#anyway this painting has been a fun way to turn off my brain from things and just enjoy the process for a while | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crowleyholmes · 5 months

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hi there chris! since the new year is approaching rapidly, i wanted to ask my favorite creators (that includes you! i love your art!) how they look back on their 2023 tumblr year and which blogs made them happy to be here. i am very happy to follow you and hope you'll have a great 2024! 💘

Hiiii omg this is so sweet and means a lot to me, thank you! 🥺💕

I've been meaning to do a little end-of-the-year shoutout/love post for some of my favorite blogs, so I hope you don't mind if I use your ask as the perfect excuse!

I've had many fun years on tumblr, but this one has been extra special. Falling into the Good Omens fandom and meeting all of you amazing people has made this year so so SO much better than it otherwise would have been, so here are some special shoutouts (apologies, I'm sure this will get long, things like this tend to get away from me, so I'll put it under a read-more)

@majortomyourcurcuitsdead SASHA can you believe I was going to just send you an anon telling you that I think you're cool and leave it at that. Can you believe it. WELL thank Somebody you had your anon turned off and I had to expose myself in your dms because it feels like we just instantly connected about like 20 different things and haven't stopped talking since sskjdfhs anyway I'm so happy I met you you're so fun and so clever and so talented and so enthusiastic and I've only known you for like. What 2 months?? Ish? But I already love you so much <3

@lineffability !!! Line you are so *struggles to find words* you're just great is what you are okay. I feel like you are what happens when somebody takes a big cup and puts six shots of love, chaos, sunshine, talent, fun, and enthusiasm into it, generously sprinkles intelligence on top and gives it a good stir. I don't even remember how or when or why we started talking tbh? But your creativity is so inspiring, and some of my favorite tumblr-moments of this year have been 'yes-and'ing with you about one thing or another in a very >:3 manner hahah so! my point is! i love you lots <3

@dontbotheraziraphale Teeeedddd you're wonderful, I vented at you one time and then we talked for like 2 hours and at the end of that 1 conversation I already considered you a friend - and not just in that "tumblr mutuals who talk 1 time are my friends" kind of way but like. Genuinely. You're so kind and so fun and every time we talk it's such a good time ily a lot my bro my buddy my man <3

@crikey01 Tallulah HI I also completely forgot how we started talking but I remember connecting the dots that you were the one who painted those INSANE black and white and gold oil paintings and the way my jaw dropped like?? BRO you're so talented I admire you so much! And I love that we bonded over stopping each other from masochistically checking certain peoples' blogs... 😂 Anyway you're so sweet and fun and ily lots <3

---

The list could probably go on but you four are the people I've talked to most on here and you're the tumblr chat boxes I never close but always just minimize and y'all better see this as the ultimate internet declaration of affection that it Clearly is >:D 💕

---

And here are some more shout-outs because I just HAVE to.

Apologies, I know I've already tagged a bunch of you recently in a mutuals appreciation post but. This is my official thank-you-for-2023 post and I just have a lot of love for you all okay sorry feel free to ignore this <3

@rowan-ashtree (i'll text you back soon I promise I'm sorry I just haven't had the brain-space recently ssjkdfh) @crawley-fell (we've never talked but i love you from afar :')) @ineffabildaddy @llokilaufeyson @actual-changeling @saryasy @hyperfocusthusly @beccibarnes @rainbowcrowley @thesherrinfordfacility @goodoldfashionednightingale @wibbly-wobbly-blog @highlyillogicalandroid (i see your data obsession and i agree <3) @tortugay @foolishlovers @stargazing-crowley @gingiekittycat @weasleywrinkles @bildads-shoes @finleycannotdraw @bowtiepastabitch @heytherefluffy @samwwise @nocturnal-birb @athousandyearstime @angelsdiningattheritz @most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer @jedthesecretdreamer @wraithee @hydrangeadangea @southfarthing @frodo-baggins @mobius-m-mobius

#asks #2023 reflections #personal #friends and mutuals and others appreciation post <33

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osaemu · 10 months

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could you do professor aizawa who has a student always running late to lectures and loud and annoying. And he catches her breaking the law (doing graffiti or something) and threatens to expel her but comes to a compromise and sees a different side of her? If not anything u write is amazing anyways! ❤️❤️

ミ★ who says? 🜚

pairing: aizawa x reader

summary: your reputably strict teacher catches you breaking the law – minor offense or not, who knows how he'll react?

word count: ~1.5k

warnings: no explicit romantic interest, but you can interpret it that way if you want. cursing. graffiti? mentions of illegal activities. half-baked character backstory. barely proofread.

a/n: hey anon! sorry this took a while, i just haven't really been motivated lately so um my bad! i wasn't sure if you wanted the request in a romantic way so i went the safe route, just lmk if you want me to write another one!

"what the hell are you doing?"

caught off guard by the sudden sound of a deep voice, you yelp and quickly turn around. a tall, dark figure emerges from the shadowed alley behind you, and to your dismay, it's your taciturn professor.

fuck.

"oh, hey, sir!" you say hurriedly, desperately trying to appear casual while leaning to the left a little. you attempt to hide the neon spray paint decorating the wall behind you, even though you know your efforts are futile. "...what are you doing here?"

aizawa scowls and takes a step forward, letting the flickering lamplight illuminate him. "cut the bullshit and answer the question," he says irritably.

that would be a problem. his eyes were already trailing to the paint behind you, and the last thing you wanted to do was explain why you were in a dark alley in the middle of the night.

you should've expected that he'd be here, lurking the corners of the city like a stray cat. actually, was that a tuft of cat hair on his shoulder?

well, whether the answer was yes or no, there was certainly a scowl on your teacher's sharp features. the shadowed alley and dim lamplight further accentuate his face, and it's right then when you realize that hey, your teacher was kinda...

nope. not going there.

thankfully, aizawa didn't really give you the time to reflect on your possibly-broken brain before his narrow eyes focused on the neon scene behind you. "the hell is that?"

when you don't immediately answer, his sharp gaze lands on you. his scowl deepens before he continues "listen, i have a busy night. i can't be dealing with a student's mess right now." he nods at the graffiti behind you and wrinkles his nose slightly. "explain yourself, and make it damn quick."

fuckkk.

you knew better than to argue at this point, so out with the carefully curated story you had dreamt up the night before.

"oh, this?" you wave your hand at the graffiti. "nope, wasn't me. i stumbled upon it and i was trying to figure out who did it. you wouldn't happen to know, would you?"

well, the excuse sounded better in your head. out loud, it sounded a lot like a rather pathetic lie, despite the way you tried to turn it around on your unamused teacher at the end.

to your dismay, aizawa sighs and massages his temples with his calloused fingers before looking down at you, somehow looking even more irritated than before. "if you don't want to talk to me, you can talk to the principal instead."

oh, shit. you couldn't get in trouble again, especially for something as stupid for this. you were already on thin ice with u.a's insanely-patient staff, and even then, you didn't want to push your luck.

"ah, no, never mind!" you say quickly. despite your chronic carelessness, you were genuinely grateful that you were at u.a, and it wasn't worth jeopardizing your spot over a little fun. "i'll talk, i'll talk."

"damn right, you will," aizawa snaps, pulling a water bottle out of nowhere and opening it. "explain this," he says, waving at the graffiti before taking a sip of the water. "and cut the bullshit. straight to the point."

seeing as you have no choice, you decide to tell him half the truth. you'd rather keep the last part to yourself, and frankly, it felt plausible enough.

"it was just a dare," you mumble, carefully monitoring your expression to make the half-truth believable. "lost a bet to my roommate, and i had to do something illegal."

"you couldn't have just stolen some alcohol or something?"

"are you condoning theft and underage drinking?"

aizawa scowls again, but there's an amused undertone to the scoff he lets out a second later. "just sayin', there's plently of other illegal activities that don't involve damaging public property."

you shrug. "seemed like something memorable."

"so, you want to tell me the whole truth now?" your teacher says dryly. when you look up, surprise visible on your face, he shakes his head. "don't try to hide things from a high school teacher. i've seen it all, now spit it out."

you sigh and look away, frantically thinking about ways to squirm out of this situation. but no matter how many half-formed plans you concocted, you knew that there was no escaping an explanation.

"fuck." you didn't mean to curse out loud, but the word somehow escaped your lips. fuck.

surprsingly, your muttered curse drew out an amused half-smirk on your typically stone-faced teacher. so the way to his heart is through curse words. noted.

"watch your language," aizawa says offhandedly. his tone and body language make it clear that he's only saying that out of obligation, not because he gives a shit. "and watch the damn clock. i don't have all night. i'm a hero, for god's sake."

"oh, yeah, my bad." well, it wasn't like you had any choice at this point.

so you reluctantly tell him about how you never really got to enjoy your elementary and middle school years because the atmosphere was so competitive. because everyone wanted to get into u.a. and even though you didn't really care as much as the others overcome by the hero-fever, you couldn't stand being the only one left out. so the years of your life where you were supposed to enjoy youth were thrown away in pursuit of a far-off success.

it all kind of came tumbling out, one sentence after the other, and when you finish your sob story, you realize that you probably just word-vomited all over your teacher, who probably doesn't care.

what if i just die of embarrassment?

aizawa doesn't respond to your words for a heartwrenching second, and right when you're sure he won't, he speaks.

"that explains why you're so damn immature. always running late to lectures, passing notes in class, and more focused on theatrics than content, yeah?"

the words sting, and it probably shows on your face, because a second later your teacher's stern expression softens.

"could be worse," he mutters, pulling out his phone and checking the time. "c'mon, i'll walk you back to the dorms. can't have you out alone in this part of town this late."

aizawa beckons for you to follow him, and when he starts walking, you jog behind him to catch up. "wait, so am i in trouble?"

he continues walking with his hands in his pockets but looks over his shoulder at you, expression unreadable. "i won't report this to admin, so not officially. but you're in a shit-ton of trouble with me."

"watch your language," you mumble, suppressing a grin when his dark eyes narrow into a glare. "what? can't take your own advice?"

he scoffs. "watch it. i'm still your teacher."

"yes, sir."

"damn right."

the rest of the walk back to the dorms happens mostly in silence, and when you finally arrive well past midnight, he walks off without another word.

it doesn't feel right to let him leave without a thank you, so as his dark shadow blends into the night, you call "thanks! and good night!"

and maybe you imagine it, but you could've sworn that he raises his hand in a farewell gesture as he disappears into the darkness.

"so, what happened? you in trouble?" your wide-awake roommate croons, looking at you curiously. "i saw you come back with mr. aizawa – are you expelled? he does that a lot."

you pause, toothbrush halfway to your mouth. your roommate's right. aizawa does have quite the reputation for being a di- a rather harsh teacher to his students. and honestly, he had every reason to expel you, or at least threaten to tonight.

your roommate repeats your name a couple times before you zone back in and smile distractedly.

"no, you're still stuck with me," you reply, staring blankly in the mirror.

"huh. that's weird."

yeah, it really is.

"fuck, you damned hero! keep you and your righteous head out of my damn busine-"

aizawa tightens his hold on the low-grade villain's hair and scoffs when the guy yowls in pain. "i get paid to deal with your bullshit."

"you damn heroe-"

before the villain can say the rest of his statement, aizawa jams his fist into the man's mouth and uses the other hand to call the poilce. after a brief summary of the capture, the police send a couple cars over and retrieve the villain.

aizawa watches them drive off, dark eyes tracing the cloudy horizon. his mind flickers back to earlier today, when he found one of his more... problematic students graffiting a back alley.

had it been anyone else in their place, they would've recieved a severe warning or expulsion on the spot. but, unlike what some of the kids said about him, he wasn't cruel – he was a teacher. and a damn good one at that.

most cases were solved by the simple threat of expulsion. but in cases where a threat would make things worse, sometimes letting the culprit go without an explanation worked better.

a sigh slips through aizawa's dry lips as they curl upwards into a smile. he wouldn't be so nice next time.

a/n: if you read all that, i'm sorry for the shitshow of a fic that was 😭 it's been a hot minute since i wrote for mha, and even then the plot was super rushed fjsjdjsjd

i promise my jjk and bsd writing is better check my profile i pinkie promise 🙏🙏 love u lots

if by any chance u actually liked this, reblogging would help me out of my misery thanks sm

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artist-issues · 3 months

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this my sound silly, but do you have any advice on how you come up with something to say for a story?

I think you're right that good art has something to say and communicates it well. That's certainly true of every story I've ever loved.

But while I love inventing fantasy worlds, you've made me realize I've never actually planned to say anything with them.

I've got lots of opinions, lots of beliefs, lots of stuff to say, but now that I realize I need to, it's been hard to pick one of those to be the core point of a story.

the trouble is, the dominant writing advice I saw online was the opposite. that stories made for the purpose of communicating a message or promoting something just turn into preachy propaganda, so the best way to make a good story (that, dare I invoke the curse, appealed to a wider audience) was to muddy it so you could take away as many interpretations from it as possible. thus most of the material I've given myself to work with has been slightly poisoned.

I really like how you said all of that! I agree with your assessment of the advice most people give.

Here's how I do it:

A loose concept, like a disgraced knight falling in love with the King's head of staff who's come to live in the village he's hiding in, will pop into my brain. I'll like the concept. I'll imagine one or two interactions between them that I just like.

But when it comes time to write anything down, even just for my own notes—then it's time to find a message. And usually that's not hard, or at least, that's not disingenuous, because:

what I believe, my worldview, was already subliminally shaping the things that I liked.

So then as I go to write down the names, the histories, the plot points, of my fun little knight love story idea, I find that something kind of...readily fits them.

But now here's the catch; it really helps to know what you believe, and to feel strongly about it, for all of that to come as naturally as possible.

About Propaganda "versus" Stories:

It's a lie to say that something which is created to say something is always propaganda, and something which is created with no careful point thought out is always art. Silly thing to believe. It's like saying "all words are propaganda." No, all words are communication. It's not our fault they don't like that we know what we want to say, and we want them to understand it clearly.

I mean. All art is propaganda, if by "propaganda" or "preachy" you mean, "I tried to take what was going on in my head & heart and put it in your head & heart." All art, all storytelling, is that. Otherwise you'd just keep what you think and feel bouncing around in your own brain, instead of doing anything outward (writing, drawing, painting, singing, speaking, reacting with your body language) with it.

I think what people are getting at when they say "avoid being preachy" or "that's not art, it's propaganda" is "you weren't being genuine." And that can be true. Sometimes people can tack a meaning onto a movie or a story where it doesn't fit because they either a) don't believe that strongly in the thing themselves, but everyone around them was clamoring for it or b) they were lazy and didn't do the work to make the story fit, genuinely, with the message, in a way that enhances and makes the message winsome.

But as bad as those two mistakes are, neither of them prove that intending to say something with your story, very carefully and genuinely, that you don't want misinterpreted, is somehow a bad thing.

Look at the fairy tales that the Brothers' Grimm collected. Look at any stories from the time before commercialism: Our oldest stories combined genuine enjoyment with the virtues and meanings that made enjoyment possible/worthwhile.

Anyway. I have a feeling you agree with me already about this so I'll hop down off that soap box.

What Comes First: Having Fun Making What You Like, or Choosing Something to Say?

I don't think it is wrong to tell a story that...you didn't have an intended thesis written down for. I think people like J.R.R. Tolkien and Walter Elias Disney prove that. But the thing is, what they believed got infused into their storytelling, because of course it did. It can't help it. When you want the audience to like your lead character, you make her likeable—but the traits you think are likeable are informed by something.

Snow White is innocent and pure because Walt Disney naturally considered those things beautiful and good and worth liking. He probably didn't even think to write it down and revolve everything around it: it just came out that way.

Frodo is a little scholar, and willing to soldier on with what little he can do, despite his lack of experience, because those are character traits Tolkien felt were good and likeable. Why? Because deep down, in his worldview, he believes being book-smart and doing what you can with what you have is valuable. And that just...comes out, much like his valuing of history, in the thing he creates.

Now, if they didn't know what they believed--or if they were insecure people "blown about by every wind of false doctrine" that comes their way--or if they were focused more on satisfying what the largest number of people liked--they wouldn't have been able to infuse the story with any genuine meaning, planned-out or natural.

That's what I think.

I think it's all a matter of loving what's good and true. Training your affections, so that you care most about things that are worth caring about—the things you feel most strongly about in characters will be the things you feel most strongly about in life. I love Stitch because I love redemption. Not primarily because I love sci-fi characters, the color blue, or the blend of ugly-and-cute—even though I do like those things on a more minor scale. See?

But if you've trained your affections for junk food—you feel most strongly appreciative of characters that are hot, or spout off funny one-liners, or come onscreen to cool music—then that's what will naturally come up in your own storytelling.

There's also nothing wrong with doing it the other way; saying you want to teach a certain lesson, and then coming up with characters and settings to fit that lesson. Coming at it from that direction is just as valid—as long as you put in the work, and care more about that lesson you genuinely believe in than you do what other people think.

Anyway,

To Write Your Own Main Point/Thesis/Armature/Theme

When it’s time to start writing anything down, it’s time to figure out the main point, and that’s when I...typically think about what I'd want to teach the kids I'm around, to be honest.

With my disgraced-knight love story, I go "what is it he loves about the girl, in all those vague vibe-y scenes I’ve been picturing?" And I make the connection between her virtuous character traits to what I want him, the main character, to learn.

So for example, she used to live in the palace, working for the King, but she was humble enough to give all that up and live in a no-name town to take care of her stepfather. He's disgraced and doesn't want anyone to know who he is—well, that's a pride issue, totally the opposite of how humble his love interest is. And why’s she humble? Because she’s not focused on herself. She doesn’t care about her own reputation or status. So then I just reverse engineer that: the point of the story is "Live in the King's name, not your own." Now one of the two main characters embodies that—the other has to learn it, and the story is the obstacle course he’s pushed through to get there.

I wasn't consciously thinking about making her the king's former head of staff, or him disgraced, when I first came up with the vague concept of the story, see? I just liked the "vibe" of a hopeless dude suddenly seeing a ray of light in the "vibe" of a girl from poor circumstances who seems happy regardless of them. I liked that "vibe." Then I traced what I liked about the vibe back to something that is true and worth teaching or appreciating in real life.

I’m in a job I don’t love right now, and it could make me miserable, but if I just remember “in everything you do, whether in word or in deed, do for the glory of the Lord,” then my focus isn’t on myself and I have joy and hope. And that hope can be used to point others, around me, to hope, too. So I’m not “preaching” something disingenuous; I’m living it, because this is what I believe, so no wonder it’s also leaking it’s way into my story. I just happen to be creating a pipe so that the leak flows more smoothly, which can only help, in the long run.

But I’ve done it other ways, too. Once I watched kind of from afar as a friend’s family fell apart. I felt like, from the outside, I could see where one of my friends was hurting and what they needed to accept (from the Bible) to move forward, but I wasn’t in a position to say it to my friend directly. Then I figured, “if my one friend is going through this situation, others probably are too, and this lesson from the Bible is universal anyway” so I…made up an analogy for the way their family fell apart, then came up with an ending that taught the “family” in the analogy the lesson I got from the Bible. So for that, you can see how I first came up with the main point, then built up characters and a world and a story to fit around it.

Both ways work, the chicken or the egg first. But they only work if you are committed to working hard and serving others with your story, not committed to being popular or “only making what YOU like.”

Make sense? I hope so! Thank you for the question!

#Asked #answered #storytelling #writing #writing tips #stories #how to write #themes #theming #main point #Walt Disney #j.r.r. tolkien

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starry-nights12 · 10 months

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Whenever Jinx fought the Firelights she didn't want to hurt Ekko. She especially didn't want to kill him.

Instead, she made a doll of him in his Firelight get-up. She would throw the doll, stomp on it, stab it, or even shoot it to let her anger and frustration out.

Now that they've reconciled and are friends again, she remade the Ekko doll.

His hair is made from thick, white wools of yarn. His hourglass symbol was etched onto a bullet casing for his dreadlock cuff.

She sewed brown buttons for his eyes. She painted his face paint and used a marker for his smile. She drew his symbol on his apron with two blue and pink hearts.

It sits on her bed and she likes snuggling with it at night while she goes to sleep. She also has some polaroids on her dresser where she drew hearts around him.

----

Rock music lightly played on her record player.

Jinx sat on her bed and leaned against the headboard and ate fruit chews. She held the doll up while she admires her handy work.

"You're so cute. It's nice to finally say that to you." Her finger twirled around its hair.

"Although, the real guy is better. His eyes are beautiful. You're just a mini version of him. A mini Ekko...little man..." She gasped softly. "A mini man!" She beamed and then giggled.

"He's really cool. He's so smart and nice to me." She simpered at the thought of her best friend.

"He's also pretty and dreamy and handsome. I want us to be boyfriend-girlfriend type of friends. But he's my friend-friend. So, I can't really tell him all this." She repeatedly tossed the doll in the air and caught it.

"Mylo keeps teasing me, Claggor and Vander hardly say anything," She stopped tossing the doll.

"Silco hates Ekko. He loves me but he thinks I'm wasting my time..." A frown appeared as she stared at her lap.

I made the right choice, right? Coming here. He asked me to stay. He wanted me to.

I was just tired of being alone. I just wanted a friend and I missed him a whole lot.

"Things can be different."

"We won't know if things can turn out better if we don't try,"

That's what he said. Everything's been going great so far. I want to believe him but-

She scoffed softly and shook her head. This wasn't about them now. She was having a little fun before her downer thoughts crept into her brain.

"Sorry about that," She smiled sheepishly. "But anyway, you're nice. You're like the regular Ekko only that you don't talk. Your likeness is almost the same but not quite,"

She cracked a grin and held its stubby arm. "For starters, I can't replicate those biceps. Regular Ekko is a total hunk. I mean,hubba hubba!" She giggled, tossing the toy in the air.

She nearly dropped it when she heard a knock. "Hey, Jinx. You got a minute?"

Ekko.

Her heart wanted to sprout wings and flutter out of her chest. It wanted to meet face-to-face with the person responsible for causing it to feel this way.

Even though it was perfectly fine, she smoothed her hand over her hair. She wanted to make it neat just in case.

"I got hours!" She called. "I gotta go, mini man. The real one is here." She whispered. She adjusted the orange scarf around its neck and then kissed its cheek.

She hid the doll in the closet and then hid the polaroids in her nightstand drawer. She scanned her room to double-check for any missed Ekko-related memorabilia.

If that bomb didn't kill her, the embarrassment of him ever finding out about these things will surely finish her off.

She curtly nodded to herself when everything was cleared then opened the door.

"Got hours?" He chuckled heartily. "I like that. That's really good."

"Hm. Well, when you hang around a loser who has a magic stopwatch and makes time puns then it starts to rub off on ya." She smirked.

UPDATE: Read on AO3!

#timebomb #ekkojinx #jinx #ekko #firelight jinx #arcane #my post #I forgot she made the Claggor doll so this idea popped into my head #All I can think about is the doll scene in Coraline and that music playing as Jinx sews the new Ekko doll #This ended so abruptly😭 Heimerdinger asked her if they wanted to(INSERT NERD THING HERE) with him and Ekko #And Jinx is like-“Uh...HELL YEAH I DO!!!”#This was so fun to write omg😭🥰❤️#my headcanons #my writing

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2af-afterdark · 3 months

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I love sending headcanons cuz it lets my brain go crazy (in a happy way)

Mammon will always have a bias (I see shiny things, I’m sprinting towards it)

Anyways, let’s do some noble headcanons this time around :)

Paimon has a 6th sense of when AFAB’s MC’s get close to their periods, and he has everything to help

When in the human world, Stolas turns into his crow form and keeps an eye on MC from a distance away, pecking anyone who gets too close

Andrealphus probably paints in his pass time, creating stunning pieces of work (with angelic parts of course)

Valephor would be more than happy to take you on shopping trips, carrying you AND the bags (carry me plz teddy bear)

Foras has a hidden gemstone collection and will occasionally give some away to you

Orias has tried every Oreo flavor (his name is close to Oreo I couldn’t help it)

I start my chocolatier(?) job tomorrow so I’m both excited and nervous, mainly excited cuz I might become 🍫anon instead (I won’t)

🦩

Mammon is a crow, confirmed... wait, no. That's OM Mammon... Uhhh... *tosses shiny aluminum balls on the ground to distract both Mammons while I flee*

Is it a sixth sense, or is there a specific section of his brain that subconsciously tracks their symptoms and how many days it's been since their last cycle? He notices when they are bloating, when they suddenly have more cravings, when they don't even want to stand up. He probably even notices for the AFAB MC's who are irregular, which... Personally, I wouldn't mind a timer like that.

A random crow throwing a tantrum and pecking someone? Sounds about right? Did you crows can recognize people? They will be kind to their friends, but they and all their crow friends will shank a bitch who messes with them. Stolas would have a crow army. Finally, he is king (of the crows).

A regular Eserf Armagan, huh? I could see Andrealphus doing something like that. Although, I kind of feel he'd have more fun sculpting since it is more tactile and he can add all the decorations in specific places. Like... Making a life-sized statue of a Power he killed and including all the pieces he ripped off of that guy. Donates it to a charity auction anonymously.

Can I get a Valephor, please? I need someone to treat me like that too.

*stares at my own gemstone collection* The man does not know what he has done. He has made a grave mistake.

Orias... some of those flavors are so cursed (waffles and syrup, jelly donut, berry burst ice cream) that I cannot recommend them. There is no soul there for you. Turn away now while you still can.

Some random headcanons of my own:

While the devils of Paradise Lost are incredible healers who could make you better in 10 seconds flat, they also know the importance of sometimes needing a good mental health day and will write you a doctor's note for anything. Not that the devils of Hell will push you (except maybe Leviathan), but they'll do it anyway, no matter how small the request. Need a day off for extra sleep? Take the entire week! They'll give you the note no questions asked!

Eligos played Neopets back in the day. You know he was endeared by the adorable little creatures. He would even dress them to match.

Valephor can't draw for shit. Sorry. He just can't. He can't even form a circle.

#❖ 🦩 anon #love letters ❤️#talkin' whb

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sleepyowlwrites · 8 months

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FTWT CCCLXXXIV-VI

yeah that's right. a three in one. that's 'cause this ornamental sword came with an ornamental shield and a ceremonial dagger and I can't break up the set. anyway the tags say they're from @zmwrites @diphthongsfordays and @on-noon

play (swamp, soup, pond, 2018)

My brain is a pond It always has been With lily pads for little frogs To play their games on and in And sometimes things go smoothly And sometimes they fall apart Sometimes my frogs have maybe A little too much fun with my heart The pond is often messy And frogs throw my stuff around But in the end it's still my brain And I prefer it this way: Unbound.

step (don't run with scissors, 2011)

But just as I was coming through the door I tripped There's a step there that I missed And those scissors They jabbed me Skipped my fingers and went for my knee Left an ugly slice in my jeans That's what you get for running with scissors

miss (one breath, 2015)

We said, one day We'd be stars in the sky Holding hands, in space We'd illuminate the night Now that day, it's gone And you left without me I'm lonely, I'm torn I miss having you beside me

scramble (hurried, 2014)

All the cars are useless, all the airplanes walk All the pigeons scramble before they are crushed All the people worry and laugh and sigh All the people know is how to die

dirt (jasper and juniper, 2022)

At the elbow crook of the valley there's a spring with calcite at the base, pink and yellow glittering up through the water to dance in our eyes. We dip our pots in and pull them back covered in ice. When we put down dirt with our long-stride boots as we hike back up to the houses, the ice melts and soaks into our skin.

soul (I feel purple inside, 2012)

I feel like my soul is purple And it would rhyme with orange Then suddenly it was silver Because everything was turning over And over, And over, Again

ocean (stars of the indigo sky, 2013)

You never know just how deep the sky is until you stare and stare and then realize that you can never see through to the end. And midnight isn't blue, but it's not black either. It's indigo, with a depth that sinks down into your eyeballs until the whole world is tinted rich purple-blue. On and in that indigo sea float the stars. The tiny spatters of light spread across the whole of the ocean sky and far up into it, glowing from generations away. Still, they always hear me when I need to talk, offering an empathetic shine.

busy (little laptops, 2011)

Little laptops in the skyscrapers Little laptops on the sidewalks Set on desks or inside bags Of the busy little people They went to the university To make something of their life But now they type on laptops And they all look just the same

hoping (to know your enemy, to know serenity, 2021)

present your weapon, meet me outside if you were hoping for something then put all your dreams aside

fit (you, a spectator, and I, a spectacle, 2020)

somebody painted the house today and I don’t like it. it feels clean and covered up, like it wasn’t fit to be seen before. but I saw it, I saw all of it (all of it, all of it): every crack and every blemish, every detail left behind by someone afraid to let go.

home (the dearest thing, 2016)

Something like arms is holding me close It's warm and it's comfortable, I love it the most The sweater that smell so exactly like you You're my home and my heart, and I love you

caught (my winter song to you, 2011)

I'd like to hear a song from my own mouth I'd like to hear some beautiful sounds I'd like to know that my own words Caught a person on the street who heard

compare (the book of lost lyrics, 2020)

Fend off the cold with angel’s warm glow The twinkle of stars floating like a halo “Stop comparing me to space dust” But you are so beautiful

lose, lesson, light, late. BONUS: lever, likely. a handful of petals of pressure tags for @etjwrites @sleepy-night-child @drippingmoon @vellichor-virgo @monstrouswrites @author-a-holmes OR ANYBODY

#find the word tag

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automatayaoi · 1 year

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*throws a dozen dress up clowns at your head* Character design!!! murder puppet apologism!!! chemicals turning frogs gay!!! its kero kero time!!!! i dont know how to type up a real bio so im just throwing tidbits fullspeed at your window and also partially me spitballing speghetti against the wall

✨ their name is kero pierrot ofc, and they are a funny little frog clown married to arlequino hehe. keeping with the theme of commedia dell'arte their name is based off the character of the pierrot (and it's also a pun on keroppi since theyre my favorite sanrio character waha)

✨ the Pierrot was a tragic and lovesick figure, portrayed as naïve but endearing, often hiding their true feelings behind their jokes, and was a popular choice for romantic artists

✨ kero is a widdle bit fucked up in the brain zone but its FIIINE just slap a coat of face paint on there and ur good 8) Do not perceive the crushing mental illness behind the curtain

✨ grew up in america ofc, came to japan for reasons that turned out to be highly fallible (they maybe trust people a little too easily), refuses 2 talk abt this, they are however lacking in places to stay and money to spend so start of everything theyre Struggling A Little

✨ at this point they arent even kero really just Person...pathetic sopping wet frog you find under a rock. they had a special interest in clownery but always sort of put those kinds of thoughts to the side as more of a silly daydream than a goal they could achieve

✨ a clown without its nose have you ever seen anything so sad

✨ they first see masaru and the rest of the nakamichi circus when they saw them perform their street show (starting here), they just happened to be in the park at the time, and it's honestly the first time kero has felt happy since they Arrived in japan

✨ magic of the circus

✨ they spend the next few weeks going to the park and sorta following the nakamichi circus around to see more of their street shows, they don't really have much else to do anyway, they might as well spend some time having fun watching a circus act

✨ they attend so many that they actually start getting recognized by some of the circus members, especially masaru and shirogane since theyre very Perceptive. not a lot of details on those thoughts currently but masaru probably does his Main Protag/Therapist thing and gets to know kero

✨ BUT the way they actually join the nakamichi circus is during the performers meetup (starting here), kero goes to see their show again, but then things start Going Very Wrong and masaru's left by himself with no one to perform with. Little guy problems

✨ they've seen how much masaru and the others have been working and struggling in the past weeks, improving their street show, their cooperation with each other, and even if masaru hadn't talked to them they couldn't stand seeing something that made them so happy go down in flames like this

✨ SO! they hop in with vilma naota and mitsuushi to save the act! they don't have circus training like them so they can't do any fancy acts, but kero knows how to improv and roll with the punches, so they play off of the others as second zanni to liven up the show

✨ after that, i think they'd try to slip away quietly (kind of cant believe they did that) but masaru goes after them and asks them to join the circus!

✨ he knows that they wanted to be a clown, and even without formal training, he thinks having a western style clown will help the nakamichi circus stand out from the crowd! (also a call back to this moment in the manga when they went to see the straw circus)

✨ this is when they actually introduce themselves as Kero Pierrot to the others. there is no other name only Clown

✨ this has been a lot of masaru talk so far sorry he's my little buddy inflicted with main character disease. also i dont get a chance to meet my husband until like chapter 380 so i gotta be doin smth in the mean time

✨ from here on, kero sticks with the nakamichi circus as their new home :) they already knew a lot about clowning, but they really throw themselves into studying it as best they can (usually by spending hours at a library computer since most don't really have a textbook on clowns) and also training with the other members to sorta expand their repertoire. they get a lot better at the classic clown skills, your juggling, your balloon animals, what have you, BUT they also start to learn the cyr wheel!

✨ kero and masaru bond over doing circus training together. i give him a little noogie.

✨ they become pretty close with ryouko and lise too !! i jus love all my circus family i get them to play board games with me

✨ Peaceful Life (Until Its Not)

✨ this post as already gotten so long (and also i wanna reread some parts of the manga to refresh my mindself) so at some point i will expand on kero's feelings irt masaru running away and narumi joining nakamichi circus, but theres a couple other important points i want to make :V

✨ kero sorta takes a back seat with the rest of the nakamichi gang until they show up at kuroga village

✨ Specifically they join lise heima and ryouko in going to mont-saint-michel to follow masaru (they are NOT!!! letting these children go off on their own to fight!!!!)

💕 this is when they meet arlequino hehe 💕

✨ they stay by ryouko's side while they fucking Book It form the shirogane-o, and that's when they run into arle

💕 sorry ryouko but I'M the one who smiles at him 💕

✨ i should make a separate post of the manga panels i'm def in. and/or rewrite the scene as a fic which i might do at some point but just wait

💕 anyway this post is long enough so all you have to know is we get married and now hes my malewife Arlequino Pierrot 💕

💕 tagging my karakuri buddies @dissonantyote @lameassboyfriend (i hope dats oke)

#this is UNGODLY long im so sowwy #this is just a long list of hand wavy ideas and vague shit but hey at least its kind of lore right #maybe someday it will be coherent #si; karakuri circus #selfship #selfshipping #self ship #self insert #frog croak #flash tw #for the blinkie

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dontfeeltoohot · 2 years

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Enjoy 2.5k of soft YTAU Steddie at a pumpkin patch. City boys and farms don't mix well.

X X X

“We should go to a farm or something, for pumpkins and cider and stuff,” Steve says over dinner in the middle of October.

Eddie looks up from where he’s stabbing at a piece of chicken and smiles, body warming. His boyfriend likes to keep things interesting, and it’s not a secret they both love participating in Autumn activities. They need to get pumpkins soon anyway, and going to a farm could be fun, though he’s never been.

“Hell yeah,” the artist nods, reaching over to squeeze the man’s hand. “Have you ever been to one? I can confidently say I haven’t. Not many farms in Chicago.”

Steve grins at him and nods, squeezing Eddie’s hand back before swallowing a bite of broccoli. He thinks he could watch the younger man eat all day, as weird as it sounds. It’s cute, the way Steve looks and tries to decide what piece of broccoli he wants before getting it, unlike himself, who just snags the closest one.

“I’ve been going basically every year with the kids,” his boyfriend admits, even though said ‘kids’ are now in their early twenties.

“God you’re adorable,” the long haired man smiles, feeling like he just wants to hug Steve right all day long. “So is it like all those cliche pumpkin patches you see in movies? With like hay rides and corn mazes and stuff?”

“Pretty much. Hawkins may be a small town, but it does festivals and fairs pretty well,” Steve confirms.

“Ooh, this’ll be fun.”

“Mhm! They have cider and a little store usually. They’ll do fun stuff for little kids like face painting and slides.”

As they finish eating, Eddie thinks about how Hawkins is compared to Chicago, how out here it’s calmer and more down to earth. There isn’t as much violence or noise, and the weather change is gradual and pretty. The trees near his apartment (and really everywhere) have turned gold and red which makes the tattoo artist stupidly happy- nomore heat or blinding sun or bugs.

They do the dishes together, something that’s ridiculously domestic and makes both of the men blush when they stumble over each other or realize how nice it all is. Steve rinses everything off, then hands it to Eddie, who puts it in the dishwasher, particular about how things go. Steve has his little things too, like how he has to make his bed every morning even if he stays at Eddie’s and the guitarist is still in it.

“So Tumblr has decided my pathetic city-raised body is going to be no match for the farm,” the man sighs dramatically as they lay on the couch, curled up together.

Steve chuckles and his lips quirk up, playing with Eddie’s hands as ‘Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince’ plays in the background.

“Yeah? I mean maybe they have a point. Have you ever even been around hay or horses or anything else of that nature in your life?”

Has he? He and Wayne always got their pumpkins at the dinky little pumpkin lot that was just already picked pumpkins sitting on grass next to the park. He’d loved it all the same though, especially the first few years he’d lived with his mom's brother. Wracking his brain, the twenty eight year old finally looks at his boyfriend.

“…I don’t think so. But! My body has a great immune system! And it’s not like I’m allergic to all things outdoors, I’m just allergic to all the mold and shit in Autumn,” Eddie grumbles, though he’s not actually upset.

“What you’re saying is that I better put extra tissues in my pocket tomorrow?” Steve grins, and Eddie shoves him playfully.

“They’ll be for you. Don’t farms usually have cats?”

“And dogs.” That one makes Eddie’s smile drop but he rights it quickly. “Plus I go every year, I know it doesn’t bother me.”

“I’ll be fine Stevie, don’t you worry your cute little head.”

Eddie is decidedly not fine, as they walk around the large open area. It starts about twenty minutes in, after he’s breathed in enough hay and dust and animal dander to finally settle in his head and trigger his histamine response. The artist is determined to have a good day. He’s already taken his allergy pill like usual, but it seems it’s going to do nothing for him as he sniffles, right hand fingers laced in Steve’s left.

“You okay Eds?” Steve asks, watching him curiously, eyes sparkling.

“Y-snf! Yeah, I’m good! So we have our drinks, what’s up next?” He asks, rubbing his nose on his left wrist, hand holding a styrofoam cup of hot apple cider.

He tries to remember he’s going to need to watch what he eats carefully the rest of the day, with all the sugar there’s bound to be in the drink.

“Thought we could look around the store, maybe look at all the cute animals,” Steve beams and god he’s so damn adorable all relaxed like this.

“Sounds like a plan, Stan,” Eddie swings their hands as he’s led to the log cabin-esque building that holds jams and honey sticks and other food items, along with little toys for kids.

As they browse, the long haired man finds a hand carved slingshot. He brings it to Steve, who’s looking at a jar of strawberry jam. There’s a very thin coating of dust on the tables, barely noticeable, but Eddie notices. His eyes are starting to get itchy, and he blinks hard to try and get the slight watery feeling to go away.

“Found a cool slingshot.”

“What are you, five?” Steve teases him lightheartedly, looking at the weapon. “Pretty cool though. You going to get it?”

“Nah. Would end up in a drawer somewhere forever,” he shrugs and looks at the jar. “That looks yummy.”

“Yeah I think Robin will like it. I might steal some too,” Steve says thoughtfully.

Unable to help himself, Eddie presses a kiss to his boyfriends lips, pulling away with a grin.

“What was that for?”

“You’re just too cute for your own good Harrington.”

As they walk back outside, Steve runs to put the bag containing the jam in the car. While he’s gone, Eddie pulls a tissue out of his pocket and blows his nose, grimacing when it’s more productive than he’s expecting. It knocks loose more congestion, and his nose twitches, sensitive from all the allergens around him.

“ihGKtSHew! ihKSHHUHew! iiKhCHew!”

“Bless you,” Steve says, coming up next to him.

“Thanks,” Eddie presses close and sniffles, rubbing his nose again.

“You good? Your allergies aren’t bothering you are they?” The smirk on the ex swim captains face tells Eddie he knows they are, and that he was right- Tumblr was right. And that’s absolutely not going to fly with him.

“Nope! Just a random tickle,” Eddie smiles and leads Steve through a small crowd, towards the sectioned off area that has a bunch of small goats, pigs, and baby cows.

“They’re so cute,” Steve watches the goats as they’re instructed to come in so they can pet them.

You’re cute, Eddie thinks, watching the man bend down to rub the brown goat's head. He looks amazing in his dark washed jeans and tight fitting sweater, a Ralph Lauren quarter zip keeping him warm. His hair is styled perfectly as always, and the very slight wind leaves Steve’s cheeks just barely pink.

Leaning down to pet another goat, Eddie sniffles and rubs his face quickly on the shoulder of his own black sweatshirt, though it doesn’t really help the tickle that’s in his head. The two men stay with the small barn animals for ten or so minutes before realizing they should let others get a chance too. Stepping back out, Steve brushes his sweater off, seemingly unaware of the fur and dust he’s just moved off onto Eddie.

Nostrils twitching, runny from both the slight chill in the air and his allergies, the artist sniffles twice, then rubs his nose on his wrist, attempting to control the overwhelming tickle. When that doesn’t help, he rubs it against, this time longer, dragging his damn nose tight against the outside of his hand.

“Pumpkin patch?” Steve asks, tone excited and almost childlike. Eddie melts.

“Sure St-snf! Stevie.”

They find their way to the large tractor that they can board to get them to the pumpkin patch section. As the men sit, Eddie tries not to breathe for a moment, as particles of dust from the hay billow up into his face. His eyes feel a little gritty and he wipes at the barely there wetness under them, sniffling. Steve’s watching him with big eyes, and though he wants to indulge his boyfriend, he wants to prove to him he can be a small town guy more.

As he and Steve look around, other people board as well, and soon they’re all sitting knee to knee, and the tractor starts rumbling. Nostrils twitching, Eddie leans his elbows on his thighs, turning to watch Steve. He presses the cuff of his sweatshirt to his nose, trying to rub the tickle away subtly. It doesn’t help, not even close. If anything, it worsens the sensation ten fold, and he curls away from the woman next to him, leaning against Steve, cuff still pressed tight to his nose.

“nGKT! ihGKt! Snfsnfsnf! iiGnKTew! Guh…”

Steve licks his lips, watching. Eddie looks up and sniffles, and as he pulls his sleeve away, both can see it’s damp, just as damp as his nose. Before he can do much else, his eyes are fluttering again, the itch still swirling in his sinuses from stifling.

“iiHGkTSCHew! hih’iGSH’uhEW! eh’KTschh’EW!”

Not having time to do much else, Eddie presses his face into Steve’s shoulder, but he doesn’t pull away, instead he rubs his face on the soft material, allergic tears spilling onto his face.

“ihGKshhEW! hah’KTSCHew! ahikSHH’uhew!”

A few ‘bless you’s’ from others around them make Eddie cringe. Steve blessing him is one thing. Others, not so much. The ride into the patch is bumpy and the long haired man keeps as close to his boyfriend as possible before remembering he has tissues. Yanking them out of his pocket, he presses them tight to his nose, rubbing at it, pinching his nostrils and jiggling his septum, trying to get at the intense itch that’s consuming his head.

“hihKShhEW! ah’IGkSHhEW! hih-IkshhEW! Oh mby god,” Eddie blows his nose.

Steve’s still watching, but he looks torn between arousal and sympathy. Eddie starts rubbing at his right eye, both watering enough he genuinely looks like he’s crying, cheeks splotchy. Everyone hops off of the tractor when it stops in the field, and Eddie tilts his head back slightly, giving Steve a perfect view of his irritated, pink nostrils, quivering in allergic anticipation.

“Sneeze baby, I got you,” Steve murmurs, pulling him off of the wood and hay, then wrapping an arm around him.

“ahIKShhEW! ihGKshEW! F-snfSNF! Fuck…-ikshhuhew!”

“Bless you baby, we’ll make this quick ok?” Steve looks at him from where he’s got his tissue pressed against his nose again, hand now rubbing his left eye.

“Sou’ds good, I’mb okay Stevie,” Eddie promises, but he’s honestly not sure he is.

This doesn’t feel like dust allergies or even dog allergies. This is an entirely different level of allergic hell he’s never experienced. It’s like fluff is rubbing against his nose, like it’s in his sinuses, teasing him. His eyes are truthfully too watery and itchy to really be able to help Steve pick a pumpkin, but he goes along with it anyway, judging his boyfriend’s picks even if they’re blurry.

Steve keeps him close, and Eddie doesn’t mind. He thinks maybe the twenty seven year old is worried, with the amount of soft touches and hesitant looks he keeps getting. He doesn’t think there’s necessarily anything for Steve to worry about until they’re heading back to the main area, and the tattoo artist starts coughing.

It’s low and chesty, and even when he stops, Eddie finds he’s having a hard time catching a full breath

Not wanting to freak Steve out, he sniffles soupily and sits back up straight, giving him a smile. He must look wrecked, because a guy next to him gives him a sympathetic smile too. Pumpkin in his lap, Eddie rests an elbow on its top and starts rubbing his eyes again.

“Eddie, honey, you gotta stop rubbing. It’ll just make it worse, your hands are covered in all the dust and stuff,” Steve tries to be logical but the other man doesn’t want logic, he wants relief.

“They’re itchy.”

“I know, but-“

“ihHgkSCH’ew! snfsnf! iigkTSHhuhEW! SNF! hh! h’IHkSHew!”

“Bless you,” Steve runs a hand through his boyfriend's hair.

“snggf! Fuckin’ hell,” Eddie grabs his last tissue and blows his nose quietly, coughing after.

Maybe he’s not entirely cut out for farms, he decides, once he slides into Steve’s passenger seat, pumpkins sitting in the trunk. The younger man rifles through his middle console and pulls out napkins, then grabs the water bottle he brought. Leaning out of the parked cars door, Steve douses the napkin in water, wrings it out, then hands it to Eddie, who raises an eyebrow.

“Wipe your face off babe.”

Oh.

“Damn Harri’gto’d, we’re you a Boy Scout?” Eddie does as he’s told, wiping his face and neck down, coughing again. His chest feels oddly tight.

“Eds, hey, look at me.”

His eyes snap up to Steve’s, who are bright with worry.

“You sound awful. Are you breathing ok?”

“I thi’gk so? My chest is a little tigh’d a’d I feel like shit, but I’mb okay Stevie.”

Though he doesn’t look fully convinced, Steve buckles up and starts driving. Only half paying attention, Eddie realizes they’re at Steve’s once the doors of the Beamer are being unlocked.

“Brought you here, we can shower and then get you in clean clothes and I’ll put ours into wash. I don’t even wanna step into your apartment with this shit.”

Half an hour later, they’re stepping out of the shower, Eddie groggy and head feeling like it’s filled with concrete. The shower’s definitely helped, he doesn’t feel like he wants to claw his face off anymore, his eyes aren’t watering as bad either.

“So…you wanna tell Tumblr or should I?” Steve teases, and Eddie groans dramatically, which earns him a quick kiss.

“I will. They’re all gonna be so smug.” Eddie slips on some of Steve’s sweatpants, tying them tight.

“Tell’em you started having breathing issues. That’ll make’em feel bad for you.”

They end up on the couch, Eddie half awake after a slightly more than recommended dose of Benadryl, and Steve playing with his hair.

“They’re smug,” the artist grumbles, putting his phone down. “Called it.”

“They just wanna tease you, mister ‘I’ll be able to handle it’.”

Another kiss.

“Ngh, fuck all of you for being right.”

“Gladly Eddie, just tell me when and where.”

“Menace.”

Steve laughs, pulling Eddie closer, who melts against him.

“I had a fun time, even if I did feel like shit.”

“If we ever do that again, now we know to dose you up, at least,” Steve nuzzles his cheek.

“Was gonna suggest doing it with Chrissy when she comes down, but honestly it’ll probably set her off too.”

“No one’s allowed to be miserable for your birthday weekend. So no pumpkin patches,” Steve says, lacing their fingers together.

“Yeah. We can just get them from the store to do with her.”

“Sounds like a plan baby.”

#my fic #ytau #em #st #sh

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non-binary-laurie-strode · 1 year

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Anyway Skinamarink has been on my mind for a couple of hours in the most frustrating way, so here are some disjoint thoughts about it:

I am mostly negative on this one. There are some good sequences, but overall I was aching for some sort of development, something to happen. I guess it does at the end, but there's far too much time spent looking at ceiling corners for it to feel anything other than "ugh, finally."

I feel like Skinamarink is essentially an elaborate ink blot test using the "childhood home but wrong" imagery: I say ink blot test because everything is so poorly lit so as to be almost a true blob, and these are often viewed from not just wrong but insane angles; things are stuck to the walls and just generally out of place; and the constantly swirling "film grain" digital effect that is very noticeably on a loop eventually causes you to start seeing things in the constant swirls. Like an ink blot test, there is truly nothing there; it's just shapes and noise, and you derive meaning from whatever you piece together and whatever your subconscious latches onto. If you project something into the darkness, I feel that is more about your subconscious than anything that is inherent to the film itself; it does not have very much to say on its own, and so you must—whether you intend to or not, really—attach your own meaning to it. Your brain is, essentially, forced to fill in the blanks using the barest suggestions as an outline, which will of course produce the wildest variation in results. (If I may mix my metaphors, it's also like those "art pieces" that are just a canvas painted entirely blue—no, it does not have meaning inherent to itself; you are told that it is art, it is in an art space, and you are forcing your brain to come up with an artistic analysis of that which has nothing to say: If you come up with something, it is something you have pulled out of your head, and which does not exist but for the transformative and desperate nature of the act wracking your brains.)

There are a lot of pieces swirling around (in addition to the artificial film grain that is swirling away) including: The disappearence of your parents; strange voices in the dark telling you to do things, some of which may even be to hurt yourself; cartoons crossing the line from being silly to scary; no way to leave a place that scares or hurts you; toys that look fun in the light being scary when you leave them in the dark; being asked to look under the bed; the phone not working so you can't call for help (or, when it does connect, no one ever comes); stuff like that. And certainly, if those pieces are arranged in just the correct ways, yes, I could see it very much causing someone anxiety or fear or whatnot.

Me, personally? Staring into the dark just gave me a headache.

But also it's been an angry mosquito on my brain for a few hours so I guess it was compelling enough, even if I actively did not like it.

I don't think there's a singular story going on. Mack read it as some sort of cosmic horror; I read it as the boy was dying and that was the last moments of his brain, like, turning off and shutting down—the weird angles of the house, the ceiling corners, etc being his falling down the stairs (which is established very early on), the "knife in the eye" line is about him falling on something sharp, perhaps a lego, the call to 911 taking what feels in that headspace like forever, and the face at the end being someone from an ambulance. But again, I don't think they actually wrote a story; it's just what I managed to pull out of an abstract arrangement of images.

I don't know. Writing this out has made me feel more kindly towards its ambition, but it just didn't do it for me in its execution. I can see why someone might really fall into it. But it's not for me.

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cherokeegal1975 · 11 months

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The Grey, WIP: 7/7/23

Well, I wish I had realized yesterday that by painting the base coats of the wings and then just fading out the references over the top of them, I could have saved myself some time and trouble. Now all I have to do is erase around the white wing and it'll be mostly done...save for some highlights I might want to put in.

This was a single image, then a doubled one because my graphics program has a tendency to merge all layers prematurely once in a while. A glitch that I'm not at happy about. I was just able to remove the bulk of the reference picture today. Look so much better without it there.

I was going to do a half gold and half silver halo, but with all that black and white, there's need for more splashes of color. So, the halo will be solid gold and have red jewels set into it. The flames will also add some color as well as the lady's skin. A nice brown. Her hair will be black.

References for the bits I need to see are still there, just invisible at the moment. Except for the frame design. I'm doing my best to eliminate anything I copied from online as fast as possible. Except for the wings of course. I need those.

I will lighten the hue of the cloak; I usually start dark and work lighter then darker again in spots as I go along. I even have brushes that will do fabric textures. I think I might try that. In spite of the need for more color, I still insist that the cloak be grey. Maybe I can add some patterning or something. I'll think about it.

Anyway, I never meant this drawing to look like a playing card. In fact, the main elements of the drawing just showed up randomly in my head when I wasn't really thinking of anything particular. But I liked what I saw, so I'm drawing it.

Yes, I know I'm cheating a lot. This is because sometimes I have trouble translating what's in my mind onto canvas. I can draw the human figure but haven't had a lot of practice at it. Nor do I have a lot of practice drawing clothing. It was just easier to find what I needed online to help me out this time. I don't know who all the artists are who put out all these free resources for me to use. Though angelic figures are common, I can say with confidence that this idea is uniquely mine. Just for the fun of it I did a general search image for a moment and found lots of angels, but nothing exactly like mine. So, there's that.

I can and to draw freehand. I'd do it more often than I have been lately if I had more time. My time off is sporadic at best/worst. Given the choice, I'd spend more time doing everything in my head. Taking a few hours a day just to draw. I can do a solid three hour session of drawing before my brain gets tired and I have to take a break. I rarely get that time lately.

Ugh. This is devolving into a bitch session. I won't do that here. Anyway, when this is completed, people who are into games like Dungeons and Dragons or similar games may use this character as part of your game. Just ask me first because I want to know about it. Give me credit for the design. No, you may not sell it. I need the profits far worse than you do.

I came to think of The Grey as a kind of judge for contests and legal issues...and maybe other things. She knows there's more than one facet to every story, there isn't just pure evil and pure good. There's always those shades of grey. And she's an excellent and fair judge. A living personification of justice and a powerful force for the good side. My mind had to work on this for a while as I drew her "card." Because originally, she had no story, no meaning. I'm still inviting people to have an open interpretation of her character however.

I can also see this as a big poster over someone's bed simply because it looks cool. It would be a nice decoration, especially if it turns out as nice as I want it to.

I'd appreciate it if no one used my idea until it was completed. I might make some changes along the way that I won't know about until I get there. Not that I think anyone will really. Every offer of free resources I put out gets ignored. I don't know why.

I will also post this on Redbubble when it's done and send a link. I can't seem to completely let my optimism go even though I'm aware that no one wants to buy my artwork. I don't know why.

#cherokeegal1975 #digital art #wip #work in progreess #original character #original D&D character #free resouce

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keyboardandquill · 2 years

Text

How being bad on purpose can be the best thing for getting things written

It’s some of my favourite advice to give fellow perfectionists. Having trouble getting started? Put some awful prose on the page. Make it as bad as you possibly can.

Think of it like scribbling on the first page of a new notebook or that first stain on new furniture or the first scratch on a new car.

Why? Because you'll feel a little disappointment, followed by an immense sense of relief. Stop taking yourself seriously.

Here’s why it helps.

It clears out the creative pipes

Have you ever turned on a tap that hasn’t been used in ages? It coughs and sputters and wheezes, but eventually the water starts to flow. And boy is it ugly water. Who knows how long it has been sitting in the pipes.

They’re doing road work near my house and had to shut off the water for a day. When we used the tap the first time it came back on, the water ran muddy and gross for a good, long while. And even after it looked transparent, there was still a gritty texture and taste to it for a while after that.

But once I left the tap on for a while, eventually fresh water started flowing from it.

So, instead of trying to get pure, clean prose to flow from your fingertips the moment you sit down, make sure you clear the pipes first.

Write the worst paragraph you've ever written. Make it bad on purpose. Let all that muddy water flow away.

It acts like a warmup

You wouldn't expect an athlete to run a marathon without warming up their muscles first. Even artists warm up with sketches and studies before working on a main project.

Creative writing works the same way. Putting down whatever comes to mind will get you into the right headspace. It doesn't matter if the words you write are any good because you're simply exercising.

Don't stop at just one paragraph. Write another bad one, and another, and another until you feel it start coming out easy.

Blank pages are daunting, so make them not-blank

Pretty simple, right? We hate sullying something new—see my previous comment about new notebooks and furniture and cars—for fear of doing irreparable damage. And while it's a lot harder to buff out scratched paint than it is to hit the backspace key on your keyboard, the effect is the same.

You know that tactic of taking off one or two of those "take a number" tags on a posted flyer to entice more people to take some? Do that to yourself.

Your brain will go "Ah, a first paragraph already exists! Time to keep writing."

Consider: you don't have to be perfect, so don't try to be

Ruin the illusion of perfection to prove to your gremlin brain that it's perfectly okay to do something imperfectly.

We're meant to enjoy the act of creation. It's difficult to do things we don't enjoy when we make it into such a big thing in our minds, right? So if you've over-inflated it, let out some air.

Relax. Enjoy the process of writing. It's going to go through revisions before the final draft anyway, so why not have a little fun while you're at this stage?

tl;dr: Don't take yourself too seriously. Go write some nonsense. Keep writing nonsense until it flows freely. And have fun with it!

#tips for writers #writing advice #perfectionism #writeblr community #writing motivation #resource by keyboardandquill

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mochikeiji · 3 years

Text

Looking Like U Got Me

Request: "Prompt no. 56 and 55 for Gojo ＼(^o^)／"

55. "You look like my husband/wife"

56. "Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster"

↠ Pairing: Gojou Satoru x Reader

↠ Warning: none! Simply fluff

↬ Word Count: 1.7k

↠ a/n: i accidentally mixed up prompts 55 and 57 ;-; but still hoping this turns out good!!

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event!

All he wanted was to wake up in bed, next to you— who would cuddle deeper in his arms even in slumber so he'd smother you with his kisses and tighten his hold around you and drift back to sleep longer, finally free of responsibilities for once and enjoy quality time with his only favorite person. But instead he wakes up with a groan passing through his lips, supporting his back side with his hand while shuffling to his side in a different position as the light sun rays shun through the window blinds, softly fanning his eye and forehead.

Gojo chuckles a bit before wincing. His lower back so tensed that he feels himself get older by the day. Pouting at the empty space next to him, he palms the cold sheet in wonder of where you are. Up so early in the morning when you could've just stayed in for him. How annoying. His eyes shut for moment when the scent coming from outside the room intruded his senses. Ah, you must be cooking breakfast. How sweet of you.

Thank goodness it wasn't another batch of dried crackers or cup of noodles that'll enter his mouth. He was never one to cook meals when he was on solo or when you weren't around. The very thought of not only the meal was awaiting for him outside, but also you excites him that it made him feel tingly inside. Call it dramatic, yeah, but it's not every day someone gets to wake up and immediately feel this full of love in the morning. You were the only and last love he's ever wanted to have in this world. It was so surreal even to him.

Sighing before pushing himself up, Gojo yawns out the remains of drowsiness in his system and stands. He didn't bother wearing a shirt since last night, claiming that he misses how his body rubs off yours in both comforting and suggestive ways. Plus it was just you and him home, he'd rather walk naked than wear the usual long sleeved uniform on a warm day.

The scent of coffee got stronger as he closes in his journey towards the kitchen. There was faint sizzling coming from the pan as you stood there in attendance. Stuck in your own little world, swaying to the sound of the radio playing, U got Me by Yung Heazy. It was one of the few songs that reminded you of Gojo back when you were both high schoolers. The exact song you remembered playing when you both hung out on a small cafe in Tokyo. Where he was so flustered, attempted to hide his blushes with his round glasses. The little things that reminded you of that memory never fails to make your heart race.

Of course Gojo knows this one as well. Because it was on that date as well he had call you, "his" after masking his embarrassment and from obviously checking you out every minute. How could he contain himself? He was a young man who was having trouble in the arts of love. Nevertheless he was glad to have grown up from those years. If his younger self could see him now, he'd be gagging at the sight of a softer version of his older self.

Snaking his arms around your torso carefully to avoid surprising you, he places his chin above your shoulder. Salivating at the sight of thick bacon in deep frying, shamelessly letting you know he was hungry from the sound of his stomach growling. "This is a nice way to greet me." you smile at the man behind you, who had his eyes closed in delight while rubbing his cheek against yours like a cat in need of attention. "Good morning to you as well, sweet cheeks." he says after pressing a kiss on your skin.

"You got up early." whining softly, his hair and nose tickling the side of your neck and shoulder, "I was hoping to stay longer y'know?" trailing his hands underneath the his shirt you were wearing, mapping out on all the skin he could squish and hold with his large palms. Noticeably pressing himself closer to your body, the much needed space gone but you weren't complaining. After all, this was Gojo, a man who knows no boundaries.

"I wanted to make breakfast for you. We haven't had one together since we're both busy." you say as you grabbed the nearby plate, turning off the stove as the now cooked meal sizzles softly from the pan before sliding down to the porcelain surface. In attempt to lick his lips at the now prepared food, his tongue grazes upon your skin, sending you to jolt a bit, hearing the joyous laughter from him as he places a kiss on the spot as an apology.

"W-why don't you go sit down, there's rice bowls and cooked eggs prepared already." stammering, you quickly excused yourself away from his embrace to clean out the mess from the counter. Gojo sighs out the adoration but obliges to your command. Not long after you had finally settled down in front of him. Seeing him in all smiles as he scarfs down on his food made you smile as well. Thank goodness his blindfold was off, they looked adorable twinkling in happiness.

This felt nice. To have an opportunity to be a normal couple once again. So many times you could only daydream of scenarios like this. He could say the same as now that you were present on the usual spot he'd come home to empty. Often dozing off during meetings thinking of where you were or how you were, the multiple times Megumi has fed up with his whining about how he never gets to see or have more time with you. Nobara even pointed out a fact saying, "You act as if you're both married." and Yuuji, being the happy child of the three had said something that always ponder in his mind, "Why don't you marry each other yet, sensei?"

It was a statement he's been considering for a long time. Marriage. Of course Gojo wanted to marry you after years of torment love. To have his precious students say that you both already looked as if you were married got him all heart racing, and very very happy. He's had vivid images of a life with you. Not far from what it is today, but imagine. Unlimited happiness after so long of fearing it. Perhaps maybe even tiny legs running around, giving him such big love as his grows for the family he's craved, watching you smile beside the doorway and calling them in for a meal.

If marrying you means he can have that every day, then the hell with it.

"You look like my wife."

The spoon drop echoes. Slowly his face erupted into a faint blush while staring back at your widened eyes and opened mouth. "What?" gulping down the stuck food in your throat, Gojo bites his lips watching you maintain your composure. So cute. "Y-you know you say funny stuff when you're out of it. Maybe some daifuku would help? Yeah! Wait a sec." quickly getting up from your seat and rummaging in your fridge, you breathed out the heavy puff of air from your lungs.

He did not just say that so directly towards you. Maybe you were dreaming? You wouldn't be if your heart wasn't practically being forced out. Gojo is always fun and games, right? He doesn't mean that.

Sad to think of it that way.

"Ow!" thumping your head above the fridge as you grabbed some of the take outs of Daifuku you got yesterday, closing the fridge back before returning shortly to Gojo, who seemed as out of it as you were. "You did say your brain functions best when you eat sweets. Luckily for you I bought these yesterday. That's why I cooked earlier now because I wanted to try it out with you!"

Gojo can't tell if he wants to be offended at the fact that you think he was joking or just now, cover his half of his face to hide his laughter and igniting squeals. God he wished he had his phone right now, the moment was just so priceless and precious as you were.

"...ter"

Muffles from behind his hand was heard. Tilting your head to the side, trying to process what he said but no avail. "What was that?" you moved a little closer next to him, tapping his hand away almost eagerly. When he does, you spot that knowing smile present on his lips and the uncharacteristic blush still painted on his cheeks.

"Keep doing that and I'll marry you faster, honey."

You've gotten more shy when his hand held yours in the most loving way while drawing patterns. Searching through his eyes if he was playing around, but you were met with ones you know of when they were full of sincerity. "I-i. You know, they were so cheap anyways and I figured you'd want them." he snorts before leaning his head on your arm and laughs hysterically. It was painfully obvious that you were in state of shock that you couldn't even process his words.

Up until now the effect he has on you was still there like before.

"Sweetie." he turns his body away from the table to face you, pulling you so that you were standing in between his legs looking down shyly on the floor. "I'm serious." his fingers reached for your chin to pull your head up to meet his features. His other hand still holding your smaller one; index finger tracing your ring finger in circular motions as if he was creating a make believe ring.

He should thank himself for falling in love and be trusting once again.

Because now, staring back at your eyes filled with the same amount of emotions as his. Reciprocating the exact thing he was feeling. Waking up just to start the day already wanting him to be there. Knowing all the littlest things he's shared. Hearing the erratic sound of both of your heart beats.

He knew he's made the right choice.

"You really do look like my wife. My future."

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo satoru x reader #gojo scenarios #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo imagine #gojou satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #raines: gogatsu event

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ygreczed-3 · 3 years

Photo

The Walking Dead/Detroit Become Human AU

(so basically I was tempted to make a post to apologize about the mess my blog has become lately - feels like I’m posting AUs, artworks, sketches and comic updates in such a chaotic way… I’m really sorry about it ahaha 😅 Hopefully it will get better soon)

So this post is me drawing for hours and forgetting to eat on my break day (I finally did !!! Don’t worry ahaha) because I became obsessed with an idea again. Also I like to make concept arts and storyboards as if I was working on a professional project for a TV show/animation. I find it fascinating ! This time I don’t really have any plot or finished story, I just wanted to draw these scenes badly so… I just did.

I’d like to draw your attention to Connor’s curly hair and Hank’s design (strongly inspired by Kristoff from Frozen). I just LOVE these details.

⚠️Remember this is NOT a new series. Just me having fun with characters and a universe I like (aka The Walking Dead) !

Anyway, more ideas below 👀

*POW*

Hank open his eye again. The walker was shot in the head. Hank pushes the walker away, it falls dead on the concrete.

Looking up, he sees Connor with a gun.

Hank : Jesus… Thank you. I thought I was…

Connor : I wouldn’t have wasted a bullet for you if it wasn’t for your kid back there. Your car, does it work? Hank : … Yeah… I just… I was looking for some gas when… well… Can I drive you somewhere? Connor : Not really, I’m looking for someone.

___________________________

Hank and Cole are walking in a gas station with jerricans and pour what’s left of gas from the pump.

Cole : Dad, that mister from earlier, do you think he’s gonna be okay ? Hank : I think, pumpkin. He was the one helping us. Cole : Being alone sounds dangerous… He should have come with us. Hank : …

___________________________

It’s nighttime, Cole is sleeping in the backseats with a blanket, Hank is sleeping in the driver seat. He wakes up brutally as he hears something tapping softly against the car window : the young man from earlier. He rolls the window down.

Hank : You ? Connor : I’ve looked around the whole city. Now it’s too dark… I need a safe place to have some sleep, I was thinking you could let me in. You owe me after all. Hank : … Yeah sure. Get in.

Connor gets in the car. He takes his bag off and keeps it by his side, out of Hank’s reach. He takes his coat off but keeps a gun near him. Hank stares at him with narrowed eyes.

Hank : … You’re safe here, really. You can trust me. Connor : Sorry, but I only trust myself.

___________________________

It’s dark outside, Hank can’t really sleep with the stranger next to him. His guts dictate him to stay alert. He watches carefully as Connor turns his head to him, half-opening his eyes.

Connor: Can’t sleep ? Hank : … Well you were right… I don’t know you. What about you ? Did you sleep a little ? Connor : … No. I’m too… cautious. My brain won’t let me sleep with a stranger next to me. Hank : … My name’s Hank. You ? Connor : What the hell are you doing ? Hank : We agreed we couldn’t sleep next to strangers. I’m introducing myself. Connor : It won’t make it any better… *after a silence* I’m Connor. Hank : Nice to meet you. Connor: … Where were you before ? You… you act like a newborn in this hell… Hank : … I had a neighbor with one of those bunkers… with tons of food, water, enough to live for months. We… We were hiding there with her until… until a few weeks. Connor : What happened ? Hank : She thought she had heard a chopper. Thought someone was out there to rescue us… she opened the hatch and she was… attacked by those things… Connor: … the kid… he’s yours? Hank : Yeah… Cole. Connor: … Where’s her mom ? Hank : He’s never known her. Connor: Sorry. Hank : Don’t be.

*silence*

Hank : I think… I’m starting to relax… we should try to sleep huh ?

Connor is already sleeping.

___________________________

Connor takes his backpack as Hank and Cole take a breakfast with some fire.

Hank : You sure you don’t want to eat anything ? Connor : No thanks, I have my own stock. You should save your food for your kid. Hank : … Hey, if you ever need to find us… after you’ve found what you’re looking for, I have a police radio. Frequency 58,7 kHz. Connor: I won’t need it but- thanks. Good luck.

Connor leaves.

___________________________

Cole : What should we do now? Hank : … We need to find more food… and weapons. I’ll go downtown today. You… You’ll stay here alright? Cole : No I… I want to stay with you… Hank : I know you’re scared Cole… But it’s too dangerous. You’ll be safe hidden in the car. Cole : You’ll be quick? Hank : Back before sunset, pinky swear.

___________________________

Hank finds an axe on a bar counter.

Suddenly : *BONG BONG BONG BONG*

Hank : What the-

He runs outside and hides against a wall as walkers pass nearby, heading to the source of the ringing.

He looks up and sees Connor climbing on a ladder but a Walker is trying to grab his leg.

Hank comes and kills the monster. Connor : You..! Follow me !

On the rooftop, they see the church. It’s an automatic bell, the walkers are massively getting around the building. There is something painted on the wall that says “Find Jericho” with black paint and scribbled under it “Find 9s”

Connor : Nines… Hank : What is Jericho ? Connor : … A safe place for survivors. It’s hidden… to keep the thieves and killers away. Hank : … The church. Connor : What ? Hank : Jericho, it has to do with the bible. The message is written on a church’s wall. It’s not a coincidence, there might be… a hint in there. Connor : … But we can’t get inside with those creeps around… Hank : … Maybe they leave when the church stops ringing the bells. Connor : Or maybe we should try to lead them away with… Hank : With what ? Connor : … Your car.

___________________________

Connor : So, let me get it straight. You drive around the town honking. It will attract the creeps away from the church. I get inside the church and look for any kind of hint. When the bells start ringing I get out before the creeps come back. And what do we do with Cole ?

Hank : He’s going with you. I don’t want to have him in the car with hundreds of undeads trying to get me. Connor : … I don’t- Hank : Don’t worry. He’s a smart kid. He will do as you say. Right Cole? Cole : …Hmm. Connor: … Fine. Let’s do it.

___________________________

Connor and Cole sneak into the church. Connor kills two of the Walkers still inside the church as Cole follows him cautiously.

Cole : … Look. *he points out a book on the altar* Connor : … It’s a bible… The chapter about the Battle of Jericho… it can’t be a coincidence. *They look up and see something written with old blood on the wall behind the altar. It says “Rahab the harlot defied the King of Jericho. Here lies the key to the fortress.”* Cole : What’s a harlot? Connor : … You should… ask your father. Now… I have to read… and think. Cole : … We only have one hour left before the bells ring again… Connor : I know.

___________________________

Connor : … I don’t get it ! There must be something I’m missing ! Cole : … Connor, I found a map ! Connor : Not now Cole, I’m trying to focus… Cole : Connor, look ! Connor : Cole please I really need-…

Cole shows him the map… there is a “9s” written on it.

Connor : Nines ! Cole : Does it help ? Connor : … I don’t know-…

The bells ring suddenly.

Connor : Crap… we have to get out of here. Give me your hand, buddy.

___________________________

Hank is waiting for them : he has lit a fire and when Cole sees him, he lets go of Connor’s hand and runs to hug his dad.

Hank : I gotcha, pumpkin. *looking up at Connor* Did you find something ? Connor : I think… Hank : You think ? Connor : I have this map my brother left for me inside the church… there was some kind of riddle on the wall, and it must have something to do with this but… there is nothing noted on it. Hank : What’s the riddle ? Connor : “Rahab the harlot defied the King of Jericho, here lies the key to the fortress.” Rahab was a prostitute, she helped Joshua by hiding spies he sent inside the city… and Joshua spared her when he took the fortress. But I… I don’t see the connection. Hank : … Let me see the map.

Connor gives it. Cole sits next to his father, near the fire, and soon falls asleep. After some time thinking and overthinking it, Hank finally points to a town on the map. A city called Defiance.

Hank : Look. Connor : Defiance… Of course. The key lies in Rahab’s defiance… Defiance is a town… Fuck- You’re a genius…! Hank : Man, I was feeling like a Detective again… felt nice for a moment. Connor: You were a Detective? Hank : A police Lieutenant, to be specific. But yeah. Detective works too. Connor : … I don’t think the treasure hunt is done yet. You’re gonna need your supercop sense again ! Hank : … It’s good to see you all excited. Feels like meeting the real Connor under the survivor’s shell. Connor: It’s nice… that Cole and you don’t have that shell yet… humanity is a rare thing to find down there. Hank : … So, who is “Nines” ? Connor : My little brother. We lived together, in the same group of survivors. Our camp was attacked… we got separated. Hank : Looks like he’s smart. He solved the riddle all by himself. It took the two of us to understand the hint. Connor : He’s always been a nerd. Hank : Pffft… Well we should try to get some sleep. We should be able to reach Stoneton, then we’ll have to find more gas.

Hank gets up and carries Cole to the car seats.

Connor: … Hank…? Hank : Yup ? Connor : Can I… Can I come with you two ? I could go to Defiance by myself but… if you’re heading there too, maybe we could… Hank : What the heck ? Of course you’re coming with us. With our two half-brains we’re gonna need each other’s help to find Jericho and your brother, don’t you think ? Connor *chuckles* : Right.

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starryhyuck · 3 years

Text

mark! (m)

pairing: dom!mark x sub!reader x dom!yuta

words: 2.2k+

summary: mark is scared of stepping out of his comfort zone with you. therefore, you enlist yuta’s help to get your boyfriend a little more comfortable.

genre: smut

warnings: threesome (kind of), anal sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, breeding kink

“I don’t think we should be doing this.”

You sigh. “Mark, stop being such a scaredy cat.”

The frown on his face is positively adorable. You want to squeeze his cheeks so badly. “I’m not a scaredy cat!” He protests, but it only makes him look more soft.

You giggle and press a kiss to his lips. “Whatever you say. Besides, Yuta won’t be back for a while. I don’t know why you’re so scared.”

“I’m not scared!” He argues again, eyebrows furrowing together in the most adorable way. “I just- this is Yuta’s bed. It’s kind of impolite to be doing anything on a place where he sleeps.”

You sigh. “Mark, I think we both know what kind of a person Yuta is. I’m pretty sure he would do the exact same thing on your bed.”

His nose scrunches as the thought passes through him.

“Ew. I didn’t need that visual.”

You flop down on Yuta’s comforter before bringing Mark with you. He’s still very reluctant, despite connecting your lips together. You try easing him up, hands moving over his shoulders as you pull him closer and closer.

Your sex life with Mark was always more than satisfying, but he was constantly scared to take risks. Being an exhibitionist yourself and considering how shy Mark could get, it was really difficult to get your boyfriend to even hold your hand in front of the other members, let alone kiss you. You’ve tried on more than one occasion to suck him off at the dinner table, but he was always too on edge that someone would walk in.

To combat your curiosity, you enlisted Yuta’s help.

Your eyes carefully watch the door as Mark’s tongue explores your mouth. Yuta stares through the small opening, watching you with a heavy glare.

You giggle into the kiss and Mark eases up a little at the sound. Your fingers dance around his neck as you pull him closer and closer, observing as Yuta casually walks into the room. Mark is too lost in you to notice.

After letting you make out for a few more minutes, Yuta finally clears his throat. You swear Mark jumps five feet in the air and scrambles away from you. His whole face is flushed pink at the sight of Yuta, quickly stuttering to provide an excuse.

Yuta raises an eyebrow. “And what were you two doing exactly?”

You blink innocently. “What do you mean?”

He smirks at your act. You’re still sprawled out on his bed, hair tangled from Mark’s fingers messily running through it. Yuta wonders how pretty you would look with his cock sliding in your mouth, beautiful lips eager to taste him. He leans closer to your frame, ignoring Mark’s surprise at his older member’s proximity to his girlfriend.

“I mean you and Mark trying to fuck on my bed.”

“W-We’re sorry, Y-Yuta!” Mark frantically says. “W-We just- I just-“

Yuta chuckles, and the deep sound shoots straight to your core.

“It’s fine, Mark. You weren’t putting on much of a show anyways. Why haven’t you touched her?”

Mark looks like his brain is going on overdrive. “W-What?”

Yuta’s fingers graze over your exposed thigh. He picked out the skirt you were wearing for this occasion, knowing it would make Mark incredibly flustered.

“Why haven’t you touched her? That’s what she wants, isn’t it?”

You quickly nod. “It’s what I want. Touch me, Yuta, please.”

Yuta grins, his eyes darting back to Mark’s. “Can I, Mark?”

You think your boyfriend is really broken. He’s nervously twitching, shaking his head as he tries to gather his thoughts. You decide to give him a little break.

“I thought Yuta could help us out a little, Mark. I asked him to come so we can have more fun.”

Yuta nods. “If you’re uncomfortable, Mark, I can leave.”

The silence in the air is deafening. Mark finally clears his throat. “Can you show m-me how you do it?”

Yuta smirks. “Do what, exactly?”

The blush fully appears on Mark’s cheeks again. “Um, how you eat her out.”

Your eyes widen. You were definitely not expecting him to say that. Yuta’s smirk widens at the request.

“Definitely. Sit down and watch.”

Yuta’s staring at your clothed core in no time, playing with the hem of your skirt. He chuckles when he sees your choice of underwear.

“Lace,” he hums playfully, snapping the elastic against your skin as you squeak. “Do you always wear such pretty panties for Mark?”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “I have prettier ones in his top drawer.”

“I’d love to see them some time, doll.”

You eagerly watch as Yuta pulls down your panties, making a show as his hands slowly caress your thighs. He throws the pair of red lace to Mark, who easily catches it and groans. Yuta yanks up your skirt so he can fully gaze at your exposed cunt.

He chuckles. “You should be nicer to her, Mark. She’s got such a pretty pussy.”

You moan when his fingers play with your folds, goosebumps spreading across your skin. You quickly learn that Yuta is a tease, patient as he touches you.

“Please, Yuta,” you beg, wanting him to do something already.

His smile appears again. “What is it, doll? What do you need?”

“Need your mouth,” you whine. “And your fingers.”

You’re already turning into a blubbering mess. Mark, on the other hand, could not be more nervous. He finds this whole situation incredibly arousing, but also dangerously intimidating. He wonders if Yuta will be better than him, and if you’ll like Yuta way more than you like him. All thoughts are thrown out the window when Yuta’s tongue takes a lick up your slit. Your moans shoot straight to Mark’s hardened cock, and Mark has no doubt in his mind that he could cum in his pants right now.

He takes silent notes as Yuta teases you, never fully giving you what you want and watching as you continue to beg for him. Yuta slips a finger into your hole and you cry out, your body reacting to every single touch.

Yuta’s gaze returns to Mark. “See? She likes it when you don’t go too fast. Draw it out, make her beg.”

Mark swallows at the sudden lessons. He’s always been really quick with you, never letting you wait this long.

“Yuta, please, please,” you continue to whimper, hands reaching for him. Yuta is quick to silence you, pinning your arms to your sides.

“Be a good girl and I’ll reward you. No touching until I say so.”

You nod in submission. Mark’s eyes zero in on Yuta’s tongue exploring your folds, finger slowly pushing in and out of your weeping pussy. Mark swears he’s never heard you this wet before, the squelch of Yuta’s finger entering you echoing throughout the room. When Yuta adds a second finger, you almost lose it.

“Please please, Yuta, I want to cum. Please let me cum,” you cry.

“That’s up to Mark,” he states, and the younger boy freezes. “Can she cum, Mark?”

Your eyes are glistening with tears as you stare at your boyfriend. You whimper when Yuta furiously begins eating you out, your orgasm dangerously approaching.

“Wait, wait, wait-“

“Give her the signal, Mark,” Yuta instructs, attacking your pussy with his tongue and fingers.

Mark waits until you’re right on the edge, seconds away from sobbing. He walks over and leans down until he’s whispering in your ear.

“Cum, pretty girl.”

You fall apart, clutching your boyfriend’s arm as you clench around Yuta’s fingers. He helps you ride out your high, licking up any remnants of your orgasm.

You blearily come to your senses after that mind numbing climax, Yuta and Mark discussing quietly. There’s a faint ringing sound in your ears until Mark cups your cheeks.

“Okay?”

You giggle. “Okay.”

He laughs at your delirious state.

“Does she always get like that?” Yuta questions.

“Only when it’s really good,” he replies. His focus turns back to you. “I’m gonna fuck you now, okay?”

You giggle again. “Okay.”

He smiles fondly at you, and butterflies swell in your chest like they always do when Mark smiles at you like that.

“Make it rough,” Yuta chimes in. “I want to see her really cry.”

You’re flipped onto your stomach in no time, Mark’s fingers threading your ass. Yuta’s taken a seat not far from the bed, switching roles with Mark as he watches you this time. Mark’s thumb gently grazes over your other hole and you gasp.

Yuta’s voice is full of curiosity. “She likes it there?”

“Sometimes.” He pauses before making a decision. “Can I fuck you here, baby?”

“Yes, Mark, please.”

You can practically hear his grin. “Okay.”

Yuta tosses him the bottle of lube he keeps in his nightstand, and Mark quickly preps you. You moan when he fingers you, scissoring and stretching you to make sure you’re ready to take him.

You and Mark rarely do anal, mostly because he’s always afraid of hurting you. You know now, though, that he wants to put on a good show for Yuta.

Once you’re prepped enough, you feel the tip of his cock circling your hole. You both groan when he sinks the tip in. Unlike the other times, Mark doesn’t wait for you to adjust. He pushes into you roughly.

You cry at the intrusion, already feeling the first batch of tears painting your cheeks. Around this time, Mark usually pulls out and apologizes, checking if you’re okay. He’s turned into a completely different person in front of Yuta.

You grip the sheets as Mark relentlessly pounds into you, stretching you harder than he has before. It isn’t painful at all because even though Mark is rough with you, he always knows how to make you feel good.

You’re incoherently blubbering for him. “Y-Yes, feels so good. Feels s-so good, baby. Such a big cock inside my small little hole. So good, so good.”

Mark grunts, fingers tangling into your hair again. “Yeah? You like it when I fuck your tight little hole? You like making a show for Yuta?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you sob.

You can barely make out Yuta’s figure as he grows closer to you, wiping away the tears on your cheeks.

“Aren’t you such a pretty sight? Really selfish of Mark to keep you all to himself.”

Mark pinches your clit and you scream, diving headfirst into your second orgasm. Mark hisses as you clench even harder around him, pulling you as close as possible before shooting his cum deep inside you. You both release little moans as you recover.

Yuta laughs when you both are done. You swear you could pass out right now and sleep for at least twenty four hours straight.

The ringing sound echoes in your ears again as Mark and Yuta quietly converse once more. You whimper when Mark pulls out of you, his cum dripping down your thigh.

“Baby?” Mark’s voice pulls you out of your reverie. “Yuta wants to ask you something.”

You blink as Mark gently flips you on your back again. Yuta’s eyes grow darker.

“Are you on the pill?”

You nod.

“Can I try something?”

You nod again.

Mark leaves you to go get cleaned up and you observe as Yuta pulls his cock out, tip leaking and begging for attention. He runs his hand up and down his shaft for a few times before lining up with your pussy.

“Can I?”

You nod again, feeling too tired to form words. You gasp when Yuta pushes in, his cock much thicker than Mark’s.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes focusing on how his cock disappears into your cunt. “So fucking perfect.”

He builds up a steady rhythm, and you finally understand what he wanted to try when he’s balls deep inside of you.

“Gonna breed you, doll. Gonna stuff my cum into your cunt until you’re dripping. Would you like that? Walking around with cum dripping out of both of your holes?”

You openly cry at his filthy words, clenching harder around him.

“Oh, pretty doll likes that. You think I’d never notice how many times you’ve tried to get Mark to fuck you while we’re eating dinner? How many times you’ve sat on his lap in the dressing rooms and tried to get him to fuck you in front of us? Naughtily little slut.”

“Yuta, Yuta,” you gasp, your third orgasm of the night building. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“Want to cum? Why don’t you cum for me then? Show Mark why he should be more protective of his girl.”

You follow his command, seeing white as you cum again. Yuta’s right behind you, still hissing dirty confessions.

“Always wondered what it was like to see you stuffed full of cum. Pretty little girl, just waiting to be bred all the time. Practically made to take cock.”

He growls and with a few more snaps of his hips, he shoots his cum deep inside you. You whine as his warmth fills you, Mark’s cum still leaking out of your other hole.

You feel absolutely used when Yuta pulls away from you. You didn’t even notice Mark had entered the room again until he starts cleaning you up. You smile sleepily at him.

“I hope that was okay.”

He presses a kiss to your lips. “More than okay. Get some rest, I’ll clean you up.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

As you slowly drift off to sleep, you faintly hear Yuta say, “We should do that again, I could die a happy man in your girlfriend’s cunt.”

#nct smut #mark lee smut #mark #yuta smut #yuta

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 3 years

Note

Idk if you do one shots inspired in songs, but if so, Would you mind doing one with a Taylor Swift's song which is called "The 1"? With Mason Mount please

< i love taylor so much and i really hope i didn’t completely butcher this, but thanks for the challenge :) >

MASON MOUNT ONESHOT

the 1

( WARNING: little bit of angst and fluff?, swearing )

word count: 1.8k

Things don’t often go as we expect them to, and it’s often incredibly difficult to replan your life around that massive change and adapt your lifestyle so you can — in reality — live again.

It’s like trying to find your feet when you’re in the air — it feels impossible but you know with time you’ll eventually meet the ground again.

That’s what it felt like when you and Mason broke up four years ago.

You were fresh out of uni and at the time, you really thought he’d be it for you, and honestly, so did he. A break up thrown into the mix of having to navigate adult life just seemed to put a huge stopper on all your plans; the holiday you two had both booked for a weekend away in Ireland, the meals out with friends that you had to cancel, and the house showings you were set to attend.

Looking back on your relationship now, you realise it wouldn’t have been the worst thing to end up with Mason. All the years and effort and time put into loving him were — without a doubt — some of the best years of your life (at that stage in life), and did you regret it?

Not one single bit.

But four years is the perfect amount of time to heal, remove the salt from the wound and finish grieving.

But he was here. In real life.

You’d imagined running into him in the supermarket or on a night out with your friends, but a bus stop?

That one was weird. Mainly because you both hated catching the bus with a burning passion.

But it lead to a catch up over coffee.

It was a quiet place, out of the way of the usual lunchtime hustle and bustle in the city, and for that you were grateful. You could hear your own thoughts.

It was awkward at first, you couldn’t keep your eyes from fixating on his figure, his features, because four years can really change a person. He was much broader, his hair a little shorter, but he was still that same Mason you once loved.

You knew that because the first thing he did when he sat down was offer you that cheeky, charming smile that had you hooked from the second you met.

He’d asked how you were, and you answered honestly: you were living well, your best life, and to the fullest. And you knew and he knew that it wasn’t a lie.

He could tell by the smile on your face and the new, sparkling band on your wedding finger. He half expected that blow to sting a little — that you’d found someone and he hadn’t, but he was never one to be bitter whatsoever, at least, not when it came to you.

Instead, he offered his congratulations and the only inkling of regret he held was not being there when it happened.

I guess you never know, never know,

And if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed,

And if you never bleed, you’re never gonna grow,

And it’s alright now.

There was silence after that.

You had one thing on your mind, and you knew by the way he was looking at you that he was also thinking the same thing.

You took a sip of your coffee.

He mirrored your actions, seemingly startled when you placed your mug onto your saucer, the chink of porcelain against porcelain echoing around the small shop cutting through the previous quietness.

“I think I hated you for a while.” You murmured, and if Mason wasn’t leant over the table slightly, he would’ve missed the statement completely.

He nodded in understanding, his brown eyes shining with the faintest hint of guilt.

“I think I was so frustrated with the idea that we just…didn’t work, and I blamed it on you.” You paused, fingers twisting your rings.

He paused, mulling over his words, “And now? Still hate me now?”

You bit back a small smile and met his eyes, “No…I think it’d take a whole load of bad shit to get me to hate you.”

He smiled.

“That’s good to know.”

“I mean, I think it was a long time coming anyway, that break up.”

“It didn’t feel right for a while.”

“No,” you agreed, “as much as it hurt to admit, I think we just failed…as a couple. There was a point where we were just together for the sake of not giving up on the relationship, but with no real reason to continue.”

But we were something, don't you think so?

Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool,

And if my wishes came true,

It would've been you,

In my defense, I have none,

For never leaving well enough alone,

But it would've been fun,

If you would've been the one.

He seemed to ponder over your words, and although he never voiced it, he came to the conclusion that you’d just put into words — perfectly — the itch that had been tickling his brain for the past few years.

“Despite that, you can’t deny that we weren’t something…” he started, before breaking off and shaking his head, as if the mere thought was ridiculous.

“We were something special. I think, had things stayed like they were in the beginning, that…you and I…” you waved your hand, tilting your head, and he nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Me too. I think…in another life we could have made each other happy. It would have been fun.”

The words ‘if you would’ve been the one’ echoed in your head, and despite the passive aggressiveness of your conscience, you found yourself holding back a smile.

“Water fights in winter and eggs with ketchup…perfect. I’d never have gotten tired of that.” You mused, and he spluttered slightly on his coffee, laughing along with you in what felt like a decade.

I have this dream you're doing cool shit,

Having adventures on your own,

You meet some woman on the internet and take her home,

We never painted by the numbers, baby,

But we were making it count,

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now.

“Then again, who knows? Maybe you’ll fall over in the airport and some lucky person will help you off the floor—”

“You’re about to say something cheesy, aren’t you?” Mason covered his mouth, scrunching his nose in anticipation as you nodded.

“All this nostalgic bullshit has me emotional! I swear, just this once…just this once, and I promise you can laugh about it afterwards.” You swore, holding out your pinkie for confirmation.

He didn’t hesitate, and linked your pinkie.

“You’ll find someone else. It’ll be love at first sight—hey, let me have this moment…maybe love at second sight, knowing you… you’ll go to some really magical place and have the most amount of fun you’re ever gonna have…hikes, skydiving, looking after animals I’m sanctuaries…you’re gonna have the time of your life — like Grey and Swayze.” You sniggered, unable to hold in your laughs at the ridiculous scenarios.

Mason pulled a face, unable to hide a smile.

“Okay, okay. End of story: they’ll be perfect. The Chandler to your Monica or the Robin to your Ted. But, you understand what I’m talking about, right?” You asked, sighing out of frustration.

“You’re saying I’ll find my person.” He concluded, sitting back in his chair.

“Yeah.”

We were something, don't you think so?

Rosé flowing with your chosen family,

And it would've been sweet,

If it could've been me,

In my defense, I have none,

For digging up the grave another time,

But it would've been fun,

If you would've been the one.

“Like…your grandma and grandad. I want what they have.” Mason smiled.

“They’ll be pleased to hear that,” you said, “I don’t think they’re quite over us yet. You were too…you at family meals. They fell in love with you too.”

This time Mason really laughed. Really laughed. He threw his head back and the people working at the counter turned to look at him, fighting their own smiles at his carefree nature.

What you’d said wasn’t even that funny.

“Too me? Thanks, I think?”

“Oh, that’s definitely a compliment. You’re too damn charming for your own good, it’s a problem. You should come with a warning label on your forehead: EASY TO LOVE.”

“That’ll solve a lot of problems.”

There was silence.

It was relieving to say the least.

“That whole conversation was about four years too late.” You said, pursing your lips.

“Better late than never.” Mason murmured, his eyes trained on you.

The pressure on your shoulders was lifted. All the things that needed to be said were said.

As time passes, the wound heals — sometimes, but in your case, that was true, as hard as it was to come to that conclusion — and it suddenly became easier to recall the loss of what might have been without bringing you back to wishing it would be again.

It was nice.

“Would it be totally inappropriate—”

“Not at all.” You interrupted, shrugging at his raised eyebrows.

“You didn’t know what I was going to say.” He chuckled.

“I’ll have you know that years of knowing you granted me the issue of knowing what you’re going to say,” You said, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction.

“What was I going to say?” He challenged, “If you get it right, I’ll get you tickets to the next game.”

You raised your brows.

“Confident, are we?”

He shrugged, a smug smirk on his lips.

“I don’t think it’s totally inappropriate to be friends.” At your words, he slumped in his chair, hands going to cover his face.

“No.” He groaned, repeating the word like a mantra as you pumped the air with your fist.

“Three tickets to the next game in the bag.” You bragged.

“Honestly.” He whined, peeling his hands away. “Why are you so difficult?”

“You offered the terms.”

“Why am I so dumb?” He rephrased.

“Ah, I'm afraid only you can answer that one.”

“The brain cells I have left don’t have enough energy to come up with an answer to a question as philosophical as that one—yes, it was philosophical to me, okay?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” You promised, putting your hands in the air in surrender.

“Just remember who’s going to give you those tickets, yeah?” He teased, sitting up.

“Abusing your power, nice move.”

“Oh…shut up.”

“Weak.” You coughed, trying to disguise the fact you said anything.

He looked straight at you, highly unimpressed by your tactics.

“Very original.” Was all he said.

“Is it supposed to be this easy?” You blurted out, spitting out the words before you could rethink the consequences of them being thrown into the abyss between you and Mason.

He knitted his brows together in thought.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, “but we were friends way before, it’s not hard to fall back into old habits. I think that’s why it’s so easy.”

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