#Constructive criticism helps me make more art in the long run! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mouschiwrites · 3 months

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hi hi! can I request some headcanons about the ninja (+pixal, if you're up for it) having an artist s/o? okay thank you, also I love your writing!

Oooh yess!! Where my artist ninjago enjoyers at⁉️ I’ve come to nourish you <3

Ninjago - Ninjas (+ Pixal) with an Artist s/o

Jay

Immediately asks if you can draw/paint/etc him

If you agree, he will ask again in the future

….honestly he’ll probably keep asking even if you say no

What can he say? He wants to inspire you ;)

If you have art block, he immediately jumps to pose dramatically or arrange a bowl of fruit or something

He’s equally enamored with the quality of your work and the fact that it came from your hands

He loves all your work, even the pieces you decide to scrap/re-do

“What are you doing?? That was perfect!”

“Jay? How long have you been standing there-”

On that note, he loves to watch you work

Even when you don’t know he’s watching… (he’s a little obsessed)

But the plus side of this is that he knows the exact products you use, and he can see when you’re running low

He makes sure to replenish your stocks for you :) so you won’t ever have to worry about running out mid-project

He also makes sure to flaunt your work as much as possible, especially the pieces he “inspired”

He truly thinks you’re the best artist in the world, and he WILL fight someone over it

Cole

I see Cole as a pretty artsy guy himself, so he’d be thrilled to have an artsy s/o

You might not expect it, but he’s really in tune with his feelings, so to me it makes sense

He’s not quite as artsy as you, but he knows how to appreciate it

He’s more into the performing arts himself, but he has no less respect for other types of art

He’ll totally arrange work sessions for you both, which vary depending on the vibe you’re working with

Feeling like doing something a little dark or moody? Dramatic piano. Candles. Wine/grape juice in wine glasses.

Feeling colorful? Open windows. Flowers in vases. Candy and fruit. Maybe some cartoons playing in the background.

Point being: he knows how to get a vibe going

He really loves to work alongside you, even if you’re not doing the same thing

Sometimes he tries to sketch or paint, but more often he’s just watching you work or practicing moves

(You guys totally have a shared studio btw; wood floors and barre for him, easel/supply cabinet/whatever you need for you)

You guys definitely help each other out too

He’ll teach you a few moves so you can be his dance partner every now and again, and he’s more than happy to be your muse in return

He doesn’t really do performances or anything (dance is just a side hobby), so he has all the more respect for you if you publicize your work

He loves all your work, but he’s also a great source of constructive criticism

“I like this one. It’s darker than your other pieces, though, isn’t it? More drab.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I was thinking. I think I was just in a mood when I made it.”

Kai

He’ll make requests, but mostly for things he thinks would be cool

“What if you did one with, like, a car shooting flames from its exhaust pipes? Oh! And the driver is super handsome with a flaming cape and swords and sunglasses that are made of pieces of the sun!”

“That is insane. …I’m starting right now.”

He really admires your art, and he’s honestly a bit jealous of your skill

He actually has a pretty creative mind, just not the means to express it

So he’ll be shy about it, but eventually he asks if you can give him some pointers

He doesn’t want to keep asking you to bring his sharks flying in jets over volcanoes to life forever, after all

He’s gotta learn to be independent!

So he’ll quietly join you while you work, watching you closely and trying to follow along

He gets frustrated when he isn’t instantly as talented as you, and you have to laughingly assure him that skill takes time

He only gains more respect for you as he tries to stay calm

He learns to truly admire your work this way

And with his admiration came a tenfold increase in support

However you share your art, he’s the #1 supporter

Posting online? He’s already liked, commented, and shared on 7 different platforms. At a showcase? He’s dressed sharply, stationed not-so-inconspicuously in front of your piece(s) and getting others to talk about them

Zane

He also has a deep appreciation for art

He doesn’t always understand non-logical things, but art has a way of resonating with him

So to have a partner who makes art…

It adds a whole new level of emotional depth to your relationship

You already make him feel complex things, so seeing art that’s from you is truly an experience

The wistfulness he gets when looking at normal art is only amplified when he remembers that your hands produced it

He likes to be with you when he admires it, squeezing your hand while he takes in the little details

He’s a quiet admirer, but he’ll absolutely attend any events you’re featured in/support any online presence you have

He never gets tired of looking at your work; or looking at you work, for that matter

If you let him, he’ll watch you work

He’s dead silent, which is either a blessing or a curse depending on how easily you get creeped out

Eventually, when you finish, he’ll stand up and join you at your side, admiring the final product

You know he likes it when he reaches for your hand with a smile, letting you rest your head against him

The most you’ll get verbally is “it’s beautiful,” but trust me, he feels so much more deeply about the piece (and you <3)

Lloyd

Lloyd is more curious than anything when he finds out you’re an artist

What kinds of art do you do? Can he see your work? Have you always liked art?

He’s eager to see your work, but he’s not sure he can “appreciate” it properly

You have to reassure him that there’s no one way to “appreciate” art, and however he feels about it, that’s just how he feels

Your response only increases his interest

He ends up getting more into art because of you

The art of appreciation, if you will

He wants to be able to understand your work more so that he knows how to support you

He mostly spends hours just staring at your work, trying to notice the little details

He’d love to watch you at work, too, if you’ll let him

He asks questions all the time, but still tries not to annoy you

He’s actually already a natural at “appreciating” art, but the fact that he’s always trying to learn only makes him better at it

So you can do nothing but smile while he tilts his head, carefully formulating his next question

They’re surprisingly deep at times:

“Do you think this piece uses smoother shapes because you were feeling relaxed, so you moved more slowly? Or perhaps you were just emulating your calmness subconsciously..?”

“That could be it. I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Oh, sorry, am I overanalyzing? Sorry-”

“No, no, you’re totally right.”

You’ll ruffle his hair affectionately, and he’ll wrap an arm around your shoulder while he continues to examine your piece :]

Nya

I’m gonna be honest, I don’t see Nya as the type to get all deep over the meaning of art

Like, if it’s pleasing to the eye she’ll appreciate it, but she doesn’t think about it too much

It’s just too abstract for her tastes; the pseudo-reasoning of art critics gets on her nerves

But for your work she makes an exception

Well, not really an exception—she doesn’t take to pseudo-reasoning

She knows you, she knows your feelings, so when she sees your work, she sees a piece of you in it

It’s something she doesn’t see in other art pieces; she doesn’t know the artist, so it’s nothing more than a visual piece for her

But with your pieces, she can dig deeper because she knows deeper information

That’s why she loves your work, and why she loves watching you work

You’re the only artist that makes her feel like she really understands art, and for that she appreciates you

(She still thinks that most critics talk out of their asses though)

On that note, she will fight your critics. She will hunt them down and make them regret ever trying to “understand” your work

“Tch, look at this idiot. He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about! He doesn’t know you!”

“Nya, he’s complimenting my work-”

“But he doesn’t understand it!”

Honestly you think it’s a little funny how she’s unintentionally become one of those critics who argue about a piece’s meaning

Only for you though ;)

Pixal

She has a vast trove of knowledge, but feeling is something she often struggles with

There are few things that actually give her profound emotions

Your art is one of those things

The fact that it came from you, that your hands crafted it…

It stirs something in her, and suddenly the shapes and colors come to life

She asks you about it often, trying to understand

“Why is it… calming?”

“Well, I suppose I used some pretty muted colors, and the imagery is kinda peaceful… I dunno, does it calm you?”

“Yes. It makes me feel calm.”

Obviously you’re proud of her for better recognizing her emotions

And she’s proud of herself!!

Your art helps her understand a part of her that she’s only beginning to explore

And, since it comes directly from you, she credits you with the help :)

She loves to see your finished work, but she also finds herself mesmerized by your creative process

Watching the piece come together, each motion bringing it closer to completion, helps her understand the art itself

She tells herself that it helps her understand her feelings, too

Even though she knows that not every piece is dedicated to her, she always thanks you for showing her your work <3

Thanks for this request!! And thank you for reading, take care you little rockstars <33

(divider by saradika)

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tswaney17 · 9 months

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Accidental Chemistry - Part 1: New Beginnings

This is dedicated to the incredible @duskwhisperer. Thank you, love, for sending me the idea for this fic and letting me run with it. 💜 I'm very excited to finally share this story with you all. I don't have set posting dates, but I'm hoping to dedicate more time to this fic after I finalize IDBTWY. Until then, I hope you enjoy this first part! 💕

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: language

Word Count: 4,982

This fic will be posted on AO3 only. Read the beginning below or click here to head to AO3.

Azriel was sitting at Rhys and Feyre’s dining room table, feeling particularly suspicious as to why he had been invited over for dinner. It wasn’t that he never had dinner with them. It’s that usually, it wasn’t just him.

“How’s work, Az?” Feyre asked, spearing the asparagus on her plate.

He took a sip of his wine. “It’s good. I’ve finally filled the last tech position that’s been open so I have a full team now. She’s fitting in well and is super quick in picking up new information.”

“Does she have prior experience?”

“Not really. She’s a recent graduate and was looking for entry-level in the industry. To be honest, most places would’ve passed on her for the lack of experience, but I thought she could be molded into what we need while growing her skillset.”

Rhys smirked. “You put in the work and you get a long-term employee.”

He tipped his glass towards his brother. “Exactly.”

Feyre pushed her chair back. “Let me grab dessert,” she announced, noticing both men were finished with their main courses. She returned a few minutes later holding three plates with small, pastry-like cups filled with cream and covered in blueberries.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Lemon and blueberry verbena tarts,” she said like he had any idea what the fuck that meant.

Az eyed the dessert, taking a bite and letting the tartness from the lemon slide across his tongue before settling with the blueberry’s sweetness. His brows raised in surprise. It was good. Like really good. He glanced at the female sitting across from him. “Did you make this, Fey?”

She laughed, head tipping back. “Oh heavens no. My sister made it. Elain. You remember Elain, right?”

He shot her a puzzled look at the turn of questions. “Yeah, vaguely.” Lie.

~~~~~

Remember, sharing is caring! Please reblog if you liked the fic. It helps spread my work and I truly appreciate it. 💕

While I have moved these fics to AO3 only, I am still going to utilize a tag list here on Tumblr. This as a permanent solution and may change in the future. For notifications, you can follow and subscribe to my fanfic account where I will be reblogging updates and snippets only. You can also find me on ao3. If you would like to be added to my tag list, please leave a comment on this post.

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Taglist:

@nikethestatue

@reverie-tales

@123moiaussi

@duskwhisperer

@zdenkah

@nyxreads

@shedoessoshedoes

@athena-85

@jasmineandshadows

@nightcourtseer

@nivem565

@debramclaren

@illyrianvalkyriecarynthian

@secretpuppyflower

@justreallybored

@ultadverb

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@roseandshadows

@tcursebreaker

@kingravinger

@mis-lil-red

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@fawnandshadows

@swankii-art-teacher

@miss-bee-cat

@bookhhrelaz

@impossiblescissorspeachpaper

@elrielbaby

@lesolehabitantdelalune

@thoughtsaboutshows

@britishwings

@aelin21galathynius

@saz-griffin

@azrielslight

@bookstaninthesoul

@curiositywoman

@karsyn-b2

Some tags seem to not want to link, which could be related to your visibility settings. Sorry about that!

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ravenssh1t · 1 year

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Midnight Kisses - X.T.

telekenesis!reader, Wednesday’s twin!reader, gn!reader, mindreader!reader (lmao), fluffy, SFW

AN: hey beautiful people! this is my first fic that im acc publishing so please be kind. that being said i am always open to constructive criticism. if you enjoy this, please let me know, and if you’d like me to write more, or for other characters, just drop me a message or an ask! I will write for a whole plethora of characters so just let me know which characters and maybe a small prompt if you so desire!! i hope you enjoy!! <333

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I looked over at my alarm clock. The bright red number glared 00:34 back at me. I'd only been at Nevermore for a week or so, and already it was a torturous experience. The glares from Barclay and her minions, the rumours, everyone walking on eggshells around Wednesday and I. It's a miracle neither of us had pulled another 'piranha incident'. There was one thing that never seemed to care about the rumours though. Well, one person. Xavier Thorpe.

Wednesday had met him before. His godmother's funeral. Allegedly, she saved his life, which is rather unlike my dear sister. However, in the long run it's been rather helpful.

Since starting at Nevermore, I had only really become close to two people. If you could even call it close. Our new roommate, Enid. And Wednesday's old acquaintance, Xavier.

Right now, I need a distraction. From the thoughts that clouded my mind and prevented the graceful release of sleep from my grasp. Enid, Wednesday and Thing were all asleep. I decided to head down to Xavier's dorm. Since Rowan was expelled (killed, left, whatever) I've ended up in Xavier's room a few times. Once for stalking purposes, once for homework, once for... well I'm not entirely sure how to define it. But I know that he's what I need right now.

I crept out of the window, and distracted the housemaster with an illusion of a hamster that I know he loves. I crept up the stairs and knocked on Xavier's door. No answer. I knock again and poke my head in and softly say "Thorpe? You in here?" Nothing again. He must be in his art shed.

The brisk walk through the grounds was not unwelcome. It gave me quiet. I saw the lights on in Xavier's shed and picked up my pace a little. Something about that man makes me feel a weird tingling in my stomach. It's a new unfeeling. But not unpleasant.

He doesn't answer when I knock, but I can hear the not-so-delicate sound of Deftones playing through decrepit doors, so I doubt he heard me. I decide to just walk in, and he's got his back towards the door, so I just take a seat on one of the stools and watch him paint. Something about him seems to draw me in. I can't help but admire the way his hair looks in a messy bun with the front strands poking out. The way his tall stature towers over his canvas. His masterful hands sweep the paint in particular ways just to fit his liking.

I accidentally knock over a plastic cup full of multicoloured paint brushes and he jumps and turns around swiftly and catches me and says “Jesus Christ, Y/N! Do you make a living out of scaring this shit out of people?” and I smirk and say “No, but that is the goal.” He scoffs at my retort and saunters over to me while he asks “What’s wrong?”

“Who said there’s anything wrong?” I ask slightly bitterly albeit unintentionally.

“Drop the tough guy facade, we both know that Wednesday and Enid are asleep, so you found me. Now, what’s wrong?” Damn. He read me like a small children’s book.

“I couldn’t sleep. Needed a distraction. For some reason my brain seems to find your company tolerable.”

He decides to ignore the last statement and instead questions “Do you want to see my new painting?”

“If I must.”

We walk over to one of his canvases and he spins it round. It’s me. Well, my hand. My hand in the middle of culminating an illusion with my powers. The deep crimsons and maroons contrast against the vibrant scarlet just like they do in real life. He even got the rings I wear down to a T.

It’s incredibly rare that I am rendered speechless. But alas, here I am. My mouth ever so slightly agape, mind void of all language. Just pure astonishment. He breaks me out of my trance by saying “Sorry. I know it’s a bit creepy. I can get rid of it if you want-”

“Xavier,” I interject. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

He smiles at this and the tip of his nose and his cheeks turn a distinct rose-tinted pink. He lifts his hand over the portrait and animates the picture. It moves exactly as mine do. The astonishment I first felt came sweeping back over me like a tidal wave. “Thank you, Xavier. This is amazing.”

“Amazing enough for a hug?” He questions boldly.

“Fine.” My reluctance is entirely feigned because the one thing I need right now is a hug. He practically jogs over to me in excitement and wraps his long arms around me tightly. My head sits just at the nave of his chest and it feels like the final two puzzle pieces finally slotted together. “You can hug back, you know?” He (not so) subtly hints as his chin rests on the top of my head. “I know.” I grumble back stubbornly. I hesitantly wrap my arms around him. Oddly comforting. Something in me tells me this is exactly where I’m meant to be at this moment. I don’t notice myself relaxing into the embrace and tucking my head impossibly closer to his chest, but he does. “We can do this more often if you need it.”

“I may just take you up on that, Thorpe.” We stay there for a few seconds longer, then he lets go, and I do too. I wander back over to the desk and take a seat on the oak plank. He follows me and leans over me to ‘grab a paintbrush’ or so he says. He gently places his hand on my hip as he does, and I feel my face flush bright pink. He catches this and says “Am I that good?”

“You wish you had that effect on me, Thorpe.”

“Oh, I know I do, Addams.”

“How’s that then?” I query, genuinely hoping he is completely oblivious to the way I feel about him.

“You’re a dick to pretty much everyone here. But with me? You had a soft spot almost immediately. You blush every single time I touch you. You watch me paint for hours on end while pretending that you’re doing homework because you don’t want me to notice that you’re staring at me. It’s obvious!” He chuckles out the last statement with the cockiest smirk on his smug, beautiful face.

“Well, what about you Mr Loner who can’t seem to want to spend enough time with me? You touch me every chance you get. You painted a picture of my hand for God’s sake!” It’s possible I may have gotten slightly defensive.

“Y/N. I never said it was a bad thing.” He etched ever so much closer to me until he was only two inches away from my face. He placed his strong hands on my delicate shoulders and gazed into my eyes. “Can I kiss you?” Speechless once again. I try to force out something, anything coherent, but I just stammer silently. “Ok, answer me this,” He notices my nerves. “Do you want to kiss me?”

‘Yes! Yes, Xavier Thorpe! Of course I want to kiss you! It’s my dream, my livelihood, my reason for being alive!’ is what I want to say. No. What I want to scream from the rooftops. But all that comes out is a hushed and hesitant “Yes.”

He puts his long pointer finger under my chin and lifts my head towards his face so I have no choice but to stare into his beautiful green eyes once again. “Speak up, sweetheart.” If he wasn’t standing in between my legs right now, I would be forcing them closed. “Yes, you dick.” I force out, it comes out slightly louder than I expected, but the excitement is evident in my voice. “Then can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” I assert firmly this time.

His hands move down to my hips, and he squeezes them gently. He leans down and pecks me on the cheek, then the lips. Feeling unsatisfied, a sudden overwhelming confidence regains control of me. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck and suggest that “If you’re going to kiss me, you should at least do it properly.” He smirks again. God, he loves doing that. If it wasn’t so attractive I might just complain about it. “Like this?” He asks, grasping my hips harder this time and before I know it, our lips collide again. This time, it’s not as soft and fast-lived. It’s passionate, deep. If I thought the hug felt like two puzzle pieces fitting together, this is ,oh, so much better. Our lips move together in perfect harmony. My hand moves up into his hair, and I tug it gently, which covets a deep groan from the bottom of his throat into my mouth. I had never heard such a beautiful noise in my life.

He pulled away softly. “Yeah. Like that.” I mutter breathlessly.

“Thought so. Let’s go back to my dorm.” Yet another bold move from him.

“I’m not that easy, Thorpe.”

“No, idiot. You’re staying in my dorm tonight. You’ll sleep better.”

That makes me smile. “Okay,” I accept. “but I expect more kisses.”

“You read my mind, Y/N.” Oh, the irony.

#xavier thorpe #wednesday #xavier thrope imagine #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier x y/n #xavier x reader #fanfic #series?#oneshot?

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queensquidly14 · 2 months

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YO! I'm Squidly14! It's a pleasure to meet ya! I make digital, traditional and sometimes I'll make 3D if I'm feeling it! My art is usually shit quality most of the time...Mainly cuz I'm still using that damned Paint3D cuz I haven't found an art app that works for me, But sometimes my art looks pretty good, So Yeah! Thanks for reading and I hope my you like what the future holds for me and my art!

(ART BY @chickes0up) Love you honey <3

Lore time! Hey! I'm Squidly! I'm an Inkling! Which, if you don't somehow know what that is, I'm a cross between a humanoid being and squid! My homeland is in Inkopolis! But as I got older I decided to go on my own adventure! On my journey, I came across what looked to be a digital pen and drawing pad, But turns out...You could create a whole UNIVERSE with it! and I thought to myself..."Hmmm...I've always wanted to be a person who would look after my loved ones and friends...and I COULD make my OCs become a reality!" and so I did, I created what I called "Begalinių galimybių pasaulis" which means "World of infinite possibilities" But I just shorten it to "Pasaulis" for easiness....But...As time went on...I noticed things changing about me physically...My hair...It was lush, full, wavy...normal hair, and I could no longer transform into my squid form...I panicked, So I quickly traveled back Inkopolis, But before I noticed it....Once I got back, My body was back to the way it was...So I just assumed it was me adapting...I eventually found social media! You're all quite nice! funny, weird...kinda cringe...and sometimes just downright bone chilling...But I'll manage! Anyway...That's probably all I have to say about myself...If you...wanna be apart of Pasaulis, come ask me! I'm always happy to see if I can help you! (Also I'm 19 IRL but my online sona is somewhere between mid 20s to early 40s)

I don't remember where I got this base from but if you know please comment so there is credit is credit is due

Diehard Dawko Follower

Avid Astralspiff Viewer

Pretty Pezzy Spectator

Esteemed ElasticDroid Enjoyer

Behaved BigPuffer Beholder

Persistent PointCrow Onlooker

Funny Filian Fan

Chill Chibidoki Witness

Cool Caseoh_ Consumer

Cute Kwite Listener

Spectacular Special Edd Gawker

Jealous JSchlatt Observer

Illusive IronMouse Watcher

Jokester Jimmyhere Testifier

Zesty Zentreya Bystander

Lovable Lolathon Looker-on

Preppy Penguinz0 Deponent

Messy Matt Rose Seer

~~~ FANDOMS I'M IN ~~~

- FNAF

- Bendy and The Ink Machine/ Bendy and The Dark Revival

- Phighting!

- Hazbin Hotel

- Helluva Boss

- SCP

- Friday Night Funkin'

- Disney

- Backrooms

- Lethal Company

- Team Fortress 2

- Dark Deception

- Geometry Dash

- KinitoPET

~~~ OTHER SOCIALS ~~~

Youtube

Roblox

Steam

Others coming soon~!

~~~ DA RULES ~~~

REBLOGGING MY ART IS MORE THAN OKAY! INFACT! I ENCOURAGE YOU TO REBLOG IT! I WOULD LOVE MY ART TO GET OUT THERE!

I Love roleplaying! I'm fine with anything as long as you're okay with too! I'll do NSFW, SFW, Headcannons, Special AUs, Just nothing that's creepy or morally wrong!

ANY discrimination towards someone's religion, sexual orientation, identity, race, Controversial topics, etc will NOT BE TOLERATED ON MY PAGE

My page is meant for anyone who wants to escape and have fun! don't ruin it :)

Constructive criticism towards my art is fine, just don't be a dickhead about it and/or outright hate on my art

Swearing is fine, I personally don't give a shit, just remember to tone it down when needed and obviously no slurs or offensive language

absolutely NO TRACING, COPY & PASTING OR STEALING my art! fanart is fine and all (I will make a fanart tag for it soon, but stealing or tracing my art, character design, saying you made the character, etc will force my hand and report you for stealing

I have an opinion too! So I will USE IT and TALK MY SHIT! If you don't like it, sucks to suck! just unfollow/block me, I don't care, If you try to change my opinions/beliefs, Bad news for you; I believe in The Second Amendment, So start running

NO NSFW of my characters unless you get EXPLICIT permission from me and the character isn't underage (You freaks)

I'm not a minor, but I will draw NSFW FOR FRIENDS ONLY! and it will never be publicly posted it will it DM'ed to you directly

IMPORTANT! IF YOU ASK FOR ANY DRAWING REQUEST YOU HAVE YOU HAVE TO DRAW SOMETHING FOR ME IN RETURN (I don't have any PayPal right now cuz Idk how that works XDD)

I also do "Ask me anything" of my OCs! I'll make a list of the main ones soon but you'll MOST LIKELY see my OCs just randomly posted on here! (Just no NSFW if the characters a minor)

----DNI LIST----

Under 15 (I can't control what you see but I don't want you looking at my content, It's not straight up CORN, but there will be artistic nudity, suggestive themes, vulgar swearing, etc)

Art "Fixers" (Let's face it, you're pretty r*tarded to think you're doing ANY good)

NSFW exclusive accounts (You be wearing Victoria's Secret when your pussy ain't even a secret)

Proshipper (You're actually just a pedophile don't deny it you FUCKING MONSTER)

Vtuber Hater (I like Vtubers)

Anti-Furry (I have furry friends, also they're not that bad)

Anti-Fujoshi/Fudanshi (I am a half Fujoshi)

DSMP stans/fans (You're cringe)

South Park stans/fans (You're annoying as FUCK)

MLP Stans/bronies/fans (You ruined my childhood)

My Hero Academia stans/fans (You're VERY cringe)

Bluey stans/fans (You're kinda weird)

DDLC Fans/stans (Bro what?)

You believe Zodiacs actually mean something (Booo)

Therians/Fictionkins/Kins (I was groomed twice by therians/kins, and I can't emotionally handle it right now, I need time to heal, Please forgive me, But I don't HATE you, I just don't know who to trust)

Racists (Oviously)

Antisemitic (Kinda cringe ngl, isn't that just nazism?)

Homophobic (I'm Bi oviously)

Transphobic (Dude it should be obvious, but also don't talk about it too much I do get uncomfortable if it's shoved in my face)

"Degenerates" (Pedophiles, Zoophiles etc)

Race swapper (Idgaf what race you swap It's still bad in my eyes)

Identity Swapper (Like swapping sexuality, gender identity etc)

If you believe your "Head canons" are actually canon (Bro 💀Separate canon from fanon)

EXTREME activist for ANYTHING (Idgaf your not helping your cause by screaming in other people faces)

Talk about any of the wars (I'm sorry but I can't mentally deal with that right now, it's too draining, just let the innocent people live, that's all I'm saying)

#kawaii #my art #oc #splatoon #inkling #cute #goober #new to tumblr #hello world #squidlys ocs #squidlys house of art #sillyposting #silly little guy #so silly #bisexual #tomboy #personal #about myself #squidlys yapping sessions

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oblexoidbriar · 1 year

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Metal Madness AU Lore dump

it’s just essentially a bunch of what-ifs smooshed together (i’m just describing what an AU is haha) coupled with a bad ending premise.

For those that don’t want spoilers- long story short, Bunk Bed Junction became the big bad after some events and now they rule the city (or what remains of the city) and they’re all edgy and stuff.

I hc that all genres of music can become “corrupted” or used for evil, EDM or Rock or any musician can be corrupted regardless.

In my headcanoned NSR, magic/power can be harnessed in two ways- Natural abilities (the stuff that people just kinda have from birth) and magic harnessed through creative passion (music, art, all the stuff with creativity involved). For music, you need three components: Passion, Fan Power, and well, how well the music is. The better the music, the more powerful it is. Genre is somewhat of a factor as well (mainly minor tweaks like “oh well rock is more on attack than for example, lo-fi which is defensive and support”).

But a musician can be corrupted when they harness Hatred, and Fear. Twisting their abilities to hurt others around them and even themselves unintentionally at points. While it does make their music more powerful by a lot, it comes at very very high prices. It changes them as a person. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, after all.

Though now I think Madness wouldn’t be a good term for what May and Zuke are experiencing, more of a corruption- but Metal Corruption wouldn’t sound as good as Metal Madness. So in this AU, Madness = Corruption. Not Insanity or any pretty awful “ooh i’m goin insane n evil” tropes like that as this corruption is more of an entity possessing them and the duo succumbing and listening to this entity as their personalities and beliefs are being affected supernaturally. There are auditory and visual hallucinations induced by this entity to further coerce them into making bad decisions and further losing themselves.

By the way, please let me know if I’m writing anything not very good from a different standpoint/perspective, I want to write a story that involves corruption and making bad decisions as this is a bad ending, but I want to avoid things such as the Insanity trope or villainizing people who experience such things like hallucinations! I'm open to taking suggestions for a new name and for how better to write this AU while keeping all the important plot points and some of the vibe. I'm researching things as best I can so it can be enjoyed by everyone. Of course I know I can't please everyone, but constructive criticism will still help me out in the long run!

Now for the premise/lore that is full of SPOILERS!

After Tatiana was defeated, Mayday learned the truth: That the person making the shots against all the indie artists in Vinyl City is actually her idol- Kul Fyra. But instead of a funny gag we get in game, Mayday is overcome with rage and attacks Tatiana, forcing her to flee- with the legendary guitar. (that'll be a special thing we'll talk about later)

So Kliff and Tatiana don't get to have their little spat in front of May and Zuke, which means May and Zuke don't realize that Kliff has just been using them this entire time. They take their rightful place as Queen and King of Vinyl City.

They're..not very good at the whole running a city thing just yet, but they're at least trying at this point in time. The stress is kind of getting to them so they're relying on Kliff more to ease the load which means they're a lot more dependent on him.

But, of course, as Tatiana predicted, EDM supporters, plus NSR Charters did fight back to claim back the city. And when Tatiana mentioned that Bunk Bed Junction wouldn't stand a chance when they're at a level playing field, oh boy does she mean it. Imagine having to juggle all the charters in one fight.

Kliff, in what he'd call a "moment of genius", recommended B2J to..switch up the genre. With Metal, which would be easy to transition to considering B2J's genre of Rock, and it gives them a significant power boost.

It all went fine at first, the music just giving them an advantage, and they beat the charters one by one like before. But..when it came to Tatiana, Mayday was immediately getting corrupted due to her hatred and feelings of betrayal. Tatiana was defeated, again, but was injured greatly.

The win certainly changed Vinyl City, and Bunk Bed Junction..as now, Mayday had other plans. She was gonna allow EDM to keep on thriving, but..she decided, if they're just gonna make another uprising, why not give them a taste of their own medicine? She banned EDM entirely.

While ruling the city from there on afterwards, the duo began to slowly get corrupted, even kicking out Kliff from Vinyl City after an argument over power distribution. They ruled the city however they pleased, and their sense of justice twisted. They still had good intentions, and believed they were "helping" the city but did more bad than good.

And that's where the story leaves off~ Current day of the duo still ruling, but who knows? Things might change.

#lore dump #big text wall #metal madness au #hoping to reveal more of the story in an ask blog or a comic #no straight roads #nsr #nsr au #i really hope i'm not getting too paranoid over the story #idk if some tropes are fine and if some are not

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zuppizup · 2 years

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Hi! Please just ignore this if this question is weird and convoluted, I figured you’d be a good person to ask because you’re one of my fav fic authors and we’ve had a couple interactions in the past (I don’t expect you’d remember me lol) Anyway, I wanted to ask some questions about leaving comments on fics, obvi not all authors are the same but I’d really value your opinion. I read a lot of fanfic and I frequently see posts from authors talking about how valuable and enjoyable comments are, I don’t often leave comments but I’d really like to be offering that response and engagement. My issue is I have hella social anxiety and overthink the whole thing until I convince myself it would be better not to say anything. I think it would be a good challenge for me to push through that, and I think it would help to have some consistency in what I say. This is all a decidedly long winded way to ask if leaving comments just outlining my fav parts of a fic/chapter is good or helpful feedback? Also is it appropriate to comment regarding spelling issues and grammar mistakes? (I; a dyslexic queen of run-on sentences am obvi a connoisseur of the english language) So um yeah, thank you regardless of whether you want to respond ✌🏼

Hello! I most certainly do remember you! I think most creators have a pretty good memory for people who interact with their stuff. Certainly the ones I talk to do. ☺️

I absolutely get where you’re coming from with comment anxiety. I get it all the time myself! I was actually talking about it with some of the fandom writers recently. In fact, I often put off reading fics I’m super excited for until I have the time and energy to comment. I don't think that's particularly unusual either.

As a writer I most certainly adore getting comments. Short ones, long ones. A comment that’s just “kudos” or a smilie?

Love it! Someone read my stuff and took the time to leave me a wee note? They are precious and to be loved.

But a comment saying what someone liked about the chapter?! Oh, those are the absolute best! I can't think of a writer I've spoken to who doesn't love that style of comment.

When it comes to spelling and grammar, well, things get a little more complicated. I personally would much prefer someone point out a mistake like that to me. I don't have a beta (beta anxiety is real!) and I have a number of ways of editing a fic to try and capture typos, but they are sneaky and slip through. AO3 especially makes it quick and easy to edit a typo and boom, fic is better and more easy to read. Love that.

Some people are writing fic for fun though, and would rather not get comments like that. Which is totally fair and valid.

Your best bet is to see if the writer has a statement or notes saying they welcome constructive criticism. If not, I think it is probably best to err the side of caution.

For me personally, any type of comment is welcome and cherished. I yeet fics into the universe because otherwise they will go round and round in my head, so it’s really lovely that there is a community of people who read, kudos and comment on fics.

The Dragon Prince fandom really is one of the nicest, most welcoming fandoms this grandma has been in (and I’ve been in a few). I’ve made quite a few friends through commenting on fics and art, so there’s that angle too, if you are interested in developing fandom friendships.

Ultimately, we’re all here to have fun and enjoy the show. If commenting makes you anxious, it’s totally fine not to. People understand and you definitely shouldn’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable. If you really do want to try, you can just start small. Even a little emoji or a couple of words can make a difference in a writer’s day.

And if anyone has any tips, additions or comments, feel free to add them!

#p.s. sorry this took a while to get to #I have been pondering it #thanks for the ask!#and thanks for your kind words!

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littlesleepingdreamer · 2 years

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Okay let's get into it

I haven't had the chance to do a detailed reading for three days, so I might interpret them differently every time. I am not sure whether we can actually do this or not, but I believe that the Universe may have seen this and give me the cards in advance, and I set the intentions for me to interpret the cards in future when I got these cards so I hope it works!

Starting from Tuesday, October 18th 2022

Past: Page of Cups

Cups are mostly associated with water, therefore it can give a message of healing, replenishments, and emotions as well as fluidity. And Page is associated with a child, inexperienced, innocent, and curious. An observer and trying to learn so much about their suit. In my interpretation, the Page of Cups is a great mixture of both. The Page of Cups is our inner child, innocent and naive, and often her imaginations and daydreams whisk her away from routine. She may seem absent and soft spoken. I honestly never relates to a card this much in my life, and since they're at the position of the past, it got me really excited for what is coming for the future. She really excels at art and can make her internal life into expression. Therefore it may be a reminder to let your creativity run free. Since Page of Cups represents our inner self, it is best to trust your instinct and trust in your intuition. Trust your inner voice. And lastly, Page of Cups often brings happy surprises so trust yourself, be open to it and embrace your surprises!

Present: Five of Wands

I get a sense of deja-vu when I open the page for the Five of Wands. I am more attracted to the actions part, but one interpretations of it definitely resonates with what I am currently facing. The Five of Wands represent tensions and conflict, many voices are struggling to be heard and are fighting for supremacy. This can be both internal or external, but I feel like it's more internal for me. As for the actions, it's best if you can sit down and just know and stand by your principles. Remember your values and try to keep by them when things get tough. Another thing is to be objective during conflicts and give them the benefits of doubts. This is so that you can stand by your principles and values and not get influenced by their values. Another thing is to find common grounds. understand other goals and find places that you can connect. Take criticism constructively, even if its not intended that way. Consider what feedback can be used for self-improvement.

Future: Six of Pentacle

Six of Pentacles represent generosity and charity. This card can represent two roles: the giver, and the receiver. If you're the giver, make sure to know your limits. Be honest with yourself and your boundaries. It will be good to keep this way so that you don't have resentment, and also to keep your intention pure. If you're the receiver, make sure to keep these helps with gratitude, not shame or guilt and make a commitment to give when you have plenty. Once you have shame or guilt in, you turn giving and receiving to painful experiences. It is a good idea to examine why. As for reflections, this cards ask us to examine our feelings on gifts. What can you give? It is good to examine on that too.

Wednesday, Oct 19 2022

This spread was meant for the decision-making deck.

Strengths - Queen of Cups

I believe I have gotten the Queen of Cups before, but basically the strength of the Queen of Cups is the ability to see beauty where others does not. She is also full of wisdom and a good listener. Your depths of emotions show you deeper insight to yourself and the human conditions. What does these feelings show you?

Weaknesses - Page of Pentacles

This is where my dilemma starts heh. As the Page of Pentacle upright brings a generally good meaning, I am confused on how I should approach this reading. But it seems like my weakness is at creating long term goals and dedicating myself to it (I agree with this X). However she is also warm, humorous, and helpful individual who makes a good friend. As for reflections, know what drives you. Life has complicated journeys, and knowing your guiding star helps you to navigate through it easier. The reflection for the reversed position also hit the spot for me, so I'm going to include it too. Are you feeling bored or bunt out? How has that affected your professional or personal projects? You may have started out with passion, perhaps even turned a hobby into a career. But that comes with its own degree of sacrifice. Does everything you do now have to be "productive"? What do we lose when we stop doing something for joy? It's time to reconnect with your passions. Take a break and do something that makes you happy. Notice what changes occur when you do something for love versus usefulness. Notice how your outlook changes :) find your inspiration. being around interesting ideas, people, and environments related to your original interests can be a reminder of what you loved so much, as creativity don't happen in isolation. then, find your compass and set high standard. The Page doesn't want to just do something, she wants to do it well. Hold yourself to a level of excellence. Make a commitment. You may expect obstacles, conflicts and challenges, but with enough willpower, you can succeed. and focus. try to avoid distractions. Discipline is what important now. When distractions do crop up to make you stray, focus on what is important.

Advice - XIX The Sun

The Sun brings light and warmth to the world, and giving the Fool energy, strength, positivity, and charisma. Be the sun to your environment, and yourself. Think about the ways you can bring joy. Define happiness by thinking about what makes you happy and why it makes you happy. And lastly, challenge yourself to do something out of pure enjoyment everyday!

okay one more deck to go!

Goal progress

You: Ace of Wands

Wands represent creativity and inspiration, while the Ace represent the wellspring of the creative vision. You have the ability to turn new visions to become reality. To turn the ideas to reality, we must grasp the wands with enthusiasm, excitement, and confidence. Have you had any ideas that have been bugging you to try it out? Why don't you try it and realize your vision? Open your eyes for possibilities, let inspiration comes to you and the obstacles may disappear. When you want to do something, run for it. Take one step at a time and see where you go. Do some research or flesh out unclear vision.

Your position: VI The Lovers

It's obvious that this position represents love, be it love to other people or the love within yourself. Choices are also at the center of this card. What commitment shall you make to yourself and others? Analyze love to find a healthy, happy relationship in the future, or to just assess your current situation. Make a commitment. Now you must make choices and take a firmer stance, commit to your path.

Your potential: Eight of Cups

This card may represent abandonment, and withdrawal. Though, it may not be a negative meaning. Your journey is uniquely yours, follow your inner voice as a guidance. You may find your happiness in the turns and twist of life. It is useful to reflect whether walking away could be for greater good? Be grateful for all the things you had and your memories, and make peace with the changes that are coming to your life, and embrace the vulnerability on striking on a new path.

notes: I do have 10/16 in my drafts and 10/17 in my notebook :) I am keeping it there for now, maybe I'll do it when I don't have access to my tarot card. But aside from those, we did pretty great at keeping up for the week. It is definitely not a requirement to do it everyday lol, I actually don't even do one today, but I definitely appreciate the wisdom I got from these cards and I think I may understand more on why the cards are given to me in this position in this spread. Till next time, bye luv <3

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imagineyouandharry · 3 years

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Gypsophila (H.S)

Summary: Prince Harry has been under great pressure to find a wife, and he finds his Queen in a way far more unconventional than he could’ve imagined.

Words: 5,730

Warnings: It’s a bit strange I guess? Idk lol.

A/N: Someone requested a Prince!Harry au forever ago, and then I didn’t really have an opportunity to write for a while, and then this idea sprung up on me and I’ve been lost in this little au for the past few days. It’s like a little twisted fairytale, taking inspiration from Snow White and Sleeping Beauty mostly. Part two is already a work in progress. If people are interested I’ll even put out a little sort of world building lore post with a map of the kingdom etc (I’ve been in DEEP). This part is a bit choppy and barely edited because I was just so eager to write it and get something out, but I would really appreciate any constructive criticism and editing notes! TYSM!! Long story short, enjoy!!!

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Harry Edward Styles did not believe in true love, in fact, he thought it was the most ridiculous idea ever. Harry’s certain he’s laid eyes upon every eligible young lady, from his kingdom and the ones surrounding, and he hadn’t felt a single thing when looking at any of them. He prayed every night that he would find his love the next day, and finally be able to put his parents out of their misery and ascend to the throne. At the age of 27, Harry’s the oldest person in his family to not be married, no one every waited this long in the royal family. He would’ve had an arranged marriage at 21, though when his parents suggested that he ran away on a sailing ship for two months. One thing was clear to him: though he may not have experienced love yet, he wasn’t going to ruin his chances at true by being forced into a loveless marriage. It wasn’t only Harry’s parents, but the entire kingdom that woke each day hoping to hear that their Prince had found his Queen. They referred to Harry as the Good Prince, his subjects adored him, and lived for his acts of charity and selflessness, and they only hoped he would find a Queen that would treat them the same.

Harry’s outlook on love changed however, after his most recent hunting trip. Sundays are for family and hunting, that’s what Harry was always told. No day was for Harry, he’d come to learn that. Living under a microscope meant for very little alone time, and almost no guilt-free alone time. He and his hunting party rode across the fields and out to the dense forest surrounding the kingdom, and over the two hour journey Harry found himself agitated with the topics of conversation going on around him. He wanted a break, tired of everyone only ever speaking about royal duties or politics. Harry had discovered a fresh water lake if he went off the trail, and when he realised they were edging closer to his favourite place he decided to excuse himself with the excuse of needing to fill his canteen.

The natural spring was a hidden treasure indeed. Harry’s entire kingdom was cut off from the rest of the world due to the thick forestland surrounding it. There was only one trail in, and one trail out, and even then only experienced riders were able to make the journey. The end of the trail, in the deep of the forest, was also often lined with thieves and outcasts making it not the safest journey. This spring wasn’t necessarily hard to find, however thick trees that lined the main trail hid the spring, the gorgeous wild flowers, and clearing of soft grass either side. Harry tied his horse to his usual tree, softly parting the bushes careful to not cause any permanent damage, and stepped his way through. His kingdom was full of hidden treasures like this, tucked away in places only to be found by those adventurous enough.

The sound of the running water was most prominent, however the closer he walked to the spring, the more he could hear a faint, delicate singing voice. Harry couldn’t recognise the song, but it was one he’d never forget now. It felt as though his heart dropped in his stomach, and he had to lightly scratch his arm on a branch to double check he hasn’t died and was hearing an angel of heaven sing to him. He walked closer, with quiet footsteps so not to disturb the singing. He knelt down to the edge of the spring and began to fill his canteen, looking around his eyes eventually focused on the source of his siren, standing in the clearing over the other side of the spring as she picked a bouquet of dainty flowers. Lavender, daisies, bellflowers, poppies. Her body was dressed in sage green, the simple dress showed she definitely was not from a wealthy family, but it was simple and beautiful in its own way. Perhaps she sewed it herself, it did look as if it were made for her. He could see her hair shine from here, and the features of her side profile were striking him even from a distance. She didn’t look real. The strange girl across the spring looked ethereal, like her beauty was too surreal for this planet. Had he hit his head? Was he seeing a forest fairy? He hadn’t even realised the staggering increase in his heart rate as he watched the girl, and listened.

He lost track of how long he had been watching her for, snapped out of his daydream when he heard a “Your Royal Highness! We must be getting on!” Harry heard shouting at him from a distance, most likely back where he had tied his horse. The girl had heard the faint noise and her eyes shot in Harry’s direction. His cheeks flushed with heat as their eyes met only for a brief second, before she ran away. The eye contact brought a slight curve to his lips, although she was leaving, at least he got another good look at her.

“Wait!” He called as he stood up, his hand and canteen dripping wet. His eyes softened as she simply left, looking back briefly in her stride, but he’d blown it. “God fucking damn it.” He cursed under his breath as he began to trudge back to his horse, his feet weighing heavy on the ground.

That was the most he’d ever felt, looking at the stranger across the lake singing as if it were for him, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost his future Queen. Half of him wanted to wade through the water and run after her, but Harry wasn’t a often disobedient Prince, when one of his parents or advisors told him to jump, his usual response would be “how high?” It’s ironic how for someone who’s whole life depends on finding his future Queen is given so little time to actually explore a social life, or love life himself. He was always set up with suitors who his parents found best. In the rare times he’s able to sneak away he’d gotten around, and most definitely wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never found a girl who had made him feel the way he wanted to feel about his future queen. He only wanted to please his family, and his realm, but this was the one thing where he refused to compromise.

Y/N was as far away from a future queen as it could come, or at least that’s what her step-mother wanted everyone to think. The entire town hoped to marry their daughters off to the elusive Good Prince Harry, however her step-mother only wanted her biological daughters to have that chance. When Y/N’s father passed away her step-mother sent her out to live as a recluse in a tiny cottage in the woods, she had always feared that her beauty would distract future husbands away from her actual daughters, and didn’t want to ruin their chance of being married. Each Sunday she drops Y/N off the supplies she needs, but that was the only human contact she was given. It wasn’t too bad, she managed to keep herself busy with sewing, baking, or whatever other art or craft she could think of and had the materials for. It was lonely though, and she was ultimately alone.

Well, if you don’t count forest fairies. Y/N hated being outcast into the forest, and spent most of her early months in the cottage crying to whatever wild animal she could find that day that would stick around long enough. Eventually, these wild animals started bringing their fairy friends along with them. They would spend their days with Y/N tending to fruit and vegetable gardens, watering plants, having picnics, and making daisy chains. Her life was simple, and although not one she asked, it was one she was growing fond of. Male company was something she could only imagine and long for, or read about in story books. There were dozens of fairies living in the forest, but she’d become particularly close to a group of some of the female fairies.

Each Sunday before her step mother visits, Y/N will pick her step mother a bouquet of flowers in attempt to win her over, in hopes maybe one day her sweetness will earn her way back into town. Y/N had total obliviousness towards her step mother’s plan, and towards what was going on in the city. This year, any woman over the age of 21 was to present herself to the Prince. Y/N’s 21st birthday fell on the day she was scheduled to be presented to the Prince. The letter had been delivered shortly before she was sent away to the forest, Y/N never laid her eyes upon it though. The letter outlined the royal guard would be coming to collect anyone who failed to present themselves on the day, and to Y/N’s step mother that meant the only option was to make it so Y/N never turned 21, or made it to her birthday for that matter.

Seeing the Prince most definitely did spook Y/N during that day in the field, if her step mother ever found out she’d had contact with a male there was no chance she’d ever be allowed to move back home. She did all she could think to do. She ran. She ran so fast that the petals of the flowers she had picked were ruined in her haste, quickly shutting herself inside the cottage to gather herself before her routine afternoon visit from her step mother. Sure she knew of men to be dangerous and terrible, but she feared her step-mother’s wrath more than anything any man could put her through.

Like any other Sunday, she scrubbed the house and dressed herself in whatever new garment she had stitched herself this week. The fairies had been busy this week and she’d had a great deal of time to herself, embroidering colourful flowers into the soft white linen of the new dress she had made. Her step-mother would bring her fabric and thread to sew dresses for her step sisters. It was something to be proud of, but most likely would be over looked. Little was said upon her step-mother’s arrival, but her character seemed off. Her step-mother’s eyes darted around, checking windows as she insisted on making the two of them tea. Y/N sat down at the small dining table, recounting tales of her week, ensuring to leave out anything about fairies or a boy. She watched a small bunny outside the window, forgetting to speak as awe overwhelmed her whilst she watched its tiny nose twitch. Her daydream came to an end when the sound of the ceramic mug hit the hard wood of the coffee table. “Drink while it’s warm, my love.” Her step-mother told her, sitting down in the seat at the head of the table beside Y/N. It wasn’t long after that that Y/N hit the floor, and her step-mother was shrouding herself in a hooded coat and sneaking out of the tiny cabin.

Elsie, a fairy most close to Y/N, who specialises in healing, came to the conclusion that she was only out for about six hours before the fairies found her. They did all they could over the following weeks to bring her back to life, trying as many possible rituals, potions, and spells to give life to her body once more. Nothing was of use though, and instead they decided to preserve her in a glass case in the clearing amongst the wildflowers. She had professed to them that the clearing by the spring had been her favourite place, so they saw this fit. Preserving her in the glass case was simply because the idea of her beauty decaying away made any of the fairies shriek. Fairies never communicated with humans, however Y/N was different. Elsie had always theorised that Y/N had magic in her blood. Amongst the many spells and rituals they tried to bring Y/N back, they threw in a spell that would hopefully bring her back with true love’s kiss. It was like a safety net, or a ‘what if?’ But they eventually tired and wore out, preserving her was well enough for now. They kept her dressed in the new dress she had crafted for herself, it was so beautiful after all. They had placed tiny baby’s breath flowers throughout her hair, and made sure everything was perfect. They even went as far to adorn her in delicate gold jewellery, with beautiful crystals of all colours. Her body rested upon a large rectangular slab of rose quartz.

****

Harry was dreading sitting in the throne room, while all the eligible females from the town were presented to him like livestock. It made him sick, and left a terrible taste in his mouth. All he could think of was the girl from the clearing. Is she a sign? Is he his ticket out of here? Was seeing her fate? Questions like that simmered over his mind and kept him awake at night, he had been sleeping little and finding it hard to focus on his duties. His best friend Niall was he closest confidant, the only one he had told about the beautiful girl in the clearing that day. Niall cared more for Harry than anyone, really. He didn’t just care about his fame or power or wealth, Harry was his best friend and he hated seeing his best mate so down about his love life and the pressure to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He made it his mission to find the woman, and his detective work lead him down a path he didn’t expect at all. First he went to the clearing where Harry filled his water in the spring, that was where he first noticed something over the other side of the spring that he couldn’t quite make out. He followed the spring and found an area narrow enough to cross, making his way to the structure he’d seen earlier. He didn’t know what to make of this discover, a dead girl in a glass coffin. ‘Forever at rest, only to be woken by true love’s kiss’ read an inscription on a gold plaque. He really didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t know what to tell Harry.

Sweat lingered Niall’s brow as he made his way back to the castle to find Harry, to tell him of his discovery. “Look… I just need you to come with me and tell me what you think when we’re there.” Niall tells him, his voice somewhat breathless. Niall himself was still in disbelief, shock, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “I just- I don’t know what to tell you. You need to see it for yourself.” He adds.

Harry nods. “I’ll come immediately.” Harry tells him, his trust for Niall outweighing anything else going on in his head. Together they rode to the forest, crossed the narrow part of the spring, and towards where Niall had discovered Y/N.

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Niall asks, however when he looks from the girl to Harry, he knows the answer. Harry couldn’t help but fall to his knees, pressing his palms against the glass as he looked inside. He noticed how long her eyelashes looked, and the freckles on her nose. His nose was almost touching the glass as he leant here on his knees at the side of her, taking her in up close.

“What happened to you?” He whispers, his eyebrows knitting together. Niall gives him a moment before he decides to mention the plaque at the foot of the structure.

“It uh, says something weird about being awoken by true love’s kiss. I don’t know if it’s true, and it’s revolting to think you would kiss a dead body for nothing, but someone has put her here. Someone made this. My grandmother in her old age would mutter stories about forest fairies and their magic… It just makes you wonder, you know?” He ponders, his eyes wandering away. It felt silly to bring up magic, it was something very commonly dismissed.

“Help me get this off.” Harry said as he brought himself from the ground, the soft grass had left green stains on his tan riding pants. He pushed the sleeves of his white linen button down up past his elbows, and the two men carefully lift the heavy glass case up off of the rose quartz Y/N had been resting on. It wasn’t easy, and the glass at the bottom dug into Harry’s fingers before they set the glass piece of the structure down on to the grass. “Alright. Here we go.” Harry said, in attempt to psych himself up for kissing a dead girl. She didn’t look dead though, just sleeping, you could only tell she was dead due to the missing rising and fall in her chest with her breath. “I might start walking back to the horses, give you some privacy.” Niall said, giving him a slight smile. He also didn’t really want to witness someone kiss a dead person, if she didn’t end up waking up.

“Good luck. Take your time.” He adds, part of him had no doubt it was going to work though. The stories his grandmother would tell him of the forest fairies were something he’d always held on to, those stories were amongst his most treasured memories. He’d always had some hope.

Harry waited until he could no longer hear Niall’s footsteps before he leant down close to Y/N, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He took a moment, if this never worked it was going to be the last time he’d ever see her. He couldn’t fathom coming back to this spot if this didn’t work. His heart began to ache at the thought, it made his chest feel tight, and gave him the urge to rub at the spot.

“I really hope you’re who I think you are.” He whispers as he looks down at her. “This might seem like absolute madness. I don’t even know your name, but if you wake up for me, I swear to you I will be yours forever.” He began, to Harry this almost did feel like a ritual, it felt special, and the words he was speaking were amongst the most genuine he’d ever given life to. “I promise, I will protect you. I will provide for you. I will love you. I will never, ever harm you. I will love you until my very last breath, I just need you to do this one thing for me.” His voice was barely a whisper now, and breaking as hot tears welled in his eyes. He very carefully leant down, pressing his warm, puffy lips against her cold, smooth ones. He didn’t know how long to wait, but it didn’t feel wrong. It was a sweet, tender kiss. His eyes closed, and he felt at peace. It felt more than at peace. The long grass, wildflowers, and tree branches that surrounded them began to stir with wind, petals floating up into the gusts that took them. This girl had a tendency to make him feel like he’s dead and in heaven. Her lips slowly began to warm, and skin began to glow with heat. It felt like they were floating, as if the universe was made up of just the two of them. The flowers beneath him began to grow taller and more dense, and it began to feel like his heart was pulling towards hers. It felt like a tether had been formed, connecting their energy, he could feel as her heart began to pump blood again, and her energy radiate from her skin. It felt too surreal.

Slowly, Harry removed his lips to allow Y/N to breathe. He let a hand lay gently resting on her cheek as he watched her gasp for her first new breath, eyes shooting open as she looked up at him. It wasn’t shock she was met with when her eyes met Harry’s, but peace. The luminous green eyes that were gazing down upon her were like lighthouses, guiding her towards safety. So many questions began to race her mind as she came to reality, unable to decide which one to ask first. As if based on intuition, Harry decided to speak. “I uh- I’m not too sure what happened to you but my friend found you here today and brought me to you. I believe I saw you a few weeks ago, in the same spot. I’m not sure how long you’ve been out here, but there was this little plaque at the end of this thing here, that said something about a kiss to wake you up… I’m sorry for kissing you without your consent, but I couldn’t risk not taking this chance.” He didn’t mean to ramble or to overwhelm her with his spiel, but he was overwhelmed himself with everything that had just gone on. True love’s kiss. His queen. His true love. The other half of his soul, in human form. Y/N’s lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. She closed them once more as she sat up and looked around, swinging her legs off the side of the marble before looking back up to Harry. Her movement had disconnected his hand from her face, and they both longed for each other’s touch once more already. Her eyes began to well with tears as she began to think about how she got here, her last memories.

“I can only assume how overwhelming this must all be for you… We can stay here as long as you need, it’s just us. When you feel ready for it, I can take you back to my home and we can get you showered and fed. I don’t mean you any harm.” Harry doesn’t even need to add that last sentence though, because she can feel it. She can feel his love for her, she could almost hear it if she listened closely enough, as if his heart was now beating a song for her.

Harry stood back, as if to give the doe eyed girl some space. She looked at him as if he was the most precious treasure on Earth, he’d never felt so overwhelmed with love. This was followed by her delicate hands reaching out, taking ahold of his as she brought herself to stand in front of him. “Is it alright if you hold me for a second?” She asked softly, needing time to process things.

It had been so long since she had been touched affectionately, she couldn’t really remember it. Her father was never affectionate, nor her step mother or step sisters or anyone else she’d met. She felt comfortable with the stranger in front of her though, and didn’t have the energy to resist the magnet like force pulling her towards him.

“Of course.” He responds, his voice soft as he wraps his arms gently around her frame, pulling her into his warm figure. Harry was like the perfect, giant teddy bear… but he wasn’t really that soft. Pressed against him she could feel how chiseled his features are. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she relaxed into him, cheek against the skin of his chest kindly revealed by the first few buttons of his shirt being undone. “What’s your name?” He asks, tangling his fingers in her hair to lightly rub his fingertips against the tender skin at the back of her neck.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Yours?” She asks, looking up to the tall, broad man.

“Harry.” He decides on leaving out his royal title or last name.

“Just Harry?” She asks, her eyebrows raising.

“For now. We have plenty of time to talk about me later.” He notes, removing the same rogue strand of hair as before from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. It was almost as if her hair had a life of its own, breathing, like the other flora growing in the forest. He had noticed the baby’s breath in her hair, though her hair moved, they remained in the same places, as if growing out of their place on the strand of hair. “What do you last remember?” He asks, needing to know if whatever put her in eternal sleep had been by accident, or as an act of malice. She looks back away from his face, resting her cheek once more against his chest.

“My step-mother, Styephania came over, she made me tea. That’s all I can really remember.” She said, unable to stop the disappointed sigh from escaping her lips. Maybe she’d had a freak health accident, like a stroke. Just because she’d been mistreated by her step mother her whole life, didn’t mean she was capable of murder. She knew her step mother didn’t put her out here though, this was the work of fairies. They were looking on, hiding in the bushes as they stood witness to young love blossom in front of them, not wanting to disturb the two of them. “I look crazy, and it sounds crazier saying this, but I’m certain the forest fairies are responsible for looking after me and putting me here. The day she came over was the day I think you saw me here, and I’m not sure how I’m meant to feel but I don’t feel like I’ve been a dead body since then. I feel like no time has passed at all.” Harry avidly listened to her speak, her voice like caramel, seeping in his ears and warming his whole body. Harry wasn’t phased by her mentioning fairies, Niall had suspecting this being their work earlier. It was the only explanation Harry could think of. He couldn’t understand why her step mother would leave her here, why she wouldn’t find her help.

He didn’t want to worry his sweet girl now, he wanted to make sure she felt alright, safe, and cared for. His grip on her wasn’t too tight, but firm in a comforting way. “The plaque… It mentioned how you’d only be woken by true love’s kiss.” He figured the longer he waited to tell her the stranger it would be. His cheeks were red, as if embarrassed or ashamed to tell her about the plaque, how strange it all was. Her eyes met his, and the connection gave him whiplash. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, getting lost in the little pools. He wanted to know everything about her, what she liked, disliked, what she ate for breakfast, her favourite songs, flowers, secrets. Everything.

“I don’t know if I know what love feels like. The only men I’ve spoken to are all twice my age. I wasn’t really allowed to see boys. You’re definitely much, much more beautiful than I would’ve imagined a man to be, and I’m certain that my heart is literally beating for you now, since you woke me.” She tells him, the descriptions of heroes in stories she would read, or how she would imagine the older men to look when they were younger, were incomparable to Harry. The compliment made his cheeks flush. With each beat of her heart, it was as if it was pulling her closer to Harry, calling out for him, begging for him to love on her and soothe the ache in her chest.

“How has God made something so sweet?” He mumbles, he hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud at first. “You’re breath taking. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and trust me when I say I’ve seen a lot of them. Even from far away, the first time I saw you… You make me nervous. You make my heart race, and my palms sweat, and I get butterflies in my stomach and nervous when I think about saying the wrong thing or not having you like me. It’s as if you’ve been carved by God himself, like he was showing off when he made you so beautiful. I wish I’d met you sooner.” Those last words burn his throat, how easier the last few years would have been if he had just been able to find her sooner.

*****

Harry sent Niall back to the castle first, having him instruct everyone to clear out the path that the Prince and his soon to be queen would take to his suite, he didn’t want to spook her with people around. The guards had to stay though, non-negotiable. He also had Niall ensure the doctor was on standby, just to check on Y/N and stay in the castle over the upcoming weeks in case anything else happened. Security was going to be increased, and tightened, and a warrant put out for her step mother.

The two hour horseback ride to the castle would give them well enough time to get to know each other, Harry and Niall had also switched horses, Niall’s being the slower of the two. “I don’t want to startle you when we get there. I also don’t know how to really tell you this. I’m in the royal family, so the guards and whatnot are something to just be ignored. They’re for your protection. I don’t know if you heard much of what I was telling Niall earlier, but you’re going to be very safe here, and we’ll find out what happened. I’ll look after you, I promise.” His eyes are ahead as he speaks, looking over the vast green fields ahead of them once they eventually emerged from the forest.

“Still just Harry, to me.” She reassured, sensing his nerves about revealing this information to her. His shoulders relaxed at her reaction, and a smile formed on his lips when his mind began to wander into what their future may be like. His queen.

“Hey, one day that’ll be King Harry to you.” He joked, thankful that it was received with a laugh. Her laughter was almost as sweet as her songs, and for the rest of the journey he made it his mission to mine as many possible laughs out of her as he could, like little nuggets of treasure. After making their way through the fields that lined the forest, they went down a long road that served as a divide between two of the castle’s towns, and at the end of that road just past a small valley of mountains was a sight far more glorious than Y/N had imagined. Her village was a small village that contained mostly candlemakers and dressmakers, and it sat further to the east, people only ever going out there to purchase fine candles and clothing. It was niche though, and not many could afford the fineries the master crafters in her village would create. Y/N hadn’t even really seen a home larger than a cottage, Harry’s castle looked large enough as if it could contain its own little world, a complete wilderness of towers surrounded by fine gardens, protected by a large moat with a standalone drawbridge. Harry didn’t even need to announce himself, the drawbridge was already in the process of being lowered for him.

“I had Niall clear our path, I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’ll introduce you to everyone when you’re ready.” Harry reassures her, she hadn’t even thought of anyone else though, too in awe of the sights around her. Flowers she’d never seen before laced these gardens, with fine marble sculptures and fountains protruding from them.

“I can’t believe this is your home.” Y/N whispers, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Your home too, if you’d like.” Harry replies, though his words immediately shrouded him with nerves about rushing Y/N into anything. It was stupid, they were each other’s true love’s, but it felt wrong being strangers, so Harry tried his best to conceal things. He’d never been in a conventional relationship before, never mind whatever this arrangement is or was going to be. He just knew he wasn’t meant to rush things, so he tried to refrain from expressing his feelings as best as he could. Her arms around his waist tightened, Y/N needing to feel as close to Harry as possible. He held the reins in one hand, the other arm resting over hers around his stomach, holding on to her arm to make sure she couldn’t let go.

“I’d like that.” Y/N reassures, gently rubbing his side to soothe him. Harry was too caught up in his own feelings to pay attention to how calm Y/N was. She could feel his anxiety though, and continued to try to soothe him as best she could. Y/N knew very little about Harry so far, but what she did know was that he was kind, caring, and had a lot of worries. She’d never been a worrisome person, and if anything would even refer to herself as naive, it was something she’d always been almost ashamed of but in this moment felt like maybe she’d been made to be by Harry’s side. Y/N liked the idea of spending her days being Harry’s rock, a voice of reason. She’d rather a man like this than one who had no emotions, that was for sure. It could’ve been whatever was now eternally bonding them, but she swears she was feeling his emotions, able to see his aura if she really studied hard enough. She sunk into him some more, her arms around his waist, cheek resting against his back. Harry made sure to take it extra slow, giving his love enough time to appreciate the flowers. She seemed to like flowers, and his mother took pride in this being the most beautiful garden amongst all of the kingdoms. He couldn’t wait to show her all the fineries that came with his life.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #Harry Styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #Prince!Harry #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #new writter #writeblr #fanfic #fantasy #high fantasy #prince

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princesimp · 3 years

Text

Yan!Helen Otis/Bloody Painter x Reader

I used a prompt by @bowtied-pasta for this one! It's my first writing piece in YEARS so I'm a little rusty, but I hope you guys enjoy! Any constructive criticism or comments are welcome!

Light yandere obsessive type, I wanted to give my boy Helen a little attention cause I think he's underrated and pretty swag so here ya go, if anyone wants this one to continue I might make a pt 2 ☺️

Prompt; You didn’t think leaving your window open would be a bad idea last night. The air was cool and the sounds of your neighborhood were familiar to you, so you knew you would be able to fall asleep. You didn’t think anyone would be in your room when you woke up, but the figure in the corner proved otherwise.

You stayed silent for a while. You knew you’d had a… ‘secret admirer’, let's say, for the past few months. They left a few notes, a gift or two, ordered you a damn doordash meal one time with a note saying to “look after your delicate health”, but for some reason you hadn’t expected them to be in your fucking room. You couldn’t make out their form; they had thick layers of clothing on, and the shadows warped around them to hide most of their face. Could that be a mask? Fuck if you were gonna keep looking to find out, you had a will to live. How could they even stand wearing so much anyways? It was cool at night, sure, but it was still summer, and a heat wave was still going through. You were surprised they weren’t passed on your floor.

You went over the options you had in your head. You didn’t know what the person in your room wanted; if they were angry and out for blood, if they were just a little too infatuated with you and just wanted to see you, if they just wanted a quick fuck, you knew nothing. You didn’t know how much stronger than you they were either, though you could take an educated guess as to how they’d square up against you based on the fact they were ballsy enough to be in your house.. You really didn’t wanna piss them off, they were obviously dangerous, or at least unhinged, but they were In. Your. God. Damn. Bedroom.

Rage was slowly bleeding into terror, now. There was a pocket knife on your dresser. You thought about grabbing it. That’d be a shitty fucking decision though, you had it for opening shit and to intimidate anyone from bothering you, that didn’t mean you knew how to wield a knife in a fight. Maybe you could pretend to fall back asleep and see if they left in the morning? You were shaking like a fucking leaf, they’d call your bluff. On the verge of tears, trembling like a leaf under the covers. They definitely knew you were up, and they knew you were scared, oh god what if that's what they wanted? That’s why they’re here, to scare you, so you wouldn't find help, and they were going to kill you, weren’t they, and, and-

Stop. Now isn’t the time to panic. You did your best to slow your breathing. To not whimper. Not sniffle. To not make a single noise. You heard shifting, and a light thump against your doorframe. A light huff followed soon after, but it didn't sound annoyed; Amused, maybe? No, that wasn't right either- you didn't dwell on it for too long. Their eyes pierced into your soul, you didn’t need to dwell on that to feel it clearly. This went on for a while; you almost work yourself into a panic, manage to calm yourself, they give a (maybe it’s relieved? No, that's not right either, it sounded too relaxed, too content-) huff, rinse repeat. You slowly felt your courage come back to you when you saw it was almost dawn. Your neighbor worked early, you could scream for help if something went wrong. Why haven’t they said anything? It felt like it'd been at least an hour now. You’d think an intruder that knew you were awake would say something, anything.

“Are you the one that’s been leaving me notes..?” you asked, barely above a whisper, bracing yourself and tensing up to prepare for a violent response that never came.

“I am.”

Their voice was a bit deep, a little raspy, and you almost didn’t know what you should’ve expected. They were quite straightforward. You turned your head to face them, waiting to see if they continued.

“And the gifts?”

“The small stuffed bear and the cloud necklace, yes.”

“And that doordash order?”

“You were so stressed that week. I felt you needed a little something nicer to eat.”

You sniffled a bit. They turned their face to you. You were able to get a good look at them now. They did, in fact, have a mask on, white with black eyes and a red smile painted on. They looked... Sophisticated. Terrifying, still, they were so calm and collected, like they'd done this hundreds of times before. Like this was routine.

He tilted his head. You were terrified. He wouldn’t fool himself into thinking he didn’t know why, but he could still hope to calm you down. “My name is Helen.”

It was a nice name. A name put you at ease. Someone planning something more dangerous wouldn’t give their name out like that, would they? “Please don't hurt me, Helen.”

“I won’t, If I’m given no reason to.” Reasonable. In your head, you correctly translated that to “Do as I ask and don't scream”. That will to live firmly intact, you slowly nodded and sat up, pulling the blankets up with you both for some sense of security and because you felt like you were freezing because of the anxiety and adrenaline running through you. “What do you want?”

He dropped a bag that was on his back that you hadn’t noticed in your panic before, before he started walking towards you. He was slow, like he was approaching a hurt animal, like he didn't want to scare you, like you were a delicate prize. You scooted all the way back, your back squishing your pillows against the headboard as you flattened yourself against it. He paused, until your expression softened a little, from exhaustion or from you calming down he wasn't sure, before he approached again, sitting on the edge of the bed near you.

“You’re so delicate. Beautiful. A lovely muse. I’d just like to observe you. Create beautiful art pieces in your image, maybe show you a few works I’ve completed. Make you the perfect subject, the perfect muse.” He reached out to run his fingers through your hair, not hesitating even as you flinched.

You were confused. That didn’t sound right, there had to be a sinister meaning behind those words, and yet he said them so innocently, so politely, sugar lacing his words, like all he truly wanted was an art subject. “Is.. is that all you want?”

“For now.” He huffed again (Admiration? Is that it?) before pulling his hand away, trailing his fingertips, gloved in black leather, across your jawline, gently tipping your head up. “I can be gentle, kind, even, with you. If you do not force my hand.” You couldn’t even attempt to force yourself to pull away from him. His presence and actions had become alluring; Terrifying still, yes, but you felt yourself entranced by his calmness and by how politely he spoke to you.

He suddenly stood, retrieving his bag and starting to leave quickly through the still open window. He paused for a moment, looking back at you.

“I truly don’t wish to hurt you, Y/N. Try your best to calm yourself.”

He ducked out the window, and in the three seconds it took for you to gather your wits about you and dash to the window to see where he went, he was out of view. You closed your window and sat down right there on the floor, going over what in the everloving fuck had just gone down in your head. Jesus, that… that was a fucking rollercoaster. You brought your hand up to your jaw, tracing where he’d traced, and sighed out a shaky breath. You got up and got back into your bed, attempting to sleep to try and collect yourself.

Fuck it. You’d call out of work for the day later and say you were sick or something.

#helen otis #bloody painter #creepypasta #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x reader #bloody painter x reader #helen otis x reader #creepypasta writing

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sconnie-doesnt-know · 3 years

Text

So Wrong

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Reader, Jane Bodecker, assorted OCs, also gonna go ahead and say Lee is kinda soft/dark in this one

Word Count: 8000

Warnings: Infidelity, alcohol usage, smoking, somewhat dub-con sexual stuff, but not really

Summary: The Reader is a young single mother and widow new to the town of Meade. She gets drawn into a social circle that includes the Sheriff’s wife, while also being drawn to the Sheriff himself.

A/n: I truly don’t know where this came from or why I wrote it. I watched TDATT and suddenly this whole thing just popped into my head complete with a Patsy Cline soundtrack. There’s infidelity on Lee’s part, and his wife is terrible, and these are fictional characters so I am trying to not feel guilty for making that happen.

There’s more to this story, probably extending into 1 or 2 more parts. I don’t know what to say for myself, I cannot pwp. Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome. Not beta-read, so please let me know if there’s an error.

Hope you enjoy!

Meade is as good a place as any to settle. Surrounded by wilderness and small towns, it’s quiet, far from anyplace and anyone you know. A welcome adventure and a place to dispose of your grief, finally - hopefully.

You pull up on a quiet street and sit there just a moment to breathe, to look at the life you had that is settled in between the few boxes and suitcases of belongings, the folded up flag, and the little boy you buckled into the seat.

Through a tangled web of connections, you are able to rent a little upper duplex apartment from the widow in town. She claims she doesn’t mind a little noise as your son stomps up the stairs and gives you an open invitation to join her at church on Sundays.

It is six days into your new residence, the first Monday in town when the apparent welcoming committee shows up at your door. She wears a gentle smile on her face and presents you with a warm pie still wrapped in cloth.

“My name is Jane Bodecker, my husband’s the Sheriff. I wanted to introduce myself…”

You know the routine after moving around a few times already. You imagine the conspiring during the luncheon after church yesterday, the ladies munching on dry cookies and deciding who would be the first to talk to you.

You nod and smile, and accept the offering.

“Some of us like to get together to play cards and socialize on Tuesdays, it would be nice to have you join us and let us get to know you.”

Of course she means that they are chomping at the bit to know why a single woman with no family ties has moved into town. You’re familiar with the ritual and know you need to go along if you want to make it work in this place.

You return her smile, “That would be so kind of you, as long as you don’t mind my son coming along.” You gesture to the little boy hiding in your skirts behind you.

“Of course he can. He can play with my boy, Robert. We will see you at two.” She leaves you with her address and directions over, telling you to look for the house with the red shutters.

Their house is in one of the newer, more developed parts, with some manufactured homes lining the street and looking boxy compared to the traditional farmhouses, but it's charming. The red shutters stand out, that’s for certain. It doesn’t take long to figure out that Jane is a proud host, head of the gossip chain, and is required to mention “My husband, the Sheriff” at least once per conversation.

You let the ladies ask their questions and nod politely as they give you the required chorus of condolences. You feel the shift when Jane steers the conversation to what they all want to know. “Now, I don’t mean to spread gossip, but some folks were wondering why you rented a place here instead of goin’ home to your family.”

Your shoulders stiffen, ‘so much for not putting me on the spot’ you think, but you still smile politely as you answer. “I have no other family. My daddy was gone when I was a girl and my momma dropped me off with an aunt and uncle when she was with husband number three and I don’t know where she is. They said it was the first thing she did that made a lick of sense,” you try to joke. “Well, they didn’t exactly approve of me and Jimmy, so when we married they told me not to go back.”

“And the boy’s other kin?”

“Ain’t no other kin. Jimmy’s family was small, they’re gone now.”

“Well, ain’t you a tragedy,” she says in a chirpy, high voice.

Your face tightens and you stare at your lap, “We get by,” you weakly mutter.

They all assure you that they have some nice gentlemen they can introduce to you, and go on about how fortunate you are they are pulling you into their group. You hear about faceless people and their minor transgressions, but get bored with it fairly quickly and use the time to look over the Bodecker home. It’s nice, a mixture of modest and a few state-of -the-art updates. There’s more dust than you expect, the sofa cushions look worn down, with only a few photos on display. The sheriff’s face shrouded in shadows in the one you can see, but you figure their son must take after him since he doesn’t have the pinched look his mother seems to naturally have.

You don’t even meet ‘her husband, the Sheriff’ until your third Tuesday afternoon of cards at their home. Jane herself is practically giving a campaign speech since the election so close. You never paid a lot of attention to local politics, and you try to give her your attention, but when she starts to ramble on it’s just too much. You happen to look to the side to avoid rolling your eyes and catch just when he strolls in, as if on cue with the uniform all perfectly in place. He scans the group of women until he stops on you, eyes lighting up with interest.

Your own breath catches in your throat at the sight of him as he removes his hat and looks you over.

“Well,” he drawls, “You must be the sweet new thing that’s got all the fellas in town rioting.”

You have to look down, lest the embarrassment make you combust.

“Now, Lee,” Jane scolds, “That’s no way to say hello. Come over here and introduce yourself properly.” She guides him over, and you almost say it with her when she recites, “This is my husband, the Sheriff.”

“Apologies, miss. I know you aren’t trying to get them all riled. Janey told me ‘bout your husband. War is Hell, shame to be losing boys like that.”

He holds his hand out to shake yours, his hold firm and warm and you are hesitant to let go.

“I appreciate that, thank you, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods, eyes flicking over you one more time. “What are your plans in this lovely town of ours?”

“Oh. Well,” you freeze up for a moment, it’s the first time someone’s asked and you don’t have your answer prepared. “Well, I was thinking that I would get a job. We get by right now, but once my boy is in school, I would like something else to do.”

Jane jumps on your answer, “Let’s just see if we can’t find you a bachelor around here. Plenty of boys can use someone to take care of ‘em, but if you want a man who will be home on time, you stay away from any of the deputies. I can’t remember the last time Lee wasn’t busy with something or other from the county. I suppose that’s the life we’ve chosen though, isn’t it?”

Her voice sounds overly sweet, but you can sense the daggers in her words. It’s the way he reacts, shifting on his feet and rolling his jaw like he’s annoyed. Jane doesn’t even pay attention to anything but the cards in her hand. Some of the other ladies nod, but the sheriff just lowers his head before he pulls Jane to the side to talk to her quietly.

You track his movements, fascinated until you shake yourself out of it. It’s been years since you felt like that or even saw a man that caught your attention - not since Jimmy. It’s alarming, unnerving.

The wave of guilt that washes over you is more than you can handle.

“Please excuse me, but we must be going.” You get up without waiting for any response and practically yank your son right out of the house as Jane calls after you that she will see you again soon.

You brush off the incident after having some time to think, convinced that it is just because you were caught off guard, and try to go on as normally as you can.

Your days end up filled with social calls, running errands or helping your landlady, and keeping your son busy. He asks to play with the Bodecker boy nearly every day, but you try your best to keep your distance when you can, especially when she starts trying to arrange dates for you even when you politely decline.

You look at the other ladies sometimes and wonder how many of them are just tolerating her the way you do. There’s just something grating about the way her voice goes especially nasally when she has something not-very-Christian to say, or the way she talks so openly and obscenely about the apparent whorehouse in town. She doesn’t even seem the least bit shameful when she begins to complain about her sister-in-law and the trouble she gets up to despite her brother being the sheriff.

Sheriff Bodecker, on the other hand, is a bit more friendly than you anticipated, expecting him to be cold or rude, but usually he’s the one pushing his wife to extend a coffee or supper invitation your way and making small talk when you are still around when he gets home from work or if he catches you around town. Your own mind suspects that it’s maybe just a sense of civic duty to know his neighbors, but it’s nice to have company nonetheless.

Conversation with him comes easily. He talks with you about interesting news stories, about the boys, about some of the other towns, and even plans for the county. It’s interesting, not just debate on whether the new curtains chosen by someone or other are tacky. There are times you get lost talking with him and need to be corralled back in by Jane or Steven getting antsy.

The way he draws your eye is a mixture of curiosity and interest. It makes you notice when he’s driving the patrol car or when you see him around town. You catch how tired he seems at the end of the days, how he’s usually got a piece of candy to slip to kids when they come by and are brave enough to ask. You notice how he knows everyone in town and seems to have an eye on everything, checking in at the shops and breaking up the young men when they start to roughhouse.

In a place like this, Jane Bodecker is far from the only gossiper in town, so while she might not share much about herself or her husband, plenty of others do. Some of the things they say are just nitpicking and you try to drown it out. They’ve been decent to you since your arrival, but it’s hard to ignore the constant whispers of how power went right to their heads.

When the election is over and she gets the right to continue to say “My husband, the Sheriff” you start to really see what they say. She loses the facade of playing the good wife, but still hosts her weekly card meetings to keep up to date. Instead of just coffee and tea, she starts slipping sips of whiskey and gives her opinion a bit more freely than before, and often hurling insults anywhere they can land.

It’s painful to watch her put down everyone, but especially the sheriff when he gets in her way. When you catch him sending a frustrated look at her turned back or rolling his eyes at her complaints about the town and its people, you pretend not to notice and remember to keep a smile on. Her outbursts get more and more unhinged and brazen, and the defeat and exhaustion in his stance makes you ache. There’s a hurt you can’t vocalize without overstepping, but it eats at you, chips at your patience bit by bit.

When the sheriff pulls the cruiser over one day while you’re walking between stores to say hi and make some small talk, you’re pleased. He seems less worn down, it’s nice to see.

“Oh, Sheriff, you’ve got some good timing,” you reach into one of your shopping bags, pulling out a paper bag of hard candies you bought from the candy shop. “While doing the washing, I found a handful of wrappers. Turns out the boys were getting into your candy stash. Thought you might need a refill.”

You hand him the bag and the smile he gives you in return makes your chest tighten up and ache.

“Sweet things from a sweet thing, thank you darlin’.”

You bit down on your lips, desperate to not react to his flirtatious words. “It’s nothin’, Sheriff.”

“Not to me.”

You start to sway from foot to foot, looking down at the sidewalk with a hum and trying to come up with something else to say. Silence hangs in the air for a moment before his radio crackles with a call from the station. You take the opportunity to make your exit.

“I’ll be seeing you, Sheriff.”

He shoots a glare at the radio, but looks back at you with what you could only describe as longing. “Sure will, Sweets.” Usually something like that would sound condescending, but from him it sounds endearing. He winks and pulls the car away, talking to the dispatcher while he drives.

‘Sweets...sweet thing...darlin’’ his voice repeats over and over in your head, fingers trembling and clumsy with the rush they give you and the way your heart races.

You get nearly sick when you recognize the feelings you’re having. It’s like it was when you were first with Jimmy. When you couldn’t even look him in the eyes because you felt too overwhelmed by your feelings for him. When you flushed and overheated when he got close and said pretty things. When you used to hold onto his hand and promise yourself that you would care for him every day and prove your love to him.

That’s when you realize you’re coveting another woman’s husband.

It’s Thursday, which means you need to head down to Main Street to visit the pharmacy for your landlady, Mrs. Martins, and gather some groceries for the week. You had made plans with Jane to let the boys play together while you took ran errands. You don’t have a good excuse to change the plan, but you can’t help but ask again, “You sure you don’t mind him being here?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, a bit wider and more manic than usual, “Now if that handsome Wilford boy happens to ask you for supper, don’t you worry about rushin’ back, ya hear?”

You laugh at her latest unsubtle attempt, “I will keep it in mind, thanks.” She and a few others had started to meddle, putting eligible bachelors in your path and setting up dates on your behalf. You do try. You talk to them, let them flirt, but none hold your interest. They’re boys - lanky and lean, still all reckless and rowdy. Not what you’re looking for, nothing like the solid, filled-out figure of a man, someone secure and stable and in a uniform. But that’s something to think about another day.

Wilford does indeed ask.

You do not feel so inclined to take up the offer, especially when he pinches the round of your ass as he asks you to consider dessert before any supper.

He has you pressed against the wall outside the hardware store, letting the sun blind you and bring tears to your eyes as the bricks snag the delicate threads of your dress.

He only backs away when a loud voice booms out, “There a problem here, son?”

He turns his head to find Lee pulled to the side of the road, window down and arm resting on the frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No sir, Sheriff, just makin’ some supper plans, ain’t we?” Wilford looks back at you with a leer. Your hands press flat against the building and your knee twitches with the urge to jerk up and hurt him.

“I thought we were expecting you tonight, isn’t that right?” Lee asks you pointedly.

Your attacker looks back at Lee, then to you, and you nod. Finally, you’re given some space.

“I imagine you need to be moving along then?” Lee checks, waiting impatiently for Wilford to answer.

“Yessir.” He gives you a wicked grin and spins away to go back down the street. “Maybe another time when you’re free.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowed at his back as you glare.

Lee taps the side of the cruiser, “C’mere.”

You take a shaky breath and gather yourself with a nod before taking the few steps across the sidewalk. Leaning down you take a moment to look him over in his uniform, the badge gleaming in the sunshine and eyes clear blue as the sky.

“You alright, Sweets?” he asks, voice low and gentle. He’d taken to calling you that since the candy incident, always in that same tone - like it’s precious and important. The way it hits you right in the center of your chest hurts more than the physical damage done a moment ago. You know he isn’t asking if your heart is aching, or if you’re alright being lonely, or any of the ways you’re feeling it right now, but it strikes you in an unexpected way.

“I’m fine,” you smile tightly, “Thank you for checking.”

“These boys just don’t know how to handle themselves when they see a pretty lady.” Your cheeks ache as you try to keep from beaming at the off-hand comment. “Ya know, I’m getting ready to head on home, you need a ride that way? I’m guessing your boy is stirrin’ up some shit with mine?” He turns and scans the road and sidewalk around you, fidgeting a bit as he asks.

“I still have to make another stop and my car is at the end of the block, but thank you.” You stand up.

“Well, I mean it, you and Steven stay for supper tonight, I’ll square it with Jane.”

“You don’t hav’ta do that-”

“No worries, darlin’.” He winks, taps his fingers on the shell of the door by the painted logo and waits until you nod in agreement. “See you soon, then.” And with a nod he pulls off the curb.

You watch the cruiser drive away, then look up and down the street, but no one else is there. You finally manage to draw in a full breath, and rush to get to the cool air of the pharmacy to ease the flush burning you from the inside out.

You make it back to the Bodecker’s before the sheriff, glad to have a few moments to smooth things over with Jane since she clearly had not expected you to turn down the date she arranged for you.

“He wasn’t too much of a handful, was he? I told him before I left that he better mind you today.”

She waves you off, sitting back down at the table with her abandoned cigarette in the tray and a small glass of brown liquor.

“Well, the boys’ll sleep tonight, that’s for sure. They’ve been running circles round the whole damn house.” She ashes the cigarette before taking another puff and settling against the backrest of the chair.

You take a moment to look over the kitchen, a pot is just about to boil over so you make your way to it. “Can I help you out with anything? Give you a moment to freshen up ‘fore Lee gets home?”

“I suppose that’s the least you can do.” Her cheeks draw in another puff and she hums, taking her glass with her as she goes to their bedroom.

The boys run inside, breathless and sweaty, both shouting while they tell you about a nest they found outside before you order them off to get washed up themselves. You look down the hall, waiting to see if Jane was on her way back or if she was expecting you to finish her cooking. Rather than let it burn, you do just that, taking care of the potatoes, adding a few seasonings as you go, and pulling out the meatloaf from the oven.

The screen door squeaks and boots thud through the house when Lee enters and makes his way to the kitchen. You nervously look over your shoulder, catching him leaning against the door jamb, spinning his hat in his hand, a soft smile on his lips as he looks your way.

“This is a sight. If I didn’t know better I’d think I wandered into the wrong house.”

You let out a bit of a nervous laugh, then look back down to the greens you were tending to, “I am so sorry, I kept your wife busy longer than I should’ve. She’ll be out in just a minute.” You go back to busying yourself with finishing up the meal.

“Not complainin’,” he mutters under his breath, but you still hear it and it makes your breath hitch. Jane could set you on edge with her snide remarks, so could Lee, but for completely different reasons - some that had been dormant for so long you didn’t know what to do.

Just then Jane makes her grand reappearance, hair freshly combed and lips tinged with a touch of color; her cheeks look ruddy, but you can’t tell if it’s rouge or flush from the alcohol she’s been sipping.

“Don’t you go adding too much milk to my potatoes, nobody likes ‘em all runny. Here, let me,” she says and nudges you out of the way, “See you gotta mix in just a little bit right there.”

She overpours anyway, her hands moving unsteadily as she mashes the potatoes up, making them runny just like she warned you about.

From behind you, you see Lee go to the table, picking up the liquor bottle and examining the contents, making marks with his fingers against the side of the bottle and shaking his head. He takes a swig himself and sets it back down.

He mumbles something about being sober, then walks down the hall to where Jane disappeared, stopping to say something to make the boys giggle on the way before they wrestle each other at the bathroom sink to wash up for supper.

The meal starts off quiet, just the utensils scraping along the plates, but Jane being the gracious host, finally tries to perk it up with conversation.

“I know Wilford might be a little rough ‘round the edges for someone from a bigger town, but there are still several other young men I can introduce you to,” she offers, unprompted.

You choke a little before you recover and finish chewing your bite of food.

“You needn’t go through the trouble, Mrs. Bodecker. Really.”

“It’s just, you’re so young to be widowed already and all alone. What kinda home will it be for the boy with no man around? And don’t you want more kids? I bet you just glow. Some of the ladies at my bible study wouldn’t mind setting you up.”

The idea makes you squirm. No, you aren’t dead inside, but there’s no way for you to get what - who you really want.

The sheriff speaks up then. “My old man took off on my ma, sister, and me. That’s just the way shit happens sometimes,” he says and you feel the dark cloud start to clear just a bit. You nod at him, acknowledging the little bit of affirmation.

“What was your husband like?” Jane presses, digging a little further into that painful wound. “Maybe that will help me out.”

Your Jimmy didn’t have much to give you, but he gave you all he could. He gave you the kind of love that made your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your stomach swoop with butterflies. Your eyes flick toward Lee and you think again about how alike they seem to you, handsome, intuitive, assertive, strong-willed. He catches your gaze and pauses his chewing for a brief second while he waits for your answer.

“He was a good man, strong and fair. I’d like to think he and Mr. Bodecker would’ve gotten on quite well,” you finally say, smiling kindly at them both in turn.

Lee’s lips curl into a smile while he finishes chewing, then sits back with a stretch. “You’re makin’ me sound like an old man,” he whines, “Call me Lee when I’m not on duty.”

“Yes sir,” you automatically reply. “Lee.”

His smile grows. “Say, Janey? Why don’t you go get that jug of wine up for us?”

She nods and gets up.

“Wine?” you ask, surprised.

“It’s nothin’ special, someone up the road makes it. Tastes better than that church wine, but don’t burn like the shine some other folks are brewin’ up.”

Jane comes back with three glasses and pours generously for you all, her own motions increasingly sloppy from her afternoon drinking.

You sip at it, the taste a little tart, but not as acidic and thank them for their generosity.

“Jane, you do something different with the seasoning tonight?”

“No,” she answers, then goes right back to her chat with you, you think about speaking up, but she goes back to leading the conversation. “So, you still thinking about becoming a working gal?”

“Not right away, but yes.”

“Oh?” Lee asks, “Something at the diner? I think the grocery is hiring?”

“Nuh uh,” her voice takes on a nasty tone, “Nothing like that for her. She went to secretary school.” The lilt in her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t care for that little fact. “Can you believe that? School just to learn to file a paper or take a message.”

“There’s more to it than that,” you quietly defend.

“Jane, what the hell do you know? You haven’t worked a day in your life?” Lee asks.

Jane rolls her eyes, body slumping a bit in her chair. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure you don’t go working at the Tecumsah.” She snorts into her glass as she takes a sip. “That’s where Lee’s sister works. I told you ‘bout her before.” She gives you a look. “That place is a den of sin, if you know what I am gettin’ at.”

“You’re are gonna spoil my appetite talkin’ like that,” he says. He drops his fork and you startle, his glare at his wife making clear this is another sore subject.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she mutters. “I’m gettin’ tired of mending the buttons on your clothes.”

Your jaw nearly drops. You wring your napkin on your lap and scramble for something to change the subject and break the tension, “Jane, there are such lovely flowers planted right by the library, is there a gardening club around here that you haven’t told me about?”

She’s bored by the topic, but it does enough to distract her and send her on a tangent. You nod and hum while you pick at your food. Occasionally you glance to Lee at the side and find him looking at you appreciatively.

You keep turning the conversation away from yourself, getting her to talk about anything you can as she keeps refilling and sipping down more of her wine.

You use the next lull in conversation to make your exit.

“This has been lovely, and I am so thankful for everything today, but we really oughtta get back home. I need to make sure Mrs. Martins gets her items from the pharmacist and I need to try to fix the old projector she’s given me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Lee asks, leaning forward.

“No idea,” you laugh. “I was hoping to puzzle it together.”

“I can take a look for you,” he offers.

“If you have a moment,” you turn to Jane, “And you don’t mind sparing him.”

She scoffs and waves her fingers, “Nah, take Robert with you.”

He grunts in response while the kids leap up, excited for more time together. You do what you can to clean up and ease the load for Jane, but she’s getting more irritable by the minute, so you shuffle to the door to leave.

You head to the driveway where your car’s parked, waiting for him outside while the boys chase each other around the cars. He steps out the door, swinging his key ring on his fingers, looking at ease without the uniform on, but still strutting with an air of authority. It makes your stomach swoop.

“The Martins place? What road is that on again?” he asks jarring you out of your staring.

“Just follow me, Sheriff. I mean - Lee,” You nod as you get into the driver’s seat, Steven climbing in on the other side.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He mutters it loud enough that you hear him. The tilted, teasing grin on his face as he climbs into his own car almost makes you certain it was his intention.

When you get out, there’s a lump in your throat and the air suddenly feels heavy. Thankfully, the short walk up your drive is quiet, the sheriff walking leisurely next to you and laughing at the boys as they race each other down the sidewalk.

“I gotta go in the back way,” you swallow thickly as you tell him while you open up the gate, “There’s a private staircase for us there.”

He nods and follows.

When you enter the small apartment, you’re grateful that you don’t have much to fuss over and that it is tidy by default.

“Why don’t you boys go play with the Lincoln Logs or race cars? Nothing too loud right now,” you suggest and push them off toward the small room Steven occupies. “I got the parts all together right here, but I think something is missing.” You point to the box with the projector parts and reels.

“No problem,” Lee’s voice is quiet in your small space. He takes out the parts and starts to fit things together, checking a few switches here and there after a couple of minutes before patting the top of it with a, “There you go.”

You smile widely, “That’s it? Really?”

“That’s it, Sweets,” he matches your smile.

You suddenly hate the idea of him leaving so quickly, so you look around for something else.

“Coffee?”

He nods. “It’s like you read my mind,” there’s a glint in his eye as he gives you a generous once-over.

You feel a flush and quickly turn away to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill the kettle with water and scoop grounds into the press.

The boys break into a fit of giggles and before you can call after them, you feel the warm presence of Lee shuffle up behind you. His boots scuff against the floor as he stops, then seconds later his arms cage you in from behind, his palms resting against the edge of the countertop.

His breaths are deep, his nose just tickling along the neckline of your dress and you feel your back stiffen at the rush.

“You’re so lovely Sweets,” he whispers.

Your breath shakes as you suck it in. “S-sheriff,” you swallow thickly, “Lee? What’re you doing?”

“You’re beautiful, y’know.”

You remain still, unable to whisper anything but his name again.

“I see the way you look at me,” he presses a kiss to your skin that’s so gentle and tender but nearly makes your knees buckle. “Like you want somethin’.”

“I’m not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you weakly deny.

One arm leaves the counter to wrap around your middle, pulling you even closer to him while he steps right up behind you, the whole front of him up against your back. The movement makes you gasp and arch just slightly. You’re unable to catch yourself from rolling your head back to lean against him fully and feeling him grunt.

“You don’t need to make any excuses. You want me, dontcha?” he talks with his lips pressed right against your neck, heavy breaths tickling at your hairline.

God, do you want him. The sudden feeling of a warm, masculine body against you is something you didn’t realize you missed so much. For years it’s just been you and your boy and focusing on the day to day, not thinking about the way a strong arm feels pulled around you with fingers just tickling at your sensitive skin - until suddenly that’s exactly what is happening. And how you’ve missed it, your muscles nearly seize up with tension as you try to fight how good it feels.

It’s like trying to drag yourself from a dream, slow and muted as you try to make sense of everything at once; a sharp clarity punches through hard and fast.

“Your wife,” you reach down to cover his hand with your own, ready to try to pry him off.

“That fucking pig? I don’t love her, I don’t want her. She don’t want me either.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that,” you tell him and start to pull away, squirming away but getting nowhere since he doesn’t budge an inch. He allows you to spin around between himself and the countertop. “Lee? What is this? What’re you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. You know what this is. You can remember moments like these with your late husband, but Lee is not your husband. You know his wife. You just spent the evening with her in their home.

He doesn’t answer. Instead his free hand starts to skim up along your side until his thumb catches at the curve at the bottom your breast, then slides up so that he can rub his thumb back and forth over your dress, teasing at your hardened nipple.

It makes you whimper and nearly fold in half with how sensitive you feel.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he coos, his lips parted and eyes tracking the movement of his thumb.

You lift your arms to his shoulders, uncertain yet if you’re planning to push him away or pull him close when you hear the quick footsteps of the boys.

Lee steps back to give you some distance and your hands flutter mid-air as you try to compose yourself.

The boys start to whine over each other-

“Momma. Robert keeps knocking over my building.”

“No, he keeps takin’ the blocks I’m using.”

Some kind of clarity forms and you rush out a solution for them, “Why don’t you get out your TinkerToys and split it all up? Alright? Go back to the other room,” you nudge them away.

Problem solved, they run back to the room, leaving you standing in the kitchen, Lee lingering just feet away and the half-finished coffee press on the counter.

“Jane must be expecting you home by now.”

He grunts and shakes his head ruefully, “She’s probably passed out by now.”

“Oh,” you nod. You search for something, anything to excuse yourself and catch your breath, “I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me a moment.”

You slip out of the kitchen and into the door just down the hall. Taking a moment to relieve yourself then press a cool rag to your cheeks. You’d nursed the glass of wine Jane had poured, so you knew deep down you weren’t tipsy, you were just overrun by the feelings the sheriff gave you. Once you get your first full breath in minutes, you feel better, calmer and more controlled. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide - you just need to send him on home.

You barely crack open the bathroom door when it’s pushed open wide, Lee wedging in when it’s wide enough and nearly slamming it shut behind him.

“Don’t hide from me, Sweets,” is all he says before he’s got one arm around your middle again, and the other holding the back of your neck while he presses his lips against yours. After gasping in surprise, you instinctively return the kiss - your tongue and lips tentative against his dominating mouth.

It’s strange - all of it so strange after so long. It’s been years since your last kiss and you feel clumsy, out of practice, but he doesn’t hesitate one bit, doesn’t seem turned off by your uncoordinated motions and hands that can’t keep still over his middle and shoulders.

He takes in a deep breath, pausing for just a second to position himself better, then he’s back on you, and you feel ready for him this time. One hand resting on his chest while the other hooks up around his neck, your fingers stroking through the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. He turns the both of you, pressing you against the vanity sink.

“Lee,” you whimper when he wedges a leg between yours.

“Shh, shh, sshh. I got you.”

His kisses are relentless and make you light-headed, gasping for breaths every time he slightly lets up. His hands push and pull, struggling against your dress and your undergarments until he’s freed one breast and can drop his head to suckle at your hard peak.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, mind painfully aware of the children in the room nearby. You crack open an eye to make sure the door is still closed and try to focus on the sounds the kids are making, but his tongue and lips are too distracting. He pulls as much of your breast into his mouth as he can, greedily swirling his tongue all over the sensitive bud, and pulling away with a loud pop.

You slap at his shoulder while he just looks up at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Feels good, right?” He places his hand to cup your breast, thumb flicking at your nipple. “Let me have you, I’ll make you feel so good, my sweet girl. Please?”

His own eyes close as he ruts up against you, his hard length pressing against your hip and sending a tremor through your body, practically shaking your bones. You don’t move though, your hands stay frozen where you hold onto him, but he continues to lead and coax you along.

One wide hand holds you at the back of your neck, just holding you in place. His mouth moves across your cheeks and at the hinge of your jaw. He whispers quiet promises of satisfaction, telling you how lovely you are and confirming every word with a kiss. His other hand leaves your breast after one final and quick pinch and grabs at the bottom of your dress. The fabric bunching in his fist as he gathers it until he can feel your thigh.

Then he teases you with just the tips of his fingers, sliding right up and over til he meets where your thighs meet. It tickles, makes you shake a little, and then you’re sucking in a hard gasp when he keeps going until he pets and presses over your sex with the pads of his fingertips.

“So wet,” he says on an exhale, pressing right where you feel your excitement leaking. “You want me too. It’s alright.”

To prove his point, he presses harder, flattening his hand until he’s cupping you and making your body jerk between him and the sink. You bend your knees to open your thighs wider with the touch, and he groans and presses hard against you again, the heel of his palm putting pressure to your throbbing clit. You struggle to not hook your leg right over his hip to let him in.

“Lee,” you start to beg, “Please. Oh my god, please.”

It’s so overwhelming you start to sob, the tears already prick at the corners of your eyes. Just being touched, feeling the warmth of him, and the words - it’s all that you remembered being with a man to be and more. His hand keeps a rhythm against you, driving you higher. You hadn’t had a man’s touch in years, but suddenly you need Lee like you need air.

“Please,” you say again. Your body tingles with electricity that has nowhere to go.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, baby. I’m gonna take care of ya. Am I what you need?”

“Yes,” tears start to roll down your cheeks. He pulls back slightly until he can slip his fingers underneath your panties, gliding right through your arousal. You feel two of his fingers slide into you, and you squeeze around them instantly.

“Fuck,” he grunts. Your wetness drips down his fingers into his palm. He presses the heel of it against you again, right against your sensitive clit this time. “Come on my fingers, sweetness.”

He fucks you with his hand, his thick, solid fingers caressing you while he sends jolts of pleasure through you with pressure on your sensitive button. You squirm to get away, but the hand still at the back of your neck tightens and holds you down, making you take it.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “It’s alright.”

And that’s it. You freeze for a moment as the pleasure peaks and then you’re trembling as the shocks of it rush through you in a blaze. You can hear the wetness drowning his fingers as he keeps pumping them into you while you clench over him repeatedly and sob as quietly as you can, which must not be very quiet because he starts to shush you and slow the movement of his hand, gently attempting to calm you down.

“You’re okay, s’alright baby, just breathe, c’mon,” you hear him coach, but all you can focus on is the thumping beat of your heart as it races and trying to catch your breath between sniffles, the tears falling freely down your cheeks.

His hand slides out from your panties to grab you steady at your waist, the hand from your neck moves so he can use his thumb to wipe away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours and tells you to breathe with him.

You blink your eyes open, eyelashes glittering with wetness and you take a minute to focus. Once things are clear, you tilt your head back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, lips wet and rosy, and his eyes - they nearly glow as he looks you over. It’s something to see - awe, tenderness, pride all in the twitches of his lips as his lips turn up with a smile.

“Sweets, will you touch me?” he asks. For such a big man, his voice is suddenly so small.

“Lee, I can’t-I haven’t…” you struggle to find the words.

“It’s alright, that’s alright,” he assures you, circling your wrist with his fingers still sticky from your arousal, and guiding them to the bulge in his trousers. You flinch, but don’t pull away, your arm tenses, but goes with the motion. He presses your palm against the solid length, pushing down to give him some relief. His hips press against you in return and once he’s sure you aren't going anywhere, he lets go of your wrist, then starts to undo the belt and button in quick movements. He tugs the waistband of his trousers and boxers down together, just to release his cock.

You feel the fabric move under your palm, but keep pressing against him, your hand sliding just slightly out of remembered instinct. When the fabric of his boxers slides away and you’re met with the heat of his cock, you gasp. Your hand wraps around him, fingers circling around his shaft to hold him and pulling a strangled moan from him.

“Shit-fuck,” he hisses. “Won’t be long.” He wraps his hand over yours, pulling your fist up and down over him while he pumps his hips into it. Precome drips down from the slit, easing the glide.

His eyes close and he presses his temple to yours, his face pulls up in concentration, focusing on the pleasure, “You’re so soft, so sweet,” he rasps, “Want you so bad, want you all to myself.”

You can imagine it, if you’re ready to be totally honest, you have imagined it.

“Kiss me?” you whisper.

His lips meet yours roughly for a long press, then he tilts his head and licks at the seam of your lips, making you open up to him. His hand and yours start to speed up, he keeps guiding you up and down, just the slightest twist at the head with each stroke.

The kiss turns sloppy, more sharing air and pecks than anything as he spirals with the pleasure you’re helping to give him.

“You’re gonna -you’re gonna make me-” with a pained expression, he nudges you away, his hand stroking frantically as he leans over your sink until he starts to come, streaks hitting the porcelain as he chokes down groans. You watch his neck and face go red, trying not to watch, but you can’t help yourself and catch the way his cock twitches with his release, all swollen and red. You don’t think you could possibly blush more, but still fire burns underneath your skin.

When he finishes coming, he reaches for you again, pulling you into another hard kiss. “God, darlin’. Fuck,” he whispers while he attempts to catch his breath. “Fuck. Haven’t been tugged off like that since I was a deputy.” He chuckles, the laugh coming out in hard puffs of air.

You struggle to look at anything in the bathroom, eyes straying back to Lee, to his softening cock, to the come dripping slowly in the sink basin. Just then you hear the boys start to giggle and reality hits you again, making your chest seize up in panic.

“Oh, Lee. No,” you raise a hand to your mouth and quickly rush out the door, piecing your wardrobe back together as you walk back into the kitchen. You hear the water run in the bathroom and murmuring as Lee talks to himself.

Your movement must have distracted the boys because they manage to sound like a stampede heading toward you. You wipe at your nose and eyes as best you can before you turn to see what they want.

Both the boys pause, but it’s your son that speaks up, knowing how you look when you cry. “Momma, you alright?”

Lee exits the bathroom then, shirt tucked back in, belt and trousers back in place - only the flush from the neck up giving anything away. His eyes bore into you with heavy emotion that you are ashamed that you can read so well - concern, sympathy, desire. A mixture that you remind yourself you don’t deserve.

“Yeah, baby. I am. You know I get sad sometimes, I’ll be fine. Are you boys ready to say goodbye for tonight? I think it’s well past your bedtime.”

You grab Steven and fuss with his hair, with his messy shirt, and then turn him around and hold him against you like a tiny human shield. “Say thank you to the sheriff for fixing the projector and for letting Robert play.”

“Thank you, sir,” your son dutifully responds.

Lee can see what you’re doing and he’s not happy with it, his mouth going flat and shoulders heaving as you pressure him into leaving.

He just nods, then nudges at Robert’s shoulder, “Say thank you for indulging us.”

“Thank you,” Robert quietly says.

You send Steven down the hallway to get ready for bed, and then you follow behind as they step toward the door, Robert too tired from a full day of play to put up a fight. Lee opens the door to the back steps, telling Robert to be careful going down. When the boy starts down a few, Lee turns back to you.

Before you can react, he’s giving you another kiss, quick but meaningful. “We’re not done,” he whispers.

“We are. Go home, Lee.”

He gives you a long look before stomping down the steps. “Til next time, Sweets.”

...

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker angst #lee bodecker fanfiction #hoedecker club #hoedecker cult #tdatt fanfiction #my writing #fic title so wrong #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

Note

I'm not sure if you have already done something like this before, and if you did, please let me know, I'd love to read it, BUT I was wondering if you could do a little thing, maybe with Sebastian Zöllner, where he is like totally behind on every fucking deadline, work is just piling up, he got into stress with his ex, the dishes are not done, he should go take out the trash, you know, everything is just piling up and he just cracks under the pressure, severely doubting his worth as a person. And his friend, the reader, gotta try their best to build him up again, telling him all the things they love about him, and it slowly turns into a love confession without them noticing.

Is this too elaborate, does that make sense for Seb? Idk. To me it does? Like he's always very...Seb around other people, but deep down I feel like he's always under this pressure to live up to his own and others expectations, wanting to be big and famous and perfect in a way.

I'm so sorry, brain go brrr.

Never Enough [Sebastian Zöllner x Reader]

Word Count: 4k Warnings: bad habits (heavy smoking and drinking), self deprecation, depression and some fluff in the end. A/N: I loved this prompt, I love to write Sebastian so thanks to you once more for giving me this opportunity

He should have probably realised something was wrong when the ashtray was vomiting cigarettes out from its dooming position beside the laptop.

He nervously used the left part of the one he just ended to scavenge some space and just pressed it along the others.

Or maybe when after another sip of the same cold coffee mixed with cheap gin he felt the walls of his stomach revolting and stirring against him, threatening a much bigger damage.

Or, again, when he felt like calling back Elke because he was so alone and he was hungry and tired, and she might hate him but he could pull some puppy eyes and maybe it would work. It usually did.

The truth was that he shouldn’t have taken up so many jobs, but the bank account was crying and he needed them, he needed the money.

But again: writing about the umpteenth girl- artist performing naked on a famous historic location?

Or do we have to talk about the way somebody splashed some colour here and there on a canvas saying it is the catharsis of his young mind against the social construct?

Please, may God spare him from the man calling himself landscape artist because he takes pictures of naked girls on a field.

Charged up with this amount of nothingness, he could just write and delete, write and delete, words count going quickly up to 400 only to go back at 0 in a snap of his fingers over the buttons, because he couldn’t just tear them down. He had to give them some hope, a glimpse of potential he couldn’t see and he wasn’t even aware it existed. Each of them disgusted him, but he was specifically asked to be entertaining and not a killer with his words.

So he kept swiping up videos and photos of these artists, trying to find one thing, one holy grail to get attached to and finally write one good optimistic line in the middle of the words he had to pull up to keep a moderate tone.

He rubbed his temple running over his hairline, which by the way was perfectly fine, before his hand reached down and he touched his t-shirt pulling on the neckline to gather some air, he was wearing his pyjama still, white stained shirt on blue tartan pants. He raised up the shirt and bowed his head down giving in a long inhale from the inside and just cringed to himself.

He looked around as he couldn’t stand up, if he did then he will get only more distracted and these articles needed to be ready for tomorrow.

He noticed the spray against the mosquitos on the floor, those little bastards always hiding under his desk to bite his ankles, he picked it up and sprayed it over himself like it was perfume hoping to ignore the need of a shower for few more hours.

His eyes scanned the small studio flat he was living now: the dishes sticking out of the sink, the noisy fridge buzzing. The one table that was also his work desk filled with used mugs, stained plates covered in cigarettes and leftovers, empty packages of his favourite brand discarded everywhere: from the bathroom up to the couch and to the small bed he owned. Damn, if he run out of cigarette it will be hard to ignore how he also run out of food.

The space was dark and gloomy, some of his stuff still packed up, the fake pop art panting of him and Elke staring at him reminding him of his other loss.

He didn’t touch the bed in days, he just slept on the seat or on the couch.

His attention was attracted by his phone buzzing.

He sat up straight as it was her, it was Elke.

Did she sense his discomfort?

“Elke” he picked up the call in a second.

“Wow, a quick answer, did you have your phone already in your hand or it happens just so late at night?”

Her sarcasm did’t go past him, but he just thought how long it was since he heard a human voice and not the recording of some idiot calling himself artist.

“No, I was thinking of you”

“Yes, sure, look I have sent you an email with the bills of the time you were here, the ones you have left to pay and it is only fair that you pay at least half of them”

“Sure” he just said it because he wanted to go past the point of money, he wanted her back. Maybe he could crush at her place, feel her hands through his hair, shower, sleep some good sleep and the articles will come around in few types “Elke, I was thinking we might…”

“I just called you for the bills”

“I know, but maybe we could have” his eyes darted at the top right of his laptop screen to see the time “a drink together?”

She huffed a laughter as he frowned lightly “I know you Seb, if it is money or sex what you’re looking for that door is closed and it has been for a long time”

“I know” he murmured as he let out a breathy sigh, a dooming sense of loneliness creeping over him like a giant spider ready to wrap him up and eat him “I just hoped…”

“Don’t hope Sebastian, you’re already an hopeless cause”

She hung up on him and he was left there, he kept that same pose with his phone against his ear. His eyes trailing once again over the empty page of his document on the screen, on the chaos surrounding him.

He nibbled on his bottom lip before running his tongue over the pained area.

He pushed the phone back down on the table with a tremble of his jaw and a shaky hand.

She was right.

What he did of his life anyway? He lost most of his occasions in life, he was now in his thirties and he concluded nothing of what he hoped to be, he failed in all the departments both as an artist and as a critic.

A jack of all trades is a master of none, and maybe only the first type of the famous quote could be applied to him.

He couldn’t even take the trash out or he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that was vaguely resembling of fruits or vegetables. It is all good when you imagine yourself as a bohemian rooting against the world, when you convince yourself that’s only the proof you needed to know you are fighting well against a system of art that privileges banality and marketing over real artistic value and that, one day, all your struggles will be worth it.

Even Picasso was poor for a long time in Paris.

Damn, maybe to be in a situation like this in Paris would sound more romantic.

But the truth was: he never imagined to have to do it alone, that life would feel so overwhelming, that there wouldn’t be anything but extreme struggle, anger, loneliness and a terrible diet.

For a moment he wished to be a baby again, to be the bright boy he was and let mommy take care of his needs and his dirty shirt and empty stomach. He wished that maybe somebody noticed him before, that somebody saw his talent and helped him to pull it out instead of leaving him to do it on his own only to come late to every step.

And now it is too late, he is lost in the sea of terrible paid jobs and anguishing relationships, let’s not forget maybe he indeed had a receding hairline and he was doomed to get bold .

He squeezed his eyes as a soft sob took over his lip, hand running over his forehead as he pulled on his hair justifying his tears with some physical pain. He shook his head as he tried to gain back some composure, hand flung over to pick up his coffee mug and giving in a long gulp of the coffee, the same one he swore before to not touch again, only to almost choke on it, couching it out only to pick up the bottom hem of his shirt to clean his laptop screen.

He fucking hated to write on a computer, the old typewriters inspired him but that damn ink was too expensive now for his sore pockets.

He smirked to himself as he kept doing it, finding good excuses to call himself off any responsibility. But maybe Elke was right, well she surely was, she had two degrees, maybe he was really a lot cause. He frowned as he wiped slowly the screen with his already stained shirt, the wetness sticking then against his skin as soon as he let it go giving him another shiver.

He didn’t have even the strength to cry, he could only accept it was over.

The curse that he shouted out loud when he heard knocking at the door, smashing him out of his thought spiral, generated an immediate anger reaction from him.

“Fuck, shit, if it is the fucking neighbour, I swear I will kill her cat or that rat she has as cat, fucking hell”

He grumbled as he stood up moving across the table not caring about his state, he only wanted to crawl back into a ball and maybe nuzzle a bit somewhere.

When his death glare appeared after the door opened in a powerful swing his eyebrows lifted immediately finding you on the other side.

He blinked, one of those sleepy blinks where somebody closes his eyes and then opens them really wide to make sure it is not made up in their brain, that one.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You should wash your mouth with holy water Sebastian” you said shaking your head raising your arms to show him some paper bags “I am bringing food and body shower”

He shook his head “Are you calling me stinky?”

“I am” You quickly replied moving past him into his place ignoring his groan.

He stood by the door slowly closing it, he was sure that old bitch was looking through her peephole, only then he stared at you try to make your way into the filthy kitchen. He was really embarrassed about his antics, but surely this time he exceeded some record.

“I am speechless Seb, I helped you with the moving and this place seems to have taken over you” you said as you knew he was in some rut when he kept such a long phone silence.

He was usually always texting, sending memes or one sentence texts.

You cared about him, deeply, you knew he was full of flaws and little quirks, but that’s what made him special. Nevertheless, you were worried about the state of the place, how it showed the way he let himself get dragged through the days. So he observed you, better to say, your back, the way you moved around opening the window to let fresh air inside, turning on a lamp to make some light that wasn’t just the blue one of the screen. Pulling out commodities and food from your magic bags like some sort of Mary Poppins of struggling writers. How you poured soap in the dirty load of dishes and pans, the way you marched securely to his desk to pick up that filthy mug and you frowned just sniffing at it.

“Is that poison?”

“Rat poison” he corrected you.

You shook your head as you cleaned a glass and filled it with water and among the groceries you pulled out a banana.

“Have this now, it will help” you said and he took the glass with one hand and the banana with the other like his brain was shut down.

He stared at you as you leaned your head slightly on side, he went through bad times after the break up but you had never seen him in such a helpless state.

He was chaotic but he always loved to keep up his appearance, to give that handsome and damned kind of vibe.

“Sebastian” you called him as his eyes spaced out and now where back on you “Are you alright?”

He observed you, he stared at your face like he was trying to recognise you, truth it was he kept pushing himself to say yes, say yes, say it is all good, make a joke, a remark, keep it up. You don’t need his burden, you don’t need to hate him like Elke and others do.

Just say yes.

“No” he said as his lips trembled and you watched his ironic mask fall right in front of you as he looked away hiding his tears, real tears, not the ones he can play out whenever he needs.

Just as quickly as you gave him the banana and the water you took them off his hands afraid he might hurt himself by dropping the glass in particular.

"Seb" you called his attention as he sobbed moving like a bird trying to hide his face against his own shoulder.

You took his now empty hands dragging him toward the couch and kicking off the pile of dirty clothes and discarded books on top of it to make him sit down with you.

"Talk to me"

He didn't, the man that was never out of words, even in the times he should have been, was now silent as a tombstone staring away from you as you gave a gentle squeeze to his hands. It pained you to see him in such a state.

So weak, so helpless like a lost child.

"I can't help you if you don't talk"

Sebastian shook his head still staring at the wall.

"You can't help me"

"Is it about writing? I can proof read you, it will be a moment"

He shook his head again making, hair bouncing from side to side.

"No, it is not important if I write or not"

You frowned at that comment.

"What the hell?" you just blurted out "Seb you're a talented writer, you're passionate, funny, witty, why shouldn't it be important?"

He looked up at you shaking his head "I can't write, I can't put together two sentences"

Your eyes travelled onto his side profile, truth to be told he looked worn out but he was still handsome like only Sebastian Zöllner could be. He had that chaotic charm, even with a wrinkled suit he was fearless, strong, poignant. You couldn't avoid him, he owned every place he stepped in and you could feel his gaze run through your bloodstream.

When he asks a question, he meant it, it was a test run into your bones and you loved every second of it.

His lips tightened as he diverted his gaze finally to you. You knew his relationship with Elke was important, he cared about others even if he didn't show it daily like most people do.

"Is it Elke?"

"No, she was just right"

"About what?"

He gulped, his throat dry as he pulled his bottom lip in his mouth grinding his teeth over it like playing something through that gesture.

"About me"

"Breakups are always shit, don't you even.."

"No Y/N" he interrupted you, he was serious, maybe his voice trembled but he wasn't lying or playing some role "I am really a lost cause, I mean look at his place"

His hand waved around the small flat like a drunk orchestra director.

"It is pure trash, I haven't finished unpacking, I didn't have food until you came, I am unable to look after myself, to look after the people that I care about. I worked so hard to be an artist and then I became a critic and now I am so knee deep into my own shit that I have more debts than entries, more failures than successes, more haters than friends"

He gulped down, the waterline of his eyes dangerously red and he sniffled up as he let out a little weak whisper "I just wish I could disappear"

"No"

It came out of you like a lighting bolt, it surged out of you before you could even elaborate. Like an order. A command.

"Seb, you're now in a rough patch of life, but you have always worked hard and well as a writer"

"I am a writer because I failed as an artist"

"You're a writer because you know of what you're talking about, because you're able to see the difference between marketing and passion, between hard work and laziness, because you respect that profession and it makes you the best critic"

"I just want to destroy them all because I am envious, Elke always said I am fuelled by my own envy”

"I have read pieces of yours only encouraging the rightful and bringing down the real frauds"

He shook his head as he was just fixating on the wrong, on the flaws, on the problems.

You huffed cupping his cheeks to force him to look at your eyes.

"Look at me" you said not admitting replies "you are talented in what you do, you are one of the best in your field and you're not on some big magazine only because they know they will have to put up with your shit: with the fact you always meet the people, you look at art pieces in presence, you touch them, you research the colours, you scrutinise everything to the bone"

He took your hands hating to be held like that but he squeezed them in his owns.

"And yes, you're allergic to ironing clothes and washing dishes is your personal nightmare, and yes, you give out many temper tantrums and have a terribly dark sense of humour, you are a failure at time and money management, you love filthy rich stuff and smoke like your life depends on it"

He stared at you, he listened quietly as you knew him from so long and many people, Elke included, wondered what you gained from helping him or just being around him that much. He often teased his ex about being jealous of you and she always said that it was like being jealous of a mortgage.

"So you agree?"

"I agree to say you are flawed like all of us, that you are just the perfect balance to your writing, you're what you write. You're passionate, you give out the two hundred percent of what you can give, you are like this, you go all-in in everything you do, there's no compromise, no mid way, no foreseeable change of direction, you speed up into the darkness and don't look back. You are bold, you take risks, you let people hate you because you do not compromise with who is son of who or who is the director of what gallery, you judge people over their real qualities. Because you talk to them in their face, because you don't hide that yes, you want to be great, because you're handsome and charming and smart, nobody can outsmart you in your field, not even that idiot you hate that much"

"Golo Fucking Moser" he murmured

"Golo Fucking Moser" you repeated with a chuckle "you don't have anything to envy to him beside the bruises he probably has on his knees for bending down to anyone"

He chuckled at that comment.

"And also, you're more attractive, that pisses off Seb, it is unfair to the poor man”

He leaned his head on side as you wouldn't normally shower him in compliments, he had enough ego for that, but you had never seen him like this and you wished to never see him again in such a state.

"You find me attractive?"

"Well for sure you're an eye candy" you joked

"I mean it"

You rolled your eyes blushing a bit and huffing a chuckle "I do, alight? It is universal knowledge"

He looked at you as he still held your hands in his, his thumbs making soft shapes over the back of your hand.

"That I am attractive or that you find me attractive?"

You groaned looking away with an embarrassed giggle “okay, okay, I see you're back in yourself, let's eat now"

You moved to stand up but he didn't do the same remaining sat in his spot.

"Tell me"

"I pumped your self esteem enough, now let me go"

He chuckled softly, he never really thought you'd be interested. He usually shows off so many bad traits that he has to tone himself down and really try hard to attract someone. It is all an effort on his part to appear better or at least less quirky.

And then now look at you, appreciating even his shit show.

"Y/N" he murmured giving you a soft squeeze. You kept silent not daring now to meet his gaze. He bowed his head trying to reach for your eyes with his gaze and he looked up at you, a smile that wasn't provocative over his lips.

You pulled back yanking your wrists off his grip to move straight into the kitchen corner.

You begun pulling ut some fresh vegetables and bread, you also got some cheese knowing he loves it, wanting him to have a good dinner.

He followed you almost immediately and soon you found his arms grasping you once more in a hug, his chest pressed against your back, his forehead on your shoulder.

"Seb, you..."

"I know, I stink, just give me a moment" he said and you obliged him gently caressing his arms around you.

You hated to be in the friend zone, but you wouldn't be able to survive to lose him forever or to have him joke about it.

Now he was quiet, tender like a hurt pup.

"Thank you, you know you can count on me too, right? For anything” he said and you chuckled softly “I know, you’re my favourite avenger”

He nodded brushing his crisp beard against your cheek and after few minutes stuck in that hug he dropped a kiss on your neck "love you”

He pulled back giving you a smile as he picked the shower gel you left on the counter bringing it with himself to the bathroom with a soft hum.

You smiled a bit bitterly to yourself as you guessed it was meant in a friendly way, but today it was alright. You could endure it. Also that kiss, he always did it when he was drunk, at parties or in the taxi back home after a viewing. It was his cuddly way to say things without saying them, without rambling, and you appreciated that silent language.

Maybe now he was drunk over his own feelings.

Just like you.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @archangelproperty

#sebastian zöllner #sebastian zöllner x y/n #sebastian zollner x y/n #sebastian zollner x reader #sebastian zöllner x you #sebastian zöllner x reader #sebastian zöllner headcanon #sebastian zollner #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruehl #ich und kaminski #ich und Kaminski fanfiction #tw: depression #tw: self deprecation

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gaitwae · 3 years

Note

Heyy, I have two headcanon requests for my very talented and awesome friend (you!!!)

Headcanon 1/2:

How would Loki feel about a s/o who's into the arts? Painting, poetry, etc but is shy or hesitant to share them (even with him) from past comments that were hurtful (happened a long time ago but stayed with them)?

Loki would be patient with you.

After all, he understood what it was like to be mocked for your talents. He didn’t want to push you.

If you were a dancer, he would take you to practices but knew the rule was “no recitals” unless told otherwise.

If you were a painter/drawer, he would stay out of your study until you came out.

If you were a poet, Loki wouldn’t even think twice about leaving your desk after bringing you tea/coffee/beverage of choice.

He knew you were insecure about it; he didn’t really have a place to judge given that he hadn’t actually seen anything you’ve expressed, but he knew that if it came from you it couldn’t be all that bad.

He does have his own tastes, after all, and if you’re excellent, he’ll tell you exactly how much talent you’ve exuded (even if it’s not his style).

“Darling, I have faith in your abilities,” he’ll say if you come out frustrated. He’ll give you a little kiss on the head.

When you finally get the courage to show him what you’re working on or what you’ve finished, he sits and soaks it in to give you every single piece of constructive criticism you can get.

“The linework is nice but the colors are flatter than your other pieces. Perhaps take a break for a little while and come back to it; you’ll get frustrated and ruin the piece. Other than that, I don’t see anything wrong with it. You’re improving.”

“Perhaps you should slow that last move down — it would fit with the music, my love.”

“You’ve used the word here before… I believe it would sound better repeated, but I know that’s not what you’re trying to do. Do you have another word with the same elegance?”

You know, nice things and helpful things instead of the usual “WOW”s

When his criticism is edging on harsh instead of gentle, he’ll rub your back and continue looking at the piece or running your dance through his head a few more times.

“Don’t think it’s bad. Ever. It’s absolutely fantastic the way it is, but I know you want above fantastic.”

His words never have a cruel undertone like your previous relationships and commenters.

Once you had explained the times people had laughed at your works, how they had compared it to a child’s, Loki understood immediately why you were so reluctant to share.

He would have done the same if he was being honest.

“Look, my love, I’m always impressed.”

“Don’t look at me like that. How could I lie to the person I love the most?”

He’ll start painting with you to show you some of his techniques if you asked.

Loki would learn how to pas de deux with you just to make sure you were comfortable.

He would never just become disinterested in your lifework.

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silkling · 3 years

Text

Of Mistakes Past and Missing Home

Of Moments of Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

“You enjoy painting.”

The voice came from behind Boulder, and the unexpectedness of it made him startle. Which, in turn, made him jerk and drag his paintbrush across his canvas. The result of which was him turning a small cloud above a red and orange flower field into a streak that cut through the whole picture. Oops. That wasn’t what he’d been intending.

He turned to see who had spoken, his optics shuttering with surprise when he realized it was Dreadwing. He was quick to realize that the Seeker’s expression had quickly shifted to one of regret.

“I apologize, youngling. It seems I caused you to ruin your art.”

Boulder only smiled, shaking his helm. “It’s no big deal.” he assured. “Part is the artistic process is making mistakes and having to start over. I did it a lot, in the beginning.” He glanced at the canvas, tilting his helm. “But that doesn’t mean every mistake requires you to start over from scratch. That’s the great thing about painting.” he remarked distractedly, tilting his helm in the other direction. “Sometimes, a mistake can be turned into something new, maybe even something better.” he narrowed his optics, then they lit up with a realization. “Sometimes,” he repeated. “All you need,” he reached out, then turned the canvas around so what had once been the flower field was now at the top of the painting. “Is a new perspective.”

When he glanced back, Dreadwing didn’t seem to understand. Boulder smiled. “Let me show you.”

He picked up his paintbrush again, then lifted it and in a few short strokes he added to the stripe that sliced through the picture he’d been painting. He changed colors, adding some more careful strokes around that, and stepped back. It would need refining, but the shape and idea of what he was going for were there.

“See? It’s a feather in the sunset, now.”

Dreadwing only blinked. “I suppose, though I’m afraid I do not much understand art. I always preferred to read data pads and learn about various fields of study.” There was a pause. “Skyquake enjoyed art.” It was a quiet addition.

Boulder found his smile softening. “Yeah? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.” he encouraged. He glanced at his canvas. “I like art. There’s no set way to do it and there’s not much penalty for making mistakes. It’s nice.”

The Seeker hummed. “Do you believe most mistakes can be fixed with a new perspective?”

Boulder blinked, frowning. There was something off in Dreadwing’s tone. The others might not pick up on it, but he was good with other bots. He always had been. “…this isn’t just about painting anymore, is it?”

Dreadwing startled, surprise making his field flare. “You are far more perceptive than your teammates.” he said after a moment.

Blades smiled, turning to fully face the flyer. “Blades gets too anxious and wrapped up in his own helm to really pick up on more subtle emotions, Chase can barley understand the complexities of his own feelings, let those of alone others, and Heatwave is too proud and headstrong to really know what to look for. They’re all good bots, and I care about them a lot, but they aren’t the most..”. he searched for the right word. “Emotionally intelligent. Blades can read others really well when he isn’t swept up in his worries, but the other two are a bit hopeless.” He wasn’t saying it to be mean or to criticize. It was just the way his friends were wired, he knew. They were naturally better than him at a lot of other things. It was just how things were.

Dreadwing nodded, acknowledging his words. “You are correct. It is not just about painting. But it is my burden to bare, and I will not trouble you with my struggles.”

Boulder chuckled. “Well that’s a bad idea.” he said lightly. “You’ve already helped us a lot. Chase told the team what you did for him. We’ve all seen what you’ve done for Blades. Why don’t you let us help too? You’re one of us now, it’s gotta be about give and take.”

Dreadwing stared. “Wise words for one so young.” he sighed. “Very well, I will share my thoughts.” he vented harshly, then stared intently at the painting Boulder had been working on. “My mistakes are many, and brutal, and not nearly as neat or benign as a misplaced streak of paint. I suppose I merely cannot see how a new perspective would fix them.” he said after a moment.

Boulder was quiet, before he lifted his gaze. “Can I offer my thoughts?” At Dreadwing’s nod, he continued. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes. You’ve done a lot of terrible things. I don’t doubt that. And I know there are a lot of Autobots who would want to see you pay for those mistakes.” he tilted his helm. “I don’t know the full scope of the War. I don’t know everything you’ve done. But I do know how bad off Cybertron was before we left it.” The Seeker shot him a startled look, and he smiled a little sadly,

“I didn’t join the Rescue Force just because I wanted to help others, Dreadwing. In fact, in the beginning, my motives were entirely selfish.” he explained. “When I got to the age where I’d be expected to work, I was told that my first shift would be at a construction site in Kaon. It scared me. I knew how dangerous construction work was and I knew that even if it didn’t kill me it would kill my spark to be forced into something I hated so much. The only escape, the only chance I had at something different, was the Rescue Force. So I signed up to the Academy, and the day I got in was the day I escaped what I would have suffered through otherwise. The others may not have been as aware of just how bad things were, but…I was from the lower castes, Dreadwing. I knew.” he said quietly.

The Seeker was surprised, his optics wide. He saw how Boulder gradually shrunk in on himself as he spoke, and it made something unpleasant twist in him. The bulldozer was usually more at ease and bright, it didn’t suit him to look so…defeated. After a moment of thought, he put a hand on Boulder’s back and stepped closer. He knew Chase would not want more than this, but Blades preferred hugs as his method of comfort. Dreadwing didn’t know what the little green bot preferred so he wanted to play it safe. His bid seemed to pay off, because Boulder shot him a faint smile.

“What I’m getting at is, I know how bad off Cybertron really was. So even if I don’t know your exact circumstance, I do have an idea of what might have pushed you over the edge. I did originally come from Nyon, after all. Granted, I came from one of its nicer quadrants, but…it was still Nyon.” Boulder sighed. Nyon, at one time, had been the cultural and religious center of Cybertron, rivaling Praxus in beauty and grandeur. But under Zeta Prime, Sentinel’s predecessor, it had fallen into near-total ruin. “You made mistakes, and some bad choices, but you only did it in the end when you were backed into a corner and had nowhere else to go. Your choice was the only one you had that would let you remain alive, and that was wrong. No one should have to choose between death and living life serving a tyrant.”

Dreadwing hadn’t explicitly said any of this, of course. But Boulder was perceptive, like the Seeker himself had said. He’d read between the lines. He had understood what Dreadwing hadn’t been saying. It was one of the reasons he’d so quickly accepted the large bot as a new fixture in their lives. In his optics, this was Dreadwing’s chance at a life he should have had to begin with.

“That doesn’t change what you did, but it adds context. And given that the War destroyed Cybertron and decimated our people…” Which had been another thing Optimus had opted not to tell them. Dreadwing had had to share that particular tidbit. “Well, the War has to end someday, and if it ends in Autobot victory then we can’t afford to lock up every ‘Con. I don’t think there’s enough Cybertronians left for that.”

He realized he hadn’t yet gotten around to answering Dreadwing’s statement, and embarrassment flushed through him. “You made mistakes. That’s true. But context adds perspective. And you have a chance here to prove to anyone in the future who would want to hold your past against you that you can do better. Griffin Rock is your trial run. Heal, relearn how to live without War, and make amends while you’re here. Then, when everything comes to an end and the dust settles, it’ll be a lot harder for people to say that you never tried to make things right or that you’re unwilling to change.” he looked up to meet Dreadwing’s gaze. “Prove to yourself that you can be better than who you used to be, and when the time comes for you to face your mistakes, everyone will see that you have what it takes to make it right.”

Dreadwing was frozen, and Boulder found himself smiling at the hints of shock in his field and gaze. “I…had not considered those points.” the Seeker admitted after a long minute.

Boulder chuckled. “New perspective, remember? I just so happened to be able to provide it. That’s part of the benefit of letting yourself trust and rely on others.”

The flyer shot him an indecipherable look, and nodded. “Thank you for reminding me of that, young one. I have not been able to put such faith in another since I last saw my brother. It is good to be reminded that I do not have to handle my burdens alone.”

Boulder beamed, nodding. His somber mood was seemingly forgotten and he gestured to his painting. “Glad I could help! Now, if you don’t mind, I have sudden inspiration for this and I’d like to finish it.” he said, stepping towards the canvas.

Dreadwing let his hand drop, head tilting. “May I watch?” At Boulder’s nod, he settled on a nearby crate and watched the bulldozer work. It was oddly soothing, seeing the colors go down on the canvas, watching the patterns and shapes form into a familiar image. Into…a very familiar image.

After Boulder finished the sunset and feather, he had begun painting…the Rescue Force Headquarters. And Dreadwing picked up the longing and melancholy in the youngling’s EM field. The Seeker’s spark ached at the bulldozer’s visible grief, and he frowned. So Boulder hadn’t so easily shrugged off his earlier memories of home and his life on Cybertron. Dreadwing was not surprised to see him painting the Rescue Force HQ. From what the youngling had said, it would have been the first place he was truly free of the shackles that had threatened to bind him.

Dreadwing said nothing until Boulder finished and stepped back, and it seemed he hadn’t realized what he’d been painting until then, because when he took in the whole painting his only reaction was to let out a quiet, surprised “Oh.”

Dreadwing stepped closer, letting his own field nudge at Boulder’s, and upon finding no protest he let it curl around the youngling. Boulder’s vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he was able to speak. “I hadn’t realized…”

Dreadwing hummed softly. “You miss it.” he could tell in the aching and longing that all but swamped the bulldozer.

“I don’t know why. Like I told you, I didn’t have the happiest beginnings back on Cybertron. But I still miss it. All of it, not just the Rescue Force. Nyon, too.” he said in a whisper.

Dreadwing put a hand on his back, keeping his field soft and soothing. “It is only logical. It was your home. It shaped you and created the foundation for who you are. And I doubt all of your young life was horrible. You said you came from the better areas of Nyon.”

Boulder nodded. “Yeah.” he admitted. “The All Spark Day celebrations were always amazing. And the bots were great. We all had the same origins and the same troubles so we all just…came together. We were…like a community.” he said softly. “We all took care of each other and helped each other and even if the city wasn’t always the best, the neighborhood we lived in was actually alright, for Nyon anyway. I never starved, even if I didn’t always have the best fuel. My life wasn’t great, but…it wasn’t horrible either. I miss all the good things.”

Dreadwing bowed his head. He couldn’t fully relate. He had had no such struggles in Vos, at least not until the Senate had banned any from leaving the city, but he could understand the longing. “Cybertron is dead, but it’s children are not. And hope for our home is not gone either. Perhaps one day there will be a way to return, and even if not, we still live. Once this War ends, it will be possible to keep the life of Cybertron’s heart and culture alive, even if the planet itself cannot be repaired.” he said softly. “You did not get to know Cybertron’s death as the rest of us did, for we knew our home was dying with each day the War dragged on. We had time to come to terms with the loss. You were forced to be confronted with it in a single, harsh day. The rest of us lost Cybertron in pieces, and you lost it all at once. The loss is harder on you than it ever was on me, or any other Cybertronian involved in the War.”

He paused to let the youngling take in all he was saying, the hand on his back smoothing up and down his tightly clamped armor plating. His tone gentled. “I cannot give you back your home, and I know that reminding you of your new home here on Earth will not make the ache go away. So I will only say this: grieve as much as you want for what you lost. Mourn what you were not able to have and the things you will never get back. If you deny yourself that much, you hurt only yourself.”

Boulder was shaking faintly, his frame just a few degrees too warm from the overwhelming force of the grief was processor was buckling under, and his optics threatening to leak cooling fluid in response. He turned a wide, shining look on to the Seeker. His field probed at Dreadwing’s as if asking for comfort, and his vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he actually was able to speak. “…Blades said you give good hugs.” he said quietly, his field holding the softest undercurrent of hope.

Dreadwing only hummed, gaze softening. So that was Boulder’s preferred form of comfort. He nodded, then wrapped his arms around the shaking youngling and pulled him close to his chest.

As Boulder trembled and let himself finally mourn the loss of his home, he found only one thought on his mind.

‘He really does give good hugs.’

———————————————————————————————————

And here’s the next installment in the “of moments in life” AU! I hope everyone liked it! This was fun! I have so much inspiration for this AU you have no idea.

Boulder is the most well adjusted of all the Rescue Bots. That’s why I figured he’d be the best one to help Dreadwing with his own issues. But, even then, he’s still just a kid! A kid who woke up out of a very long nap to learn that his planet is dead and everything he’s ever known has been destroyed. He hid it well, but that shook him hard.

Dreadwing now has THREE children! All he needs now to complete the set is the fire truck! He also needs proper one-on-one bonding time with his helicopter child because their first real binding experience was with everyone watching. So there is that!

Until next time, friends!

#of moments in life au #tfp #transformers prime #tfrb #transformers rescue bots #rescue bots #tfp Dreadwing #Dreadwing #tfrb boulder #rescue bots Boulder #Dreadwing lives #Boulder is the only well adjusted one of the group I SWEAR #he’s the only one who doesn’t desperately need adult help #this time it’s Dreadwing who gets therapy! :D #Boulder is homesick though #it’s a good thing Dreadwing is there to make it better!#Boulder and Dreadwing bond #Boulder gets a dad!#macadam

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imgonnapanic · 3 years

Text

Third gym squad with a theater kid s/o:

Kuroo Tetsurou

Tbh, he knew what he was signing up for when he started dating you.

He’s just not used to it, because he doesn’t have many extroverted friends who aren’t annoying pieces of-

I can envision you both going on the hub to watch pirated musicals. Hamilton, Heathers, Dear Evan Hansen, you name it.

He loooves your singing voice, even if it’s your nervous purposely bad one.

You love the musicals that include allll the good stuff (trauma, death, tragedy, etc.)

Or the iconic ones. You can’t forget about those.

So you’re less-than-thrilled when your school chooses “Honk! The Musical” for this years play.

It’s a spin off of the ugly duckling that no one has heard of.

And when you come up to Kuroo sulking about this boring play you’re emotionally obliged to do, he can’t help but laugh a little.

But his laughter stops when he sees your eyes down at your shoes.

And then he shuts the fuck up because you’re actually upset.

After assuring that you will still be Broadway material even if you’re dressed up as a goose, you feel a little better.

In the two weeks leading up to auditions, Kuroo is starting to get caught humming “A Poultry Tale” at practice.

I mean, his Spotify feed went from Kendrick Lamar to Legally Blonde within one month of dating you, so cut the guy a break.

The day of auditions, you’re a bundle of nerves as you go over the dumb song again and again.

And Kuroo is like “calm down babe you’re gonna do great.”

That sure did a ton.

“Shut up Heather”

...

“Sorry Heather”

He’s also a bundle of nerves at practice, though. He just couldn’t let you see it.

By now, all of the Nekoma team knows you’re auditioning today, and the minute he walks in he just holds up a hand.

“They’re auditioning as we speak”

He’s not surprised when you get the lead.

He looks like the cat who ate the canary he’s a little amused when he figures out the lead is named “Ugly” but by now he has learned to keep it on the inside.

Your schedule is now jam packed, but that’s okay, because Nationals are also coming up for Kuroo and needs to put in some extra hours at the gym anyways.

You better believe two months later Kuroo is making his entire team buy a ticket.

Kuroo didn’t even get to see you on opening night because of dress rehearsals, but that’s okay.

He cleared his entire schedule that day and now has time to wallow in his own excitement and buy you some flowers.

He’s there with the squad team at 6PM sharp, dressed up, and trying to keep his dignity.

When you first walk on stage, the team snickers a little bit at your costume, but Kuroo was completely enraptured by your singing voice, your blocking, your makeup, everything.

This was much better than the demo CD that they had given you.

Afterwards, he gives you your flowers and is glued to your side for the rest of the night, babbling about how proud he was of you, and how talented you are, Nekoma team be damned.

Tsukishima Kei

Tsukki-poo already had a soft spot for the arts before he met you.

Not that he would tell anyone, ever.

When you started dating him though, it gave him an excuse to share his favorite soundtracks.

“you can hit that note, you know.”

*cue the arguing about how you aren’t Barbara Streisand*

When you two are walking through the hallway with him and you see the poster reading “Auditions for Karasuno High School’s ‘The Little Mermaid’ are open!” You start freaking out.

You love that movie! And Kei tolerates it!

Kei honestly thought you would be Ariel/Prince Eric when he first heard you singing “Part of Your World”

Like, you have the voice of a fucking lark. The directors have to be batshit crazy not to cast you.

In his humble opinion.

So he’s a bit taken aback when you get the role of Flounder, but he’s very proud anyways. Especially after you explain that there’s musical numbers that you’re in that aren’t in the movie.

He just hates your director for no reason now.

Practicing your lines with him in your free time becomes almost inevitable because you both have nothing else better to do.

And he can see how into it you are.

And let me just say that you are killing it.

Seriously. You have no problem getting into character, and Kei doesn’t say this much but-

It’s fucking adorable, okay? He has little goth moths in his stomach.

And he can’t wait to see the show, because then he can show you off.

That doesn’t mean he likes the other first years prying at your progress.

Hinata’s incessant questioning about theater anatomy and the memorization of your lines gets really annoying.

Even for someone with a normal temper like you-

“Yes it’s called the right wing. NOT wing spiker. Yes they’re off book. Now will you shut your trap already?”

Dress Rehearsals come, and you’re spinning around his room, face morphing from complete concentration to happy, go-lucky Flounder.

You, Kei, and Yamaguchi (your little third wheel-) all know the soundtrack pretty much up and down, left and right, backwards and inside out.

He still shivers remembering the time you just walked into his house not registering that Flounder’s makeup looks kind of scary up close-

All of his pride was sacrificed that day. All of it.

On the morning of opening night, Kei was walking you to the school, pretending to be bitchy about it being on a Saturday.

“C’mon, what am I supposed to do all day?”

As luck would have it, he’s stuck sitting next to one Hinata Shoyo. Lovely.

So he sat down next to him, and ignored him the whole show. I mean, it worked, he shut up after thirty seconds.

After the show, Kei has to wait a bit for you to take your makeup off, but when you come running out, he can’t hold back a tiny grin.

“That was good. I’m proud of you.”

And then he took you to dinner because singing makes a bad bleep hungry 😌

Bokuto Kotarou

Listen, you’re loud, Bokuto’s loud-

So basically you two are on a mission to not annoy Akaashi for as long as you can before inevitably getting yelled at for your affection and love and shit.

Now, both of you would love for this to be possible.

But the Frozen soundtrack makes it too difficult.

Especially when you can edit the lyrics just to piss off Konoha.

“Turn away and slAm the door *on Konoha”

“The wind is howling like the storm inside *of Konoha”

The possibilities are endless, really.

The game changer is when you two are belting out the song where Elsa and Anna are arguing.

And you accidentally hit the “I-i-I CANNNNT”

Akaashi is like for the love of GOD just audition for the play.

He quickly realizes that his suggestion was not a good idea.

Since guess what the musical is.

You’re auditioning as a joke, okay? You love Frozen, but this is a Fukurōdani Academy level play.

You didn’t expect to land the role of Olaf.

Your director sat you down and bluntly told you that he thought that you had the charisma and energy to be Olaf, but he knew that you were auditioning for a joke.

He needed you to be committed.

And hell yeah, you were gonna be committed.

At first, Bokuto was super proud of you! His s/o as a lead role? So impressive!

You even taught Bokuto your choreography for “In Summer”

He only retained half of it, but eh.

He’s a volleyball player. He tried.

As rehearsal times became longer and longer, Bokuto was a little upset at himself because he didn’t realize how committed you were until it hit him in the face.

Akaashi is there to get him out of his funk when you aren’t, though.

“They feel the same way when you need to be in the gym longer. It’s just a part of having a passion. Just utilize your time with them wisely.”

This bitch knows full well Bokuto doesn’t do ‘wise’ though, so he also sets to him a little more.

Dress rehearsals start, and Bokuto is always waiting for you to come out of the auditorium to ride the bus home.

You’re just bubbling over with stories about the magic of being on stage.

The lights, the microphones, the costumes, just talking about it makes you nostalgic already.

On opening night, Bokuto and Akaashi are there in the front row, going through the program.

“There’s y/n!!!!”

And you can’t see him because of the blinding spotlight, but you can hear Bokuto cheering for you after you finish “In Summer”

Afterwards he gives you a big hug, and you guys go home and watch Frozen.

Akaashi Keiji

When you start dating Akaashi in your second year at Fukurōdani, you’ve been on stage for the last ten years of your life.

Singing, acting, dancing, you love it all.

You’re even considering making it your career.

Akaashi doesn’t know much about theater at all, but he makes sure to do his research since it’s such a big part of your life.

The company you take acting classes with is having their winter show soon, and you couldn’t be happier when you figure out it’s ‘Into the Woods.’

Akaashi makes the mistake of asking the plot of the story.

“So basically there are these two infertile bakers with dead parents and there’s this witch that’s old and wrinkly and she comes to their house because fifty years ago the bakers dad stole her veggies and took the magic beans that made her look old and wrinkly-“

(A/n: this isn’t even half the plot)

He decides he’ll figure it out when he sees the play.

Akaashi knows that it’s a difficult one, though.

Sondheim doesn’t fuck around.

So you shouldn’t be beating yourself up about cracking on some of the high notes and screaming into your pillow.

He feels like an idiot every time you ask him to give you constructive criticism.

He doesn’t know what to say. “That was good” is obviously not what you want to hear.

When the date of your audition rolls around, he has early morning practice.

So he sends you a text saying how far you’ve come already and he’ll be proud even if you end up being a tree and break a leg (he’s very proud of that part. Theater lingo with Akaashi 101)

He’s very pleased to hear through your extremely fast and animated chattering that you killed it.

You were going to be Jack from “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

He’s still not sure how that correlates with infertile bakers, but he’ll go with it.

You also have a notoriously hard solo, “Giants in the sky.”

Akaashi is very impressed.

All you two do is practice that song, until Akaashi is half sure he could sing the song if he really gave an effort.

(He tries seriously one time. He can’t sing. To save his life. Sorry Keiji and RIP y/n’s ears.)

“Maybe you’re just not a soprano?”

“I’ll leave the limelight to you.”

Rehearsals always leave you drained. There are so many dance numbers in the play that you have to go over.

And songs, oh god, the songs are pieces of work.

But you wouldn’t trade it for the world, so Keiji stays close, and is endlessly supportive.

You sent him a picture of your Jack costume, and Keiji is like that is kind of adorable ngl-

He walks into the auditorium you’re performing in, and even he’s nervous to be in there. It’s huge.

But when you walk on the stage, and start belting, all the breath leaves his lungs.

Oh. Ohhhhhhh. He understands the plot now.

#kuroo #haikyuu headcannons #tsukishima #akaashi #bokuto #kuroo x reader #tsukishima x reader #akaashi x reader #bokuto x reader #kuroo headcanons #tsukishima headcanons #akaashi headcanons #bokuto headcannons #haikyuu

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