#wow to think I did that art a year ago now...

[carewyncromwell]

“And all the souls on earth shall sing On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day! And all the souls on earth shall sing On Christmas Day in the morning! Then let us all rejoice again On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day! Then let us all rejoice again On Christmas Day in the morning...”

~“I Saw Three Ships (cover)” by Blackmore’s Night

x~x~x~x

Happy Christmaween! xoxo 🎃🎄

x~x~x~x

When the spirit of Orion Amari, otherwise known as the Wanderer, was finally allowed to stay at the Cromwell Manor, all of the ghosts there were finally able to rest easier as well. The combination of the Phantom’s anger and the Bride’s melancholy had been an unpleasant shadow over them for a while, and it was a relief when it finally passed. In fact, since the Wanderer had appeared at the Manor, the Bride’s aura had been oddly lighter. On those few occasions she left the attic, often to clean or close the curtains before dawn, the glow of her eyes and heart brought a strange warmth to the space around her. It helped mitigate the dark ire of the Phantom that continuously emanated off of the attic. 

Over the next three decades, the Wanderer and the Beating Heart Bride would exchange covert messages through the songs they sang in each other’s earshot. It was the only way that was safe for them to communicate, since the Phantom had forbidden the Beating Heart Bride to speak to Orion, or for him to come anywhere near the attic again. Fortunately, as strange as this new language of theirs was, it ended up working rather well for both of them. 

Highland Mary was exchanged for Blowing in the Wind -- If You Could Read My Mind was exchanged for The Fair Maid -- Imagine, for Over the Hills and Far Away. I’m a Believer ended up getting Orion banished for a second time, after the Phantom heard the Bride humming the unfamiliar tune while cleaning the upstairs banisters and later caught Orion playing it on his guitar. Orion’s return was marked with still more remorse and shame with Sweet William’s Ghost, as well as forgiveness and resolve through Our Day Will Come.

As the years passed, both of the ghosts’ fondness for each other grew. It made Orion’s resolve to break the Bride’s chains all the stronger, and it made the Bride try all the more to keep Orion at a distance, for fear of the Phantom’s anger. She would frequently try to ward Orion back with parting songs like Ae Fond Kiss, only for Orion to return a My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own or I’m Telling You Now, or even to come upstairs in open defiance of the Phantom’s orders to speak to the Bride directly.

“I cannot sing this as well as you, so I will say it plainly: I am not giving up. I will set you free, no matter what it takes. No matter how much the Phantom may rage, I will weather his storms. I will weather them, as you do, until you’re finally free of him and you never have to weather them again.”

This pronouncement, when overheard by the Phantom, got Orion banished a third time. The Bride only managed to convince the Phantom to rescind that banishment in time for the winter holidays, at which time the Bride sang songs she’d picked up from other ghosts like the Performer @ag907​​ and the Child Spirit’s wards @dat-silvers-girl​​ in celebration.

“I saw three ships come sailing in On Christmas day, on Christmas day! I saw three ships come sailing in On Christmas day in the morning!”

The Phantom may have complained about the Bride interacting with “such lowlifes,” but his menacing aura did seem oddly settled, hearing his captive singing so brightly. The Bride’s happiness had lightened up the rest of the Manor too -- Orion soon heard the Ghost Host and many other similarly red-haired ghosts singing Christmas carols around the house too (though much more off-key), as if hoping she’d hear and sing along with them. 

Orion himself, though, showed his joy by playing a song on his guitar on the stairs, as always.

“Someday soon, we all will be together, if the Fates allow... Until then, we’ll have to muddle through somehow... So have yourself a merry little Christmas now...”

For once, while playing, Orion felt a cold gloved hand close over the shoulder of his jacket. When he looked up, the Bride instantly withdrew, her gloved hands flying up to her glowing red heart as she closed her eyes and turned away.

“Bride...”

When Orion made as if to comfort her, she quickly brought a hand up to his lips to quiet him. He flushed, startled, as she looked up at him, her lips spread in a slightly strained smile and her yellow eyes blazing with both sorrow and fondness. Then, slowly and gently, she backed away, fading away into the wall and up toward the ceiling.  

“Have yourself...a merry little Christmas...”

The song was on the Bride’s lips quite a bit, over the next few weeks. Perhaps because the Phantom didn’t know Orion was its source, it seemed to soothe the attic’s menacing aura somewhat, making it far gloomier and more longing than hostile.

In the three years following that Christmas, Orion experimented, trying to figure out how to play some songs the Bride would sing on his guitar. He’d gotten quite practiced at Spanish Ladies, after playing it off and on in a corner of the main bar in Liberty Square over the course of a year. He’d sort of been hoping to surprise the Bride by playing one of her favorite songs, so she could sing along as he played.

It was while practicing the chords for Barbara Allen that the Wanderer was first approached by a tall young man he’d never seen before.

“Hey. You.”

Orion finished playing out the chord before sparing one eye to look up at the young man. He was dressed in a green and white track suit with a white T-shirt underneath that said “I Hear Dead People” printed across it.

“You’re the one the locals call the ‘Wanderer,’ right?” he asked. His voice was a low, cynical Southern drawl.

Orion’s eye lingered on the strange words on the young man’s shirt before darting up to his face.

“I am called many things,” he said airily. “‘Wanderer’ is one of them. ‘That weird man’ is another. And ‘Orion Amari’ is another still.”

The man wrinkled his nose when he frowned, clearly bewildered.

“...All right, then,” he said uneasily. “Mr. Amari...I’m Duncan Ashe -- I’m a paranormal investigator, here to look into the hauntings of Cromwell Manor. I’d like to know what you know about the so-called ‘Headless Man...’”

Orion’s interest was piqued at once. Little did he know, though, just how consequential this meeting would end up being...and how much it would change his afterlife forever.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Lineup of all of the characters that appear long enough to need a visual representation of them in the game lol

[toastsnaffler]

dating an art student was so crazy I'm just thinking abt that one birthday I had where my ex got me stickers from the etsy of the person they were cheating on me with....

[confinesofmy]

i'm planning next week's picnic like if one thing goes wrong i'll be publicly beheaded. i'm locked in to such an absurd degree.

[risingsunresistance]

idea in my head: i would love to animate what the little buddies would do while you get a combo, even if it's just like 5 frame "animation" bc i'm not good at animating

problem: how do i. draw out and animate a combo. like the actual puzzle game part, how would i even start to do that. do i just leave it up to the imagination

[helielune]

[alllgator-blood]

I call this one "found family but it goes horribly wrong in an irreparable way" :)

I've been doing a lot of cotl comics but I kinda lost my comic making endurance after not working on art since last september, so I made this to help me flex my art muscles. Apologies for the watermarks lmao they kinda kill the mood but I've already had people repost my art when I put it on reddit so...might as well get the credit if my stuff is gonna be reposted regardless. RAMBLE INCOMING!!

Thinking about how shamura was most likely the one to find + raise their adopted siblings and help them survive the mass deicide that happened thousands of years before....OUUGH. I have so many ideas for comics that take place when half the bishops were still lil kids. I have one in progress right now actually. But it just hurts when I remember how it all ends- they loved their family for so long and yet they credit their love as what caused it to fall apart!!! The lore of the bishops only sunk in when I was dealing with my own heavy sibling angst, and I was like wow....shamura supported the sibs so much they accidentally encouraged their brother into being a heretic, and couldn't close pandora's box in time to save him or the rest of the family. They blame themself for the past 1,000 years and seem to be totally okay with dying for what they did?? Like when they get sent to the shadow realm they tell you to "finish the job" instead of leaving them in purgatory. And despite being the bishop of war, they are the only bishop to not have a "desperate" phase where their attacks get more brutal. They're not desperate, they just want to get it over with. All their other siblings are dead by then anyway so it's not like they have anything to stick around for, even if they were healthy enough to win the battle. Plus I mean...narinder is the bishop of death so they probably just want to see him one last time. Owch

Don't get me wrong I love to hate narinder and his only role in my cult is the guy who cleans the outhouse, but I really like his dynamic with shamura vs. the other siblings. I kinda see him as the troubled kid that couldn't assimilate into the family and shamura took it upon themself to try and fix him. It's interesting thinking about how they're the only one he shows remorse for despite feeling the most betrayed by them. I don't think he 100% hates them, he's just been locked in gay baby jail for so long he's had nothing better to think about than "my sibling encouraged me to experiment with my godly duties, and then punished me for it!!". He's not wrong? But also is shamura that wrong either??? Idk it's complicated with no real answer and I like it a lot, I wish the game told us more about what the bishops were like before they got their shit rocked during the schism. I would've loved to see shamura before their brain was turned to mush by their tbi + 1,000 years of suffocating grief and crushing guilt :)

ANYWAY thanks for making it to the bottom of this rant, here is a sketch I did a while ago of shamura + baby leshy from a prequel au thing I don't have a name for yet:

[222col]

Can we get a fic about womanizer Art who's a very famous tennis player and never committed to any woman before even though girls are throwing themselves at him and who doesn't sleep with the same girl twice until he meets y/n ( a maneater) and the sex is something that Art has never experienced before to the point he becomes obsessed with her, she's all what he thinks about and refuses to sleep with another girl and he's determined to make her his no matter what

uhhh yes of course 🧎🏻‍♀️

art donaldson. the man who's only lost two games is entire professional career, he's one of the most, if not the most, successful tennis players in history. he's out most weekends, celebrating another win, another trophy to add to the cabinet. taking a new girl home with him every night, they all fall to his feet like putty. he thinks it's pathetic, but hey, it gets him laid. he's been single during his adult career, too busy fucking random girls and focusing on his tennis to bother committing, not that he would want to anyhow. he never sleeps with the same girl twice, he did that once, some seven years ago. he couldn't stand the way she'd text him constantly afterwards.

he's just won another trophy hitting up the local club with his friends. patrick joins up with him, later in the night. "congrats donaldson, sorry i'm late man, we all bar crawled our way here." art surveys the people patrick has brought with him. you're laughing at something with one of the boys patrick's brought along. "who's that?" art questions, nodding towards you. patrick tells him your name, "she's uh, my buddy's girlfriends, cousin or sister or something, fuck i don't know," patrick laughs into his drink. target acquired, art finishes the vodka soda he's drinking, turning to place the empty cup on the side. your mouth is attached to the guy you were laughing with, your dress hitched up slightly as his hands dart around your waist. "look like he beat you to it, artie," art shakes his head at his friend. "games not over 'til it's over, patrick."

the group of you are shown over to a vip booth, near the back of the club. the guy you were making out with gets up to go to the bathroom, art stands, about to steal his seat next to you when another one of patrick's friends beats him to it. "fuck me," art whispers, slumping back to his place in the booth and backing another vodka soda. the new guy whispers something in your ear, hand on your thigh as you move to make out with him. art should be turned off with how easy you're acting, but honestly he's impressed, the way you have every guy here wrapped around your finger. they're throwing themselves at you the way in which girls do to him, he's intrigued. "game, set, match." patrick laughs to art. "uh uh, no way." art walks straight over to you, pulling the guy off you by his shoulder. "hey! hey- you're art donaldson!" art rolls his eyes. "i'll sign an autograph later, but right now, you're in my seat."

he raises his hands in defeat, moving for art to take his position next to you. "i'd tell you off for interrupting, but he was a shit kisser." you smirk to the blonde in front of you. "well, guess you'll just have to thank me instead." you sip your drink. "i wouldn't go that far, donaldson?" he nods. "art donaldson, and you are?" you introduce yourself. "and who are you that your face alone made that guy run for the hills?" wow, you really don't know him. it's refreshing. "a tennis player." it wasn't the answer you were expecting. "aren't you a bit too pretty to be a tennis player?" art fakes a pout. "i'm so sorry i don't meet your expectations, but hey, at least i know you think i'm pretty." you shrug at him. "it's just a fact. dance with me?" you ask, standing up, holding out your hand. he takes it, of course, joining you on the dance floor. art's not much of a dancer, but that doesn't stop his arm snaking around your waist as you grind against him.

he's whispering in your ear, disgusting, perverted things about the way your body feels against his. art's not shy in situations like this, he thrives, it's his weekly routine. "you gonna keep talking or are you gonna take me home and actually act on what you're telling me, donaldson." he's pulling you out of the club, jumping into the car he has waiting outside. the partition is already rolled up as art climbs on top of you the second the car door is shut. his lips touch yours for the first time tonight and he's intoxicated, your lipstick leaving stains on his skin but he can't get enough. you're reaching between your bodies, palming him through his jeans. "christ, you're like a teenager. all you've done is kiss me and you're already hard." he was hard the second you danced up against him, but that's not the point. "you gonna fucking do something about it then?" he's biting, kissing, sucking his way down your jaw to your neck. "no actually, i think you can grow up and wait until we're at wherever we're going." it's you biting his skin now, his earlobe, his neck, his shoulder. "we're going back to my house, where i can fuck you like the slut you are." you're desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you moan yet. the car pulls up to art's place, the door opening as he pulls you into the house.

you're kissing the way through the house as art leads you to his bedroom. pulling your dress over your head as you remove his shirt. "fuuuuck," he whispers as you push him backwards to the bed. undoing his jeans, discarding them across the room with his briefs. you crawl over his body, his hands looping behind you to undo your bra. "you're the hottest woman i've ever seen." he peppers your breasts with kisses before manhandling them. "bet you say that to all the girls you fuck in this bed." your hand reaching down between your bodies again, pumping his newly exposed cock in your hand. he groans as he replies. "i don't actually, you're the sexiest thing i've ever laid my eyes on." you scoff and pump his cock faster. "you're not so bad yourself, donaldson."

he flips you over onto your back, moving down your body, removing your panties with his teeth. "you've even got the prettiest little pussy i've ever seen." he immediately starts tonguing your clit, inserting two fingers into you. your moans are killing him, pre-cum falling out of his cock at the taste of you. he reaches over to his nightstand to pull out a condom. "don't, i'm on the pill." he smiles over to you, "fuck me, art." lining himself up with your entrance, "now, say please." god, the sound that escaped your lips in response could have had art confessing his love to you. "please, fuck, please art," he lifts your legs up, resting them on his shoulders as he slides himself into you. getting drunk of the sounds of you and the way you feel around him. he pushes your legs down closer to you, he's never felt this deep inside someone before. "jesus, you're fucking perfect," he mutters, leaning down to kiss your swollen lips.

he's already getting close, leaning back to thumb your clit as he fucks you quicker than before. "fuck, shit, you feel fucking amazing," your hands grasp the sheets, more profanities leaving your lips. "i'm so fucking close," he whispers, his grip around your ankle tightening. "fuck, come inside me, please, art." fuck. no one's ever let him do that before. in all these years, all these girls, not one as let him come inside of them. a few more thrusts is all it takes for art to finish inside your pussy. it feels like fucking heaven to him. that's it. that's what's been missing. he works your clit until you're a mess beneath his fingers, watching you orgasm as his load drips out of you. "fuck. i need to do that again." he falls down next to you on the bed. "which bit specifically?" you giggle, kissing his shoulder. "all of it. you. coming inside of you." his eyes meet yours. "i wanna see you again." placing kisses on your lips. "not my style, unfortunately for you, donaldson." you start sitting up, his hand grasping your wrist, stopping you in motion. "it wasn't a question."

he gets your number from patrick's friend's girlfriend, turns out you're her friend, not her sister or cousin. she likes art for you, so obliges when he requests your number. blowing up your phone, near enough begging you to see him again. it's been weeks since he saw you, skipping the clubs after matches to sit at home and stalk you on social media. there's just something about you, consuming his thoughts. you never replied further than 'who's this?' to his texts, you make him look pathetic.

i will literally do anything you ask if you just let me take you on a date.

it's late, he's becoming desperate for just a text back from you. throwing his phone across the room after he sends another text. "this is just ridiculous." he mumbles to himself, when a text notification lights up his phone, falling off the bed and running to it, he see's your name.

anything?

fucking finally. he's sat on the floor, smiling into his phone like a little boy texting his crush.

literally anything in the world.

he sends the text back immediately. fuck waiting around to make himself seem less desperate.

would you let me fuck you with a racket?

god, you're disgusting, he fucking loves it.

i would do whatever it takes just to taste you again.

he's staring at the three bubbles on his phone, like his world would shatter if they stopped.

you can take me to dinner tomorrow then.

[cosmerelists]

If Other Stormlight Characters Served as the King's Wit

As requested by anon. :)

"The King's Wit" is there to insult people in the king's stead. In this role, Hoid basically gets to stand at the entrance to feasts and make fun of people. It's a good gig for him. But what if other characters had this job?

1. The Stormfather

Stormfather (rumbling with displeasure): You have broken an oath today. Stormfather: You promised your son that you would play "Shattered Plains" with him this afternoon, but you did not. Stormfather: Though you feast for today, my storm winds shall one day scatter your dishonored bones. Elhokar (visibly sweating): Ha ha my new Wit sure is, ah, intense!

2. Kaladin

Kaladin: Ew. Another Lighteyes... Kaladin: Sniff, sniff! Smells like the exploitation of the powerless in here! Kaladin: I can name a dozen men better than you and guess what--they're ALL darkeyed. Kaladin: Nice outfit--did it come free with your ancestral privilege?  Elhokar (muttering to himself): I will not put him in jail again, I will not put him in jail again, I will not...

3. Shallan

Shallan: [sketching] Hapless Lighteyed guest: Is that...me? Shallan: It is! [shows Ideal Self portrait--it's the same person, only their sadness and distrust is gone and they shine with an earnest and honest light, looking out toward their future] Hapless Lighteyed Guest (visibly tearing up): I...It's beautiful. Shallan: Please, go ahead & take it! Elhokar: Shallan-Wit, why is everyone at my feast introspective and crying? Shallan: I'm really good at art.

4. Adolin

Adolin: Wow! You are so brave to put those colors together, and in a style from two years ago ago! Adolin: You are almost pulling it off. 

5. Dalinar

Dalinar: Hello. I could not help but overhear your heated argument, my friends. Dalinar: It reminds me of a tale from the Way of Kings, which I will now quote from memory... Dalinar: ... Dalinar: Aaaaand, they fled. Dalinar: That's the third time that's happened this evening.

6. Ialai

Ialai: [hands hapless lighteyed guest a folded-up sheet of paper] Hapless Lighteyed Guest: W-Where did you get this information about me? And my husband? And my...former boyfriend's sister's cousin? Ialai: [merely smiles] Hapless Lighteyed Guest: W-What do you want? Please! I'll do anything! Ialai: Why...nothing at all. Yet. Please enjoy the feast.

7. Lift

Lift: Mmmm....4. Lift: A solid 6! Lift: Perhaps a 5, but ONLY because of those pants. Lift: Wow! An 8! Wyndle: P-Please mistress, I don't think the job of the King's Wit is to rank the butts of all attendees! Lift: They need to know.

8. Jasnah

Hapless Lighteyed Guest: Ugh, I don't think it's right for the king to employ a heretic as his Wit! Jasnah: It's strange--one might think that your faith in the Almighty would inspire you to strive to be a good man, yet in reality your mother weeps each and every night to have produced a son who loves drinking and gambling more than he loves his children, his wife, or indeed the Almighty. Jasnah: Should you wish to inspire faith in others, perhaps you should try to demonstrate even the smallest reason why yours has produced an iota of good for anyone in this world aside from yourself. Elhokar (across the room, watching): I...am afraid.

9. Lopen

Lopen: Hey, I know you! I got a cousin in your army! Lopen: He always laughs 'bout how weird it is that your officers make the men pay for their own boots 'n' stuff 'cause it's an army not a charity, right? But then your officer son gets an allowance which is funny 'cause that kinda seems like the 'charity' thing that an army isn't! Lopen: We Herdazians tend to use a word to mean a thing, yeah? But you Alethi sure like to make a word mean whatever it is you want!

10. Szeth & Nightblood

Nightblood: Evil. Evil. Evil. Definitely evil. Big evil! Little evil, but still evil. Szeth: You've identified every guest so far as evil, sword-nimi. Nightbood: Yeah, I'm so good at detecting evil! So when does the slaying start? Szeth: I told you. I don't murder entire parties anymore. That is my past, but it does not have to be my future. Nightblood: But you're the King's Wit! You got wit-tle down the evil, right? Szeth: That is not what that means, sword-nimi. Nightblood: ... Szeth: ... Nightblood: People sure do speed up when they have to walk past us, huh? Szeth: I am pretty sure that means we're doing a good job.

[justlemmeadoreyou]

Can I request for an blurb?? Never requested to anyone but I have this idea!!

So like H nd reader is in a relationship but H being famous nd all so because of that media nd his fans doesn't know he is in relationship nd to hide that thing he had to do PR relationship with someone else!! Nd he doesn't acknowledge that he had being ignoring reader nd spending more time with that pr girl!! So one day H came home nd reader was crying nd saying to H "do you love me?? Nd saying please don't leave me" nd H assure her she is it nd in few months he proposed the reader by saying how she is the only girl for him nd to never doubt his love for her!!

Ahh so sorry for such a lengthy request!! Nd it's okay if you don't wanna write!!:)

words: 4k (sorry!!!)

warnings: angst, lots of it. a fake pr, crying, some smut too. happy ending.

i changed this a bit, especially the ending. hope you don't hate this!

***

"I miss you," you whispered into the dark emptiness of your bedroom, clutching Harry's pillow tight. Another restless night alone while he was off being pictured with that pretty model for their fake relationship.

When would this torment end? Your heart ached constantly from the secrecy and lies shredding your real romance with Harry. All you wanted was to be open about your love...

It had started off so blissfully a year ago when you literally crashed into Harry outside of a coffee shop. You'd been rushing out the door, distracted and clumsy as always, when you rammed straight into a solid wall of human. Your face went bright red as you scrambled to pick up your scattered belongings.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I'm such a disaster, I seriously need to watch where I'm going..." you babbled, finally looking up into the kindest pair of green eyes you'd ever seen.

The man was watching you with an amused tilt to his soft lips. Something about his tousled chestnut hair and casual style felt vaguely familiar, though you couldn't quite place him. 

"No worries at all, it's my fault. Are you alright?" He asked in a deep, sumptuous voice that made you shiver.

As realization dawned, your mortified expression deepened. "Oh wow...you're...I just headbutted Harry Styles in the stomach."

He laughed easily, dimples flashing as he bent to help gather your dropped papers. "Very impressive ab attack there. Been taking self-defense classes?"

You flushed again at his playful teasing, finding yourself surprisingly flustered by this international superstar's carefree charm. Most celebrities seemed to carry an air of inflated ego, but Harry radiated a humble warmth.

"Do you, er, come to this cafe often?" He asked curiously as you both stood. "I don't think I've seen you around before."

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear shyly, you shook your head. "No, I don't. I was just stopping in for a coffee on my way to work."

"I see." His gem-green eyes slowly traced over your features, as if admiring a fine work of art. The intensity of his gaze sent a tendril of heated awareness washing through you.

Before you could think better of it, you blurted out the first thing on your mind. "Would you...maybe want to get coffee? With me, I mean? Right now?"

Harry's full lips curved in an amused smile. "I'd love that, actually."

You could scarcely believe this was reality as you led him back inside the cafe, trying not to visibly swoon at the casual brush of his fingertips against the small of your back. For the next hour you talked and laughed more freely than you had in ages, feeling utterly intoxicated by Harry's mere presence. Everything about him radiated authenticity and vulnerability, a creative wildness simmering beneath his polished exterior. You felt like you could be yourself with him instead of carefully cultivating persona upon persona as you did with most people.

By the time you forced yourself to reluctantly leave for work, exchanging numbers with Harry, you were positively giddy. Dancing through your day in a euphoric bubble, you hardly noticed the pitying looks from coworkers.

"You know he's just gonna ghost you, right?" Julie the receptionist said flatly when you told her about your morning coffee date. "Have you seen how many girls fall all over themselves trying to get Harry Styles' attention? You're out of your league, sweetie."

You frowned at her harsh dose of reality. As if you weren't well aware of your lack of impressiveness compared to supermodels and actresses in Harry's orbit. Still, you couldn't shake the magnetic connection you'd felt with him, the bone-deep certainty that he was someone truly special. 

Much to everyone's shock, Harry didn't ghost you. In fact, a simple text from him that evening asking how your day was led to a rapid-fire exchange of messages stretching long into the night. Over the next few weeks, your life revolved around hushed phone calls, secret rendezvous at out-of-the-way cafes and restaurants, and marathon conversations revealing every layer of one another.

Harry was purely intoxicating - a whirlwind of brooding intensity balanced with vivid spontaneity and an excellent sense of humor. He seemed utterly fascinated by every small detail you revealed about your life, respectful in a way that made him feel like a wonderful dream. And you fell harder and harder for Harry with each passing day. Something about his quiet attentiveness and insatiable curiosity about you made you feel cherished in a way you'd never experienced before. Gone were the shallow, vapid interactions you were accustomed to in the dating world. With Harry, you could truly be yourself - he somehow coaxed out your authentic self that you typically kept heavily guarded. 

At the same time, you were in absolute awe of the whirlwind of depth and experiences that defined Harry's life. His stories of touring the globe, writing deeply personal lyrics, collaborating with musical icons - they all painted a vivid portrait of an artistic soul soaring to brilliant creative heights. You drank in every glimpse into his inner world like a lifeline to another realm of existence.

Yet whenever you'd express feeling unworthy of his profound love and admiration, Harry was quick to sweetly rebuff you.

"Y/N, you dazzle me more than anything I've experienced in this mad career of mine," he insisted one evening over a cozy home-cooked meal you'd prepared. Catching your hand across the table, his green gaze pinned you in place. "Don't you see? Your warmth, your light, your way of finding detailed beauty in such seemingly ordinary moments - that's what enchants me. You make me want to shed all the superficial trappings of fame and just...be."

You felt yourself falling deeper and deeper, tumbling into an intimacy more profound than you'd ever imagined. If Harry hadn't told you himself that he'd only had a few relatively tame celebrity girlfriends in the past, you'd never have believed his immense experience from the way he worshiped you.

"So responsive, so gorgeous," he rasped against your swollen lips, calloused fingers stroking delirious patterns over your sensitized skin. "God, I could spend eternity between your legs”

Those stolen passionate encounters, tangled up and gasping one another's names with wild abandon, only added to your lovestruck infatuation. You felt deeply seen and cherished on a soul level, like you were both puzzle pieces finally slotting seamlessly together.

In the dreamy, lust-addled haze of new love, you almost didn't notice the growing tension in Harry's manner as typical relationship pressures began encroaching. Paparazzi grew increasingly aggressive in tracking his day-to-day movements whenever out in public. Well-meaning friends expressed concerns about the obvious strain he was under from lack of a romantic life in the public eye. And perhaps most troubling, his management team forcefully "suggested" it was time for him to embark on a high-profile PR romance to capitalize on album promotion and touring.

Harry had looked utterly fed up that evening when he broke the news, pacing in your living room.

You watched him apprehensively. "They want you to do...what? You mean...go along with a staged relationship? Like have a beard or something?"

"No! Absolutely not, I won't do it. I won't treat you like some secret, and I refuse to fake anything in my private life for publicity."

"Harry..." you tried to soothe him, rising to your feet and rubbing his tense shoulders. "I understand the pressures you're under-"

"No, you don't!" He rounded on you with surprising intensity. "You don't get it, Y/N. You are the best, most precious thing in my world - my safe harbor from all the bullshit fake expectations. I won't sully what we have with PR lies. I just...won't."

His words were at once incredibly romantic and terribly naive. As much as you longed to stay cocooned in the warm, intimate bubble of your relationship, you knew the real world would inevitably intrude. Harry was a public figure on a massive scale, his romantic life constantly scrutinized. For the sake of his livelihood, he might not have any choice but to bend to the publicity machine's demands.

***

Those first seeds of conflict only blossomed further over the following weeks as the PR relationship issue remained unresolved. You did your best to stay supportive and understanding, but it was a challenge keeping your own hurt and insecurities at bay.

"I just don't see what the big deal is," Harry groused one evening over a tense dinner. "So what if they want me to go out a few times with some model or actress, let the paps get pictures? It doesn't mean anything to me."

You poked at your food sullenly. "It's not that simple though, is it? Couldn't something like that, even if fake, seriously complicate things for us?"

He reached across to squeeze your hand. "Baby, you know you're the only person who matters to me. A little PR sham doesn't change how utterly mad I am about you."

But it did change things, whether Harry wanted to admit it or not. The striking difference in how he treated you, his real partner behind closed doors, compared to how he'd have to pretend with someone else for public consumption - it stung deep.

One night shortly after, you were cuddled up watching a movie when Harry's phone started incessantly buzzing. Pulling it out with a furrow in his brow, he quickly scanned a series of messages and emailed photos. An unmistakable look of chagrin crossed his face.

"What is it?" You asked, unable to ignore the sinking feeling in your gut.

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. "Looks like the publicity team is really pushing ahead. They've, uh, they've arranged for me to be caught having dinner with Kendall Jenner tomorrow night."

Your heart plummeted as an uneasy feeling settled over you. This was really happening - right before your eyes, your private intimacy was being infiltrated with PR lies.

"So you're...going to be going out with her? In public, on a fake date, while the whole world watches?" You tried and failed to keep the hurt out of your voice.

"Not a date!" Harry was quick to insist, shifting closer to pull you into his arms. "Y/N, you have to understand this doesn't mean anything. It's all just smoke and mirrors, love. You're my world, I promise."

You wanted so desperately to believe him. But the lingering ache still took root somewhere deep inside as you watched the paparazzi frenzy ignite over Harry's "outing" with Kendall. Photos of the two models laughing intimately over drinks and dinner plastered every gossip rag and website for weeks. 

It soon became a narrative that followed Harry everywhere - probing reporters shouting questions about whether he and Kendall were officially an item now. Rabid fans prying him online, trying to get every new shred of detail on the new, perfect couple.

"Hey, come here," Harry murmured soothingly whenever he saw the sadness and uncertainty cloud your eyes. He'd pull you into his chest, peppering kisses over your face. "I'm yours, baby, only yours. None of that bloody circus matters to me, I hope you know that."

You wanted to have his quiet confidence, truly. The way Harry could compartmentalize the fake PR relationship and his very real feelings for you with such clear separation. But it didn't stop the anxiety slowly gnawing away at your trust and security.

Increasingly, special romantic gestures from Harry felt like overcompensation for all the public affection he was faking with Kendall. When he'd surprise you with extravagant getaways to exotic locales, you couldn't fully relax into the pampering without wondering how much of it was just hiding guilt. And his constant reaffirmations of his love and devotion started ringing hollow amidst the growing circus his life was becoming.

The worst of it came at one of his first concerts after the publicity whirlwind began. You'd been so looking forward to experiencing the screaming crowds in a whole new light as Harry's actual partner, not just a casual fan. But the huge video screens kept flashing candid photos and fake couple shots of Harry holding hands and hugging Kendall, selling their phony romance to the fans.

You couldn't hold back the tears slipping down your cheeks as Harry serenaded the arena full of thousands, having no choice but to play along with the charade on the world stage. He caught your eye for just a second during the encore, and his smile instantly morphed into a look of sheer sorrow and guilt, looking at your tear-ridden face. He knew you, even if he stood so much away from you.  But there was nothing he could do then except push forward with the manufactured story.

That night after the concert, an emotional Harry fell into your arms the moment you were alone in his dressing room. He clung to you desperately, peppering apologies across your tear-stained and defeated face.

"God, Y/N, I'm so sorry," he rasped, emerald eyes awash with remorse and frustration. "Seeing you hurting like that because of this bloody sham...it killed me. You have to know how madly in love I am with only you."

You nodded, finding it hard to speak past the lump in your throat. Of course you knew, deep down, that Harry loved you wholly. His attentiveness, the intense spark of intimacy and passion between you, the emotional connection - it was all achingly real. This PR relationship was merely a toxic byproduct of his celebrity, something massively unfortunate but not defining your actual bond.

And yet...Harry couldn't deny the growing chaos enveloping his personal life. The fake romance was now Priority One to his team, staged and milked for every ounce of publicity. Constant video calls and strategy sessions mapped out each calculated move - where Harry and Kendall would stage a coffee run for the paps, when they should be papped holding hands emerging from a nightclub, how often they should update their couple-y Instagram shots together.

Harry grew increasingly sullen and withdrawn the more deeply engrossed he became in maintaining the facade. And you couldn't ignore the mounting jealousy and hurt rapidly corroding, chipping away your self-esteem and faith in the relationship.

***

"Maybe...maybe we should take a break," you finally broached one afternoon after an especially grueling set of publicity demands. Harry's head whipped up from where he was moodily going over plans for an upcoming awards show appearance.

"What? Why would you say that?" There was an edge of panic in his tone. He looked shocked, but you knew it was a long time coming.

You shrugged. "Harry, can you honestly tell me you don't resent me at all for the toll this whole – charade has taken? That some part of you doesn't wish you could just live your life freely without me holding you back from giving publicity stunts like this your full effort?"

He immediately rushed to gather you into his arms. "No! Never, Y/N. You're my world, my everything. Without you, all this would mean nothing!”

Burying your face into the strength of his shoulder, you wished you could cling to his words and find comfort there once more. But the turmoil swirling around you was rapidly becoming too overpowering.

"I'm just...I'm so tired of feeling like an afterthought, Harry. Of being the dirty little secret you have to hide away while flaunting someone else to the world. I can't keep living like this, sinking into doubt and jealousy constantly."

Harry's arms tightened around you convulsively. "Don't say that, my love. You could never be an afterthought to me. I need you here, by my side, to keep me grounded and remind me of what's truly real."

Though his words warmed your heart, you found yourself pulling back to gaze at him searchingly. "Then prove it. Enough with the grand romantic gestures, the desperate promises. I need you to actually fight for me, for us, instead of just going along with everything. Either that, or–” the lump in your throat deepend, “ –you can let me go”

Harry was taken aback by your words. But still, there was a part of him that didn;t fully understand what you were going through.  "You know it's not that simple, Y/N. One wrong move that tanks this publicity team's plans and my entire career could crater."

"So what?" you challenged, tilting your chin defiantly. Harry wasn't the only one being forced to make impossible choices. "Is the career really more important than your actual life, your happiness in a real relationship? Because I love you with everything, but I can't keep sacrificing my sense of self-worth and spinning out into reckless jealousy every waking moment just so you can have the best of both worlds."

"I...you have to understand, none of this publicity shite actually matters to me. Not really. It's all a smokescreen that will fade away eventually. But you, us - this love is my truth, my be all and end all. Don't give up on me, baby. I'll fix this, I swear it."

You wanted so badly to believe the desperation in Harry's voice. But the ache of sadness and insecurity had burrowed too deeply. What once would have swept you up in romantic adulation now just hollowed you out further.

"I really hope you can, Harry," you rasped, pulling away with immense reluctance. "Because I can't keep holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop much longer. This half-life just isn't enough anymore.I can't, Harry.I can't keep living like this."

Harry looked hurt now. He knew it was only a while before it all came shattering down, but the thought of Y/N walking away felt like a shard of glass lodged in his heart. 

"From this moment on, things change," he rasped. "No more bowing to bloody publicists and image managers. My truth, our bond, comes before anything else. You're about to become my permanent bloody shadow, love."

A smile curved your lips at his words. Reaching up to trace the sharp edge of his chiseled jaw, you felt a wave of relief and renewed hope. "Well, I do make a devilishly charming shadow, if I say so myself."

Harry's gaze drank you in like a man rewarded with an infinite oasis after years of directionless wandering. "That you do, baby. No more hiding that radiant light of yours, yeah? "

He sealed the vow with a kiss that seared straight through to your bones. You clung to him, every brush of his hands and velvet tongue rekindling the deepest intimacy between you two. 

When you finally pulled apart, chasing oxygen, Harry made an immediate move to sweep you up into his arms like a blushing bride. "Come on, love. Let's go remind the world of who they're dealing with, shall we?"

You looped your arms around his neck with a giddy laugh as he strode through the penthouse with you cradled protectively to his chest. Despite his determination, his hold was soft, cherishing. Like you were something infinitely precious to be handled with utmost care, or you would break.

Without explanation, Harry marched you both out and down to where a sleek black car was out front, the doorman quickly ushering you inside the backseat. Once the privacy partition rolled up, Harry immediately turned to you.

"I mean it, every word," he stated plainly. "No more deceptions or hiding our connection. From here it's full transparency and only the truth."

you felt overcome by tenderness and awe. "So...does that mean an end to the fake relationship with Kendall then?"

"Among other things," Harry confirmed without hesitation. To your surprise, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone and thumbed it open to the camera app, situating you both in the frame. "We're going to document and share every moment of us, the real us. Let my supporters and fans see who truly holds my heart before all others."

You blinked in astonishment as he looped an arm around your waist, pulling your bodies flush as the camera captured. Was this really happening? After all your heartbreak and insecurity brought on by that disastrous PR relationship, was Harry truly throwing it all to the wind?

That was clearly his intention as he leaned in to nuzzle your cheek dotingly, snapping pic after sweet pic of shameless embraces and intimate caresses being exchanged between you. Each time the shutter clicked he murmured loving adorations, his focus immovable.

"Gorgeous girl...my forever woman...heart and soul of my entire world..."

You blinked back tears. When was the last time you'd felt this elevated by Harry's worshiping? Your shaky exhales intermingled hotly as he maneuvered you fully into his lap, slanting his mouth hungrily across yours.

"My everything," he growled against your lips before kissing you breathless.

"Harry..." you finally managed to gasp out as you pulled apart, "what are you doing? If you post those shots, then-"

"Then the whole world will know I'm mad for you, and only you," he said, with nothing but seriousness and devotion in his voice,  "No more closeting my actual partner away like a mistress to be hidden from disapproving eyes. You're the only romantic relationship fully grounded in truth that the world needs to be focused on."

You shivered at the assurance in his tone. This was really it - the definitive line in the sand. And with Harry looking at you the way he was, you couldn't find it in yourself to argue or question further. You simply melted into his heat, losing yourself in the incredible feeling of being staked as his claim.

With a few taps, Harry posted the first of intimate photos and captions that set the internet instantly ablaze. Breathy confessions of forever love intermingled with searing makeout shots - it was a rush of letting go of months of pent-up passion and adoration for the world to finally bear witness.

All the while, Harry refused to tear his stare from worshiping every inch of your body. His broad palms trailing over the exposed curves of your hips, waist, the swell of your breasts - anchoring you fully into the present.

Your social media was immediately swamped by a plethora of comments, tags and speculation over the tsunami wave of intimate reveals. Harry's fanbase seemed to have divided between celebration and outrage over their beloved idol being so thoroughly claimed by an average nobody. 

More jarring, however, was the media/PR teams' explosive reactions. Both your phones blew up with frantic calls and enraged messages demanding explanations and emergency meetings. As expected, the team working to orchestrate Harry's fake relationship with Kendall were melting down over the sheer negligence of you both, and damage control now being initiated.

For a long while, you both simply ignored it, too immersed in devouring the rebirth of your connection to spare any attention elsewhere. You reveled in being subjected to Harry's fervent, undivided worshipping as his fingertips and lips swept across every velvet hollow and slope. His sensual assault was purposefully overwhelming, etching his permanent claim over your quivering form.

"They'll keep the noise up for a while, try spreading all sorts of misinformation and manipulation to regain control of the narrative," Harry finally mumbled without breaking the rhythm of stripping you bare and lavishing undivided attention over each exposed new expanse of satin flesh.

You shivered beneath him, and he tilted your chin up with a knuckle to capture your gaze, "But none of that shite matters now, okay? All that matters is that I’m all yours now. Only yours.:

And you were never letting him go.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

tell me if you like this!

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Kalim, Vil: Pyrite, Prince, and Pauper

Wah 😭 I really love the initial art!! The water shimmering and making a rainbow… ✨ (Not used to seeing Kalim without his headscarf though, feels weird to see him bare!)

A Tale as Old as Time.

If Kalim had to pick one word to describe what he was looking at, it would be celebration.

It was both humble and extravagant at once—the city streets, the venue, livened up with flags, confetti, and fanfare. A large elephant fitted with a vest and hat towered over the gathered townsfolk. Seated upon him was a young man in a turban and glaringly white robes, an arm extended to the sky.

A grand party for the public, and all were invited. Children and adults, animals and humans, nobles and street rats.

Kalim broke out into a wide smile. “Wow, it looks like everyone’s having so much fun!”

“You never seem to tire from the idea,” Vil commented dryly.

The supermodel patiently tapped a manicured nail against his arm. “I suppose a host showing his best face to the public is far from undesirable. I’ve certainly been to my fair share of events where the host was less than that.”

“Gahahah! You’re famous, so it makes sense you’d be in high demand at parties. Jamil told me about that red carpet you walked a little while ago. I managed to catch some of it on TV!”

Kalim’s garnet eyes glinted with excitement.

“You were all sparkly and the crowd was so happy to see you! You’re like the prince in this painting, hyping everyone up.”

“My, thank you for your support.” Vil’s lip curled. “I’m sure you’re in high demand as well… albeit for different reasons than I. Many would love to have the attention of the Asim heir on them.”

The third year chuckled, a hand tucked under his chin. “It’s only natural for people to be attracted to that which shines.”

“Shines, huh…”

Kalim folded his arms, inclining his head to one side. His mouth pinched slightly, disrupting the arc of his smile.

“… Hey, Vil. Can I ask you something?”

“You need not request for my permission.” Vil waved a hand. “Continue.”

“Do you really think I shine? Like, on stage.” A pause, then he quickly added, “And you can be honest with me. Please… be honest with me.”

“What’s this now?” Vil planted his hands on his hips. “Certainly, you’re not ordinary by any means, but I’d hesitate to call you a refined gem. A one month boot camp isn’t enough to polish your singing and dancing skills to that of a pro—but you’re not talking about VDC, are you?”

“Ahahah… Looks like you caught me.” Kalim let his arms fall to his sides.

“You can’t fool this actor’s eyes,” Vil said simply. “So? What is it that you’re actually after? It’s not like you to talk in circles.”

“It’s nothing. I… A lot’s been on my mind since winter break. Too many things. When I think about it for too long, I start to wonder if I’m really what people say I am.”

You’re so talented, Kalim-sama.

So handsome.

So smart.

So kind.

The very best.

“Sometimes...” He tugged at his collar, watching how it sparkled and shifted as he maneuvered the fabric. “it feels like I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. Or like my clothes don’t fit me right.”

The golden boy, the prince to make way for, the sun all looked to. They were the roles he wore, but suddenly they felt hollow.

Lies set adrift on an errant wind.

Dust of pyrite, fool’s gold.

Am I pretending to be something I’m not?

“… I’m not making a lot of sense, am I?” Kalim laughed softly, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have made today feel sad.”

“On the contrary,” Vil tutted, “I understand all too well. All the makeup in the world, the nicest clothes, and the most skilled stylists cannot make a pauper become a prince. A pauper is a pauper, no matter how they present.

“However… a perfect little prince is not all that has value. I’ve played enough parts and been in enough productions to know. There are swash-buckling pirates, daring space heroes, dastardly villains, and, yes, even clever, honest street rats who find themselves in the public eye. Perhaps they did not start off as diamonds, but in the end they proved themselves to be diamonds in the rough.”

Vil lifted his chin—indignant.

“Regardless of how others perceive you or what ensemble you wear, you remain yourself. So long as you hold true to your own moral compass and principles, you shall always be someone who shi… Ough!!”

He could scarcely finish his sentence before he was tackled. Kalim was embracing him tightly, only pulling back when Vil muttered that he was creasing both of their suits.

“Thanks, Vil!! Talking with you made me feel so much better! You’re really not as bad as they say you are.”

Vil frowned. “I’m aware that I have my detractors, but you must learn to be more tactful with your choice of words.”

“Tactful, right! Got it! I can do that.”

Kalim released him and spun around, splaying his arms out. He pretended to present the painting with a flourish, looking back at Vil.

“Someday, maybe I’ll be as sparkly as he is here!”

So I can meet everyone’s expectations. Talented, handsome, smart, kind, better.

But no matter how I might change, I’m still me.

Still Kalim Al-Asim.

And that was something worth celebrating.

[the-record]

kissing lessons: 2

synopsis: ellie was your first kiss, but she moved away and you never spoke again. what happens when she moves back to town ten years later?

song: kissing lessons - lucy dacus

pairing: college!ellie x reader

warnings: mean moms, implied homophobia

a/n: uhm wow thank you so much for all the love the first part 🫶 yall are angels and i love u all! thinking this is a series!!!!!!

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

“damn. you grew up.”

you laughed, coming over and pulling ellie into a hug. “so did you, jesus.” you let go of her and joel pulled you into a hug of his own. “hi mr. miller.”

“jesus kid, how many times do i have to say not to call me that! its joel.”

the air was awkward as you pulled away from them both, memories of your childhood floating through your mind. “so, uhm, what are y’all doing back here? thought you wanted to be close to tommy?”

joel sighed and leaned on the cart he had been pushing. “yea, well, ellie wanted to go to school here.”

“they’ve got a great art program.” ellie interrupted. “didn’t think id get in, but i did on a scholarship, so we decided to come back.”

you smiled at her. “wow that’s amazing, you’ll have to show me your stuff some time!”

“absolutely, shes amazing.” joel said, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “what about you, are you still in school?”

you sighed and switched your basket to the other hand. “unfortunately, last year though!” you smiled.

“thats the spirit.” joel pat you on the shoulder. “we better get going, but it’s good to see you angel. hope we get to see more of you.” he turned back to the cart, looking at the list as he headed down the cereal aisle.

ellie cleared her throat before speaking again. “hey, can i get your number? y’know so we can catch up?”

“yeah, of course!” she slipped her phone into your hands, watching as you added your number to a new contact. “it’s really good to see you.” you said as you put your free arm around her neck in a hug.

“yea it is.” her arm squeezed your middle for a moment before you both let go, heading opposite ways. “see you around angel.”

“what’s got you so smiley?” your mom wondered as she chopped vegetables beside you.

you set down the knife your were holding, turning around to lean on the counter. “you remember ellie? the girl i was, like, best friends with in elementary school?” she nodded, her eyes flashing between you and the onion. “saw her and mr. miller at the grocery store. i guess they’re moving back so ellie can go to school here.”

she hummed, no reaction on her face. “will you get the chicken out the fridge for me?” she looked up when you didn’t move, just staring at her. “what?”

“you tell me.”

she sighed and set down her knife, getting the chicken herself. “i just… i never liked that girl.” she closed the fridge door and cut open the chicken, putting it in a bowl with some seasoning. “mr. miller is very kind, and his sarah is a sweetie.” she clicked her tounge. “but ellie seemed to be a bad influence on you. something off about that girl.”

you knew exactly what she meant.

ellie was a trouble maker. back-talking teachers, and pranking neighbors. and she was never the girly-girl the moms wanted her to be. too tomboy-ish for their daughters.

too queer for them.

“whatever.” you left the kitchen, grabbing your keys and walking out the front door like you used to all those years ago. you heard your mom call out for you as you left, but you ignored her, getting in your car and pulling away.

ellie had texted you earlier to give you her number, claiming she was always free.

e: hey angel its ellie 3:48

a: hey. glad i saw you today. 3:52

a: when are you free? 3:52

e: always 3:54

a: u free now??? 5:36

e: yea come over 5:36

e: sent a pin 📍 5:37

ellie raced down the stairs as you knocked on the door, yelling at joel “i got it” before he could get up.

he laughed and turned back to the tv. she’d done that as a kid too, never more excited than when you came over. she composed herself before unlocking and opening the door, a shy smile on her face.

“hey, come in.” she stepped back, watching you come inside and slide off your shoes along side hers. she took your hand, a habit she never dropped, and led you upstairs to her room.

“hey angel!”

you smiled softly, peeking around a corner and seeing joel watching the news. “hi mr. miller.”

“it’s joel!”

ellie rolled her eyes, pulling at your arm. you scoffed, letting her guide you. “now, my room is just bones right now. im only here temporarily so…”

she wasn’t joking.

her bed frame sat against a wall not put together, all her stuff in boxes. a suitcase sat by the closet with clothes and essentials. her mattress tucked in a corner with sheets and a pillow. walls bare and books hidden.

“this is boring.” you teased as you flopped onto her mattress face first. when you looked over to ellie she was standing awkwardly at the door, hands at her sides and eyes on the floor. “what the hell are you doing?”

she shrugged, shuffling forward. “ ‘don’t know. feels weird.”

you laughed, staring at her incredulously. “you just yanked me up your stairs to your room, and now it’s weird?”

“you’re right.” she stood at the foot of the mattress before falling on top of you.

“jesus!”

ellie gasped and rolled off you. “do not say the lord’s name in vain missy! can you imagine what your mother would do if she heard?”

she felt the energy sour at the mention of your mom. “you okay?”

she watched as you sat up and followed suit, sitting criss cross in front of you. “i hate living with her. she finds a way to ruin everything.” you picked at the hole on your jeans, pulling at the white threads.

“let me guess,” ellie said, leaning onto her hands behind her. “not so happy to hear im back in town.” you looked at her with a guilty expression. “she never liked me. none of the moms did.”

“yea, well, theyre all idiots.” you huffed and picked at her jeans instead. “she just… any time im excited she has to find a way to ruin it. i just wanna move out.”

you were both silent for a minute. ellie watched as you picked and twisted the the strings on her pants, separating them just to pinch them back together. “move in with me.”

your head shot up to look at her.

[feyhunter78]

Hi!! I’ve been thinking about that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You, when Patrick walks Kat to the swings when she’s drunk and he says “Leave it to you to use big words when you're shitfaced.” Except! Kat is Nerd Miguel who somehow ended up drunk at some frat party or something, and Patrick is reader who has to deal with his antics. I imagine him spewing random scientific words/facts that reader tries her best to understand. All while she’s just trying to sober him up a bit. This lil scenario has been running through my head, and who best to share with than you!

(The chokehold you’re Miguel, specifically nerd Miguel, has on me is insane! It’s a great distraction while at work! <3)

I love that scene so much!!!! I made this a bit different, but I think I still hit the mark for ya anon <3 (Also this is a normal house party bc guys that are not in a frat are not allowed to attend frat events just like with sororities!)

House Parties

Art cred: Treelover_5

Nerd!Miguel masterlist

You weave through Brett’s parents’ guest house on the edge of town, downing your drink as you search for Miguel. It was really nice of Brett to invite you and Miguel to his pre-winter break bash. You know Miguel doesn’t party much, and Brett has been trying to encourage him to come out of his shell, so this was the perfect opportunity.

The sound of chanting draws your attention, and you see Miguel surrounded by a few other friends of Brett’s. Brett seems to be explaining something to him, car keys in hand. You drove here, so you know the keys aren’t Miguel’s, which makes you feel a bit better.

“Chug, chug, chug.” They chant, and you watch as Brett and Miguel simultaneously shotgun their beers, the foam dripping down Miguel’s tan skin.

Smash. You think instantly, your brain supplying you with images of what Miguel might look like as he comes up from between your legs, his lips, and chin slick with your arousal.

Then Miguel throws the beer down and throws his arms up victoriously.

Brett finishes, then throws his beer down as well and hooks an arm around Miguel’s neck, bringing him down to his level. “My boy Miguel has done it again! Absolute beast of a man!”

The other guys cheer, and you see Miguel smile shyly.

He’s been gaining in popularity, not that he really cares, nor do you, but it makes you happy that he’s made some new friends. Even if those friends challenge him to shotgun races.

Miguel spots you before you can even breach the circle and latches onto you. “Y/N, I won, did you see?”

Brett gives you a look that means dude should probably get some air, and you nod in response.

“Yeah I did, hey Miguel, you wanna step outside with me?”

“Yes, always.” He says instantly, his lips far too close to your neck for you to feel normal about.

You guide him through the crowd and out the door, his arm slung over your shoulders. He’s so heavy, all those stupid hot muscles making him dead weight as he mumbles to himself incoherently.

“What was that sweet boy?” You ask, when you hear something that sounds like your name.

“Did you know that the hydrochloric acid in the human stomach is so strong it can dissolve metal? Thin metal, mind you, but still, metal.” Miguel says, his cheeks red, his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose, and a goofy smile on his face.

“Wow, that’s crazy.” You say, struggling under the weight of him as you try to lug him over to a nearby porch swing, the neatly trimmed grass around you littered with solo cups and soaked with various spilled drinks.

“And beer—beer is twice as fizzy as champagne. I know this for a fact, I had four or so beers? They taste bad, did you know that?”

“Yeah, house parties usually have pretty cheap beer.” You laugh, swaying a little when Miguel leans on you.

“And cheetahs, super inbred, ten thousand years ago, taboos were broken, and now they’re all…ya know, the way they are.” He continues on, letting out a surprise oof, when you slide him onto the white porch swing, the weathered green cushions not doing much to break his fall.

“Very cool, so now can you tell me what the hell you were drinking in the twenty minutes I left you alone? Besides beer? Because Miguel, you are so fucked up.” You ask, sitting next to him, your legs tucked beside you as you turn to face him, an affectionate smile on your face.

He drags a hand down his face, and his glasses fall into his lap. He pouts at them, a small aw leaving his lips.

You pick them up and hand them back to him, and he clumsily puts them back on.

“Brett suggested we do shots before the races, he passed his midterm, we were celebrating with him.”

Fucking Brett. You loved the guy, he was nice, nonthreatening, watched out for you when you were in the Sig Epp house, but he also was a menace, who wanted everyone to be as drunk as he was.

“Miguel, you’re a big guy, but you don’t have Brett’s tolerance.” You pat his chest consolingly.

Miguel looks at you, eyes a little hazy, his shirt unbuttoned far more than it normally would be, his hair ruffled. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leans his head back against the swing, staring up at the stars. “You know a cloud can weigh around a million pounds?”

“I did not know that.” You respond, trying to see if you can check his pupils without him noticing.

He notices and rolls his head to face you. “Everyone blames women when they don’t have sons, but it’s actually male genes that decide it.”

“I did know that one, actually.” You say, as you run your hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

He smiles, and you swear it’s brighter than any star in the sky. “You’re so smart, y/n.”

You’re taken aback for a second, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.”

“So smart and so, so pretty. I know I said it’s on me, but will you give me a girl y/n? I want a daughter with you, my brains, your everything else, she’d be unstoppable.” He says, his words slurring together. Then he falls forward with a yelp, hands, and elbows hitting the dirt.

You sit frozen in shock, staring down at Miguel, before you snap out of it and scramble to help him. “Shit, Miguel, are you okay?”

He holds up his right hand, it’s bleeding. “Just put some sugar on it, it’ll heal faster.”

“Full of fun facts, aren’t you?” It’s another trip back inside to find a sink and a band-aid, his words still bouncing around in your head.

I want a daughter with you.

Fuck, he’s going to kill you one day, and you’ll let him.

Not me doing a little callback to what Miguel thinks at the end of his encounter with drunk y/n hehe

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows

[pascalcampion]

Under the Boardwalk.

I was at Lightbox a few weeks ago and I bumped into a friend I hadn’t seen in a while. ( hey Francis! We need to do lunch) He was laughing because he said that he had just seen a trailer for this thing I did some work on years ago. It took me a minute to realize he was talking about Under the Boardwalk. Movies do take a while to get done.

Anytime I see a movie in a theater that doesn’t come from Pixar, Disney, Illumination or Dreamworks, I clap my hands in my mind. It is SO hard to get to the finish line. Each movie that you see is the result of a series of small miracles.

I did a couple months of work on it. I was think it was in preproduction at the time. It was called Jersey Crabs at the time and there were only three people on it. At least, I only met three.

There was Chris Zibach, Ericka Stewart and David Soren.

I had just come off of two rather long and hard productions and I was a bit burned out about Art direction, production design or just… design in general.

When I first got an email about this, I wasn’t sure. But I went over to Paramount to meet with all three of them.

And you know what? They were fantastic.

Ericka was the producer and she had this no nonsense approach. Tell me your price, I’ll tell you if we can do it, if not we’ll figure something out. Boom. Done. She cut to the chase and any time I had a question she would reply within the hour. Her feedback was always short and precise, and she was always encouraging. After I was gone, she emailed me a couple of times to follow up on this or that. She didn’t leave any loose ends AND, something that is absolutely remarkable in this industry, she would reply to emails. She didn’t simply reply when she needed something, but when I would ask her if I could send recommendations, or if there were any other projects going on, she would send me an email back. I think the longest it took her to reply was TWO days, which is incredible.

Chris Zibach. It wasn’t immediately clear what Chris’s role on this was. I knew he was an artist. I had met him a few years prior while visiting a friend at Dreamworks TV I think. He was quieter than Ericka. Not sure if he was shy or I was simply too aloof for him to talk to me. For whatever reason, when I saw him, I thought of Tim Burton. Maybe the genius in him? Not sure. Later, I learned he was the production designer. I was surprised because that is something I typically learn on the first meeting. I was also unsure of his role because I hadn’t seen any of his work before and he didn’t act like any of the production designers I had met before. He wasn’t bombastic or sure of himself. He wasn’t trying to win me over with his talent or past battlefield experiences. He was humble. Yes, I think that’s probably the right word. Humble. But at the time, I couldn’t figure out if it was humility or something else.

It became clear after the first few designs of his I’d seen and especially after I had done a sketch for a moment that I couldn’t quite picture. I wasn’t understanding what they were looking for and Chris did this thirty second sketch that was SO clear, SO readable and SO easy to work with, and I was. OH! Ok.. he’s the real deal.

I love Artists like him. I wish I had worked with him more actually.

And, David Soren, the director

That was such an interesting meeting.

You know how sometimes you are hesitating on a project and you meet the team and all of a sudden it all flips? That’s how it was for this. I didn’t know what this story was based on, I didn’t find crabs particularly interesting, and the story, as it was pitched, wasn’t what I gravitate toward.

But David, wow. He had this energy in the meeting, this confidence. He was good at talking but he could listen AND hear you. He could also answer questions. Any type of question regarding the art, the story, the schedule, the planning. I didn’t know much about him but I came away very impressed.

I gave it a shot and now, I feel I was lucky to have been asked because, even if I was only on this for a very short while, it was one of those candy like work experiences. All good, nothing bad. Short and sweet and really fun.

There was a moment when I was drawing this big long scene that was supposed to be in the middle of a battle and I stopped, look at it and laughed on the inside because I had just realized I was being paid to do this and THIS was SO much fun.

I don’t know what my job was, what I was supposed to bring to the project. I didn’t understand why they had me do these designs when Chris’s work was so different and so unique already, but all three did a good job at quieting those thoughts.

I was working from home and they were on the lot. If I remember correctly, they would send me emails to broadly tell me “ There is a flood there, there is a battle there, there is club, a hotel, etc etc” and I would just do some images on what I thought it could be.

They already had some character designs, and Chris had done a few images, so I wasn’t totally going from nothing.

Each time I would send a set of images, I would get an email back the same day or the next day from either Ericka or David telling me something nice. Never from Chris though. I always wondered why but now I am realizing it was because he was too busy getting the whole thing off the ground.

I would get notes sometimes but not very often. Chris would do little drawers or notes on my images and, again, they were always minimal except for that one set piece and always clear.

I don’t know what the movie is like. I was still working on this when I started with the Peanuts Special which would occupy my life for the next three and a half years.

But I do know that I remember this as a very fun, loving and carefree work experience, which have not come around very often in my career.

Thank you Ericka, Chris and David.

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[000yul]

a friend asked for a quick and dirty TL of the new lunar new year official manhua oneshot (Let's Share a Meal Together) so i Tried★ it's a treat!! perfect for the new year

i forget how the siblings address each other in the official TL so i'm winging it here oops .: The movie has concluded, please leave in an orderly fashion. N: Ooh~ These two hours were well-spent. Even if they can't compare to me, this director's pretty promising. N: Hey! Watch where you're going! .: S-sorry…

N: Really now. … N: Feels like Lungmen's been more crowded than usual recently… N: Right! N: It's that time of year again.

(cover) Siblings though they may be, their tastes have nothing in common.

N: So… N: I'm thinking we should have a family dinner for New Year's Eve. CY: I don't know where you got this idea, CY: but that's fine by me.

CY: I don't think you'll find the others as easy to convince though. CY: Ling's such a free spirit you might find it hard to see her in time, let alone Dusk. CY: You don't get along with Dusk. Didn't you guys get into a fight over the bowl of noodles you cooked for her before? N: Bro, aren't you tired? (I know I am, just from watching…) CY: If you persevere every day, you wouldn't tire from something like this. CY: Nian, you should also exercise. Then in daily life, you'll… N: When it comes to martial arts, I'm pretty sure you have everyone in Great Yan beat. CY: Haha, you speak too highly. Even if that were true, if I let my guard down, in forty years there might be someone who can defeat me. N: It's just forty years. With a mortal lifespan, how many people are going to be able to match your years of practice?

CY: It's precisely because their lives are so short compared to ours CY: that the rate of their progress is beyond our imagination. CY: That's why I believe it's all the more important for us to spend time bettering ourselves. CY: Nian, if you feel like you have too much free time, how about I draw you up a training regimen… N: Wow, look at the time, I'm going to miss the next bus. N: I've rented a place in Lungmen, the address is as I said, don't be late, byee! CY: Sigh… This child is as impatient as ever…

Shangshu City N: Well, I've reached this pavilion… N: Why do all these peaks look the same… (bottle of booze) N: … N: She's not taking the bait, is she… N: (Last time Ling showed up for Second Brother's cup…) N: (I guess this doesn't compare…)

N: Open sesame, spin the bottle, whee! L: (I really don't want to show myself.) N: BOSS! GET OUT HERE, I WANT A REFUND! .: Ah…? N: YOU TOLD ME THIS WAS SO GOOD IT COULD TEMPT AN IMMORTAL TO DESCEND! N: THIS USELESS-ASS—

N: piece of… N: When did you get here? L: I've been sitting here for a while now. N: How did you know I'd be here today? L: It came to me in a dream, let's say. N: (here's a souvenir cup I got you.)

L: So what winds called you here from far away? L … I see, so you wanted to call us together for New Year's Eve dinner. L: I'm not against this on principle, but I'm afraid I can't make it that day. N: Why? L: A prior appointment.

L: Ten years ago I asked someone to brew some wine for me, and I'm due to pick it up this year, on the 30th. L: The flavour won't be right if I'm even a day early, L: and after the 30th, they're going to close for the New Year. L: It's true that this time is a big occasion for the people of Great Yan. It's a once-a-year occasion, after all. L: But that has nothing to do with us. L: Let's do it another day. N: You'll regret not having a taste of my homemade hotpot!! L: (Does she think that's a selling point…) L: It looks like little sister Dusk has a storm coming her way…

D: Who goes there? D: NIAN! IF YOU WANT TO DIE I CAN OBLIGE!!

D: You vandalised my art for THIS? N: Wow, the face you're making is ugly as hell. D: I'm not going. D: I can't believe you ever thought me saying yes was a possibility. N: You'll regret not having a taste of my homemade hotpot!! D: Do you think that's a selling point!? N: Oh, right! There's a hot new artist's exhibition in Lungmen. I went to see it and it's pretty good! Aren't you interested? D: If you like it, I definitely won't!

D: I have no interest in the artwork of others. D: Also, if you want a reunion so badly, D: one day we'll all reunite no matter how we feel about it. No? N: Again with that tired old crap.

N: One day, N: I'll make it so that you never say that again. D: Hmph. D: Get lost.

N: Oh man, in the end only you showed up. CY: Haha, well, I hope I suffice. CY: I sent word to the Sui Regulator. N: Ah! CY: I knew it'd slip your mind. N: Man! None of them can commit worth a damn!

N: Will there ever be a time where we can just go somewhere together for a day? N: Like normal people, N: Like a normal family.

L: Ahh~ L: Looks like I'm out of wine L: I should seek out more… D: What a pain. D: I should knock some sense into her.

CY: Nian, CY: Let's get a hotpot with a divider. For spicy and non-spicy. N: Were you even listening? N: No. N: Absolutely not. N: Nooooooooo.

N: Bro! I thought you could handle spice! CY: Alright, now that the shopping is wrapped up, let's head back. N: Why'd you insist on the split hotpot..! N: Brother!! CY: I just think being prepared is a good thing. (Also, I'm not as good with spice as you are.) CY: And, CY: It's not just humans who are capable of change. D: Open up, it's too cold out. D: Idiot. CY: See.

D: What? Your staring is making me lose my appetite. N: Hehe, N: Doesn't the real thing taste better than ink? D: Hmph. Whatever. N: Whoa, it started!

N: I was part of the prep for this year's fireworks show in Lungmen! N: Check out my Super Deluxe Two-Step Firecracker! D: So.. the reason you picked Lungmen was…? L: Alright, alright. L: Dusk, L: It's okay. Open your eyes and see.

N?: It's over. N: It'd be nice if more of us showed up next year. CY: Any more of us and the Sui Regulator is going to start raising a fuss. L: True~ D: I'll skip next time. N: We had such a nice mood going on, couldn't you guys at least try to not kill it? L: Yes, this is nice once in a while.

D: There's nothing special about playing house. CY: Even playing house is nice sometimes. CY: That's why we've gathered here today. CY: Happy new year. L: Happy new year~ N: Happy new year! D: … Happy new year.

N: Alright, we've mostly cleaned our plates and eaten and drunk our fill. N: That leaves one last question. N: Who's doing the dishes? N: Hey, now you're all quiet? N: Hey!!

[starryqueen-18]

The Girl and her Parents

The story starts with a 13 year old smart and sweet girl named Elizabeth McLaren who loves to have fun especially with her parents, but lately the parents have been overly protective and strict lately, this had made Elizabeth so mad and confused that she had an argument with them after that she rushed into her room door locked shut as she started to cry for her home is now a prison and her room became her jail cell.

Elizabeth's world theme: Jailhouse based on her idea of her home being a prison.

Long ago I did the chapter art for my Balan Wonderworld Ocs on Balan Wonderworld Amino but I didn't drew one for Elizabeth... until now!

This took sorta long, I think, I'm happy it turned out great and I evan added the sparkly effect on the window light and the light glare on edge of Elizabeth and the dog next to her. I also did the blur on them and the parents silhouettes and the lighting

Her nickname is Prisoner 13 since she's 13 years old, wow and I ever put her as Chapter 13, anyway next to her is the costume that represents Elizabeth's imagination of her being in her home imprisonment, unfortunately I don't have other costumes for it neither the dog's name but the picture looks amazing, hope you guys enjoy this masterpiece and stay safe and kawaii!!!

Bye :3

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