by that. the growing chemistry between each other was definitely hard to miss.

clearing your throat, you shifted in your seat to try and rid of your looming embarrassment. “so, care to read to me today?” you gestured to the book that was sitting on the table in front of you both. “of course,” he smiled, picking up the book and turning to the page he had prepared for you today.

“what was that feeling in my chest? regret? regret that i'd left last night after our kiss that i'd pulled away before he could know how much i truly wanted him.” he quoted, you listened carefully.

you could feel your emotions sink at the choice of words. what was the purpose of him telling you this quote?

“do your quotes ever have meanings?”

“i always try to inspire them off of how that person makes me feel,” he said softly, the both of you staring into each others eyes.

you could feel that same time lifting feeling as before. the same one you felt two weeks ago.

before you knew it, you melted into his touch as he cupped your cheek, his fingers brushing into your hair and pulling it behind your ear.

“i know we haven’t kissed before so there can’t be any regret but… can i show you how much i truly want you?”

“i’m starting to wonder where you get your poetic vocabulary from,” you giggled in his grasp.

“i got this one from that book you said you wished you had gotten two weeks ago, by your favorite author.” he smiled then your expressed lit up, your eyes trailing down to the hard-back cover of the book.

it was the book you had missed the sale on and were all sold out by the time you got to it. you couldn’t believe he actually bought it and read it.

“i’ll let you have it if you tell me how you truly feel, too.”

“y’know, i think a kiss sounds about right, right now.”

© cobiehaven 2023

[aiyanacatori]

The following is an expanded thought/rant on Nyo!America. I made a shorter version yesterday but wanted to expand it.

Warnings: mentions of neglect, abuse, period typical attitudes and behaviours, colonization, imperialization, civil war, Spain, WW1, Great Depression, WW2, Cold War, the '90s and early 2000s. Basically, if it was a major event I touch on it through the lens of the possibility of Nyo!America.

The fun idea about nyo!America existing in the same universe where it is basically the same but it’s Nyo!America is just how much would have changed for her. Personally her.

In general Alfred was able to do what he wanted, frolicking in the fields of the Midwest and avoid work? Yeah, he could do that. Go up and visit his brother for weeks at a time? Just leave a note. Start an international incident by punching Russia? That can be resolved. Have a sloppy public image? What are you going to do? Oppose him? Alfred can do more or less whatever he wants. Sure he struggles and I'm not invalidating those struggles, but it is a different font of struggle.

Nyo!America [whatever name you want to use because all names are cool and I have my own headcannon names.] Would have to work constantly to be taken seriously and to be seen as an equal. As a colony she was mostly neglected as a second thought by the English/British government. She would be constantly have been having to prove herself and be self sufficient. England would have not seen her as a threat. After all she was a small female nation. What could she possibly do against the British? When starting the revolution no one would believe in her. There were so few female nations to begin with in a high standing. The ones in Europe were under the flag of someone else. Everyone thought it was going to fail. Than the Americans started proving that they could do it, nations started supporting her. She got her freedom, but there was still the feeling that this would just be a shirt term thing. She would have to keep proving herself. After all she just proved them wrong already, they were going to be wrong about everything else.

The Articles of Confederation didn't work, and people thought this was going to be the end. This is just another point as to why female nations couldn't do all that much, and why, historically, many empires were better off with male representatives.

Nyo!America pushes on. Most of her bosses doubt her ability to some level. Even the ones who don't treat her poorly still doubt her. She can't take breaks, and she can't skip town for weeks because it will be held against her. She's doing paperwork, meeting and greeting officials, reading books and taking classes from paid tutors. She has to be because if she doesn't then they will find something wrong with her.

Her manners are top-notch, she learns the customs of other places, and learns greeting and pleasantries in other languages. She has to be the best at everything. So what if she skipped sleep here or there? She still has work to do.

Nyo!America would in a bit of spare time get to know her people. If she can find out where things within her country are lacking she can try to help. These are the people she represents and she wants to be the best place for all of them. She knows all of the flaws within her nation like the stories engraved in her skull, but she has to keep trying. Where she can try and help with things she does, but no one will take her seriously.

She learns early that most of these people won't take her skill and knowledge seriously unless she forces them. Everyone has something to keep and no one expects a lady like her to figure them out or use them against them. She does. So what if she has to blackmail a bit, so what if she had to threaten a couple of big-headed men who won't take her knowledge until given no other choice. So what if she has to use some underhanded ways that would make some weary. She is doing everything she can.

The Mexican-American war. She didn't want to fight Mexico. She was the only other female nation she knew. They had each other’s backs in the world of male nations. There was still a war and she had to prove herself. She didn't have the standing to oppose it all. She lost her friendship with Mexico. She hated the people in charge for a long while, but she couldn't say anything. How could she when they were waiting for a chance to throw her out? She writes essays of apologies to Mexico for years. For decades. They don't get along all the time, but they both understand the pain. They might not be buddy buddies, but they were still two female nations in the sea of male nations. If push came to shove they personally have each other’s backs.

The nation is divided and America was to kneel over in pain. She wants to lie in bed and scream, cry, and shut down. She can't. They won't take her pain seriously. She's just a woman. She stands up and fights. She fights for her people, the ones who can get their long-needed freedom. She's still in pain, but she will smile through it all if it means more of her people will be free.

There are still problems, still, people who deny rights, but she is doing the damn best she can to help.

She's a regional power, her wealth is growing and flocks of people are moving. She is proving them all wrong. The old world still scoffs at her and isn't taking her seriously. Some are mad at her for 'taking' their people. Not all of them. Some of them are starting to see the writing on the wall. Their respect for her is growing. She broke the glass ceiling just for it to be replaced by another. She will keep working at trying. She can't stop now. When she shows up for diplomatic meetings they still are looking for something to criticize her about. Maybe her clothes are a trend out of date, her accent is slightly off, she doesn't remember a custom. She keeps up. It's becoming harder to find something to hate about her with. She stays out of their buisness they stay out of hers.

Her country has 'territories' now. Hawai'i, Cuba, Philippines. She didn't really want them. She just wanted the Europeans out of the new world. She was done playing games with them. She was done sucking up all the time, she was in a position to demand them to leave. She went to war with Spain. One of the most feared nations in the new world. The one who burned it all to the ground. The one who had erased cultures and lives like the dust of a mantelpiece. ('Annoying and in the way) she won. But then instead of giving freedom her government took territories. Wasn't enough. The friends she made were now her colonies just with a more pleasant-sounding name.

She tries but nothing is being done.

Europe starts another war. She rolls her eyes and goes back to her stack of work. Europe I always at war. It was at war before she was around, has been at war before and will continue to be. She doesn't really have a side to pick. There are a lot of immigrants from all over so picking a side for yet another European conflict feels stupid.

Europe's war has been making her money. She has the biggest economy. People are being mowed down by machine guns. The telegram comes. The Germans were trying to start a new front in North America. A repeat of the Mexican-American war. Her country goes to war and she ships out with her soldiers to Europe.

The war is over and she hated every moment of it. She sent letters back to Mexico because she needed to talk to someone. They still don't get along all the time but she doesn't think she could ever fight a war against Mexico ever again.

Europe is being greedy again. They are creating a future problem with how they are handling this. Of course who would listen to her? Apparently not Europe who still thinks they are knowing wise for having a couple centuries of existence over her. She tries to help but there is only so much that they can do.

She allows herself a break. Finally, a chance to unwind. Of course, the government does something stupid. Banning alcohol is going to cause more problems than it fixes. She does participate in some underground activity because the government is stupid sometimes(a lot) and she just came back from trench war hell.

The economy crashes and the world seems to be going to hell. Her people are suffering and the news from Europe looks dark. Why are they ignoring it? She doesn't say anything. She has more problems than worrying about Europe.

War. Europe is at war again. She saw this coming. She wrote to England and France about it when she saw it. They disregard her again. Japan attacked and this war seems darker than before.

Hypocrites. All of them are hypocrites. Her government, England's, France's. All of them. She could list every time another government pulled some of this. It was in a different century, in a different time. It's what her brother said. She rolls her eyes but moves on, she has Russia to deal with now.

America will be less likely to admit this now, but she really only wanted to be left alone. Maybe not her government, but she wanted to be left alone. Going tor to toe with Russia was exhausting. She was paranoid and couldn't take any chances. If she failed no one would believe in her again. She worked hard for her spot in the world and she would be damned if that got taken away. Her officials don't like her new ideas, and don't like how she was siding either those who wanted to end the conflicts in the cold war. They saw that as weak. Just another womanly feature to belittle. She just rolls her eyes. She has power and the ability to speak back now.

Of course, every day is new paperwork, more issues, more help me here, stop helping me. Pay back money. She is trying. Trying. Trying. Trying.

She is the centre of it all and yet they still hold up their noses in their centuries-old bigotry of superiority. She's got this.

----

She mellows out. She calms down because she can afford to. Not all the time, but she can. Slowly some of them forget just how powerful she is. That's fine. They can forget. She knows how powerful she is. She knows where she Excels. She won't lord over anyone, because why should she? She worked hard for where she is, and she broke all expectations and then some.

-/\-/\-

Nyo!America at least in my eyes would be the perfect version of America. It was such a missed opportunity. Truly unfortunate that few others see it. Oh well, rather are missing out on a cool story.