#whatever. you just have to know that you are the sun and the light you are the freedom I fight god will do nothing to stop it.

[uglygirltrying]

wolf-hybrid!simon x bunny-hybrid!reader | pt2 to this

he did show you. it was so much warmer, than in your burrow.

it was easy to feel safe and warm enough, in his big arms, to eventually fall asleep. even if he was the hunter, your natural predator, you were basking in a warm hole, filled with his musk. your head went mush and fuzzy, eyes fluttering shut.

the wolf grinned and chuckled above you. what a silly bunny. your legs twitched, as you slowly went under. so compliant, no arguing when he took you, and you so easily went limp in his arms.

oh, you were going to be so much fun when the spring comes. maybe you'd be even more submissive, or on the other hand, maybe you'd get snappy. that'd be fun, simon thought.

he can already imagine the little bunny in heat, constantly rubbing against him, begging for a litter. if he feels nice, he might even give you one. simon smirks at the thought. such a sweet thing you are.

simon felt reluctant to leave. what if you ran? well, he would surely find you, after breathing your scent in so much. but still, it would be a lot of trouble, to track you, and catch you again. he didn't want to go through all of that trouble. he didn't want you to run.

simon signed. he had to find food. some meat for himself, and maybe some bark for you. but he knew that you didn't have a strong enough reason to stay. a warm den? you surely could find another one around. a mate? not really, he basically just snatched you up, against your will. maybe if you fought more, he would feel guilty. but this, this felt like a love story. he found you, brought you home, and here you are, sleeping in his den.

he did have time to linger and think. he did hunt best in the dark after all. simon breathed out again. whatever, he thought. you could run. he'd catch you, and bring you back. whatever.

simon sat up, leaving the bunny girl to lay there. he crawled out of the den, and made his way to the surface. the sun is setting, the rays creating shadows of the surrounding birch trees. the snowfall has stopped. it's so quiet and calm. the snow is beautifully set and hard surfaced, glistening in the light.

the wolf stood up, and began his search for food.

you felt disoriented. where were you? this isn't your burrow. your eyes slowly opened, drowsy, and confused. with a croaky groan, it hit you. where you were. why, and how.

you sniffed the air. the smell is so much lighter now. with a confused expression, you looked around the den. you're alone. huh?

why? where is he? is he hiding behind the opening, waiting to spook you and punish you, when you try to leave?

he's gone. it's your chance now. you can go, leave, run back home, to your burrow. the den is colder without his body pressed against you. it's almost as cold as your burrow. oh. it's warmer here. even without him.

it almost feels shameful to even hesitate leaving. you should! but you can't. you can't get yourself to crawl out and run for your life. how would he feel, coming back, into a empty den? a nest. that feels like an bad word. it's not your nest, not even your den. you're just... there.

why can't you leave? it's his fault, of course, he must've done something to you... are you feverish, why won't you run? maybe you're sick... running would only make that worse. and there's a perfectly good bed just under you.

you sighed. how pitiful. you laid back down. how embarrassing. but it felt so good, to just lay. don't you have a backbone? it would feel better if... it would be warmer. maybe even safer. if he was there. but is he even your protector. is this den a trap, why isn't he here?

thinking felt overwhelming. or maybe it was just the topic. but it felt exhausting. you should just not think. just lay there, and hope for his return. pathetic.

simon's hands were full of bark. he already ate his meal. he didn't want to bring anything bloody into the den, it would surely disturb you. if you even were still there.

simon scoffed. it's useless to assume. he doesn't know anything about you. maybe you're waiting behind the opening, a rock in hand, waiting for him to stick his head in, so you can punish him, for taking you.

he sniffed the air. nobody else is around. at least not around the hole in the hill. the snow's surface was untouched, not counting his own footprints. maybe you were still there. hopefully you were asleep. sweet, and compliant. maybe you were awake, desperately waiting for him to come back and keep you warm.

he almost smirked at his own fantasies. how silly. you already have him dreaming. oh, he is hooked, simon chuckled.

with hands full of bark, just for you, simon stood above the entrance of his den. might as well barge in. and so he did. simon crawled into his den. and there you were. still asleep. in his nest. the wolf felt proud. he kept you around. here he was, bringing you food, while you just slept. that's how it's meant to be.

simon dropped the bark in a corner of the den. he almost rushed. he wanted to cuddle up next to you, hold you in his arms, keep you warm, and protect you. at light speed, he had crawled next to you.

even in your sleepy state, he had managed to startle you. you're eyes narrowed open.

"go back to sleep, bun..." he softly murmured to you. with a tired nod of your head, you closed your eyes, and fell back asleep.

it made simon chuckle. you will never have a reason to complain again. you're his now, after all. his.

either this is my magnum opus, or im delusional ;( heart banner by @roseschoices

taglist: @famouscattale @nappingmoon @distinguishedprincesstrash @tame-the-lion-writes @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

[llamagoddessofficial]

Beach episode with the bad Sanses

Why does "take my idiot henchmen to a secluded beach to blow off some steam" 100% sound like something Nightmare would do? He'll bring you along too. The boys can't relax when their beloved favourite human isn't there. You're like a therapy kitten a bunch of giant terrifying fighting hounds refuse to go anywhere without.

Horror doesn't like deep water, too many bad memories of a certain fish monster, so he's staying away from the sea. But he does like the sound it makes... the waves are wonderful, they're something other than his own thoughts to concentrate on. He'll sit on the sand, with a hat over his face, listening to the ocean and enjoying the sun soaking into his old bones. Might even fall asleep. For the love of God, keep Killer away from him, his 'prank' attempts on the sleeping giant will not end well for anyone. Don't let him catch you when he's looking tired - he'll drag you up against him and snore into your hair until the sun goes down.

It's weird to see Dust without his hood. You half expected him to even wear it to the beach, but it makes sense he wouldn't. There's enough dust on that thing already, he probably doesn't want to get sand on it as well. He'll spend most of his time resting in the shade (why is he wearing sunglasses when he doesn't have eyes?), but if you ask him to, he'll venture into the sun. You're the only one who can convince him to do anything fun. Out of all of them, he's the one who'll go get you something to eat. He'll randomly disappear, then quietly return with ice cream, or crepes, or smoothies. Just three, though - one for him, one for you, and one for Horror because it'd just be rude to not get him food. He won't tell Killer where he got it.

Killer is having a great time. He will be ogling your beach outfit, it doesn't matter what it is, he'll stare and flirt as often as he possibly can. He wants to play volleyball or football, have you bury him in the sand, take stupid posed pictures, stay until sunset and start a barbecue, he's having an amazing time. This is his dream. If you can keep him company, please do, because it'll keep him on good behaviour - if you leave him alone for five minutes he's going to start annoying the other skeletons. By the end of the day someone is dunking him in the ocean, at least once. Probably Dust.

Nightmare will sit on a chair, under the darkest umbrella you've ever seen, without a speck of sunlight reaching him. He won't engage with the other skeletons at all and it seems like they know to give him his space. He'll be delighted to chat to you, if you come up to him, but other than that he just... vibes there, alone. Makes you wonder why he even came to the beach, since he clearly will do whatever it takes to avoid light.

He bought you along because the other skeletons want you around, sure. But he also bought you because he could tell you needed the stress relief. He likes just sitting back and listening to you enjoying yourself, watching the happy feelings roll off you - they're nice to see, even if he can't eat them.

Not that he'll ever say it aloud, but he planned this day out almost entirely for you.

[reiding-writing]

Heyy i was wondering if i could have a workshop session? Also congrats on reaching 2k i literally lovee your posts.

So i had this idea about early season spencer and a movie director reader, so basically sorta like the episode with lila archer except reader is really famous and makes mostly sci-fi movies or something spencer would watch, and someone on her set is a witness for a crime or connected to one and now that they dissapeared the BAU sent spencer and maybe derek to ask reader about what they know. But spencer is lowkey kind of silently fan girling lmao like when he first met rossi. I hope this idea isn't too cringe but its just something i thought of, and also its like 3am so my brain isn't functioning properly. Anyways thank yeww

STARstruck — SPENCER REID!

Spencer is a nerd who appreciates accurate scientific knowledge in the media he consumes, and you, are his literal idol in that aspect.

s1!spencer x fem!director!reader | 1.2k | fluff | 2k book fayre !!

a/n — this idea is so cute bro i love it

main masterlist. | event masterlist.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the towering glass windows of the Hollywood studio, casting a golden glow over the sleek set design.

Cameras, lighting rigs, and intricate models of spaceships and futuristic cities filled the massive room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and slightly burnt popcorn lingered in the air.

Spencer took a deep breath as he stepped onto the set, eyes wide with a mix of awe and nervous excitement.

“You okay, pretty boy?” Morgan smirked as he nudged Spencer in the arm. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Spencer quickly adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder, fiddling with the leather strap. “I’m fine,” He mumbled, although his gaze kept drifting toward the bustling crew members setting up for the next scene.

It wasn’t just the high-tech equipment that caught his attention; it was the fact that you was somewhere on this set. A literal legend in the movie world who had created some of Spencer's favourite films, the mind behind the intricate worlds he had spent years analysing and rewatching.

Not just a famous director, but one of the most influential minds in science fiction cinema, with a literal PhD in theoretical astrophysics, your movies weren’t just blockbusters—they were intellectually stimulating.

Films layered with complex theories of time travel, quantum physics, and human evolution. Spencer had spent hours after screenings debating the logic behind your plot twists, tracing your influences back to classic literature and obscure scientific studies.

He might have even written a paper about your work for one of his side projects.

Maybe.

“Alright, fanboy, whatever you say,” Morgan chuckled, clearly noticing the star-struck look on Spencer’s face. “We’re here for business, remember? We need to talk to her about the missing witness.”

Right. The reason they were actually here. One of the set designers from your latest film had disappeared. They had been linked to a crime scene across town, and now the BAU was trying to piece together their whereabouts.

As the two made their way past towering green screens and actors in elaborate futuristic costumes, Spencer’s heart rate quickened. There you were, standing near the director's chair, deep in conversation with a producer.

Morgan was the one to actually call your attention, flashing his FBI badge. “Excuse me, Doctor, I’m Agent Derek Morgan, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid, we’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes widen momentarily, before settling in understanding. “Pleasure to meet you both,” You motion for the two to follow you away from the busy set for the impending conversation.

Spencer tried to find his voice, but it was like his brain had short-circuited the moment you looked at him. The woman who had crafted entire galaxies and explored the intricacies of human consciousness in film now actually knew he existed.

“I—uh—” He stammered, glancing at the wall behind you before meeting your eyes. “I just wanted to say I’ve been a huge fan of your work for years. Your understanding of nonlinear time theory in Chrono Rift was... incredible—”

Morgan’s grin widened, and Spencer could feel his cheeks burning. He was not making a good first impression.

You, however, smiled warmly, your expression softening. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. It’s always nice to meet someone who appreciates the science behind the ‘science-fiction’.”

The way his eyes seem to soften in the wake of your thanks is endearing, matched with a pink flush to behind his glasses he attempts to brush a stubborn lick of hair from his eye.

It’s a natural attractiveness, one that’s sweet and a little awkward.

“But I assume you didn’t come here just to talk about quantum mechanics?”

Spencer cleared his throat, refocusing on the case. “Right, yes uh— We’re trying to locate one of your set designers, Adrian Moss. We believe they may have been involved with a recent crime, and they disappeared shortly after. Did Adrian mention anything unusual to you? Anyone they seemed nervous around?”

Your brows furrowed slightly in concern. “Adrian? No, they seemed fine. A little… distracted maybe, but I thought it was just the stress of the shoot. I had no idea they were involved in anything criminal.”

Morgan took over to save himself the second-hand embarrassment of Spencer’s stammering, smoothly steering the conversation. “Is there anyone on set Adrian might’ve had conflicts with? Or someone who seemed to be paying them too much attention?”

You paused, considering the question. “Not that I can think of, but I can ask around. The crew is like a family you know? People talk— if Adrian was in trouble, someone will have noticed.”

As the conversation continued, Spencer slowly found his footing again, chiming in with more questions about Adrian’s behavior and their role on set. But every now and then, his mind drifted to the fact that he was standing in the presence of one of his idols. And not only were you brilliant, but you were also kind.

After wrapping up their questions, you pulled out a small business card, handing it towards Morgan. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’ll make sure the crew knows to cooperate fully with your investigation,”

Morgan pocketed the card with a small nod. “Thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch.”

As they turned to leave, you called out, “Oh, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer froze, turning back to face you. He genuinely felt like he might explode.

“If you ever want to debate time travel paradoxes or poke holes in my logic, I’d be happy to grab a coffee sometime.”

Spencer’s brain went blank for a second, and all he managed was a stunned, “Uh, yeah! I mean—yes, that sounds great.”

With a smile, you waved them off, returning to your work.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Derek clapped Spencer on the back, laughing. “I’ve never seen you like this, man. Fanboying over a director? That’s a new one.”

Spencer gave him a sheepish grin, although not one that tries to dispel his accusation. “She’s not just a director, Morgan. She’s a genius.”

“Well, genius, genius or not, you might actually have a shot there. But let’s focus on finding this missing designer before you start planning your first date.”

Spencer chuckled, still a little dazed but ready to get back to work. He couldn’t help but feel that, no matter how this case turned out, his emotional outcome was going to be a net positive.

[yourlocalzombiewriter]

Okay May I request Lego monkey kid Wukong and Macaque with minor deity Reader? Reader lives in a garden and was isolated for so long she genuinely forgot what the outside world was like at times. (Cause humans were getting greedy and they been emotionally and physically hurt at times). Reader values connect so deeply and the garden is hidden by a talisman and guarded by her pet aka giant monster. Headcanons pls and apologies if it too much. I love your work. You can do Black myth Wukong too if you want

Oh, but love grows where my Rosemary goes,

And nobody knows like me.

(Lego Monkie Kid head-canons,

Black myth: Wukong head-canons.)

Author note: hello!, thank you so much for your request!, I hope you enjoy. Thank you for requesting!. ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Just to reiterate, English isn’t exactly my first language so I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

★ ✵ ★

Lego Monkie Kid:

☀︎Wukong☀︎︎

Loves visiting frequently!, especially when your peaches are in season if your garden homes them.

This is a little head-canon of mine, but he knows how to make flower crowns. He use to make many when he was younger for the other young monkeys.

He always picks the ones he deems prettiest for you.

Depending on if he met you when he was younger (during Journey to the west) or older (during the time of him mentoring MK), he use to love playing hide and seek in the lush trees and bushes. But now older, he loves taking naps under the shade the beautiful trees provide.

Shoo’s off any demons or humans wondering too close to your garden for his liking. Especially after hearing what happened in the past for you to disconnect yourself from the outside.

He knows you have a guard animal but he still does his part as a boyfriend, after all he doesn’t want you to go through unnecessary stress.

Loves your guard animal!, though, the few first times of visiting your garden he either had to trick it or you had order them to stand down.

Once him and your guard animal are more acquainted he loves messing around with them, or feeding them treats. He knows their supposed to be scary and all but he just can’t help it!. Also does that thing where one person is the owner and the other isn’t and sees who the animal chooses first.

If you ever do wish to go outside, he’ll be right there to help you, and lead you to wherever you desire to go.

He loves watching you maintain the garden, he usually hangs up on a tree munching away at whatever fruit is nearest as he watches you water the flowers and crops with such care.

Brings you gifts from the outside as frequently as he can, and if your interested he’ll catch you up on the latest news.

Sometimes he manages to bring two steaming bowls of noodles from pigsy’s to you.

He loves admiring you as you relax on the soft grass, and the sun bathing you softly with its light, you look un-real to him.

Sometimes, when it’s a particularly hard day, he enjoys hiding away in your garden as well. Cuddling up next to you for comfort as you both lounge around the garden.

He doesn’t mind quite moment’s, when it’s so silent you can hear the grass shift with the soft wind, or hear the leaves rattle. How could he?, with you sitting there looking off so peacefully, and him looking at you so happily.

You are his version of your garden, a safe place, and home that no one can intrude upon.

★ ✧ ★

☾Macaque☾

He teleports over frequently when he feel’s overwhelmed with the noise of the outside world.

Because all he can hear is your sweet voice and the comforting sounds of the nature your garden nurtures.

He loves sneaking up behind you from the shadows of the trees. He loves the reactions he gets from it!.

Keeps his distance from your guard animal, but warms up to it eventually!.

Loves visiting at night and seeing the moon light bathe the place with its soft light.

He adore the tranquility of it all, it feels like time slows when he’s there with you. His fast paced days now coming to a slow stop when he’s laying in your arms and watching the flowers dance and sway side to side from the soft blow of wind.

Uses his shadow clones to help around the place if you ever need extra hands.

Has memorized every plant and flower you grow in your garden, but doesn’t stop you from spilling facts about them.

Mk sometimes wonder where he lounge around at when he’s not with the group. Of course, a good guess is his dojang (I believe that is what his home is called apologizes if it’s not!) but in reality he’s resting with you on flower beds.

Never mentions your garden to the crew unless you give the go ahead, but even then he tip toes over the subject, knowing your past experiences.

Puts on shadow plays for you on a particularly uneventful day. He likes seeing the smile that graces your face everytime.

His ears always picks up someone approaching your garden before your guard animal does so he’s quick to alert them.

He adores you, he truly does believe that your as beautiful as your garden, the center piece. He doesn’t understand the good karma he has received to meet you but he’s so greatful.

☀︎ ☁︎ ☀︎︎

Black myth: wukong

Bajie probably stumbled upon your guard animal and Wukong had to jump in.

Paranoid of leading enemy’s to your garden, not that he isn’t assured in himself that he can beat it. But he’d rather you not be stressed out or worry about it.

This doesn’t stop him form pranking you from time to time by transforming to a bug and buzzing around annoyingly. Prepare to have your patients tested by him.

If you have a big enough tree, he probably climbs and chills out in the branches.

Sometimes pulls you up with him and lets you rest and balance on him. He counts this as rest and bonding time.

Absentmindedly picks a flower and places it in your hair in the middle of a conversation.

On cold months, depending on how your garden on works, he either brings the finest cloths and blankets to you. Or if your garden is magically frozen in a spring or summer season then he spends the whole winter season with you, so good luck with that.

Although not one to be picky with fruits, he just prefers the one from your garden the most. To him they taste richer, and juicer.

When a certain fruit is growing on a tree and it’s time for them to be picked, he always picks you up and lets you rest on his shoulder so you can reach them easier. Could he just pick them himself?, yes, but how could he pass an opportunity to show his strength to you.

If you ever wish to venture out of your garden, he’d greatly recommend his mountain as its already protected from demons. He’d happily feel you cling onto him as he flys you over in his nimbus cloud.

On his way to visit your garden sometimes he does see people or demons lingering too close for his comfort. He easily scares them or defeats them before your guard animal encounters them.

Speaking of your guard animal, he’d be pretty neutral about it, he’s glad that he can keep some sort of peace of mind when he’s away from you knowing your under protection. But at the same time not very interested in it. Maybe annoys it from here to there when it’s off duty but aside from that let’s it do it’s job, knowing how important it is.

Brings you some souvenirs, ranging from gold incrusted bracelets and necklaces. To flower’s you may not have in your garden that he thinks you’d enjoy!.

You have on multiple occasions, almost ran out of peaches due to his rapid consumption of them. It’s almost concerning watching him be able to stomach all of them in one sitting.

He likes the peacefulness you and your garden bring him, like as if nothing was wrong, the world is silent and inhabited by only you two. He gets agitated when this peace is disturbed by intruding strangers. And although he has learnt the virtue of patience’s, he can’t help but take offense on your behalf for the intrusion. He likes the thought of you and your garden being only something he gets to indulge in. Your to much of a lovely sight for mere demons and humans to admire.

❁ ☀︎︎ ❁

Thank you so much for the request!, i hope you enjoyed it!.

( ⸝⸝•ᴗ•⸝⸝ )੭⁾⁾

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Hello :D

I have been following you for the last year or so (a few days after I got my Tumblr lmao) and I absolutely love your art!

I have been wanting to study your art style for a while but don't really know where to start,,,

Could you please show me a small portion of your art process, if it isn't too much trouble of course. Thank you and have a nice day!

hello. oh my god. this took forever to find. im sorry it took 2 WHOLE FUCKING MONTHS for me to respond to this but i wanted to put it off until i felt happy with my art process again, so here it is

my fall 2024 rendering tutorial! (this will be very very long)

FLATS AND WHATEVER YOU WANNA DO WITH LINES GIRL. then make sure to recolor the lineart to better match your base. trust me it helps, bold dark lines are Not your best friend when rendering. wait for that post-rendering

i start off with a doodle or a sketch, and then filling it in with flats and other details such as blush

FIGURE OUT YOUR LIGHT SOURCE. FIGURE IT OUT GIRL YOU CAN DO IT you can make it as simple as possible, make it as big as possible, dont even THINK about the details.........just make it really fucking big so you at least know where the shadows and the light goes THEN add smaller shading details LISTEN TO ME. LISTEN TO ME OKAY!!!!!!!!

my key point with this is for you to learn lighting fundamentals. it's SOOO ANNOYING but alas......they are all correct. it helps a lot.

one thing i also really want to point out is that i like creating a big shadow shape first before fixing up the little details (such as folds and whatever) because it helps me focus on the way the lighting actually works instead of tunnel vision-ing into making the shading make sense on the clothing.

contact shadows (i dont remember if thats what theyre called okay) theyre fucking ugly because im not actually thinking sorry 💔

okay so basically: contact shadows (if that's what they're called) are the spots in shading and lighting where light will NEVER hit.

shadows are still influenced by the colors and lights around it (it's why a blue shadow and a yellow shadow feel completely different, despite both being shadows) so it's not always COMPLETELY dark. BUT! there are small points in shadows where light never hits, and they're almost always super dark or pitch black.

it's hard to explain shadow and light so briefly for a tutorial, but you'll notice it when watching fundamental studies and when trying it out for yourself

YES i unclipped the multiply layer YES its ugly and terrifying but it makes coloring the multiply layer easier okay the colors merged w multiply so now it looks cool and has depth overlaying colors that actually make sense

so basically what i did was color the multiply layer that i used to shade the overall drawing

adding a band of red/orange/yellow around where the light hits, and blue where the shadows get big and wide, gives it a fake ambient occlusion effect in the way that a person would get if they stood under the sun with a clear blue sky

the colors don't have to make sense, especially because i never draw backgrounds, but coloring the shadows really help it give a sense of depth and extra subtle detail and effect that just helps make the painting look nicer

around the end, i also put in colors (in an overlay layer with a low opacity brush) that actually make sense in context of the drawing, which is the lit cigarette and the yellow eyelights mostly because none of the colors were making sense and i needed to actually make use of the lighting that DOES exist in the drawing lol

adding a muddy golden yellow pin light layer (opacity turned down to like 40-50%) to make the light colors less ugly lol

i SWEAR by the fucking pin light layer style. it's so useful and so so underrated.

i used an almost brown-ish gold color on stop of all the layers, and with the pin light layer, it helped make the bright (almost blue-ish) white colors more warm and more yellow. it just helps make things more warm (something i prefer)

i could probably show what it looks like without adjusting the layer opacity to truly show off what i mean (like in the coming section) but i sadly forgot to do that lol

make a layer on top of your drawing with this color in these ranges YES the drawing is fully merged NO don't be afraid, the base was fucking ugly anyway 💔 make this layer into an exclude/exclusion layer style TRUST turn down your exclusion layer opacity from a range of 10% to 40% literally until you're happy with the contrast and the way the color over the drawing. use your eyeballs. i know you can do it im so proud of you

this is pretty self-explanatory instruction-wise, so i'll go into why i do this instead

i really like art that seems like it has low contrast, with almost mid-gray shading and lines. i don't personally use dark and bold lines and shading, unless i find it necessary for the tone of the piece, so using this method helps lower the contrast of the art and make it look "pleasantly muddy" in the way that it's easier and softer on the eyes.

the inverted blue color also helps makes things warmer! the exclusion layer style is still a bit of a mystery to me but i really like the effect it gives, even if i don't completely get how it works lol

if you want an alternative method to this, and if you have access to it (because i primarily use sai and sai only), i absolutely encourage you to play around and experiment with gradient maps. there are so many out there you can make yourself or even get from others that just give the painting an extra amount of depth and color variation. they're SO fun.

personally, if sai2 gets a gradient map update, it's over for y'all it will literally be so over no one will be able to stop me

then i merged everything and actually adjusted the contrast back up because it was looking too muddy for me 💔 but the color adjustments are still there so all hope is not lost here's a comparison of the adjusted contrast in black and white (adjusted on the left) (newly merged layer without adjusting the contrast on the right)

as you can see, i actually turned the contrast back up (despite talking all about how i liked things with less contrast lol)

i wanted to demonstrate that doing adjustments should be done in moderation, and is why i adjust layer opacity often when making color effects you are free to play around with colors to help your style, but don't lose your initial idea and colors along the way. you still need to trust your own colors and intuition!

along with that, i just want to say that it's completely okay to change your mind mid-painting, and it's okay to make somewhat drastic changes. don't be afraid to change things you don't like or change your mind about certain aspects way later on that's basically the whole thing of this!!! don't be scared!!!

now im gonna hold your hand when i say this..........but you need to learn how to render by yourself. it seems like i can teach you but i literally can't, because rendering is different on every piece and depending on how clean your base is. i have to render A LOT because of how fucking ugly my sketches are LMAO to simplify it, think of it as obsessively cleaning up every detail you can see, but with a color picker and a clean, hard edged brush. if you have shit lineart, you don't have to redraw it cleanly over and over, just paint over it. that's basically what rendering is

THIS especially is where you need to be brave and stop being scared. like i said, i can't teach you how to render, and it's something you have to discover yourself because rendering is something that will always be personal to every single piece you make. the way you render on every piece is different. on one piece, you will barely need to render, and on another, rendering is more than half of your ENTIRE process.

don't be afraid to paint over your old art. rendering is a process that's both very perfectionist yet also very careless. find your balance and just go for it.

and then that's it……..u did it………..now yuo know how to paint and render. it's literally just layering shading and lighting knowledge until you think it makes sense and looks okay lol additional note: since i render in only one layer (you don't HAVE to do this, but it'll be harder for you…), i also made slight adjustments with the transform (and liquify, if you have it) tool to make things more proportionate. (i drew the head too big lol)

if you compare the finished piece to the final unrendered base, you can see that a LOT changed, including a bit of subtle proportion adjustment. particularly, the sleeves changed A LOT (because i really didn't like them) but it's also over all cleaner and more coherent, instead of having haphazard colors and shading just thrown about.

rendering is when you finally use all 100% of your brain to finalize and figure out where the shading should go, where to clean up your lines, where to ERASE or ADD BACK in lines, and make sure all your colors look coherent.

it's not as intimidating as it seems, i only use a hard edged brush with a little bit of color mixing and my color picker. it's like dragging and dropping colors to cover up mistakes, it's really quite fun when you get used to it i wish i could explain it clearer but it's hard to describe without visuals!

i hope this helped, and i hope all my yapping isn't annoying (art as a special interest beloved)

have fun studying and trying to render in my art style!

[pretentious-blonde]

birthday

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: steve never really cared for his birthday, his girl takes it upon herself to make sure he feels special. showing him how far he has come

warnings: none, fluff

a/n: steve likes madonna, fight me

The morning was quiet, still. The sun had just about emerged over the horizon as you stepped out of the car, balancing two coffees and a small paper bag in your hands. You had made the effort to get up early, driving a little further to visit the little cafe you knew Steve loved. He practically begged for you to let him take the detour every time, which you did. You could never say no to him. Not when he asked so nicely, pinching his eyebrows together in a sorrowful expression. Pitiful, truly. 

You got there a bit after it opened, just to make sure the croissants hadn’t sold out. Steve had a soft spot for chocolate. All sweet things really, especially in the mornings. He wasn’t particularly vocal about it, but after months of observing him ordering pancakes from the diner and never skipping dessert after date night, you figured he would appreciate the sugar. 

Standing at his front door, you reached into the plant pot, grabbing the spare set of keys. You were one of the few people he allowed to have this information. You did mention to him that the majority of people keep the spare set in a place like that, but he disagreed, telling you that at least it wasn’t under the doormat. 

It had been previously, until Dustin found it and entered his home without warning. 

You unlocked the door as gently as you could manage, slipping inside and removing your coat and shoes. Gently, you placed the small bag of gifts for him by the door. He could open them up later. 

You tiptoed up the long staircase, coffee cups wobbling in your hands as you made your way to his room. It was miraculous that you didn’t drop them in your efforts to keep quiet. The door was slightly cracked open, you could make out his silhouette in the dim light. 

He was sprawled out on the bed, one hand under the pillow and the other lying next to him. He always had a habit of sleeping on his stomach, limbs tangled in a chaotic heap, it looked as though he had a battle with his sheets whilst he slept. His broad back rose and fell in tandem with his deep breaths, hair tousled and messy, face half-buried in the cushion underneath him. 

The sight brought a smile to your face, it was endearing how peaceful he looked. He was usually so put-together, but this? He seemed almost boyish, relaxed, unaware of the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was a sight that was reserved for you and you only. It was something precious. 

You carefully set the cups and bag down on the bedside table, knowing it was time to attempt something impossible. Waking Steve Harrington up. 

You leaned closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly. 

“Steve…” you whispered, trying the kinder approach to wake up the man. If Robin was here she would have just told you to open up the curtains, but you couldn’t do that to him. At least not today.

“Mmmph,” was the groggy response you earned, he shifted his legs under the covers, burying his face even further into his pillow. 

You had to bite your lip to stop the giggle from escaping. You decided to shake him a little harder, trying to rouse him from his slumber. “Steve, come on. It’s time to get up.”

Ever the drama queen, he let out an exaggerated groan, a rouge arm flailing out from under the cover to try to bat away whatever was disturbing him. “Too early,” he mumbled, voice thick with the remnants of sleep.

You shake your head as you laugh, deciding to change tactics. You poke him playfully in the ribs, which earns you another groan, this time more awake but definitely more annoyed. 

“If you don't let me sleep, I swear to God…,” his voice trailed off, but there was no real threat behind his tone. 

Steve was certainly not a morning person by any means. He had no problem waking up if he needed to be somewhere, but he was certainly not fond of being woken up without prior knowledge. You had lost count of how many times he slurred that he needed five more minutes when you stayed over, giggling every time he shushed you with his embrace. 

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” you tease, perching on the side of the bed next to him. “I brought breakfast.”

That worked a bit better, a small but noticeable reaction—a low but sleepy moan of appreciation, as if the promise of food might be enough to drag him out of bed. You waited for a few seconds to see if there was any movement, you huffed when there wasn’t, his face now completely hidden by his arm. 

You prodded your finger on his back once again. “Steve…”

With a melodramatic grunt of effort, he finally rolled his body over onto the side, amber eyes blinking slowly as they adjusted back into focus. 

“Oh…hey, honey,” he greeted groggily, rubbing a hand over his face as he fought against his fatigue, completely forgetting about his previous comments. His brown hair was a complete mess, sticking up in all directions. You grinned as you took in his dishevelled appearance. “It’s early…what are you doing here?”

“Did you forget what today is?” Your eyes widened, slightly suprised at his question. You couldn’t have got the wrong day, could you?

Steve furrowed his brows, seemingly still stuck between the realm of sleep and reality. “Day? What…oh.” The realisation was quick to dawn on him as his brain started to function. “My birthday, right.”

The reminder sent a wave of embarrassment through him, his lips turned into a small, sheepish smile as he realised his mistake. It never was a big deal to him, something he never really celebrated. Back in high school, he would just throw a house party, which would essentially just be a gathering filled with people who couldn’t care less about what day it was. 

His parents were hardly home, and even when they were, it was just a card handed to him when he woke up. He used to get some cash in them when he was younger, but it seems they even forgot that too. It wasn’t the money that mattered, they probably only did that because they forgot to get him a gift. But at least it was something. 

The last few years he honestly never remembered it. Only when it got dark, just him alone in the big, empty house he pondered celebrating it. But the idea just made him feel hollow. 

He glanced over to what you had placed on the side next to him, heart leaping when he recognised the familiar logo, he placed his hand on your leg as you continued to look down at him. “Thank you, honey…but you really didn’t have to.”

“Well, I did,” you gave him a stubborn look before crossing your hands over your chest, your expression not filled with any malice. “And I’m not done either. I have a few other things for you downstairs.”

His eyes grew bigger, his shock evident. He shuffled up, propping himself on his elbows as he stared at you. It was vulnerable, a look you rarely saw on him. 

“Ok, now you really didn’t have to,” he murmured, tone softer now. 

You waved your hand in front of him dismissively. “Just enjoy it, okay? I’m giving you the whole ‘breakfast-in-bed’ treatment here.”

Now that forced a grin on his face as he sat up fully, his movements still slightly sloppy. “Breakfast in bed, huh? You’re gonna make me spoiled.” You went to stand up but were immediately stopped by a pair of arms winding around your centre. “Where do you think you’re going? I’m not eating alone.”

You squealed in surprise as he dragged you up the bed, only releasing you when you were firmly settled by his side, under the duvet and everything. “Fine, fine. But if you get crumbs in the bed, it’s on you.”

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, already tearing the croissant in half, not caring about the mess. “Worth it,” he smirked before popping a piece into his mouth, holding the other out for you along with the coffee. 

You rolled your eyes as you took a sip from the cup, nudging his shoulder with your own as you both ate. The morning sun was creeping through the cracks in his blinds, illuminating his features just right. He sighed as he leaned against the headboard, shoving the last piece of pastry into his mouth before gathering up the rubbish from the two of you. 

He slid out of bed, reaching above his head lazily, his shirt lifting slightly to reveal a slither of his toned stomach. He gave you a sly grin when he caught you staring at him, feeling a sense of pride. 

He loved it when he felt wanted, especially by you. 

“Careful, sweetheart. Staring like that could get you in trouble.” 

You grinned wide, leaning back against his headboard, making a deliberate display of looking him up and down. “Who me?”

He shook his head and chuckled under his breath. God, you were trouble. He made his way over to his wardrobe, pulling out a pair of blue Levi’s and a classic Steve Harrington polo. He tossed the clothing items on the bed, glancing over at you, his tone low and teasing. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might just forget the plans downstairs.”

You raised an eyebrow at his suggestion, holding in a sly grin. “Who says I mind?”

He tilted his head back with a groan, as he stripped out of his pyjamas, leaving him only in a pair of boxer shorts. He grabbed his jeans and pulled them up with deliberate slowness, knowing you would be watching his every move. “Oh, trust me,” he smirked as he reached for his belt. “I could make it worth your while, but…” He tugged on his shirt over his head, raking his fingers through his hair in a weak attempt to fix it. “I think I’d rather make you wait.”

“You’re such a tease, Harrington.” You glare at him playfully.

He raised an eyebrow, walking slowly over to where you were sitting. His arms were crossed as he leaned over you, lips purposefully brushing against your ear, sending a shudder down your spine. 

“I think you like when I tease you, sweetheart,” he whispered before pulling away. 

Your cheeks heated as you tried to recover, shifting your attention away from his comment. “Finish up in here, or you’ll be the one begging for attention later.”

He grinned devilishly, finally backing off and tugging some socks over his feet. He opened the door dramatically holding his spare hand out in front of him. “After you, honey,” he said, his voice now sickeningly sweet. 

You shoved the covers off with a giggle, smiling as you passed in front of him. Steve was close on your heels, placing his firm hands on either of your shoulders as you descended the stairs. As you reached the bottom, his eyes landed on the gifts you left by the door. He was overcome with a sense of tenderness at the sight of them, all wrapped up with cheesy wrapping paper. 

“Angel,” his voice now lacking the teasing tone present before. “This is…this is really sweet.”

You carried on walking towards it, picking them up before leading him to the living room. Pushing him down on the large couch and taking a seat next to him, your legs now brushing together. You were buzzing with excitement as you handed him the first package—a small box which he eagerly tore into. Paper falling away to reveal a tape. 

He looked closer at the label, in your swirly handwriting were the words ‘BMW Bangers’. It earned a full-bodied laugh from him. He deduced this was gonna be the new go-to when driving around with you. 

He turned it over to look at the tracklist, also written by you. He nodded his head as he read over it, all of his favourites seemed to be present, Duran Duran, Bruce Springsteen, Womack and Womack, and a few other hits. He paused when he spotted the last name causing a guilty smile to spread. 

“Madonna?” He asked in an accusatory fashion. 

You beamed. “Hey, I saw you singing along to her on the radio. You’re not slick.”

He shook his head, opened his mouth and began to protest. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Steve huffed, pushing your head away from him in a teasing manner, turning the cassette back over in his hands. “Okay, fine. But you can’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

He looked at you then, eyes softer despite his teasing demeanour. “This is amazing, sweetheart. Seriously.” He tells you truthfully, he was itching for a reason to get in his car now. Wanting nothing more than to spend the day driving around with you in the passenger seat, singing along terribly. 

“I try my best,” you say cockily, planting a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth.

With slightly pink cheeks, he placed the first gift down on the table and took the second from your hands, removing the wrapping just as carefully. When the present was finally revealed to him, his face lit up. 

“Oh man, look at this,” he said whilst rubbing his chin. In his hand is a framed picture of him and the kids, all with huge smiles at the pop-up Christmas market a few months back. He was looking mildly irritated, most likely with you insisting on a group photo of all of them. The memories of that day replayed in his mind over and over, it was one of the best holidays he had.

“Damn,” he laughed again, shaking his head slowly whilst taking in every detail of the image in his hands. “It’s like the cover of some crappy sitcom.”

“I know right?” You leaned in closer to him, eyes scanning over it. “The Brady Bunch 2.0. We could aim for a reboot.”

“Could be my big break,” Steve snickered. He was joking, but as his thumb brushed over the glass, you could see how much this meant to him. The family he never had. The family that chose him. That would always choose him. 

“Don’t let the kids see this,” he set the frame down gently next to the cassette. “Can’t let the little shits think I’ve gone all sentimental.”

“Steve, they already think that,” you tell him, tone light but honest. 

“My reputation is ruined,” he complained sarcastically, but he couldn’t deny how proud he was. How far he had come. “You know that Dustin even called me ‘dad’ the other day? It was an accident but…”

You chuckled at the idea of it. You couldn’t deny it though, Steve most certainly took on a parental role with the kid. Being the father figure he missed so much growing up, it was something both he and Dustin could relate to. You admired how deeply they cared for one another.

“Thank you. For—for all of this,” he rested his hand on your thigh, turning to face you fully. “Really, it means a lot.”

You brush his hand off as you wrap your arms around his midsection. He returns the embrace immediately, holding you close to his warm chest, resting his chin on your head. 

“You’re welcome,” you say, voice muted by the material of his shirt. “But, uh…don’t get too comfortable.”

He pulled back slightly, hand resting on the back of your neck as he held your gaze with curiosity. “Oh?”

“Well, I kind of… may have arranged for everyone to come over later,” you admitted, suddenly second-guessing your decision. “I mean, you didn’t have anything planned, so I thought maybe a surprise would be nice, but now I’m telling you, so it’s not really a surprise anymore, and—shit—I should’ve asked first—”

“Shh, angel,” he cut you off gently, placing a finger against your babbling lips. His voice was, calm, reassuring, laced with pure affection. “It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s perfect.” 

You blinked up at him slowly, taking in the familiar, easygoing grin that spread across his face. 

“I wasn’t exactly planning on throwing a rager,” he wrapped his arms around you again, feeling lonely without you pressed up against him. “You really went all out for me, honey. I love it.”

“Okay, good,” You sighed in relief. “I was worried I’d ruined the whole thing.”

“Nah.” Steve pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “You just gave me a reason to be excited about my birthday again.”

You felt your stomach warm at his words, his affirmation overwhelming you with a rush of affection. You glanced up at him one more time, only to find his gaze locked on the photo on the table. I guess now would be as good a time as ever to break the news. 

“Oh, by the way…” you began, a hesitant grin creeping onto your face. “Eddie is in charge of the food.”

“Eddie?” His face froze in stunned disbelief at your statement. “Eddie in charge of food?”

You nodded, choking down the giggle building in your throat at his expression. “Yeah, he said he could handle whatever barbeque you have. Thought you’d appreciate the help.”

“Absolutely not!” You laughed at his horrified expression, which only spurred him on further. “No way am I letting Munson anywhere near a grill. He’ll burn the place down!”

You burst out laughing at the thought, picturing Eddie dramatically waving a spatula over a flame, maybe even wearing a ‘kiss the cook’ apron. “Come on, Steve. How bad could it be?”

Steve shot you a deadpan look, truly baffled as to why you cannot see that this is a terrible idea. “Do you remember the last time he tried to cook at a party? We ended up ordering pizza because he set the stove on fire. Twice.”

“Alright, alright, maybe I’ll keep an eye on him,” you give in as he breathes a sigh of relief. “You can handle the burgers, grill master.”

“I like that better,” his body relaxing once more underneath yours. “No calling the fire department on my birthday. Please.”

You snuggled further into his chest, hiding the smile in the fabric. “Glad you like it.”

“I love it,” he tells you, gently placing his hand on your jaw, using his index finger to lift your face to meet his eyes, his smile was rich with adoration. The soft look was so intense it nearly took your breath away. He pressed his lips against your own, holding onto you for a little while longer. Until the inevitable chaos arrived at his front door in just a few hours. “I love you.”

[simplygojo]

Moment on the Bench

Authors Note: This is the first bonus blurb of the The Devil He Made Me series!! This one is Gojo's POV of a scene from Chapter 6, the scene on the bench...IYKYK, lol. This can also be read on its own if, so pleaase enjoy!

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection ; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @0-m1; If you'd like to be added to the taglist, leave a comment to let me know :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: light tensionnn

Gojo leaned back on the bench, the words that had just passed between you hanging in the cool evening air like a mist he couldn’t quite shake. His eyes, peaking over his sunglasses, were locked on yours as you sat beside him, close enough that your legs almost touched.

There was an odd tension between you, one he wasn’t used to. Usually, he could brush off anything with a joke, keep his distance emotionally, but tonight felt... different.

"Curses sense things in people," he had said, his voice softer than usual. "Sometimes for a reason, sometimes because they catch on to something we don’t even realize."

He felt a small shiver run down his spine as he heard you ask, your voice tinged with fear, "So what do you think it meant then…when it said it’s ‘almost time for me’?"

Gojo paused for a moment, staring at her. His gaze lingered longer than usual, which wasn’t like him.

The carefree glint in his eyes seemed to dull, replaced by something more intense, something he didn’t fully understand. You looked back at him, your own confusion and fear mirroring in your eyes, but Gojo couldn’t shake the strange pull he felt towards you. It was confusing.

The setting sun cast an orange glow over your face, and as he watched you, he couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable you looked—yet strong in a way he couldn’t explain. He felt something stir inside him, something unfamiliar. A feeling he couldn’t name—one he didn’t want to name.

He tilted his head toward the darkening sky, searching for words, or maybe a distraction from whatever this was. But it didn’t come. He just felt... lost.

"I wish I knew," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than usual, almost gentle. "But what I do know is that curses don’t just say things for no reason. Especially not special grades like that. Something’s up."

It bothered him—how he didn’t have all the answers, how he couldn’t brush this off with his usual cocky arrogance. It wasn’t just the curse’s cryptic message; it was the way you were looking at him, the way your fear seemed to seep into his own thoughts, twisting them, making him feel something he couldn’t quite define.

You sat beside him, and the small gap between you suddenly felt enormous, yet too close all at once. The warmth from you body made him hyperaware of your presence in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. Normally, he would’ve laughed it off, thrown in a flirty comment, but tonight…his mind was somewhere else.

“Whatever it saw in you,” he continued, trying to regain some control over the situation, “you really don’t need to worry about it—you shouldn’t worry about it at least.”

But even as he said it, Gojo could feel the weight of the words. He wanted to protect you. That’s what this was, right? Just his usual protective instinct? You was important—you had to be protected, that’s all this was. 

He told himself that over and over, but something in his chest twisted uncomfortably. It felt like a lie.

And then you snapped.

“You’re really telling me not to worry!?” Your voice was heated, frustration bubbling over. Gojo didn’t flinch, but inside, something tensed. You was right—he knew that. He’d felt it too, the way that curse had singled you out, the cryptic warning that had set his mind on edge. But more than that, he hated how hearing your voice laced with anger affected him.

He tried to respond—his mind was racing, searching for the right words, for the usual quick-witted retort he always relied on. It was his defense, his shield against anything too serious, too real. 

He was waiting for an opening, a chance to steer the conversation back to familiar ground, where he could mask everything with a smile, a tease, something lighthearted. 

But the moment you yelled his name, something inside him shifted.

It wasn’t just the sound of it, though that alone felt like a jolt straight to his core. No, it was the way you said it—so full of frustration, maybe even anger, but laced with something else he couldn’t quite place. The way you called out his name, not ‘Gojo’ like everyone else, but Satoru—it was personal. 

Intimate, in a way that startled him.

His breath caught in his throat, the sharpness of your voice slicing through his usual cool exterior. 

He’d been so used to brushing everything off, playing it safe behind that mask of nonchalance. 

But now, hearing his name like that, the walls he’d carefully built over the years felt weaker, as if you had just reached in and pulled at the strings that held them together.

“I don’t like it when you say it like that.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the sadness in his tone catching him off guard. What the hell was this? Why did it bother him so much that you said his name like that—so angry, so distant?

Your confusion mirrored his own, your frustration disappearing as you looked at him, stunned. 

“Satoru?” You said, your voice softer now, more like how you usually said it. And just hearing his name like that again sent a strange warmth through him, a feeling he didn’t know how to process.

“Yes, when you’ve said it before, you said it so nicely, so softly, it sounded so good hearing my name come from you.”

His own words surprised him, and for a moment, Gojo felt raw, exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. Vulnerability wasn’t something he dealt with. It wasn’t something he could deal with—at least, not well. He always had his humor, his arrogance, his strength to shield him. 

But now, in this moment, sitting here beside you, none of that seemed to work.

There was a long pause, the weight of his confession sinking into the silence between you. 

He felt your eyes on him, searching for something in him he wasn’t sure he could give. His pulse quickened, and Gojo, the invincible, the strongest sorcerer alive, suddenly felt small, unsure.

The space between you shrank, and though he hadn’t moved, it felt as if the air itself was pulling you closer together. He reached out before he even realized what he was doing, his hand gently resting above your knee. 

Your warmth seeped into his fingertips, grounding him in a way that felt both foreign and necessary. The moment his palm made contact, a surge of warmth radiated from your skin, grounding him in a way that felt both foreign and deeply necessary.

Your warmth wasn’t just physical—it seemed to seep into him, anchoring him in the present, something he wasn't used to.

“I’m telling you not to worry because I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, his voice low and serious. The promise in his words felt heavier than he intended, more intimate. There was something unspoken there, something that went beyond duty or protection, but he couldn’t put a name to it. 

It scared him—how deep that feeling ran.

You looked at him, your breath catching as your eyes met again, and for a moment, it felt like the world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you. Gojo’s heart raced, an unfamiliar sensation tightening in his chest. 

His gaze flickered down to your lips, slightly parted in an ‘o’ shape. He tried to hold your eyes—tried to keep the casual confidence intact—but his attention faltered for a split second, and his eyes dipped lower.

They lingered, just for a moment, on your lips. The briefest glance, yet it was enough to ignite something in him, a spark he hadn’t anticipated. His mind raced ahead, imagining what it would feel like to close the distance between you, to let this strange tension unfold into something real. The thought lingered longer than it should have, and his gaze snapped back up to meet yours.

But the damage was done. Now, that image was burned into his mind—what it might be like if he let himself give in, if he let the weight of this unspoken tension pull him forward. 

But then, as if sensing the line he desperately wanted to cross, you pulled away.

“Thanks for your help,” you said, your voice awkward, as if trying to erase the moment. You shifted, the connection between them breaking, as you yanked your legs away, and Gojo blinked, the intensity of the moment fading, leaving him feeling... empty.

He chuckled, his usual smirk returning to his face as he leaned back on the bench. "Right... You never have to worry when you’re around me. I’m the best the jujutsu world has to offer."

But even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow.

But as you stood up in front of him, something about the way you looked down at him made his bravado falter just a bit. 

He didn't show it, of course—he never did. He just leaned back, his arms spread casually over the length of the bench, his gaze lazily following your movements. His eyes lingered on you—on the way the soft light from the nearby lamppost illuminated your figure, casting a gentle glow over your skin. 

You were standing so close, so pretty in front of him, and for a brief moment, he felt an odd flutter in his chest, like something shifting under the surface.

“Well, I’m gonna get going,” you said, and his gaze snapped back to your face. “Shoko says I should still be resting when I can.” 

You gestured toward the direction of the dorms, and Gojo just nodded, his usual smirk still in place. He watched you for a moment longer, letting his head tilt back slightly against the bench, trying to play it cool even as his heart felt strangely off-beat.

"Goodnight, Satoru," you said, and that’s when it hit him.

The way you said his name—soft, almost teasing, with a knowing smile—it made something in his chest go pang. It wasn’t loud, not something that would make his heart race in the usual way, but it was there. It was like a ripple spreading through calm water, disrupting the steady rhythm of his thoughts. His cocky grin faltered for the briefest moment, and he caught himself staring at you longer than he should have.

You turned, your gaze lingering on him for just a beat too long before you started walking back toward the school, and Gojo was left sitting there, arms draped casually over the bench but feeling anything but casual on the inside. 

His eyes followed you as you walked away, the echo of your voice still playing in his head.

Satoru. 

The way you said his name—it was different. There was something in it, something that tugged at him, made him want to get up and follow you. His heart, which had always felt invincible, seemed to stutter for just a moment, that odd tightness from earlier returning. 

It was subtle, but it was enough to make him wonder—enough to make him realize that you had the ability to make him feel something more than the cocky, all-powerful sorcerer he always was.

Gojo leaned back fully, forcing the grin to stay on his face as if nothing had changed. 

But as you disappeared from view, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. And for once, he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

[f0point5]

literally anything with Max, Emilia, and Daniel please I’m begging after yesterday 🙏🙏🙏

No because this almost turned into a Singapore crack fic lol. But I saved it.

And yes I did listen to the song so that I could check this whole thing could happen within it’s time limit. But also this could so easily have been Tenerife sea but I Daniel-ed it up lol.

Anyway I hope you enjoy it!

✨Set in April 2024✨

I’ll drink what you think, and I’m high

It’s getting dark later now. It’s 7pm and the sun in only now setting over the mountainside, turning the clear sky all manner of gold and peach and baby blue. It’s the first good weather of the month, which is what gave you the idea of sitting out on the rooftop patio. Daniel just happened to call Max as you were mixing a Bellini, which is how he’d got roped into what turned into what you’d dubbed a “Wine and Whine” evening.

So there Max sits, listening to Daniel talk about grape yields while you fiddle with the stereo. Max interjects at the right moments, but mostly he’s watching you bent over in a tight Missoni dress, trying to connect your phone Bluetooth to the speakers.

That’s how good the dress looks, Max thinks to himself. I even remember the name of the shop.

“So I’m like mate, I don’t know shit about grapes, that’s what I pay you for,” Daniel explains now. “And he’s looking at me like I’ve fucked his grandma in front of him. But I’m right. I drive cars for a living and I don’t even like grapes, that’s his job,”

“Yeah, but what if-“

Max is cut off by the sound of your squeal. He looks across the patio to see you bathed in golden light, sporting a bright grin.

“Danny, it’s your song,” you declare, teetering toward the boys on your wedge heels.

“She’s so pissed,” Daniel says through a chuckle.

“I heard that,” you shoot back, holding a hand out to him. “Now, dance with me,”

The gentle strumming of a guitar gives way to an American accent with a somber tone.

Daniel rolls his eyes but gets to his feet, taking your hand and pulling you along the concrete to the middle of the patio.

The music is not Max’s taste, not something he understands, but it’s…warm.

That’s how he feels watching Daniel pull you close, starting to sway you in small circles around the patio. He thinks about how both you and he needed Daniel before you needed each other, how Daniel had been your friend when Max was too scared to be, and he’d been Max’s friend even when it must have been like salt in a wound.

Daniel looks down and says something to you that Max can’t hear. Whatever it is, it is has you rolling your eyes in the way you do when you’re trying not to tear up. He watches you nod in what seems like agreement before shrugging your shoulders.

In the next breath, Max hears your voice singing along above the music.

“We all know, you tiptoed,” you sing, “up to six foot, in grill the grid,”

This pulls a deep, throaty laugh and a “fuck you” from Daniel, his head thrown back so much that he pulls you forward with him.

You’re singing at each other now, bodies shaking through laughter. The sound of a harmonica pierces Max’s ears as Daniel twirls you under his arm, your eyes catching the light of the setting sun as you turn.

Fuck. You are so beautiful.

“Max, come take over,” Daniel calls, beckoning him with one hand. “I need another drink,”

Max gets up and goes over to your swaying form just as Daniel lets you go. He pats Max on the back as he passes, turning to look at you both before he slips through the patio door, out of sight due to the reflection in the glass.

Your glassy eyes and the heat of your skin make Max think you’re probably looking at two of him right now, but he doesn’t mind, as long as you’re looking at him. He takes hold of you, fighting a smile at the way you sink into him in a way you wouldn’t with Daniel. Your hand slides around his neck and his instinctively goes to rest on the curve of your hip, bringing you so close he can smell your perfume and Sauvignon blanc.

In the background, the music picks up, the southern drawl a little more lively even though the words are still morose.

“I don’t get why you guys like this song,” Max says, guiding you out and then under one of his arms so that your back his against his chest. “It’s about a funeral,”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s about a family,” you tell him, craning your neck to look at him over your shoulder.

Max nods, letting go of one your hands to spin you out and then back towards him. He catches you smiling at the effortless way he moves you around. He may not particularly like dancing but he’s been given three gifts in life. One is coordination. The second is control.

“It’s about the little things that stick with you about the people you love. The things about them that made you who you are,”

And the third is you.

He still doesn’t hear the song the way you do. He doesn’t see the world the way you do. But he knows he wants to listen to you explain the world to him for however long he’s in it.

“It’s about a funeral,” he says plainly, which only makes you shake your head.

“I love you, Max Verstappen.” Your words are as plain as his.

He wants to say it back. He even opens his mouth to try. But sometimes, like now, Max hates that word because it seems so wholly inadequate. He’s never been good with words anyway.

Instead, he kisses you, a kiss that tips you backwards, has you leaning into the hand on your back that holds you up. He can feel you smiling against his lips as he straightens.

When he pulls away, you follow him, placing one more peck on his lips before leaning forward to rest your chin on his shoulder as you continue to dance. Max notices then that the golden hues have left the sky, the colour now the same as the Japanese Cherry blossoms. He breathes in the scent of roses on your skin as he pulls you closer.

“What was he saying to you?” He asks quietly, his cheek moving against yours as he speaks.

“Who?” Your reply is lazy, almost a purr against his neck.

“Daniel. What did he say while you were dancing?”

Max doesn’t know how he can tell you smile at that, but he knows.

“Oh. Nothing,” you say. The music slows, and a woman’s voice joins the man’s against a single guitar. “He thinks we’re yuppies,”

[pandapetals]

Runaway

old man logan x afab!reader - i guess angst, inspired by rihanna's song desperado, set from the film logan, logan being nice, no y/n used, no reader description, mutant reader but no powers mentioned

Logan sees you on the side of the road and decides to pick you up.

read on Ao3

Logan hadn’t planned on stopping, let alone picking anyone up. But there you were, standing alone on the side of a dirt highway, the heat shimmering off the asphalt like a mirage. He didn’t know what made him slow down, what made him pull over and let you climb into the passenger seat of his beat-up truck. Maybe it was the way you looked—exhausted, dirt streaked across your face, bag slung over your shoulder like you’d been walking for days. Your skin was burnt, the blazing sun having made its mark, and yet your eyes, though heavy with fatigue, were sharp. Watchful.

Something about you reminded him of himself.

He didn’t regret it, though. In his old age, Logan had learned to appreciate the silence of a long drive more than anything else, and it seemed like you did too. You’d only said three words to him— “Thanks for stopping” —and he’d replied with three of his own: “Don’t mention it.”

After that, the two of you had settled into a companionable quiet. No questions, no small talk. Just the hum of the engine and the endless stretch of desert before you.

You'd relaxed a bit when he'd glanced over at you and muttered, “Take it easy.” It wasn’t a command, more like permission. To breathe, to let go of whatever had weighed you down on that lonely highway. And for a moment, you did. Your shoulders softened, your eyes closed, the tension in your body unwinding bit by bit, like you hadn’t felt safe enough to let your guard down until now.

Logan noticed but didn’t say anything. He just kept driving, his eyes fixed on the horizon, the cigarette between his lips burning low, the smoke curling out the window.

It wasn’t until he pulled off the road at a dusty old gas station, the kind that barely had enough lights to flicker, that things shifted again. The limo rolled to a stop, and you opened the door, stepping out without a word. At first, he figured you were just stretching your legs, shaking off the miles. But then he saw the way your bag was slung back over your shoulder, the determined set of your jaw, that wild, lone-wolf glint in your eyes.

You weren’t planning on sticking around.

“Hey,” Logan called, his voice gravelly, rough from years of too much smoke and too little sleep.

You paused, your back to him, your body tense like a coiled spring. Slowly, you turned, eyes meeting his with a wariness that hadn’t left since the moment you’d climbed into his truck. “Yeah?”

He stared at you for a beat, trying to read you, trying to figure out why he cared whether or not you left. “Run in and get me a beer,” he said, flipping a couple of crumpled bills toward you. The cash hit the dirt, fluttering at your feet.

For a second, he thought you might bolt. He could see it in the way your body shifted, like a rabbit ready to dart from a predator. Part of him expected it—half of him even wanted you to run. It’d be easier that way. No good ever came from sticking around people too long.

But you didn’t run.

You just sighed, like the weight of the world was sitting on your shoulders, and bent down to pick up the bills. With a flicker of resignation, you shoved the money into your pocket and walked into the convenience store, your bag still hanging off your shoulder like it was always ready to be picked up at a moment’s notice.

Logan watched you disappear inside, the glass door swinging shut behind you, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He lit another cigarette, the paper crackling in the quiet, and leaned against the limo.

He didn’t know why he felt relieved you hadn’t taken off. It wasn’t like you owed him anything, and he sure as hell wasn’t used to people sticking around. But something about you... maybe it was the way you’d stood on that highway, all defiance and exhaustion, or maybe it was the silence you carried like a second skin. Whatever it was, it gnawed at him, like he could see a piece of himself in you—another drifter with nowhere to be and no one to answer to.

When you came back out, a cold beer in hand, you tossed it to him without a word. He caught it mid-air, popping the cap off with a flick of his thumb, the hiss of carbonation breaking the tension.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice gruff.

You nodded but didn’t meet his gaze. Instead, you stood there for a moment, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, like you were still trying to decide whether to stay or go.

“You know,” Logan began, his eyes fixed on the darkening horizon, “you don’t have to keep running.”

Your shoulders stiffened, but you didn’t say anything. The weight of his words hung between you both, thick and heavy like the dust that clung to the desert air.

“I’m not running,” you muttered finally, your voice low, almost too quiet for him to catch but he knew it was a lie.

Logan took a long swig of the beer, watching you carefully from the corner of his eye. “Yeah, you are,” he said after a moment, his tone even, almost resigned. “We all are.”

For the first time, you looked at him— really looked at him—and in that instant, something shifted. The walls you’d both built, the ones that kept you safe but alone, cracked just a little.

“Doesn’t mean you gotta keep doing it,” he added, voice softer this time like he wasn’t sure why he was even saying it.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you walked around to the back of the limo and climbed into the passenger seat, setting your bag down at your feet, the decision made. Logan didn’t ask where you were headed, didn’t push for answers you weren’t ready to give. He just slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the ignition, and let the old engine roar to life.

The two of you drove off, leaving the gas station behind, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert. 

For the first time in a long while, Logan didn’t feel the weight of solitude pressing down on him. Maybe it was the silence between you, or maybe it was just the comfort of knowing someone else was out there, wandering the same road.

Hours had slipped away, the sky outside now washed in soft hues of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Logan kept his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes locked on the road ahead. He could keep driving—hell, he’d driven through worse—but the soft sound of your head bumping gently against the window caught his attention. You were fighting it, he could tell. Your head kept nodding forward, then jerking back up as you tried to resist the pull of sleep.

Logan had lived long enough to master the art of sleeplessness. Nights on the run, nights on missions, nights spent haunted by things he couldn’t quite forget. Sleep was optional when you had the kind of past he did. But he could see it in you, the weariness sinking deep into your bones. He wondered how long it had been since you’d slept in a real bed—if you even remembered what that felt like.

Your exhaustion bothered him in a way he couldn’t quite name. So, with a quiet sigh, he pulled off the highway, easing the limo into the parking lot of a rundown roadside hotel. The flickering neon sign buzzed weakly in the evening air, casting an eerie glow over the mostly vacant lot. The engine rumbled to a stop, and the sudden silence jolted you awake.

“Why’d we stop?” Your voice was groggy, your eyes still hazy with sleep. You blinked, confused, disoriented, like you couldn’t quite understand why you were no longer in motion.

Logan’s chest tightened at the sound of your voice—how startled you were by something as simple as stopping. It reminded him of things he didn’t want to remember. “You need to rest,” he muttered, the words rough in his throat. “Can’t sleep sittin’ like that.”

He stepped out of the limo without waiting for your response, the night air cooler than he expected as it brushed against his skin. The neon light buzzed above him as he walked inside the hotel, the faint smell of old carpet and stale cigarette smoke hitting him the moment he opened the door. The place was barely a step above a motel, the kind of spot that wouldn’t ask too many questions, and that suited Logan just fine.

A few minutes later, he returned to the limo, the weight of a key card resting in his hand. He opened the door and slid back into the driver’s seat, holding the key out toward you.

You glanced at the key, then at him, an odd expression crossing your face as you squinted in the dimming light. “You got a room?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

Logan nodded, but then shook his head slightly, grunting in frustration. “No... I mean, yeah, but it’s not for me. It’s for you.” He shoved the key into your hand, his calloused fingers brushing yours for just a second—enough to feel how rough and worn his hands were like they’d spent a lifetime in battles you couldn’t begin to imagine.

You stared at the key in your hand, then back up at him, shaking your head. “I can’t take this,” you murmured, a hint of something like guilt creeping into your voice. “I don’t need—”

“Hey,” Logan cut you off, his voice gruffer than usual, like he was uncomfortable with the whole situation. “I’m bein’ nice here. And I don’t do nice shit, so take it.” His eyes, though hard, had softened just a fraction, as if he was daring you to argue with him but hoping you wouldn’t.

For a moment, you didn’t move. The weight of his offer hung between you, heavier than it should’ve been. There was more to this than just a bed—it was an unspoken acknowledgment of something. Trust, maybe. Or the fact that Logan, in his own rough-around-the-edges way, saw that you needed something more than just a seat in his limo.

Your fingers curled around the key, accepting it with quiet resignation, but your gaze lingered on his. “Why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice low, the question carrying more than just curiosity. There was a vulnerability in it, a hint of something deeper, like you were trying to understand the man sitting next to you.

Logan looked away, his jaw clenching slightly as if the answer was something he didn’t want to say out loud. He exhaled through his nose, a heavy sound in the quiet cab of the limo. “Just get some rest,” he muttered, his tone clipped like he didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Maybe not ever.

You hesitated for a beat longer, then finally nodded, pushing open the door and stepping out into the cool night air. The pavement felt rough beneath your feet, a reminder of how far you'd come from wherever you started. The worn-down hotel loomed in front of you, the neon light casting strange shadows across the parking lot.

As you walked toward the door, you glanced back over your shoulder. Logan was still sitting there in the driver’s seat, his silhouette framed by the fading light. He didn’t move, didn’t watch you go—at least, not that you could tell. But something in the way he sat, rigid and tense, told you he was still paying attention. Always paying attention.

Inside the hotel room, the bed was lumpy, the sheets threadbare, and the faint smell of mildew lingered in the air. But it was a bed—a real bed. And that was something you hadn’t had in a while. You dropped your bag by the door, staring at the worn carpet for a moment, feeling the weight of everything settle onto your shoulders.

As you lay down not bothering to change, your body sank into the mattress, the tension slowly easing from your muscles. You closed your eyes, the hum of the highway distant now, Logan’s quiet gruffness still echoing in your head.

Outside, Logan leaned back in the limo, staring out into the fading dusk. The quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore—it felt like something else. Something that neither of you could name yet.

He stayed there, in the parking lot, engine off, his thoughts far away but still somehow with you, watching over you in a way he’d never admit to until he finally let sleep take him. 

You awoke to the damp feeling of drool on your chin, blinking groggily as you wiped your face with the back of your hand. The unfamiliar room slowly came into focus—the peeling wallpaper, the dim light filtering through the blinds. You sat up, glancing around as your mind caught up with your body. For a moment, you weren’t sure what time it was, until you peeked outside, pulling the blinds open just enough to see the sky painted with streaks of orange and pink.

The sun was setting. Still early.

The limo was still parked in the lot, right where it had been when you’d gone inside. A part of you had half-expected it to be gone, leaving you behind with nothing but a vague memory of a quiet, brooding man who had given you a ride. But there it was. 

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the bed, and stretching out the stiffness in your back. The bathroom mirror reflected a version of you that looked just as tired as you felt—hair tousled, eyes puffy from sleep. You splashed some water on your face, trying to freshen up, wondering just how long you’d been out.

As you towel-dried your face, a thought hit you: You didn’t even know the guy’s name.

You paused, staring at your reflection. Great. I got in a car with a complete stranger. A stranger who could’ve easily left you out there on the highway, or worse, done something while you were out cold. But he hadn’t. You knew instinctively that he wouldn’t. He could’ve hurt you, sure, but there was something about his demeanor that told you he wasn’t that kind of man. Reserved, gruff—yes—but not a threat.

Besides, there was something about the way he moved, the way he watched the world with an edge of suspicion like he was always prepared for the worst. It felt... familiar. Maybe that’s why you’d felt okay getting into the car with him. He was like you—a mutant. One of the few left in the world, just trying to survive.

You stepped outside into the cool evening air, pulling the door shut behind you. Logan sat in the limo, leaning back with his arms crossed, one hand tapping lightly against the worn leather of the steering wheel. His gaze lifted the moment you stepped into view, those sharp, unreadable eyes tracking your every move.

“Didn’t think you’d wait around,” you said as you approached, your voice carrying more uncertainty than you intended.

Logan shrugged. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be,” he replied, his tone casual, but there was a heaviness behind the words like maybe that had been true for a long time.

You opened the passenger door and slid in next to him. The limo smelled faintly of smoke and old leather, the scent oddly comforting now. You settled back into the seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“What’s your name?” you asked suddenly, realizing how strange it was to have shared a car—and now a bit of trust—with someone you didn’t even know.

“Logan,” he answered, the name grating out of his throat like it wasn’t used to being said. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, his eyes staying on the horizon, but his grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly. “Yours?”

You hesitated for a second before giving it. It felt strange to be exchanging names after all this, but something in you wanted to fill the quiet between you with more than just silence.

Logan nodded once, letting your name hang in the air for a moment before glancing over at you. His gaze was hard to read—those deep, weathered eyes that had probably seen too much for too long. “How’d you end up out here?”

You shifted slightly, the question bringing a surge of memories to the surface—memories you weren’t sure you wanted to unpack right now. But there was something about the way he asked, so direct, so unflinching, that made it easier to answer.

“Been moving around,” you said simply. “Trying to stay off the radar, keep to myself.” You shrugged, glancing out the window at the fading light. “Guess I was just looking for somewhere quieter than the last place.”

Logan grunted like he understood more than he was letting on. “Not much quiet left these days.”

You both sat in the heavy silence that followed, the kind of silence that said more than words could. The world had become hostile to people like you—mutants, outcasts, whatever they wanted to call you now. It didn’t matter where you went; there was always a sense of being hunted, being watched like you were something dangerous to be kept in check.

“How long have you been running?” he asked after a while, his voice softer now, less gruff. There was something almost... knowing in it, like he’d been running, too for much longer than you could imagine.

You exhaled, the question hitting closer than you wanted it to. “Feels like forever,” you admitted quietly. “But really? Only a few years. Things started getting... bad.”

Logan’s jaw tightened at that, his fingers gripping the wheel until his knuckles whitened. “Yeah. They always get bad.”

You didn’t need to ask if he was speaking from experience. You could hear it in his voice, feel it in the air between you—the weight of survival, the cost of staying alive when the world seemed determined to tear you down.

“Why’d you pick me up?” you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. It had been nagging at you since he’d stopped on that highway, and now, sitting here with him, it felt safe enough to ask.

Logan’s eyes flicked over to you, then back to the windshield. He was silent for a long moment like he wasn’t sure how to answer. Finally, he shrugged, the movement almost imperceptible. “Seemed like you needed it.”

That was it. No explanation, no deeper reasoning. Just a simple truth, spoken with a kind of raw honesty that made your chest tighten. He wasn’t the type to offer anything he didn’t mean, and for some reason, that made his answer hit harder.

You nodded, accepting the answer for what it was.

Logan cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “So, what’s the plan now? Where are you headed?”

You stared at him, then out the window focusing on the hotel neon sign, unsure how to respond. 

You hadn’t thought about the future beyond getting through the next day. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “Keep moving, I guess. Same as always.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and distant. “Same as always.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, but the silence felt different this time—less heavy, more like a shared understanding between two people who’d been walking the same lonely road for too long.

Logan turned the key in the ignition, the engine rumbling to life beneath you both. “Where to, then?” he asked, glancing over at you with a look that said it didn’t really matter where you went. Not as long as you were both still breathing.

You met his gaze, feeling the unspoken question beneath it. You could keep running. Or maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to do it alone this time.

“Anywhere but here,” you said, a slight smile tugging at your lips.

Logan nodded, pulling the car into gear and easing back onto the road, the fading sun casting long shadows across the landscape as you drove toward whatever came next.

[literary-motif]

London's Drowning

Matias x Reader

It has been raining constantly, and you feel gloomy. Luckily, Matias is there.

You sat on the windowsill, a cup of hot tea in your hands as your gaze fixed on the wet pavement of the street below. It had not stopped raining for days, and it was getting worse. The downpour sounded like the Thames flowing peacefully through London might have evaded the laws of physics and was now beating down on the city. You had made the mistake of stepping outside for an instant without an umbrella and had walked up the stairs drenched. 

The weather was gloomy, and you felt the part. 

“It’s the -ber months, honey,” Matias had said, sipping from his favorite cup with little ghosts on it. “Summer's ending, and we’re diving right into autumn. How fast the seasons change.”

How fast they changed, indeed. You were not a fan. 

The idea of a stroll with him along the river — from Westminster all the way to Whitechapel — had been on your mind for weeks now. You longed to bask in the sun, listening to his soothing voice as he talked about whatever plot hole he was trying to fix. You would finally manage to relax. Again and again, the rain had thawed your plans like the annoying hero in every classical superhero movie, where good always won.

Fall was approaching faster than you would have liked. The colors on the trees were beautiful to observe, of course, bringing a little much-needed color into the dark, dim days of your least favorite time of the year, but the rustling of leaves under your shoes also served as a reminder that summer had passed, and it would be a long, long time until you could marvel at the flowers blooming in Victoria Park. 

You felt a pair of arms encircling you from behind. Soft brown hair flashed before your eyes an instant before you felt Matias rest his head on your shoulder, staring at the wet scenery outside alongside you. “Penny for your thoughts?” he asked.

“In this economy? Give me a dime for them at least,” you replied, the joke rolling off your tongue effortlessly despite the ache you felt deep inside. The rain gnawed on your happiness, and you wished more than anything to set it on fire and disperse the clouds instead. The thought that high above this blanket of gray the sun was shining brightly felt like a raging injustice.

Matias chuckled, squeezing you tighter. “I’ll give you a kiss, how does that sound? Is that enough payment for a piece of your mind?”

You mumbled a reply, taking a sip of your now cold tea, and clicked your tongue in distaste. “I don’t like the weather, is all,” you said. At least there was no storm raging. Thank meteorology for small mercies.

“I know you don’t,” he said, the compassion in his tone nearly making you feel bad. You knew how much he loved the colder months. They were the perfect time for writing, he argued. To you, they felt like silent torture. “How about we watch a movie and cuddle under a blanket? I know work has been stressing you out. Maybe this could help you relax a little?”

The thought sounded nice. You glanced at him, meeting his excited smile. “That sounds lovely,” you said, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his forehead. “But let’s watch something light, please. A mindless comedy, or one of these funny murder mysteries.”

“Of course,” he said immediately, picking up your cup of tea and frowning at the temperature. “Would you like another cup to go with the popcorn?”

“You got popcorn?” you asked incredulously. What had seemed to be a spur-of-the-moment decision had been planned for longer than you thought. 

“Well, I meant to suggest this for a while now, but something always came up. I’ve been longing to spend an afternoon with you like this, just relaxing together. It’s hard to make time for it with our schedules, I know.”

“Work has been exhausting recently,” you admitted, allowing him to take your hand and guide you to the couch. “There’s just so much to do for uni and— and everything else. It just keeps adding up and then I can’t even go on a walk to clear my head because it’s always bloody raining.” You flopped onto the cushions with a huff.

Matias retrieved the large fluffy blanket — your favorite with little cats playing with balls of woll on it — and draped it over you lovingly. “I know,” he said, brushing a hand through your hair affectionately. “Spring will come sooner than you realize, honey. Now would you like another cup of tea?”

You nodded, raising the blanket to your chin. Drowning in the heavy cloud hanging over you, you had not even realized that Matias had lit some of the candles around the apartment. 

Their flames burned steadily, illuminating the room around you with a gentle orange glow that reminded you of the cozy evenings spent together, cuddling under the quilt while observing the snowflakes steadily falling towards the ground. Soon, winter would come with all the beautiful brightness of the decorations people put up. 

“Do you think Mr. Mayer will put that shooting star in his window again?” you asked Matias, taking the steaming cup of tea from his hands with a whispered thanks. 

He sat down beside you, shifting to slip under the blanket while he held onto the bowl of popcorn. “I think he will,” he said. “He did not take it down until March, so I think he liked it that much, he’s burning to hang it up again. Why?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you said, switching on the TV. “It’s nice to look out of the window and look at the light. Now, what are we watching?” You stuffed your mouth with a handful of popcorn, feeling a little lighter now that the thundering rain was drowned out by Matias' fond chuckle, and the darkness beyond was chased away by the candles he had lit. 

The dark months would pass, and soon, the sun would peek out behind a cloud again.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

NSFT Alphabet: Weeping Clown

I didn't forget! Hereeeeee Weepy! (someone pls hug him). Btw idk much about his lore so most of this is based on vibes (i want to kiss him vibes)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

If this man is not out like a light (poor stamina), he beaming like a bright af light bulb. He is very exhausted and can't do much but he is very cuddly after. Definitely needy.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On himself, not much. Poor guy has low self-esteem and only likes what you like about him. On you, your face. You are his sun, so bright in his eyes and painfully aware others bask in your radiance (help him).

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Weepy matches what you like about him. Do you want it inside? Okay! Outside? Okay! Want him to clean up his mess with his mouth? Okay!

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Pegging, no I will not explain.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Weepy is a virgin. He knows only the barest minimum from listening in on conversations but other than he knows nothing.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Oh this sweet summer boy only will do missionary unless told otherwise.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

I think he is very serious in a romantic way, he is trying really hard to be perfect. You gotta help him loosen up. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I think it is a bush, he never thought to groom it down or shave it— Unless you tell him too, he will do anything for you (god help him). Ngl i love the idea of his red hair being from him dying it and that his natural hair is either a light brown or dark brown so the drapes might not match the carpet.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

A wet dog looking at you with sad eyes and a slowly wagging tail (he is trying)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He has a lot 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Love (if he was into kink it would be puppy play, yall not ready for that convo lol)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His room he needs the lights off too (help this guy)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

So weepy does not come off to me as someone who is often turned on. He will naturally want attention then believes maybe sex is the response he so have. I think he just matches your mood though after a while

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Anything painful, he probably won't do bdsm related things (he is vanilla)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving, not even joking he wants to go down on you as many times as he possibly can. Giving that hot pathetic face (noice)

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Due to him being inexperienced, he is slow and has no rhythm. So you need to set the pace

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He will do a quickie but only if you start it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Again, bdsm probably will scare him. However, because he lacks self esteem, he bends to whatever you want. So… he is vanilla, it is what it is. No for this.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Low, he apologetic about it too

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has no idea what this is but definitely use it if you want to train him to last longer

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

You gotta be a bit unfair with him, he begs pretty 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Weepy is very embarrassed, he tries hard to be quiet but it is so hot how he sounds so lol sing baby!

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is not Mike who is playful and funny or Margaretha who is naturally seductive and playful, because of his self esteem and lack of confidence he looks to you heavily for guidance. Weepy is the sort of partner you need to have prior relationship experience with. He comes off needy and desperate to please, it is very much mental health issues related and you need to both be ready for that and in a good place to be ready to put a lot of work into this. Yeah you are playing therapist, parent, and lover; there will be struggles— Weepy will try though to the best of his ability. Again you gotta be ready to walk into this relationship with him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

… bet you think it's big huh sorry smol cock king here

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Oh this guy you think it would be high with how desperate he is but nope, he needy for intimacy but intimacy does not mean sex (teach him that omg)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Fast af he out, gone to the world with a light snoring 

[bluejackals]

post-chunkban pt2

continuation of this. word count 1202

notes: I think the european cathedrals inspired images and plagues in myhead

---

But where would that leave him? Alone on this cold cliff, purposeless again, without even the lump of hope sitting in his throat that Parrot meant it when he said he wanted Wifies as his best friend. Yes, Wifies might have Ken, and Ken is warm and wonderful and loyal down to the bone, but this is someone who doesn’t know what he is who says he wants him. This is Parrot, whose eyes are the sun, and Wifies can’t give that up. 

The strength—and perhaps also shame—of that revelation sinks him to his knees, right there on the rock. He looks up at Parrot, who is so bright it hurts Wifies’s eyes. 

For whatever reason, Wifies’s tear ducts have never been removed. Maybe it made the escape rooms feel more real to the viewers, if his eyes could water and he could cry. 

So he cries now—unwillingly, shamefully, truthfully. The tears scorch his face before being torn away by the wind. No, he’ll never be able to give the sun up. 

“I can’t,” he says. A confession to the figure staring down at him in all his shame. “I can’t.” 

Can’t tell him, can’t kill him. Would he be doing this if he knew?

“You have time.” The words sink into his veins. He shivers. Time, time, time. It feels like he’s always running out of it. 

He can’t be truthful with Parrot, but he can do this—make his way to him. Even if he has to crawl on his knees.

He manages to stand a few feet away from Parrot, ignoring any residual aches from the stone. It feels like layers of him slough off with the grit of the rocks as he does. Parrot’s eyes follow him the whole way.

Wifies takes the feather. 

It’s like flipping a lever. Parrot’s wings relax and he lets out a colossal breath and the morning light hits Wifies in thick, gauzy beams. Wifies has to blink a few more times, both to adjust his eyes and to clear away any residual from the crying. It helps to clear his head too. 

“Hey,” Parrot says. 

“Hey.” Thankfully, Wifies’s voice doesn’t crack. 

Parrot rolls his shoulders. “So. Um. Do you have any questions?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know that much about any of this. I don’t—I guess if you don’t mind explaining what that was?” Wifies is very curious. This is knowledge untouched by anything from his past; this is knowledge he can swallow whole. 

“Sure. Wanna sit?” 

When Wifies nods, Parrot rummages around in his inventory and pulls out two white carpets, setting them on the cliff and pinning them down with stray stones. Wifies takes the one further from the cliffsides. 

There’s a crunch as Parrot bites into an apple with a thoughtful expression on his face. He looks calmer—not forcibly calm like he’d been yesterday, not impassively calm like he’d been just now. Wifies realizes he also feels calmer. The churning in his stomach has reduced to lapping waves, barely present. 

“Mm. Okay. I—when I say I, I mean avians—shed feathers all the time. Those random feathers don’t really mean anything on their own.” 

To prove his point, Parrot rattles a wing. A lone piece of fluff falls out. “See? I obviously don’t moult all of them all at once, or else I’d look stupid and I wouldn’t be able to fly.” 

“Like an actual parrot,” Wifies observes. 

Parrot chuckles. “Yeah. But anyways, feathers that are freely given have significance. There’s a bunch of rituals with different meanings and stuff that are used when giving feathers. So ‘what just happened’ was one of those.”

“Which one?” The question tumbles out of Wifies’s mouth. He’s having fun learning this. Maybe too much fun. It feels like too much fun. “Sorry, I—”

“No, that’s a good question,” Parrot says. “You should get to know that.” He takes another bite out of his apple, throat bobbing when he swallows. “There’s not really a set name for it, I guess. I’ve been calling it the ‘Beginning’ ritual in my head. The feather given is one of the smaller ones because accepting it is accepting the beginning of something, whether that’s an alliance or a promise, and it’s done at dawn because that’s the beginning of a new day. It’s pretty self-explanatory. I’ve done it a few times.”

He tucks the finished apple core away. “I only use it for promises and relationships. There are other ways to make alliances that aren’t this serious.” A small smile. “I mean, you saw how dramatic that was, right? And I had to time it perfectly.” 

“But it was beautiful,” Wifies says. Beautiful and terrifying. 

“It’s meant to be, yeah,” Parrot murmurs. “But I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did. A lot.” He means it. Then his curiosity nudges him towards another question. “I feel like ‘Beginning’ implies a next part,” Wifies muses. “Are there related ones?”

“Yeah. There’s at least two more parts. The feathers given get bigger and bigger. People who get really serious will go up to a primary.” 

An unasked question materializes, hanging in the air between them. Will you? Will I?

Parrot’s headwings drift towards his face like free-floating curtains, then abruptly snap back. “I’ve…yeah. I’ve gone that far. I’d—I’d do it again.” He stares at Wifies. “If it felt right.”

Maybe that lightness Wifies felt after the ritual was the removal of Wifies’s ability to maintain a neutral resting face. He must’ve shown some kind of question in his expression. “That’s…thanks for the information.”

Wifies has a very, very good guess of just who has one of Parrot’s primaries. But it would be beyond rude to ask Parrot, so he thanks the heavens that he doesn’t have that loose of a tongue.

“Do you have any specific questions now?” Parrot asks. “Since you know some basic stuff.”

“Hmm. Actually, yeah. What’s the proper way to store this? Or wear it? I’ve seen people with earrings. Is that how it works?”

“It’s up to you,” Parrot says. “A lot of people just keep the first feather in a pocket somewhere on them so it travels with them through respawns. Turning the later feathers into jewelery is more common.” 

“I’ll stitch it into my jacket cuff, if that’s okay?” 

Parrot blinks, then smiles. “Yeah, that works. That’s a pretty innovative way of doing it too. Remember, it’s first and foremost supposed to be a gift to you, so you can do whatever.”

Right. The feather is Wifies’s. He doesn’t have that much to his name—a painful history, a prong of the trident he and Ken used in there, the clothes he wears. But now he has this as well. Something warm blooms in his chest. It’s his. Just like the trident fragment. And Ken might be happy to hear about it, because Ken always tells Wifies he should have more things. 

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, Parrot.”

Parrot nods. “Thank you too, Wifies.”

Wifies blinks. “For what?”

“Being you.” 

It’s so—Parrot. It’s a little corny and honey-sweet and Wifies’s stomach does what can best be described as a floppy somersault. Parrot didn’t say “thank you for being Wifies." It makes all the difference.  

[swiftcast-selene]

sure is nice of all those places to put out snacks for the wol. would be a shame if someone with a sweet tooth.... were to show up......

[thedrotter]

filler doodles about how i comedically whitewashed myself as a child (despite also being the darkest i had and still have ever been in my entire life) because i cannot wrap my head around it

[judasisgayriot]

I’m sure I posted the same thing back in s1, but Mika did this for the good omens girlies fr

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...