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taybatwo2 · 1 year

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Spelldon Monster High Custom

Once I saw that G3 Deuce had green skin, I knew I had to try my hand at making Spelldon Cauldronello. I re-haired him and flocked the sides of his head with yarn to imitate dreads. I sewed him a jacket, shirt, joggers, and socks. I made his little potions (out of beads), earrings (also out of beads), necklaces, gloves, pointed ears (I wish I could have gotten them smoother, but they were so delicate that I could not sand them without them breaking), shoes (out of paperboard and papier-mâché), and repainted his face (my first full face repaint and daaang was that difficult to try and make his eyes and eyebrows look related to one another).

He’s not perfect, but he was super fun to pose and creating him was a HUGE learning experience (like to start sealing all of my thread knots with fabric glue).

You’re more than welcome to draw fanart/make your own based on mine, just tag me- I’d love to see them. Feel free to comment what you like/dislike think I should improve on. :)

Edit: thank you for all the sweet comments in the reblogs guys. You’re all making my day. :)

More under the cut

Close ups of his left side (I like how this ear turned out the best).

And his right side. I couldn’t get this side smoothed out to save my life, haha. Hopefully his earrings distract enough from it. Keeping beads from old bracelets come in handy! These were just the right size for him. I repainted the lower earring in black, with a stripe of purple, and added silver Ancient Greek designs on either side.

One more close up of his left ear and earring (I added a purple pentagram in the center of the silver Greek designs and the color shift sparkle paint around the rim). His upper earring is the same as his right lower earring, but has an orange stripe.

His face-up took awhile, but it is very rewarding to finally give him a face. I tried to make it look like the factory g1 monster high face up and took a lot of inspiration from his older sister Casta’s pupils. I gave him darker purple eyes, with the yellow/gold zig-zags. I gave him three moles, instead of just the one that Casta has, to mix it up a little. I did take a little inspiration from G3 for his eyebrows to add some orange and purple streaks in the front and a cut in his left eyebrow (I don’t know if that is still trendy, but I think it looks cool). The eyebrows are still not super symmetrical, but I already sealed it. I went back and forth on what I wanted his lip colors to be (I know I wanted something two toned) but finally decided on a dark purple upper lip, with a green outlined lower lip.

Also G3 heads are SUPER difficult to try and reattach (and remove) and have to be VERY squishy to put back on their bodies (even after I had trimmed down the neck peg).

Okay, onto his wardrobe! I wanted to imitate Casta’s color pallet: black, orange, purple, silver (and sparkles and studs), while bringing in more “witchy” themes (the buckles, stripe socks, and pentagrams), and his scaritage from his mama Circe (hence the potions, boars on his shirt and shoes, the greek vase designs and the boar designs being black on orange -like the Ancient Greek vases). Even on the Greek designs, I put some teeny tiny pentagrams (namely on his jacket sand socks).

His jacket took the longest (his shoes were the second longest). It is fully lined (the sleeves have a white lining to keep staining to a minimum), and working pockets. I liked the sparkly material I found, but does it shed like crazy (I used it for his collar, cuffs, pockets, and the bottom of his jacket in the back, and wrong side-out for his sleeves -they still have silver sparkles showing though and it doesn’t shed…but it will catch on things). I used thin ribbon for the outside of his pockets (next time I will fabric glue the ends shut on all my ribbons and a thicker ribbon for the bottom of his coat), and bent some wire into buckles. I also used ribbon wire and looped black thread over it to make it look like a zipper. I used fabric paint for the pattern down the front and REALLY hope it stays on there.

I really wanted a mesh back to his coat (I love how that part turned out), and then added this purple sparkly ribbon to his sleeves. He was going to have another pentagram in the back but it was too much (but it left a cool shadow of the star after I removed it).

His gloves are made of mesh and ribbon (with glitter fabric glue continuously added on top of each other, and then painted silver, to make the spikes on his knuckles -same thing I did with his choker and shoes). His nails are painted black with the same color flash glaze paint as part of his earrings.

Okay onto his main outfit without the coat (he’s much more fun and easier to pose without his jacket).

“Spelldon, please move your necklace out of the way, so we can see your shirt better, thank you.”

Close up of his wild boar and Greek vase designs on his shirt (done in fabric paint). I REALLY love how the boar turned out as I was SUPER nervous I was going to mess it up. Having a boar/Greek vase design on an orange shirt was also inspired by @spookberry ‘s design of Spelldon. His necklace pendant was another bead I had (and it worked great for attacking thread too).

Side and back of his outfit (you can see some of that stray black glitter).

“‘Scuse me Spelldon, can you lift your shirt so we can see you joggers better? Thank you.” His joggers/capri’s and socks were inspired by @peppapigvevo ‘s Spelldon design. Once again I used ribbon, that sparkly material for his waistband and cuffs, and silver fabric paint for Greek vase design.

I attached a chain to his joggers and added these potion bottles (while Casta looks like she uses more magic spells and incantations through her singing, I like to think Spelldon uses potions -more like his mom). I made these potions out of wire, beads, thread and air-dry clay.

Onto his shoes and socks. I made the shoes out of paperboard and paper-maché. I wanted them to be boar themed while still having pentagrams and studs on them. They turned out a bit wonky (and a tad too long -but it helps him stand up, haha), but I spent too much time on them to redo them, haha. His shoe sole I also painted with that sparkle flash glaze paint too. I also gave him the striped socks, because I love striped socks and tights on witches.

“Thanks for holding still Spelldon, and being patient with me.” I’m going to make another post or two with comparisons with his sister, some of my other customs, and some vampire that claims he knows him or something, heehee.

Oh yeah! My sketches for him:

#spelldon cauldronello #spelldon #monster high doll #monster high dolls #monster high #mh #doll custom #monster high custom doll #monster high custom #spelldon doll #spelldon Custom #customsbyaleta

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yanderederee · 15 days

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Alright, let’s talk about Ken Wakui’s newest work

Negai no Astro

Or Astro Royal, whatever you prefer.

I will be giving no blatant spoilers in this post, only speculations:)

Manga PV here; ITS SO GOOD!!!!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯✦

Let’s get the obvious out of the way, Ken Wakui has a very distinct art style. And I love it! A lot of people are making fun of it (mostly on Twitter/X), and it’s really sad. I love his style, and character development.

I have high hopes for this manga, and want to paint a picture of what to expect for those who also want to get into it♡

Let’s start Character Designs

—our main-trio—

We’re only one chapter in so far, so we’ve only met the main two boys, Terasu and Hibaru (left to right).

Terasu Yotsurugi - 12th Son

Loving Terasu’s take-no-shit personality so far. Simultaneously, he seems very kind and loyal to Hibaru’s ideals.

Terasu is giving Ryusei/Chifuyu lovechild.

Hibaru Yotsurugi - only Biological Son

I love Hibaru’s chivalrous/“old-fashion” ideology. He may seem ‘generic shonen protagonist’ right now, but i don’t care. I will appreciate him.

Hibaru is giving Mikey/Takemitchi lovechild.

As for our blue eyes beauty over here, we have yet to see her yet. She seems very cute though.

She’s also giving lovechild vibes; Senju/Hina specifically…

—The Yotsurugi family—

There are 13 Siblings of the Yotsurugi family, whom has a history of being Yakuza.

12/13 Siblings are adopted.

So far, we only have designs for 11 siblings.

We do not know a lot of names thus far, WHICH I NEED BTW, so let’s go over what we do have, and my first impressions of them.

—Names going Left to Right per image

Shio Yotsurugi - Eldest Son

He’s giving Timeskip!Taiju vibes. Anyone who says he looks like Ran…. I can’t see it. He’s too beefy- sorry.

I just know I’m not going to like this guy.

Has a lot of the people’s support, but not mine.

Probably thinks he’s going to make the family better when he’s really ruining it:(

Unnamed Glasses Guy - maybe 2nd Son?

Mmmmm no thoughts.

Token megane character—

Probably corrupt.

I hope he proves me wrong.

Kou Yotsurugi - 11th Son

Middle child vibes

He will be deranged and misguided.

Probably “hates” Hibaru because he’s so much like their father, who I assume he respects, but doesn’t agree with.

He probably secretly admires them both though.

Unnamed Hottie - maybe 9th Son?

MINE. 👹👹👹 RAPID. FERAL. BARKBARKBARK—

I NEED NAMES, NOW WAKUI. NOW.

Who is he. Where was he. I must know.

also lowkey giving Angry’s blue-ogre vibes…

Based on vibes alone, I lay claim. Awoogaawooga♡

Didn’t appear in chapter 1 though so:( </3

Unnamed ScarGuy - maybe 10th Son?

Eyes always closed, speaks with ♡ at the end of his sentences…

Seems charming. I mean, look at those eyelashes…♡

Wanna give him a kith.

I have a feeling he and Unnamed Hottie are biological brothers… not sure.

Wakui please, sir, just one chance—-

Unnamed BraidGuy - maybe 8th Son?

Mr. I’ll just stay in my lane. Respect.

Realistically, I think he’ll be my first/second favorite eye candy, depending on how these characters personalities/canons end up being explored.

I’m sorry I have a thing for men with long hair!

Cool earrings too lol

Seems neutral to who’s in charge.

Wakui, seriously, I CAN TAKE HIM—!!!

BENKEI???? - maybe 5th Son?

Has lion-like eyes and sharp canines….big nose

My size kink is acting up—no, please nO—!

Okay but seriously. I’m not sure what to expect from him yet.

He seems honest, but I can see him getting power hungry:(

Handsome Lady - Maybe 3rd Daughter?

Cooler older sister vibes.

Awoogawooga

Please be a lesbian or at least bisexual—

Seems logical and cool. Probably doesn’t coddle innocence.

Mr.BigNose - Maybe 4th son?

Uh-uh. No thanks. Not bc of his appearance, but bc his character is depicted as insufferable so far.

Probably sexist.

Probably too coward to admit it, but if things with the family bond start turning south, he’s the first one OUT.

Hehe I may have left this screenshot wide to show off the One Panel that shows Mr. Unnamed Hottie *twirls hair*

I mean seriously look at him I’m going to scream without the s

Story Direction and Expectations

I trust Wakui. The way he explores his stories is through character bonds and personal ideals.

This is one of the reasons why I grew so fond of Tokyo Revengers.

Plus… it’s Found-Family Gang activity. It’s my soft spot ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I would say Yakuza but I want to be respectful in how I throw that word around, so I’ll avoid it for now if I can.

The supernatural powers that get involved will surely lead to a type of succession war between the siblings.

“What it means to be strong” will probably be the fundamental lesson of the story.

I am so excited to see how Negai no Astro will progress!

Please support Ken Wakui however you can by reading Chapter 1 onwards!♡

#negai no astro #astro royale #ken wakui #Hibaru #Hibaru Yotsurugi #Terasu #Terasu yotsurugi #shio #Shio Yotsurugi #Kou #Kou Yotsurugi #yotsurugi family

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gaysindistress · 2 months

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Heretics and Flesh Devotees

Based on the poem Anorexic by Eavan Boland

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/pinterest and collaged on canva

pairings: azriel x fem!reader

Summary: Flesh is heretic. My body is a witch. I am burning it. And I am burning the man who condemned me to such a fate.

Warnings: mentions of abuse (not detailed), mentions of misogyny (not detailed)

Word count: 2.2k

Gaysindistress masterlist | azriel masterlist

My body has never been mine. It’s been owned, sold, bought, and branded by others time and time again. My body has never been mine to command and control as the authority in my life has. It’s disgusting to think that in the years since my birth, my body, my soul, and my will has been placed into the hands of others.

As a babe it was my parents although they did try to be gentle and kind. Their faults were found in the ones they left to care for me. The awful creatures hated me for a name I did not choose and wished their hearts’ cruelest desires onto me. As one would assume those desires became my reality as I grew older and started to fight back against them. Their words hurt but they bounced off where they once slashed. Their look stung where they once left burn gashes. Their foul intentions felt like flicks on my nose where they once felt like I’d been beaten to a pulp.

My body still wasn’t my own even though when I prayed for it to be returned to me. Boys who felt entitled to looks and touches tried to lay their claim to me. Men who felt like they deserved praise for caring for me tried to demand me in payment for their actions. Too jaded against it all, I turned to a creature that would prove to be far worse than any boy or man I could’ve been gifted to.

The creature I thought I would safety in begged for my eternal devotion and demanded that I give over whatever I could. He made me into a prisoner and my body into a witch that worshipped him.

Every molecule that made up my body, mind, and heart screamed when I began to fight against its urges. The enormity of my own craving made me sick when I wailed at the scorching of my secret ministrations.

At night, I poisoned my mind when it thought of him. I bruised my limbs when they carried me towards him. I broke what I had to when I tried to search for him. I destroyed myself over and over again until the thought of him made my stomach turn and my skin crawl.

The sick version of me tried to bend me and sent fever throughout me. In my delirium, her half truths felt like the sweetest angelic hymns. Whispering into my ear, she tried to coax me into slipping back into my old solutions.

I renounced her honeyed voice and vomited out her milky words. I renounced her hungered tongue and spat out her name along with his. I fused the flames that came when I thought of him with the spite I conjured and burned the bitch alive from the inside out.

Morphed into a starved and twisted soul, I laughed when he began to resent me. It took him months to realize that something had changed within me. I was no longer painted with soft edges and stunning features but carved into a curveless piece of skin and bone that mocked him. At dinners and events thrown in his favor, I sipped at my rotten wine while the women among me gossiped the state of my marriage. They did not utter a single word for how I seemed to be fairing but how the once holy union between him and I seemed to be slipping.

I sipped at the foul liquid until it stained my lips a violent shade of calculated vengeance. I pretended to swallow entire bottles and postured drunkenness so they would think I couldn’t hear the things they confessed to.

My husband’s heavy stare always found me as I slumped further and further into my chair, allowing him to believe that my pain to consumed me. The hungry leery he masked with an adoring gaze had faded into disappointment and disgust, so much so that eventually he stopped looking altogether. No longer did he pull me into his lap, his Herculean arms caging me in falsified comfort and demand to know what was bothering his beautiful wife.

Instead he found younger and more attractive women to watch and eventually fill his time with. Instead a young woman, borderline girl, with flowing locks of auburn hair and gentle curves became his new hobby.

Thin as a rib, my knife slept under my pillow. The feverish bitch within me cried and cried as she watched me plot his demise. It pained the other within me that withered and gasped for air to think I could even contemplate such a scenario.

Could I truly commit murder?

Could I truly force my husband to shuffle off this mortal coil?

The dueling fates were soon quilled when I turned in sleep to find claustrophobia looming over me. His warm body threatened to suffocate me while the haunting sound of his inner thoughts filled the breadth between us. Once I had been pulled into slumbers embrace by his heart beat’s gentle drum and quiet song of his breath but now it closed in on me and pressed.

I could not muster the strength to find my rib like knife nor move it from its hiding place. I promised myself only a few more days of this torture. Only a few more nights of slipping back into his bed before I set myself free.

I hadn’t intended on waiting for another few weeks but an uninvited guest coiled my plan into nothingness.

Azriel the Shadowsinger.

He arrived just as his name implied; as silently as the night and slithered his way in without resistance. He was a man born with charmed words that dripped from his silver tipped tongue and slid between pearly white teeth. A man known for his third eye, the Truth-Teller, that when he showed up on our doorstep, my husband begged him to stay for fear of his wrath. Like a shadow, he was present in every crevice of the house and was not seen. My husband’s ego got his way, tripping him up as he stumbled to accommodate Azriel, the embodiment of shadows with violent hazel eyes.

The woman my husband found to be my replacement took her role before I was revealed. Instead I was whisked away into a room hidden deep within the compound. She played the dutiful host and doted on her guests. She donned the gowns once crafted for me and wore the jewelry I previously did. She laughed at the jokes the men made and smiled sweetly at the husband she desired but would never love. She became the wife and I hated to see another take my place for I knew what awaited her.

I wanted to spare her. I tried to spare her but my efforts were in vain. She cried out when I told her to leave. She screamed when she saw my knife meant my husband. She fell into it when I tried to pull away from her ivory grasp.

As I said, I hadn’t intended on becoming into the personification of destruction but it was inevitable when I was given no other choice.

Blood drips from me and hits the floor beneath me with a deafening loudness as my husband stares at me.

A single question hangs in the air; “What have you done?”

“What have I done?” I calmly ask, arching a brow at the man who stands and dares to judge me. “The better question is what did you make me do.”

It’s a disgusting sight to behold; him pretending that I’m nothing more than a body of mangled bones and broken convictions molded by him. Dark as night and deafening as the ever present silence that fills when you’re dying, his gaze tries to weigh me down and fails.

Azriel smiles when he senses my anger and he becomes a conduit of my emotions as the twin sinister glint to mine flickers in his dark eyes. He reclines against the rotting wood walls like a feline would; regal and untouchable but lethal all the same.

My husband throws a glance to the blood that is pooling around me with disappointment before speaking, “Your actions are your own. Take responsibility for the carnage that you have created for once in your pathetic life. This is all your fault, y/n.”

My eyes narrow at his choice of words.

Take responsibility? My fault?

Fitting that he would choose to say that I need to take the blame for the actions I committed because of him. He had been the one to deem me an object to be bought and sold. He had been the one to make me in his image and create a wife he felt was worthy of him. He had been the one to turn my body into a heretic and I had no other choice but to burn her at the stake.

“Husband,” I start as I take a step forward while he takes one back, “What I have done is only because you forced my hand. Every drop of blood, scream ripped from raw throats, tears shed have been because of you.”

Azriel’s terrifying chuckle rings through the room, causing the remaining members of my husband’s house to drop their heads and hide their fear. The blood of their new lady of the house fills the room with a coppery stench and some have taken to covering their faces with their collars. As Azriel around the room, his chest swells with pride at the terror that he’s caused in them but it stills when he lands on me.

A creature who’s grown angular and unholy in the confines of her husband’s cage.

He smiles as he lets his dagger like eyes to slash across my frame.

“Enough of whatever petty martial bullshit this is about,” he dismisses with boredom thick in his voice. “You took something from me and I want it back.”

My husband attempts to fix the situation but the guest cuts him off.

“I said enough,” he seethes, gritting out the words between clenched teeth. The action tightens and sharpens his already pronounced jaw, giving him the appearance akin to a statue.

Within seconds my coward of a husband is lying on the ground, crying and begging for his lord as the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian, stands over him with his siphons glow a brilliant red.

“Please I don’t have it. I swear I don’t have it!” he begs while the bigger man growls before landing a swift kick to his stomach. “Take whatever you want, please. Anything and it’s yours.”

Cassian looks to Azriel and awaits his judgment. Azriel has not looked away from me this entire night. He’s still locked in on me as he nods. Cassian bends down and grips my husband by the neck, hauling him up so high his feet dangle helplessly below him.

“That’s a dangerous deal you’ve just made.”

My husband begs and begs for his own life but not for mine or even the wife he replaced me with as she lays on the floor in a pool of blood.

“If only I believed you,” Azriel sighs, “but I don’t and I’m not in the mood to hear any more of your lies.”

“Y/n..” my husband turns his pleading to me but I interrupt him with a roar of anger.

“Enough,” I hiss at him, rage boiling in my veins, “You used and manipulated me for years. I was nothing but a toy to brought out when you grew bored. You’ve shoved me off to the side and pushed me to my breaking point but now that the consequences are coming for you, you turn to me and expect me to help.”

Azriel has taken to prowling towards me now that my calm facade has dropped. He stalks me like an apex predator would their prey.

“Did you hear that, princess?” He poses the question to me and only me. “He’s offering you up like a prized goat when he could just give me what he took. That’s not very nice now is it? Seems a bit selfish doesn’t it?”

I attempt to sneak a glance at my husband but he catches my chin in a tight grip, “Don’t look at them, look at me.”

And I do. I’m met with a torrid stare that calls to that divinely angular and starving creature within me.

“You can have her! Take her, please! Please just don’t kill me,” my husband cries out as if I’ll be his saving grace. The sounds are muffled as the utter chaos that lives within Azriel’s heart soothes me into the fall.

I fall into the forked tongued embrace of this devilish man.

I fall into the need of a python that wraps itself around us both.

I fall into the heaving breaths that lunge my chest up and down as I stare at his lips.

I fall into the visions of heat, sweat, gluttony, and lust that awaits us.

Azriel visibly cringes before me at my husband’s words but waits for me.

“Well princess?”

“I want my freedom,” I demand and he flashes me a disastrously beautiful smile.

“Of course,” he promises me. “Of course, princess.”

#az imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #az x reader #azriel #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #heretics and flesh devotees az x reader

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typical-simplelove · 3 months

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Guilty (W. Nylander)

Summary: Based on the title song by Jordana Bryant, it's easy to hide your feelings for your best friend because, after all, you're guilty of loving him.

Author's Note: Hi! This is for @lifeofpriya for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: None that I can think of!

Word Count: 5k (Including song lyrics)

gif very generously made by @wyattjohnston :)

likes are appreciated, reblogs are better!

I've been working way too hard to act like I don't care If I got paid to hide the truth, I'd be a millionaire

Walking into Willy’s house always felt different from walking into your own house. Physically, it was different. The smells were different. The furniture was distinctly different from the ones your mother picked out. All of the wall decorations screamed Nylander in a way that you never knew possible until you saw those exact paintings. The pictures adorning coffee tables, shelves, and walls were different (obviously). All these differences were good, despite how different and odd it was.

Maybe it wasn’t the physical differences that impacted what you felt when you walked into their home. Maybe it was the smile and pat on the shoulder you got from Willy’s brother, or maybe it was the brief hug his mother always gave you, or maybe it was the way Willy would jump up and down until you took off your boots and coat before he could take your hand and drag you toward whatever toy or game he was obsessed with at that moment.

Maybe it was just Willy that made it different walking into his house in comparison to yours.

At your home, it was you and your family. While you loved your home and loved being at home, it wasn’t the same feeling as going to Willy’s house and seeing him. Part of him always made your bad days better. And that continued all through elementary school into middle and high school. You felt just as much at home with Willy’s family as you did with yours.

And a lot of that had to do with Willy.

One of the memories and traditions you have with Willy and his family is Christmas cookie decorating. Every Christmas Eve, your family and his would gather together and make and decorate cookies.

When you and Willy and your siblings were little, you would all watch your parents as they baked the cookies. You, kids, would sit at stools by the counter, drinking milk, and watching the cookies get made. Sometimes, you would play small card games—not getting in the way of the adults, making the cookies, and warming up with sips of wine.

That was how it was done.

As you kids got older, more freedom was given, and you were allowed to help with the baking but under strict supervision because after all everyone still planned on eating the cookies. Mostly, though, your favorite part was decorating the cookies. It wasn’t ever a competition, but between you and Willy, it was a competition. With that man? Of course, it was; everything is a competition to him.

It was always a competition of who had the most colorful cookies, who had the most realistic cookies, who had the least scary cookies, and who had the overall best cookies.

No one really ever wanted to judge the competition. It is always just you and Willy judging each other’s cookies, but because you were each biased towards your own cookies, no one was ever crowned a winner.

“Oh, come on, you know mine is better,” you would chide, sending him a sweet smile, hoping he’d also smile at you and declare your cookies better.

“They’re really not,” he’d reply, smiling at you, looking at you like you owned a sugar factor. “If anything, mine are better.”

An eye roll would always follow that because there was no way his cookies were better than yours, and oftentimes, yours were better because Willy just didn’t have that skill.

By the time all of the cookies were finished being decorated and all the milk drank, Willy ended up relenting, calling your cookies better. It didn’t take much nagging. By the time he relented, it would have been at least an hour or more since you bugged him about the cookies.

“I give up,” Willy would say out of nowhere. “Your cookies are much better than mine.”

“Really?”

“Mh-hm,” he’d tell you, nodding his head in a similar rhythm. “Always have been, always will be. That’s the way it goes. You always have been and always will be the better one between the two of us.”

Oh, the things those words did to your little middle school heart.

You look at me, I look away Wouldn't believe the energy it takes But I bet it shows, clear as a sign on the highway

It was sometime during your second year of university that you figured it all out. You were finally able to put words and attributions to the feelings and aura that surround all your interactions with Willy. For so long, you thought it was just an elevated friendship that you felt. You figured that all close friends felt what you felt whenever you were around Willy. Turns out, you were wrong on that front. It wasn’t just friendship. Sure, it was a deeper, elevated friendship, but it was love.

You loved Willy and have loved him for so long.

The little fireworks that explode all over your body when he hugs you or gently brushes against you are more than just friendship.

The warmth that consumes your body whenever he’s near you is more than just friendship.

The ability to know exactly where he was in a room without even seeing him means more than just friendship.

They were signs of love.

It was always more than just friendship, and it was always love for him, your best friend, your Willy.

And as much as you know that you want to tell him your feelings, you know that he probably and likely doesn’t feel the same way about you. You’ve seen the way he acted around previous girlfriends and people he liked, and he wasn’t that way with you. There was no comparison. So why would you put your heart and happiness on the line?

You weren’t going to tell him; you knew you couldn’t ever tell Willy just how much you loved him.

So you didn’t.

You were on the sidelines, and you were guilty of falling madly in love with your best friend. You were guilty of wanting his full and undivided attention. You were guilty of wanting his love and everything a life with him could bring. You wanted it all, but for the sake of still having Willy in your life, you knew you couldn’t say anything.

And you didn’t.

As you moved through university, moved around a little bit, trying to find the right job, you and Willy remained the best of friends. While communication occurred more through texts than phone calls, the connection never wavered. When you moved to Toronto, finally finding a job that fulfilled your needs and long-term goals, it was as if the puzzle pieces had finally fit in place.

Until you remember just how much you loved him and being around him reminded you of your life.

Every time he looked at you, sent a smile your way, laughed at one of your jokes, or praised you for one of your accomplishments, a little fire that only Willy could ignite would start and spark in your heart. There were little parts of your heart, mind, body, and soul that only were triggered whenever you were around Willy. You tried to set boundaries and give distance between the two of you, but sometimes, at the end of a long week or day, all you would want was to be around him.

He is the light and love of your life, and he only saw you as a friend. A close friend, a best friend, but still, only a friend.

It still pains you to think about the state of your feelings, but fully cutting Willy out of your life was going to do much more harm than good, you know. You know it deep in your soul, that’s why you’ve refused to fully step back from him and his life and orbit.

At the end of the day, all you were to Willy was a friend, and while you weren’t okay with that, you’ve found peace with it. You’re going to take in all the little moments with him, trying not to read into it too much, but you’re not going to hate yourself or be disappointed in yourself for soaking it in and loving it. Because, after all, you can’t control your feelings. It’s biological and psychological—things you can’t control.

You were guilty of falling in love with Willy, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

So, you’ve resulted in being his friend, and for the most part, you were okay with that.

Really.

Or so you tried to convince yourself.

That I'm guilty of love, guilty, so what? I'm guilty of thinking of you too much These feelings just won't quit So I'll admit it I'm guilty of you stuck in my heart Guilty of wanting to be in your arms Wanting a kiss, wanting a call, wanting to fall I'm guilty of it all, all, all, all, all

“Hello, hello,” you hear Willy’s voice echo from the front door from where you’re sitting in your room. With a slight smile on your face and your face heating up, you walk out of your room to find Willy shrugging off his shoes, and bags in his hand.

“What’s this for?” you ask, helping take the bags from his hand, and leading him towards your kitchen.

“You know how we’re going to that concert in a few months?”

“Sure.”

“I figure that we could make friendship bracelets for them,” Willy says, hiding a cheeky smile, his cheeks burning red.

“Yeah?” you confirm, too, concealing a familiar smile.

“I figured it’d be fun to binge-listen to their discography as we make bracelets.”

You nod, trying to hold in and push away the feelings blooming deep in your heart. This man, oh, the things this man could make you feel with an afternoon of crafting.

With an emotion that can only be described as giddiness and elation, Willy pulls out the various friendship bracelet kits and separate bags of beads in your and his favorite colors in addition to various types of string. In doing so, he said various things that made your stomach clench, but for the sake of your heart and long-term plan, you pretend you’re not feeling those feelings.

“I didn’t know which type of string is best, so I figured we could just go with trial-and-error.” “There are more beads of your favorite color because I guess you’d rather wear those colors more than your lesser favorite colors.” “I remember you telling me the color of the outfit you planned, so I also got more of those beads.”

You couldn’t help the wide smile on your face with every word that left his mouth. Who knew this man could be so precious and thoughtful? Well, you did know just how precious and thoughtful he could be because, after all, you did fall in love with him.

“Are you ready to get started?” he asks, eyeing you, giving you curious but nervous looks. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I could always return it.”

Oh, he was so cute when he was nervous.

“Willy, I promise that I want to do this,” you reassure.

“Okay,” he breathes out. “I’m just going to go get some water.”

You nod, watching as he seamlessly maneuvers around your kitchen, grabbing water, snacks, and drinks for the two of you. The way he easily fit into your home life caused a knot in your throat. How easy would it be for him to fit and fill into the remainder of your life? Well, the delusional thoughts were going too far now; it’s time to pack those away.

As you and Willy began to make the bracelets, you managed to have fun, pushing away thoughts about you and Willy being more than friends. If you were going to survive your friendship with him, then you were going to push those thoughts to the back of your mind, choosing to remember the platonic moments between the two of you.

This plan went down the drain when Willy was having difficulty putting the smaller, letter beads on the string and you had to help him. As you helped him with your technique, your fingers often brushed against his. The roughness of the tips of his fingers but the softness of the palms of his hands overwhelmed you.

This man.

One day at a time is the way to go, right?

Yeah, I don't mind At least these words ain't locked up in my head Those eyes that smile Guess I was buying time 'til I confessеd

It was inching closer and closer to midnight, well past the time you should be in bed to have a decent amount of resting time before having to go to work tomorrow. But, it was as if your body wouldn’t let you finish your night routine and make your way to your bedroom.

You were sitting on your couch with a re-run of one of your favorite now-ended sitcoms playing in the background. It was as if you were glued to the couch. As much as you wanted to get up, you knew you couldn’t and wouldn’t.

It’s not like you don’t know why you’re stuck on the couch. You know exactly why you’re stuck there, and the reason just pains you more and more. It’s not like it’s his fault that the picture he posted on his private story would freak you out or pain you. It’s his prerogative. He’s allowed to hang out with whomever he pleases, and if they’re pretty girls with long, gorgeous legs, then so be it. He had his own life, and he was allowed to do whatever he wanted.

There was a reason why you haven’t told Willy your feelings for him, and part of it is the fear that he doesn’t have feelings back for you. And, with that territory comes the idea that he’ll be spending his time with other people—other girls. You know how important it is for him to find a life partner, so of course he would be doing that on a night off when he didn’t have any early plans or obligations the next day.

That doesn’t mean your decisions and choices don’t haunt you and cause you visceral aching.

This now leads to why you’re currently sitting on your couch, unable to move, shocked at the pictures you’re seeing on his private story. He’s all over this girl, and this girl is all over him. Good for him, you think because this girl is gorgeous. Good for her, too, you follow up because Willy is a great person.

As the clock struck midnight and the minutes into the new day got closer, you kept replaying his story, overanalyzing the images, trying to see if there were any signs that he was being held captive. Because that could be an explanation, right?

By twelve-thirty, wiping away stray tears, you decide to get up and go to bed. This wasn’t going to help your feelings or make you feel any better. You’ve been good at hiding your feelings (at least you think so). This means that there’s no reason for him to think you want anything more than friendship with him, so why else would he be waiting around for you? You’re sure if you gave him a sign, then he would act on it if he felt any particular way about you. You also know that Willy is a confident person, so if he felt anything more for you, then he would make it clear. He’s not one to keep things hidden; he wears his heart on his sleeve and makes his thoughts and intentions clear. He would have told you or given you a sign.

Therefore, you conclude there shouldn’t be any reason for you to be upset by his hanging around this other girl. He has a right to do whatever he wants, and he does not need to listen to you or report to you.

With that, you place your phone on your nightstand and finish getting ready to go to bed. As you’re brushing your teeth, you tell yourself that you’re not going to check Instagram one last time before you sleep. You know that if you see another photo of him—regardless if anyone is in the photo with him—you’ll spiral and obsess over every little thing. He’s one of your closest friends (and vice versa), so every little thing that seems different in a picture, phone call, or text sticks out to you. You tell each other everything (for the most part), so little changes are interesting and concerning. And you want to notice something different so that you have a reason to text him or call him in the morning and bring up his night out. You wanted any excuse to bring up his night out without sounding jealous, bitter, or judgmental.

But for your sanity, you’re not going to check his story again. It wouldn’t do your mental health or relative stability any good.

By the time you’re ready to go to bed, you’ve considered picking up your phone at least two and a half dozen times, but surprisingly, your self-control is holding strong.

But you can’t fall asleep, constantly tossing and turning. It’s a quarter after one, and all you want to do is call him. Even if it’s not about his night out or anything important, you want to talk to him. His smooth, deep voice never fails to put a smile on your face and calm you down. In some instances, his voice can put you to sleep.

As much as you want to call him, part of you knows that you’ll be nosey and ask about his night out and what he did, and just hearing what he did—whether or not he tells you the truth—will pain you in ways unimaginable. You want to know, but you also don’t want to know. Though, you still want to hear his voice.

Man, having crushes and being in love is so embarrassing sometimes. Why, just why??

You don’t call him, and end up falling asleep a little while later after tossing and turning. It’s for the best, you reason. You wouldn’t know what would happen if you talked to him. Maybe it’d be best just not to bring tonight up at all, you know, out of self-preservation.

Little did you know, Willy was sitting in his bed, alone, trying to find any reason or excuse to call or text you. Just so that you had something to wake up to from him in the morning.

So now you know, so do all my friends And the town's smaller than it's ever been They all know

After obsessing way too long about the pictures on his story from that night a few weeks prior, you thought you had gotten over it. You thought that you could ignore the ugly feelings of jealousy and dread deep in your stomach weren’t there. You thought you could look at Willy and not immediately picture the images of him with that girl.

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t like he knew what him living his life was doing to you, and you weren’t angry at him. You were jealous and sad and wished you could control these ugly feelings. You wished those images weren’t seared into your memory, but they were, and you felt those feelings.

But the way you felt when he smiled at you greatly topped the other feelings you had.

Until he flashed that smile, those sparkling eyes, that persuasive tone to some random girl at the bar.

It wasn’t the same person from the other night (you would know; that image is burned into your memory for the rest of your life). It was someone else, but from the way Willy was looking at her, he seemed into her, despite only meeting.

The bartender had just taken Willy’s order, but within seconds, he was flagging them down again and asking that girl for her order. Once it was taken, his hand was low on her hips as he pulled her closer to his body.

He was whispering into her ears, and it made your stomach drop. It felt like you wanted to throw up, but you were wedged between some friends. A glance at the bathroom’s long line made you realize that the chance of a swift escape was futile. He’d be waiting for you, and at this moment, you didn’t want to explain to him why you didn’t want to talk to him.

It wasn’t like Willy knew what he was doing when he was doing this. At the end of the day, you and Willy were just friends, so it didn’t matter.

But.

But, oh gosh.

Weren’t you just so guilty for the way it made your heart patter every time he glanced at you? Weren’t you so guilty for how happy it made you feel when you’d look over at you and you’d see that he was already looking at you? Weren’t you incredibly guilty for how happy it felt when he chose to sit next to you? Weren’t you incredibly guilty for the happy feelings you felt when he’d text you, even if it was over something mundane?

All those happy feelings were flushed down the drain by the way Willy touched that girl’s hair and lingered his fingertips down her neck. It wasn’t his fault, but the way you felt couldn’t be controlled. While you recognized that, it still hurt knowing you couldn’t have your best friend like that.

You’re gripping your glass tightly, hoping that none of your friends can sense your inner turmoil. They would try to get you to talk to him, or they would try to get you to get over him. Neither of those options was one you wanted right now. Or maybe ever.

When you happened to look up at Willy and that girl, shock hit you as you watched him already looking at you over the girl’s shoulder. She was whispering something to him, but all he was doing was looking at you. By the way that she was pulling at his hair, it was something intimate, but he was staring with his eyes open right at you.

That was weird.

Right?

Clearing your throat for no one, you broke the intense stare and looked down at your phone, checking your phone for the millionth time. You’re staring at the notifications on your lock screen so intently that you don’t notice Willy slide into the booth next to you.

“Was she not your cup of tea?” you ask, internally smacking your face for asking that.

He shrugs. “She’s really pretty, and I’m sure she’s a great person. I just wasn’t feeling it.”

You snort. “That’s such a dude thing to say.”

“Hey!” Willy says, feigning annoyance, slightly pushing your arm. “I have my eye on someone else, so it would be fair to that girl.”

“If you have your eye on someone else, then you should just tell them,” you reply, your heart beating rapidly. “If they know what’s good for them, they won’t turn you down. I can promise you that.”

Willy’s eyes are intently staring at you.

“Okay,” he replies, eyes not leaving yours or blinking. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you answer.

“Okay,” he responds, the air thick with tension. If he wants to say something else, he doesn’t. Either he loses his nerve or it’s the burst of laughter to your right that strikes him out of the trance.

Not you, though. You’re not entirely sure what just happened. Did something just happen?

I'm guilty of love, guilty, so what? I'm guilty of thinking of you too much These feelings just won't quit So I'll admit it I'm guilty of you stuck in my heart Guilty of wanting to be in your arms Wanting a kiss, wanting a call, wanting to fall I'm guilty of it all, all, all, all, all I'm guilty of it all, all, all, all, all

At first, you didn’t think it meant anything. It was a common saying, and you said it all the time. And then he kept on saying it, and you figured that he was just feeling insecure in his friendship or maybe his job or maybe just in his life in general, so you responded and just helped him know he had you as a friend. You didn’t think it meant anything until it did mean something and you realized what he meant.

“I like you,” Willy told you one day while watching a rerun of your favorite show.

“I like you, too,” you reassured, patting his hand before grabbing the next pencil crayon for your color-by-the-number coloring page.

“What?” you heard him mumble. He shook his head to himself before turning back to the show.

The next time he did it, you and Willy were walking through the grocery store, finding snacks to bring to an upcoming football night.

“I think four bags of chips should be more than enough, considering we’re also bringing cheese and crackers,” you said out loud but mostly to yourself.

“I like you,” Willy responded, grasping a bag of chips on the shelf.

“I like you, too, but that doesn’t mean we need five bags,” you commented. “Unless, you wanted that bag for your apartment, then do whatever you want.”

With that, you grab the shopping basket and start walking down the aisle toward the next thing you need.

And it kept happening. At random moments, he would just tell you that he liked you, and it didn’t really click in your mind. In a sense, you’re similar. When things get tough in any part of your life, you reassure yourself of your favorite things in your life as a grounding technique. You didn’t think anything of his words.

Until he said it to you once, and his face was burning red—the only time you’ve actually looked at him when he said those words.

It was game night at your place. Well, a game night for you and Willy, and you were playing Monopoly. He had just landed on one of your properties, and you were looking down at the property listing to determine how much he owed you.

“Eighty monopoly dollars for New York Avenue please,” you said with a small smirk, looking up. You scrunched your eyebrows when you noticed the little beads of sweat at his hairline and how red his face had gotten. “It’s only eighty dollars, Will.”

“I like you,” he whispers, barely meeting your eyes. With his words, his face grew a deep shade of red, and his frantic blinking seemed to be what made you finally realize the meaning of what he was saying.

“Oh,” you whispered, unsure of where to go next. You’ve been in love with Willy for as long as you can remember, and now that you know he feels the same way, you’re not sure where to go from here or what to say. What does one say to their best friend that they’ve been secretly in love with for years and were convinced that there were never any feelings between the two of them?

And then all the times he said those words to you over the past few months came rushing back to you.

Months!

He’s been telling you he loves you for months, and you kept brushing it off.

You have to give him credit for not giving up.

But, you still have to face plant. And you do.

“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness,” you keep chanting to yourself as you push your chair back and make your way to your kitchen counter to get a drink of cold water. You’re both happy that you know but you’re also embarrassed at yourself for not noticing.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you hear Willy mumbling from where he’s sitting at your table just a few feet away. That takes you out of your trance. He must think you’re rejecting him.

“No, stop,” you blurt out, rushing towards him.

You’re standing next to him, and he shifts in his chair to face you. He’s staring straight ahead, not looking up at your face. Gently, you wrap your hands in his hair and angle his head to face yours.

“Did I do something wrong?” he whispers.

You shake your head. “No, I’m just an idiot.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for so long, and you didn’t say anything. At this point, it’s gotten pathetic,” he whispers, his eyes closing at the way you’re massaging his scalp. “Please tell me if I’ve gotten it wrong.”

“I got it wrong if anything.”

“Really?” Willy’s eyes open, lazy from being comfortable with the way you’re holding him.

“I like you, too, Willy,” you whisper. “You know, maybe I even love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “A lot, and I’m really stupid for not recognizing what you were saying. I guess I was completely convinced you could never love me that I didn’t take it as that.”

“Love?”

“Shit,” you murmur, pulling your hands out of his hair.

“I’m joking,” Willy says, smirking and pulling you down on his lap. “I love you, too.”

“Okay,” you smile, leaning in to give him a small kiss.

“Okay,” he replies, closing the space. “Always okay for you.”

You were guilty of loving Willy, but he was also guilty of loving you, so maybe it all worked out in the end.

Was guilty of love, so what? If I'm guilty of thinking of you too much These feelings just won't quit So I'll admit it

#willy nylander #william nylander #claudia writes #hockey fic #nhl fic #willy nylander x reader #william nylander x reader #op: 2024 #nhl writing #hockey writing

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homiesondaweb · 7 months

Text

Anybody order some Jefferson and Aaron angst😁😁😁 CUS I AM DELIVERING IT HOT AND FRESH 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

Also give me Aaron and Jefferson background or give me death!

_______________________________

Aaron sat on his motorcycle in the private alley behind his and Jefferson’s new studio apartment since they've moved operations from Harlem to Brooklyn. Snowflakes whisk around in the swift chilly breeze, its just start to stick to the ground as sleet. Aaron's Prowler gear is hidden under his bomber jacket as he checked his messages, refreshing over and over again but the top one still remained that same.

JD: 210, grabbin beer rn. Game should be on channel 12.

Code for: Urgent, meet me at 9pm at the base.

Aaron glances at the glaring 8:57 at the top of his blackberry. Sighing as he fully parks and cloaks his bike before using the fire escape to make his way up. There he finds his older brother pacing nervously, four black and milds burned to the plastic nub, he anxiously shakes a blue can of spary-paint and some jagged design that Aaron can only describe as panic personified is on the far wall that conceals some gear.

"JD! What the hell man? Had me buggin', Cottonmouth give you some BS or something?" Aaron asks, coming over and clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. Jefferson blows his current cloud of tobacco high out of Aaron's face before squashing the tip out and adding some flawless circles to the piece.

"I…Ri…we gotta get outta this shit bro." Jefferson bumbles for a moment and Aaron frowns a look of confusion.

"What? Fuck is you talking bout ? What about Rio?" Aaron asks and Jefferson groans and flops to the floor, letting the can roll away. He gives no care to his white hoodie as he sags against the wall of wet paint. Aaron feels creeped out by how young and dumb his brother looks at the moment. Like he's 15 and not 25. He doesn't like it at all.

Aaron squats down next to him and tries to pat out the glassy look in Jeff's eyes. His brother starts to breathe heavily, panic bubbling.

"Rio is pregnant! Like with my baby and I…."

"Damn." Aaron slides to fully sit and Jeff slumps forward and rests his head in his hands, forcing his own head between his knees and thring to steady his breathing. One of those recenter-ing tactics that Rio showed him probably.

"Jeff, if y'all need money fo-"

"She's pregnant wit my kid and Cottonmouth just had us stalk out and scare that one lady who was pregnant and what if that was Rio and-and that fucked her up. We've busted houses and collected in places with kids before what-wh- STOP!" Aaron shakes Jefferson's shoulder hard and the broader of the two of them sits up ramroad straight.

"Calm down nigga, you doin' that spiraling shit that Rio was talking about JD!" Aaron tells him loudly. He gets up and digs around in one of the drawers at the kitchen counter before pulling out a blunt then grabbing a forty of Olde English. He dumps the self medication in his brother's lap and Jeff just huffs and looks at it.

"So, Rio is pregnant. Is she too far out or something for the clinic? You know all we gotta do is call Bunky and she'd find a hanger lady for her."

"Fuck no! I'd never endanger Rio like that, fuck you nigga!" Jefferson curses as he pops the bottle and swings back the first quarter of it. Aaron holds his hands up to disengage him.

"Don't shoot the messenger for the truth bru. With the way you've been sloppy with Cottonmouth's and that new dude King's menace missions lately. I'd hate to have a vulnerability like that. We're getting to a new level in the game bro, that ain't just jacking bank trucks and doing snow drops anymore. A baby will fuck it up. And Rio will not be for this shit. Hell, she might even snitch you out when she finds out that your money from "Security" work ain't so clean."

"Rio would never snitch on me." Jeff glares and Aaron laugh around a puff of the blunt then passes it over.

"Yo girl not mine. All my pussy know what kinda life we live. Live the life we live. Work how we work. You the one who went over to the Heights and got a PR princess that's smarter than you in two languages. Rio's gonna learn the truth if y'all go through with a baby." Aaron tells him and Jeff continues a hard stare to the floor.

"... and just what should I tell her, Master Splinter, since you're so damn wise." Jefferson chuckles darkly with another deep drink. Aaron rolls his eyes.

"She's 23 and just graduated nursing school. She shouldn't fuck her life up with a baby and a bum nigga."

"I'm notta fucking bum!"

"Pretend Jefferson! Either give her the cash to get rid of it and y'all continue on. Or drive her off. She doesn't know the shit we do and we both know what it's like to be raised in the game. Hell, Cottonmouth knowing we brothers is already a slippery slope. You havin' too many folks you care about, known about? Will end up with them dead, we know this. It's why sissy stays down in Jacksonville and mind her own business. Prowler and Lurk have nothing to do with Lady Blue. Shit like that, keeps all of us alive." Aaron reminds him. Jeff growls out in frustration and drives a fist into the plaster of the wall. The blue target he painted earlier crushed within it.

"Fuck!"

"Jeff, what th-"

"What if I don't wanna do this no more."

Both brothers go quiet at the slurred confession. Jefferson gets up and finishes the bottle, Aaron sighs as Jeff rolls the wide bottle between his hands.

"JD le-"

"I don't wanna do this no more. It isn't helping anyone. It's not good for us. I-I keep seeing… keep seeing the eyes of those kids scared outta they minds because I have they daddy or mama's head bashed into the kitchen title. I'd never hurt a kid but… do they know that? What if, they saw me just on the street taking Rio out somewhere or just in the Bodega.."

"That's why we wear a mask, Jeff. Calm the fuck down."

Jeff let's the bottle roll to the floor. He goes to his closet and throws his black and red costume to the floor. The mask isn't much really. A dark red base with three horizontal black lines over his brows, nose, and mouth. Red circle lens adjusted to his prescription over the eyes.

This mask is the face of Lurk. Where Prowler dragged claws behind him to make up for his lean from. Lurk's knuckles were studded, they would beat and beat and beat fear into whoever was his assignment.

He hasn't killed anyone yet. Just destroyed lives. Scarred people. All for money.

Jeff didn't want Lurk's face over his anymore. Not when he saw the most beautiful thing in the world in the form of a gray blob on a sonogram.

"I feel like the baby is a boy, mi vida! I know we have to wait a few more months to know but…I just know!" Rio teases as Jeff snuggles her belly while they rest in her bedroom. Her belly barely has a pudge past her usual shape. She's only a month and half along in the pregnancy at this point.

A person that is half of him and half of the angel who landed in his life three years ago. Who already had a big head for 9 weeks and Jeff's heart in their hand.

"He's going to be a smart baby! I used to like reading, you know, if I had the time, then maybe. But lately, I can't seem to keep a book out of my hands, I crave them like Maduros! Isn't that funny Jeff?"

His son. Does Jeff really want to be part of a world that is already so cruel? A world made scary because of guys like him and Aaron? Is Jeff even a real man to have Rio bring his son into a life like that, just like his father had done for Jeff and his siblings.

"You're too pussy to wear this mask JD. Too weak to be Prowler. Look at your baby brother, Aaron does what needs to be done for real success. He's a real man, he can pick up the claws but you? A waste of muscle, you're gonna be a goonie all your life. At least your sister is a business woman. What the fuck are you?"

"She's 4 months along." Jeff whispers and Aaron shoots up at that.

"What! Why did you wait so long to tell me?"

"You were on a long mission. I didn't want to mess you up when you were on such a touchy mission."

"Jefferson! Be fucking forreal bro!"

"I am! Gotdamit, I am! I'm….I'm done Aaron. Rio had an appointment today and I was staring at that grainy ass black and white picture and… my son, he's beautiful already. Not even here yet I… I can't have him in this life… Miles deserve better. I deserve better… even you and Brynn. Dad was so fucking wrong for putting us into this shit. We deserve better! We need to j-"

Jeff is cut off from his ramble by Aaron punching him in the face. Jeff quickly takes him down right back, the two physically fight. Knocking into the walls, into the coffee table then to the floor. Jefferson pins Aaron under him, one of his knees painfully drives one of Aaron's shoulders to the floor while Jeff struggles to peel Aaron hand from around his throat.

"Why you always gotta prove dad right! You're fuckin weak, you ain't no damn man. You ain't logical!"

"At least I ain't playing dress up in my daddy's damn clothes! I'm tired of this goon shit!" Jeff yells before wrenching Aaron's hand off and twisting it away. He jolts when Aaron cries out as a sickening pop echoes through the room. He scrambles back at that, hands shaking, whatever highs they had somehow chased crashed in an instant.

He just hurt his brother. His damn baby brother.

"Aaron… Ronnie baby… I-"

Aaron lets it go with a strong exhale. He breathes in again and holds his wince as Jefferson carefully brings him to a sit, then leans him against the wall. Its plaster crumbles even further around them, probably asbestos.

"Just shut up Jeff. Just shut the fuck up!" Aaron yells out as he tries to breath through the pain of a shoulder twisted out of socket. He breathed deep, real deep, pulling at the sense of numbness their father had taught him how to do on his first kill missin. To stop him from shaking with pity for a human being (sympathy, empathy, he didn't want to fucking do it but his dad had never shown so much pride). Pity halts a clean kill and a big payday.

Jeff takes Aaron's swift punch to the chest, right above his heart. It winds him up a little. He lets Aaron do it again.

And again.

And-

"Dad gave us this. We're legends to the crime world."

"We are their favorite goons and that's it."

"Fuck you, Jefferson. Put my shit back in place and get out then."

"..."

Jefferson does as such. With a swift and practiced tenderness he puts Aaron's shoulder back into place. Slips it into a brace and hands his baby brother painkillers and anti-inflammatories custom from Doc Ock. Aaron drinks it down with half of the last forty in the fridge.

As Aaron simmers on the couch, Jefferson rolls up Lurk's costume and studded knuckle dusters in a bulky bundle. He sets the keys to his motorcycle on the kitchen counter along with his business only burner phone. He gets to the door and looks back at Aaron who stares coldly ahead at the 10 o'clock Breaking News broadcast. Some big name witness that would have broken a cartel case has been found dead. Thoats gouged out, nearly decapitated with clawed slashes.

"Your cut is in the trunk." Aaron says, his voice all soft, deep, and robotic. Jeff closes the door, he numbly makes it down stairs. He floats as he gets into his Cadillac and drives across Brooklyn to Jamaica Bay.

He burns Lurk to ash, the mask and embers impression in the fire before he buries it in the sand. Jeff lumbers back to the car and opens the trunk. Sure enough, there in a black duffle bag is Jeff's cut of, 75,000$. A one-third of the mission price him and Aaron did a joint job on. That was always the deal with the Davis siblings. Everyone gets one-third. Even Brynn taps a PO box twice a month with profit from her blow and information business. They send her their one-third back to her laundered through jewelry.

Jefferson throws up behind the car. Flashes of blood, crushed in faces, broken limbs, slurred pleas through broken teeth, a screaming child crying for the parent Jeff was crushing in his hands, dance through his mind at each retch.

He leans against it after a few minutes of that then rests his forehead to the cold metal of his car. Praying it cures his fever of alcohol and emotions. He can't believe how warm and flushed he feels. The snowflakes melted instantly and join the sweat on his forehead and neck.

"¡Ay bendito! Jeff! You've got to learn how to regulate yourself better, papá!" Rio would chide him for being so worked up this late at night. Or this early in the morning. It was nearly 1 am.

He closes the trunk on the money. He knows he'll need it. He got an apartment to buy, a home to stock and a nursery to make now.

Aaron wakes up sore, and aching. The TV watching him and the world is white and bright through the window. The weather lady drones about last night's blizzard. He goes through the motions of resting up, thanking God Jeff pulled all that foolishness during his down period after the mission of the night before last. He pads into the bathroom and takes the hottest shower possible, careful to clean his face and hands of dried blood.

He cringes in the mirror but applies a bandage to the cut over his cheek and rubs cooling salave over the bruises. He pauses at the grainy black and white photo of something with a big ass head tucked in the corner of the bathroom mirror.

In Rio's loopy handwriting with a white maker she's made a text bubble in the empty space next to the baby's head.

"Hey Tio' Aaron :D! I'm Miles!"

Aaron huffs, lips twitching up before he washes his face and head back to the couch to have the rest of his beer for breakfast. As he dips his head back he ponders that grainy photo, ponders a childhood of being raised to follow their fathers footstep into the legacy of mercenary work. Jeff is too fucking soft, their father handed them the skills of success on a freaking platter and he's letting a Spanish Mamí and a baby stop that?

When nephew' gets here, I'm just gonna drop some stuff off to Jeff for congratulations and then I'm bouncing to Philly for a bit. Yeah, forget New York for a while. Forget Jefferson and what he swears I deserve.

#miles morales #1610 miles morales #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman across the verse #jeff morales #uncle aaron #aaron davis #miles morales angst #aaron davis headcanon #Aaron Davis angst #jefferson davis #Jefferson Davis angst #family angst

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moremaybank · 2 years

Text

KLAUS MIKAELSON ! ⊹₊ ✰ ⋆

fics !

waking up to you

waking up to your gorgeous boyfriend.

true love stands the test of time

you and klaus fell in love when he came to stay with your family, the demartels, in france. but he leaves you in the dust when problems arise. what happens when a millennium later, you and klaus reconnect due to a war between the sirelines? (based on the TO3 plot)

happy birthday, baby [18+]

klaus tells you he doesn’t want anything for his birthday, so you opt for a gift you know he’ll accept; you.

with or without you [18+]

date night with klaus takes a turn when he begins to tease you under the table.

to make her mine [18+]

klaus comes to mystic falls to begin siring his hybrids and he crosses paths with the woman he believes to be his mate. after weeks of pining after you, and a little help from fate, he finally manages to make you his. forever.

royal treatment [18+]

you come home to your boyfriend after having a bad day. he notices your mood and does everything to remind you of how much you mean to him

pregnant & restless

pregnancy complications cause your doctor to instruct you to take it easy until the baby is born. this leads you to become restless and therefore rebellious, but klaus refuses to let you get away with your mischief.

morning love [18+]

morning sex with klaus where he expresses his love and utter devotion to you.

bad news

a fic reminiscing on what it’s been like to have spent the past thousand years being klaus’s safe space as both his best friend and lover. (based on the song “bad news” by kehlani)

lessons [18+]

klaus introduces you to the world of overstimulation.

how i've missed you [18+]

you miss klaus a little too much while he’s gone and are forced to take matters into your own hands — even if he ordered you not to.

pour your heart out

klaus is working with a certain coven of witches in new orleans in an attempt to protect you from esther. the leader of the coven wonders if helping him is worth it. to quiet her doubts, she takes matters into her own hands, and this causes klaus to gush over his girlfriend.

tinsel & ties [18+]

after an argument, you try to make klaus jealous. in return, klaus has to let you know just how wrong that decision was.

together at last

you and the mikaelsons finally reunite with klaus after his five years of captivity.

paranoia

klaus goes too far while trying to protect you and your shared family.

work of art [18+]

one day, you enter the compound in search of rebekah, but you can’t seem to find her. what you do find, however, is a surprise waiting for you in her older brother’s bedroom.

how you get the girl

klaus pleads with you as he tries to win you back (based on the song “how you get the girl” by taylor swift)

nasty [18+]

you and klaus finally take the next step in your relationship (based on the song “nasty” by ariana grande)

blurbs !

pending…

headcanons !

courtship with klaus mikaelson [18+]

being katherine pierce’s sister and klaus having a crush on you

yandere klaus mikaelson [18+]

being klaus’s attractive and flashy girlfriend

being pregnant with yandere klaus mikaelson’s daughter

you and klaus falling for each other while you’re dating tyler lockwood

being klaus’s girlfriend while pregnant with his daughter (hope)

having sex with klaus mikaelson [18+]

elijah secretly being in love with you while you’re in a loving relationship with klaus

klaus being submissive to you, his girlfriend [18+]

klaus being whipped for you

being klaus’s girlfriend & muse while he paints you naked [18+]

klaus being obsessed with you | pt. 2

being a member of the mystic falls gang while klaus falls in love with you and tries to woo you

being klaus’s model girlfriend

being klaus’s beauty queen/contestant girlfriend

being the youngest mikaelson sibling where you’re close with the girls and you’re tired of the boys being overprotective

having sex with yandere klaus mikaelson [18+]

courtship with yandere klaus mikaelson

being a member of the mystic falls gang and having klaus wrapped around your finger

yandere klaus mikaelson meeting your family

klaus being in love with you and possessive over you before your relationship

klaus realizing you’re his mate after triggering his curse

klaus pampering you

would klaus like being called mr. mikaelson?

yandere!klaus stalking you before & after you start dating

playing on klaus’s love of control & power [18+]

fluff alphabet with klaus mikaelson

klaus trying to reconcile with you after a fight

drunk sex with klaus [18+]

vampire!mikaelson’s favourite place to feed from you

nsfw alphabet with klaus mikaelson

casual dominance with klaus

prompts !

pending…

tag !

#klaus mikaelson

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson smut #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries #the originals #the originals imagine

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hollycircling · 10 months

Note

would you consider dropping some tips on how you color? your art always has such a nice feeling to it

Thank you so much, and yes, absolutely!

So... I have been agonizing over how to answer this question for over a week because I tend to make a lot of my major decisions based on what looks and feels good to me in the moment. It’s sort of hard to explain. Then I started getting philosophical with it (“how does one color? How do I explain aesthetic?”), and I started rambling, and had to cut the answer way, way, way down lol.

But here’s what I can help with right now. I think the most important part of how I color is my tools and what they allow me to do. These are currently my favorite brushes to use:

From top to bottom, I use Kyle T’s Gouache for just about everything. A lot of my recent pieces are done entirely in that– I love the chunky texture and how the pressure mimics traditional gouache. It’s great for children’s book illustrations, and filling linework, and realistic portraits. She is my soft wife and I love her.

I practically never use the default hard round. Ignore that.

The roller brush is another one I use for painting. It was my go-to before KT’s gouache, so you’ll find it a lot in my older work (and as a big texture thing in my current works). The “Sampled Tip” below that one I usually use for children’s book styled illustrations. It’s like a really dense, waxy crayon, so it’s fun for textured lines and details.

I always paint in my own shadows and highlights, but I like to use the soft round if I want to blow the shadow or highlight out. It’s for extra large areas.

And finally my pencil. I use it for sketching as well as linework, if I plan on doing a linework-centric piece. I don’t think there’s much of a difference between the two there… one is probably smoother than the other.

______________

The reason why I like textured, pressure-sensitive brushes so much is because they’re important to how I paint. When I blend, I don’t use a blender brush or a smudge tool. What I do is layer two colors– lightly– then use the eyedropper to select the color between them and continue painting with it. That’s probably the key to most of my work. I’ve gotten pretty fast at it, so I’m constantly selecting colors from the painting and reusing it throughout my painting.

I still use the color-wheel to hand-pick what I think will look best, though. This is probably going to be a really frustrating answer, but I choose color palettes based on basic color/lighting theory combined with personal aesthetic preference. It can take some studying (of both theory and other artists’ work). If you’re ever looking for a really great reference on the former subjects, I highly recommend Color and Light by James Gurny. Even if you’re not into watercolor or dinosaurs or realism, the guy is a master at explaining all that different stuff in depth.

Shape and negative space are also pretty important to me, but that's a whole other thing. And as a side-note, I recommend following more children’s book illustrators. Their work may look simple, but a lot of intention goes into how they use color, shape, space, and texture.

Also, on texture, I hand-draw most of mine. I love to add little scratches and drops and splashes when the painting is almost over. It's one of my favorite things to do :')

____

Now, the other most important tip:

Once I’m happy with the sketch/linework, and once I’ve laid down the basic colors of my piece, I do a Really Terrible Thing. I become a graphic designer’s worst nightmare and collapse everything onto one layer.

Then I paint directly on top of it, linework and all.

I do this for a lot of reasons, but mostly because 1) my tiny brain is overwhelmed by the clutter of too many layers, and 2) it forces me to approach a piece as if it was traditional media– a process which I find a lot more comfortable and rewarding. I paint right on top of the base colors, and right on top of the linework, effectively redoing and cleaning up what I already have there. Even if I'm working with a blank background, I'll paint a new blank one on top because it gives the feeling of a more unified piece, if that makes sense.

Basically, I approach my drawings as if I’m using traditional media. I like chunky brushes, utilizing (what I personally think are) interesting color combinations and textures, and smashing everything down onto one page so I can just paint.

Anyway, please let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like me to go into detail on, any pieces of mine you’d like to know how exactly I went about it, etc etc etc. I’m happy to answer ^^

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writingpencil · 1 month

Text

The Rift

From the forming rips in the earth’s beautiful skin glowed purple; brilliant rays of lavender and magenta combined, with beams of light matching the stars, created wounds that expanded across all of the horizons. Buildings were cracked in half, shattered like feeble glass, and others disappeared entirely, neverminding who or what was inside. Villagers and animals ran from the purple, many unable to escape, crying out for the guardians of the continent.

The Hermit of the mines, TFC, had felt the earthquakes long before they arrived. He noticed the way the monsters began to cower, even ran past him, and how the bats flocked to him for protection. The older man was the first to encounter a rip in the underneath. It had nearly swallowed him whole if not for his quick thinking. TFC gathered up everything he could as the earth rumbled - including the bats - and scrambled out of his mines. Thankfully, the miner sustained few injuries. It was TFC, accompanied by a bird, who reported the strange phenomenon that allowed the other Hermits - the supposed guardians - to act.

Several Hermits had spread out, saving who and what they could. False had led the recovery charge, commanding her fellow Hermits with the grace of a true warrior. However, even with her leadership on the surface, many were unable to be helped. For every shulker of valuables Etho gathered, Beef lost several cattle. For every villager Stress saved, Tango wasn’t able to save entire farms - losing pounds upon pounds of redstone. It was a game of balance, an ability to win but with cost, and no Hermit knew how long they had.

In the meanwhile, the Admin had the rest of the Hermits at the source - as close as they could be, housed in the Entity that seemed unaffected. The Rift had grown significantly bigger, swallowing Grian’s base whole without thought, creating a massive crater. As if it couldn’t get any worse; Xisuma had started looking through code hours ago, but what was dubbed the Rift left no error in the code. There was nothing he could trace, nothing he could find, and nothing he could do. Xisuma looked at the Hermits who were’t on recovery. Iskall and Mumbo were some of the best redstoners, Doc was immaculate at breaking the established universe, Grian caused the entire mess, and Scar was leaning out of the Entity, trying to touch the Rift.

“Scar, no!” Grian grabbed Scar and pulled him back.

“Get a hold of yourself, Scar!” Doc yelled, pausing his pacing to do so.

Scar blinked. “But it reacts!-”

Xisuma shushed them. “We can’t lose a Hermit. Scar, stay away from any exits.”

“Why am I here then?!” Scar asked, confusion painted in his face.

“You’re-...” Xisuma stuttered. “You’re a terraformer! The Rift is terraforming the earth! We might- we might need you…”

“It reacts…?” Iskall mumbled, grabbing a piece of wood from a chest. The redstoner knelt by the entrance and threw the wood toward the edge of a deep chasm. He jumped back in surprise when a wave of purple snatched the piece of wood, pulling it into purple. “You guys saw that, right?”

Mumbo nodded, kneeling beside Iskall while Doc stood over them. “Why isn’t it doing that to the Entity?”

“It’s the Entity.” Grian answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“It could… be a safe space.” Doc said, moving the two redstoners aside to stick his hand out, only to pull it back when part of the Rift extended toward him. “It’s a safe space, oh dear malarky- Grian, how did you do this?!”

Grian scrambled. “I-I built it! It’s just colored glass and ender rods!”

“Ender rods…” Iskall tapped the side of his index to his lips. “Ender rods don’t have a history of teleporting items or people… but maybe there’s something in the glass its reacting to?”

“Glass is just sand-” Mumbo pointed out.

Doc let out a frustrated hiss .”Sand heated at one thousand degrees celsius - four thousand at fahrenheit… All of that done in furnace without us interfering. Nothing should’ve gotten into the glass-”

“Well, something did.” Mumbo said.

Xisuma checked the coding once more. “I still can’t find anything wrong with the code. We’re gonna have to go with the natural world explanation - as much as we hate it.”

“Or the unnatural.”

The Admit and Hermits looked at Grian, who approached the entrance with hesitation. His eyes of lack coal stared at his creation, his wings and body tense.

“Grian…?” It was Scar who called out his name.

With a sigh, Grian rapped his knuckles against the stony walls of the Entity.

“Get us down there.” Grian commanded, a faint purple glow appearing on his forehead, under his mess of curled bangs.

The Entity slowly began to move, its heartbeat becoming more alive, surprising the Admin and other Hermits. While the others grabbed on for dear life, Grian stayed standing at the entrance. Once the Entity stretched its legs, it began to crawl toward the crater, walking on the Rift as if it was another floor. Several chests slide around, but never went far, unlike the panicked screaming of the others.

Finally, the Entity stood at the bottom of the rift crater, where the living galaxy’s stars were most intense and clear.

Grian patted the Entity with a smile. “Good interdimensional being, good Entity.”

There was rumbling in the walls of the Entity, mimicking that of a purr.

“G-Grian… what the heck?!” Xisuma was panicking, more than he should. He witness the entire moon crashing onto a continent, yet a moving rock with legs is what scared him most.

“One problem at a time?” Grian looked down at the portal-esque galaxy. “This is as close to the source as we can get without getting absorbed.”

“As close, he says.” Iskall rubbed the stress away from his eyes.

“Yeah,” Mumbo followed. “As if we aren’t standing on it!”

Doc went by Grian’s side. “Wow… it’s kinda pretty…”

“Don’t get pulled in.” Grian warned, sending a glare Scar’s way. “This should help, right?”

“Grian…” Xisuma said, slowly, as if a warning. “Come here.”

Confused, the avian approached. “What is iiiiiiit- oh my Void-”

On the screen of code, the code had switched from the common tongue the hermits agreed on using, to one of ancient history. Grian’s eyes grew wide seeing it.

“Why would it…”

“And,” Xisuma added. “Yours and the Rift’s coding is the exact same.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What?” Mumbo was the first one to speak.

Xisuma nodded. “Furthermore… only a section of the Rift is present. The rest of the Rift - all the chasms and holes - are not showing up. Does this symbol look familiar?”

Grian tared at the screen, slowly nodding. “That was the original Rift…”

“As much I don’t want to say it… G, the Rift is connected to you-”

“I know.” Grian cut Xisuma off. “I know what I have to do.”

“What do you have to do?” Iskall asked.

Grian went back to the entrance then tapped on the Entity’s walls. “Let me leave. Get them home.”

“G?” Scar took a hold of Grian’s arm, pulling him back. “What are you doing?”

Grian paused, avoiding looking Scar in the eyes. “S-... say hi to Jellie for me, okay?”

“Wh- Grian, what are you talking about? What are you planning?” Scar cupped both of Grian’s cheek, forcing the avian to look at him. “What are you doing…?”

“I-...” Grian closed his eyes, sighing out a deep breath. He took Scar’s hands and set a small, rectangle shaped device in them, not allowing Scar to see. “You and Mumbo take care of him, hear me?”

“Grian?-” Before Scar could utter another word, Grian jumped out of the Entity. “Grian!”

A chorus of Grian’s name could be heard following Scar, all in vain. At once, the Entity scrambled out of the crater. Xisuma and Doc held back Scar, not allowing the terraformer to join Grian. The sudden sound of infinite glass shattering echoed in the Admin and Hermits’ ears, mixing with the quickening thump thump thump of the Entity’s heart.

The entire world shook at its core, sending waves of pulsing energy, rattling the ground and knocking down all, even the birds and Hermits who were using elytras. Even the Entity lost its footing, causing the few inside to spiral. It seemed to last hours until, finally, everything stopped. The earthquakes ceased, the wounds had healed themselves, leaving no trace of the Rift.

“Ow…” Scar shoved a dazzed Mumbo off of him. He attempted to stand, but a rush of nausea hit him like a bullet train. His head spun in the worst of ways, so Scar remained lying on the floor of the Entity.

“Is… everyone okay…?” Xisuma sat up, shutting his eyes tightly.

“I’m alive, if that counts…” Mumbo groaned. “I might need to go on another vacation…”

Iskall held up a thumb and Doc hissed lowly.

“Grian…” Scar tried once more to get up. “Where’s Grian…?”

“I don’t know-” Xisuma was the first to stand, stumbling toward the entrance. “... everything looks normal. I think we’re at Mumbo’s vault?”

“Impossible…” Mumbo was second to stand, peaking his head out of the entrance. “I don’t see Grian’s base.”

Doc pulled up Iskall, allowing the shorter man to lean on him. “Wasn’t it swallowed up?”

“I-... excuse me, Mx. Entity?” Mumbo wasn’t entirely sure who - or what - he was speaking to. Or if it would listen. “Can you move? We want to see the bridge.”

Slowly, the Entity hopped down from Mumbo’s vault and turned toward the bridge. The Admin and Hermits felt collective sorrow. Grian’s base wasn’t there, nor was the bridge. Any trace of it was left in the moon shaped portal, more damaged than it was previously.

Xisuma hopped out of the Entity, making sure it was safe before helping the others out. He pulled up the code, finding nothing. “No sign of Grian…”

“Nether?” Iskall asked.

“Where’s the nearest portal?” Xisuma glanced at the moon portal.

Even in the Nether there was no trace of Grian or his influence on the continent. Everything he has built, apart from the Entity, were erased, while every other building was repaired with subtle cracks - like scars. However, all the villagers and animals lost did not return. No amount of searching gave results.

“The only thing left to do is… rebuild.” Xisuma said, once every Hermit was in attendance for the gathering.

They were not about to abandon this continent. Not like the last one.

This time they all could do something.

“Hey, Scar?” Bdubs approached the unusually quiet terraformer. “Guess who I found!”

Scar looked at Bdubs, expecting nothing, but being filled with painful joy. “Jellie!”

“Yeah!” Bdubs handed the beautiful cat over, holding back giggles as Scar held her close. “I found her on a tiny island surrounded by the purple stuff before it poofed! She was totally unbothered! She has the luckiest nine lives ever!”

“Thanks, Bdubs…” Scar felt a lump swell in his throat. Cool tears rained down his heated cheeks, falling onto Jellie’s fur. “You… you didn’t see Grian anywhere, did you?”

Bdubs pouted his lips. “No… I didn’t… I’m sorry, Scar.”

“It’s fine.” With a small sniffle, a wipe of his eyes, Scar forced a smile. “He’ll show up, I’m sure of it. Hey, I’ll catch up with you later to help with rebuilding. I gotta do something.”

Bdubs didn’t look convinced, but he nodded anyways. “Okay, dude…”

Scar carried Jellie away, chewing on his lip and peeling the skin off. Jellie mewled in protest, shoving herself against Scar’s mouth to get him to stop. It worked, mostly. At least his hand her occupied. He never opened his other hand, where Grian’s strange rectangle was still waiting to be revealed. Scar wasn’t sure if he should look at it.

It was Grian’s. He said to take care of it- him. Take care of him.

Slowly, hesitantly, Scar unraveled his fist.

“A… tomogatchi?” Scar furrowed his brows in confusion, turning on the rectangular tomogatchi to see if there was anything else. The screen flickered blue, then three lighter blue dots appeared, doing the wave for a few seconds. “What in the Vex- OHMYELVENKISSES-”

Square eyes opened on the device, blinking at Scar as its mustache appeared. Scar nearly dropped the poor thing as text appeared.

Hello!

“Oh my Vex, it talks-”

My name is Grumbot! Of course I talk! He/They please!

“Grumbot…?” Scar could physically feel the buffering circle in his brain. “Oh, from the mayoral campaign! That was a long time ago, oh my Vex-”

Hello, Mr. Scar! Hello, jelly kitty!

“Hi, Grumbot, how- why- I thought you were left in your box?”

No, sir! Not for long! Fathers brought me with them!

“Fathers- right, Mumbo and Gr…Grian…” Scar couldn’t help but frown.

Yes! Where are my fathers, sir? I want to see them!

Scar looked around at the remaining Hermits, seeing if Mumbo was around. It wasn’t hard finding the tall, lanky man of black and red, and Scar nearly sprinted over. “Mumbo! Mumbo, hi!”

“Hi, Scar, I was looking for you-”

“What a coincidence! I was looking for you!” Scar held up Grumbot. “I think- I think Grian meant to give him to you.”

Mumbo took Grumbot-gatchi and gave the little device a gentle kiss. “Hi, buddy…”

Scar watched Mumbo talk to Grumbot, unable to see the text.

“I’m, uh, I’m alive, Grumbot… Yes, I’ve been eating- no, no projects have been keeping me up. Grumbot-...” Mumbo was silent for a long time. “Grian is gone, Grumbot… we don’t know where he is. And… Grumbot, don’t overheat, we are still looking… Of course I’m not going to abandon you- Scar is gonna help me take care of you, okay?”

“I am-?”

Mumbo looked at Scar with an unreadable look - a mix of glaring and desperation. “Yes. You are. Grian asked you to.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #fanfic #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #xisuma #xisumavoid #docm77 #TFC #hermitcraft tfc #writing #on writing #creative writing #writers #writeblr #writers on tumblr

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switchthedragon · 2 months

Text

EHEHEHEHEHEHEH

NEW PHONE CASE AND IT’S TRANSPARENT YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

FURSONA PHONE CASE !!!!

I am sosososo happy with how this turned out because I’m not much of a painter and I did the entire thing in paint by hand!!! Took me a couple hours but it was worth it.

And I can swap out the painting with other paintings of mine I do for the case for when I want to switch things up!

Based on an older drawing of Trap I still really like lmao (see below)

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cloverdaisies · 11 months

Text

WISH YOU WERE SOBER: JI CHANGMIN

“nineteen but you act 25 now. real sweet but i wish you were sober.” a ji changmin very lightly suggestive¡ angst¡ fem reader¡ based on conan gray’s wish you were sober.

request from anon🤍 , that is your anon now btw i’ve named you bc your req was so sweet ☆

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆

“Spin the bottle, y/n.”

“It’s your turn bae”

“What are you so scared of have a bit of fun.”

My intoxicated classmates around the circle hollered and cheered for me to grab the empty bottle of bud on the ground. chewing at my lip in a fit of nerves, The alcohol intruding my conscience, as i wrapped my slightly damp palm around the bottle. With a twist of the wrist, I looked around the circle before I let go of the glass.

What is the worst case scenario?

The predatory eyes of every boy around the circle alerted my sense of safety in the room.

The intimidating glare of Juyeon.

The lick of lips from Hyunjae.

The hopeful eyes of Sunwoo and Haknyeon.

This is definitely

Or the face of the boy I used to love, his deer-like eyes watching the glass spin, a glint of light appearing over his face from the reflection of the moving bottle. Another girl clung to his arm like a parasite protecting him from the circle, despite the poor girl just being his bit of fun for that night.

The glass slowed, making a dragging sound across the floor eliminating each next person from the possibility of some time in the bathroom with me.

The bottle drew closer to my worst nightmare, the nerves in my stomach booming like thunder.

It landed on him.

Ji Changmin, a man that I swore was the love of my life at some point, but was no more than a lethal lover who stomped on my heart for his own selfish needs of alcohol, girls and a good time. Despite his innocent looks, he was a man of desire, abhorrent evil that tied his strings around the heart of women and pulled them like a ventriloquist because the status it gave him.

As the crowd around us chanted mixes of cheers and suspenseful “Ooooo” noises, his eyes darkened, landing on myself as I cowered away from his intense glare.

In my mind, his old words and bitter memories resurfaced and split to form new wounds on my heart.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you baby” but you did.

Taking me to intimate places where the music just drowned out into the background of our romance.

Kissing and loving me in the backseat of your car, fooling around like the stupid 18 year olds we once were. It’s a shame you act so much older now, time has moved in ways that shaped you to be the horrendous man you are.

“I’ll love you to the end” but you didn’t.

Dragging me back into my thoughts, I was pulled up by the girl hosting the party, dragging down the short black satin dress I was wearing in order not to flash the drunk staring crowd.

Moments flashed by before I was thrown into the harsh lighting of a nearby bathroom and facing the one man I couldn’t bear to be near.

“You look gorgeous.” He purred, panning down my attire tongue poking at the side of his mouth.

“Shutup. Is that all you have to say to me after all this time?” I crossed my arms in frustration, watching his eyes flick back and forth as if they were observing all the memories that had flashed back to me earlier.

“Still heartbroken?” He patronized me, with evil intent that shattered my heart - it was if he was a completely different boy to the one i had loved. “Be quiet and be mine again. Just for the night.”

His almond eyes became glossy, lust painted deeply inside of them which evidently juxtaposed the hints of regret behind the water which welled up in his tear ducts - as if he was trying everything in him not to fall at his knees and take me back with everything he could give.

“I will never be yours again.” I spat at the boy who edged closer to me, his hands falling over the sink behind me caging me in like prey.

“You want to be though.” He chuckled, “I can see it in your face, your ears going pink with embarrassment like they always used to. I know every little thing about you, (your name). I know you wore that dress because you knew I liked it, you knew I’d be here.”

“You’re still selfish. I hate you. I hate everything about you.” I hissed, infuriated by his every word that spiked into my heart like daggers piercing into my already slit wounds of romance.

“I think it’s clear we don’t hate each other baby.” He drew his face closer to my own, his minty breath laced with traces of beer, feathering on my lips.

Without a reply to give, he sealed his lips with my own, becoming more passionate as every memory exploded like bliss. A kiss that could only be described like a nostalgic masterpiece of romance, memories of his ripped jeans, bright smile, loving words that played on my mind like a piece of claire de lune.

Getting carried away with our love affair, memories of lust, want and need slowly started to interrupt my thoughts of logic and his too as our setting faded back into the background as it always did. Hands riding up clothing, roaming the skin of each body, unwanted memories forgotten about in seconds.

Tears started to slip from my eyes, everything I ever wanted was him. How I wish he never changed, how I wish he never hurt me the way he did.

“Darling you’re crying.” He halted his actions, immediately tending to wiping his thumb against my face to clear away the running water. Genuine concern laced his expression.

“I still love you.” I sobbed slightly, watching him as he stuttered, taken a back by the words

“I als-” He began, the familiar chocolate brown eyes that spoke to me of pure romance overbearing his shallow façade. Before the door could open he kissed me again, a quick conceal of passion that revealed his every intention to return my words.

“TIME’S UP LOVEBIRDS!” The host slammed open the door, as he moved away from me in conflict with himself. The crowd of the party hollered and cheered for us, dirty minds thinking thoughts of what happened behind that door.

Returning to my friends, I caught eyes with him across the party, he quickly downed another bottle of beer trying to shake my gaze - it’s clear he was in battle with his idea of status and his idea of love which broke my heart.

Wandering through the crowd, I attempted to grab the boy’s arm in hopes of stealing him away from the party again but no. I was beaten to it.

“Baby, did you do anything with her?” The girl leeched to his arm earlier asked, as she caught me trying to whisk what I could only assume as my last dooming thought was his girlfriend.

“No sweetheart, I don’t know her at all.” He smiled at her with reassuring eyes, a sick lie that helped him spin another web around another woman.

Into a thousands pieces, he’d hammered my heart with a mallet with each word of that sentence. My eyes welled up as I watched him look back about to leave the party.

“Give him time (your name).” Juyeon appeared behind me in the crowd as if he’d observed our every move.

“Time won’t fix him.” I sighed, tears cascading down my cheeks in a waterfall of bitter memories. “Time won’t fix me either, I just wish he was sober.”

Without him there wasn’t a reason anymore, without him I lost everything about myself.

The ghost of everything he ever did right, haunted me in bittersweet angel thoughts. He’d ran away with my heart and I would never get it back.

☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:.｡..｡.:*☆☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆☆*:.｡. .｡.:*☆