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thelov3lybookworm · 6 months

Text

To Love and Cakes

Summary: Y/n is the daughter of a flower and gardening tools shop's owner in Velaris. When he gets sick, y/n makes her father take some rest and looks after the small shop herself. But she is new to all this as her father never let her work a day in her life.

One day, as she's looking after the shop, a red haired high fae comes looking for gardening gloves as a gift to someone. Y/n helps him, and learns that he is a frequent customer.

Due to his frequent visits, they soon develop a bond. More than friends, but not lovers.

Yet.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: i dont think there are any but still, here we go. elain being a sour and jealous mate even though she's been sailing on the elriel ship, a few curse words and all. Can't think of anything else, so let me know if i need to add anything.

A/n: this thing has been in my draft for faxing months. This is, to me, the best work of mine. This is my baby. I LOVED writing this, and I hope you enjoy reading it.

(ps. even if youre not a lucien girlie, try reading it. i have a secret agenda to make every one of you creatures a lucien simp, just like im trying to make @artists-ally a lucien simp)

(also, the scene towards the end where reader is dancing was inspired by one of the fbaa books, if it seemed familiar or you were wondering)

t'is a long one children, Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

As Y/n finished walking around the store, cleaning, she thought back to the morning two days ago.

She had just woken up and was walking towards her father's kitchen for breakfast when she heard it. A cough. She quickened her pace, entering the kitchen to find her father bent over, his body heaving from the coughs.

She rushed to him, helping him to the nearest chair. When she bought him some water, he smiled up at her gratefully.

"How many times do I have to tell you to take some rest, father? Why won't you let me help you?"

"I might be getting old, but not that old that I need to rely on my daughter to help me earn. Unless you are trying to steal my shop?"

"Father!" She said, exasperated, even though she knew he was just saying that to irritate her. "You are staying home till you get better. I'll take care of the shop."

"But you don't know anything about it." At the glare she gave him, he finally conceded. "Let me help for today atleast. Show you how to handle it. I promise I'll rest."

She had come to visit and stay with her father for some days, having just quit her previous job, searching for a new one. They were well off, the house that Y/n lived in owned by her. She had wanted to see if her father needed any help around. Which he didn't. He wasn't very old and ill by any means, he just didn't know when to stop. That's why she had already made her father agree to closing the store earlier and taking the weekends off.

As Y/n put away the cleaning equipment in the back of the store, the bell above the door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. As she hurried to the front desk, she caught a glimpse of the beautiful male that was waiting from behind a shelf.

He had dark crimson hair cascading over his shoulder that looked like fire, with one russet eye and one that was a golden metal one, which was whirring. A scar marred the skin surrounding that eye and trailed to his jaw.

Y/n quickly averted her gaze when she realised she was staring. He hadn't yet noticed her though, looking around the shop. She stepped out from behind the shelf and cleared her throat.

He turned to her at once, giving her a warm smile.

"Hello. How can I help you today?" She asked with a small smile.

"I'm looking for enchanted gardening gloves."

She wracked her brain for the location of said gloves before perking up. "Right this way." As she led the way, he followed a respectful distance away. To fill the silence, she spoke up. "Are you from Night Court? You don't seem like you're from here."

"Yes. I'm from... Autumn Court." His hesitation was evident, and Y/n didn't push.

"Here we are." She said, stopping in front of the gloves stacked neatly on a shelf. She left him alone when he nodded.

She began sorting out her desk, her father's, really, which was near the entrance to the shop.

By the time she finished, the male was done with his browsing and bought out the gloves to the desk to pay for them. The whole ordeal went silently and quickly. With a word of thanks and a 'good day', he was on his way.

•○🌑○•

Lucien's pov.

He stared at her. His mate.

He wondered if, under other circumstances, she would have not despised him. Could she have ever loved him the way others loved their mates? Would the two of them be together if there was no cruelty in this world?

He answered those himself.

The first one? Probably.

The second one? Maybe.

The third one? No.

Because, if there was no cruelty in this world, his love, one his father had killed, would not be dead. Jesminda would be alive still. And if she was alive, he wouldn't care for anything, even his own mate.

And maybe that made him an asshole, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he stared at Elain smiling at the Shadowsinger from the corner of the room, nursing a glass of whiskey.

He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the gift he'd bought for her. It was enchanted gardening gloves so her hands wouldn't get cut. Of course, the present had been discarded in a corner, unopened. It wasn't as if she didn't notice the gift. No, he had seen her look at it before placing it aside from her other gifts.

He'd seen her do that, and his heart had been pierced by an arrow. At least it felt like it.

As he stared at the gift, his mind drifted to the shop where he had bought it from. The shop run by the female. He didn't know why, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. She hadn't even said much, but she had simply caught his attention.

He blinked when a loud laugh interrupted his thoughts, looking at the inner circle sitting in the center of the room and having the time of their lives, while he sat in the darkest corner he could find. He knew he didn't fit in here, and that most of them didnt trust or like him.

He didn't know why he had accepted Feyre's invitation to stay for the night when he knew he'd be miserable.

He had thought that maybe, just maybe, they would include him in their fun. At least for one night.

He felt so dumb now.

After a little bit of contemplation, he decided it best if he left. No one was going to miss him anyways.

Quietly, he downed the whiskey in his glass, then rolled onto his feet. He set the glass on a nearby table, then turned towards the door. He walked towards it, his boots making no noise.

As he exited the room, there was no sign of the festivities slowing down. None. He removed his coat from the nearby hook, donning it as he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.

It wasn't until Lucien was out of the house that the sounds faltered for a brief moment, but then the laughter started back again, and Lucien sighed, his breath misting in front of him. He stared at the little cloud of fog in front of his face.

He didn't want to go home– if it could even be called that– not yet. The night was still young. Maybe he would go on a little walk around Velaris before he returned to the mortal lands.

He started the trek across the city, walking slowly, letting his mind wander, his eyes seeing everything but taking nothing in. It was like a waste of time, looking at the beauty but not caring enough to appreciate it.

He sighed, making his way through the vibrant market place. The children running around the place, candies in their hand, adults lingering around the place with their lovers and families truly added to the beauty of the festival.

But Lucien's eyes were unseeing, his heart unfeeling as he avoided the running and giggling children.

Someone slammed into Lucien from somewhere near him, and that finally broke him out of the haze that he'd been in.

He glanced at the fae leaning against him, trying to gain her footing in the crowded area.

"I am so sorry. I got pushed–" The female looked up at him, finally stable on her feet. She cocked her head, a smile spreading on her lips. "Oh. It's you."

He returned the smile, somehow easier than it should have been considering the foul mood he'd been. "It's me. I don't think I caught your name this morning."

The lady from the gardening shop grinned, her cheeks rosy, glowing with happiness. "Y/n."

"Lucien." He mumbled, studying her. She nodded, holding out her hand. He took it.

Then they stood there, awkwardly trying to figure out what to say. "Um... enjoying solstice?"

"Yeah." She returned, a relieved expression on her face. "Just left the house after dinner. My father said he's going out with some friends, so I decided to head out for some desserts. You?"

"Not really..." That was not the right answer, but Lucien was struggling to put on his mask of indifference.

"Oh. I'm sorry. Are you alone?"

He smiled ruefully as he looked away. "Very."

After a moment of silence, the lady spoke up again. "What are your thoughts on some cake? Pie? Or maybe cookies?"

Lucien blinked, then glanced at her. "What?"

She grinned, turning away and gesturing with her hand to follow her. Seeing that he had no other reason to haunt the streets of Velaris, he followed her.

She weaved in and out of the crowd, walking with purpose towards her destination. She stumbled sometimes, due to being pushed around by the crowd, but mostly by herself. She seemed to have a problem walking without tripping.

She tripped again, so bad that Lucien had to catch her elbow to stop her from faceplanting. She grinned up at him sheepishly.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Are you... drunk?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "I don't drink. It's taste is disgusting."

A small smirk made is way into Lucien's face, but he simply nodded at her to keep going. She continued on.

Soon, she was walking into a brightly lit shop, cakes and various baked goods displayed through the glass.

"This is my favourite place for sweets and baked items. It's really good."

She went to open the door, but Lucien stretched out his hand and held it for her. She blinked at him before smiling and stepping in to the warm interior.

"Hello." She greeted the kind looking old lady behing the counter, who smiled widely.

"How are you today?"

"I'm good. How about yourself?" Y/n replied.

"I'm good, I'm good. Just these joints creaking a little extra nowadays."

Y/n grinned fondly. "Maybe you should just get some rest, you old hag."

"Oh shut it. I will rest once I know I have succeded in convincing you to get a partner. Mother knows how lonely you must be."

"I'm not lonely, you old hag. As long as I have you and father, I will never be alone."

"Yeah yeah whatever." Then the old female seemed to notice Lucien, and her eyes lit up. "Are you finally seeing someone?"

Y/n blinked, then glanced at Lucien. Her lips parted, then a flush climbed up her neck. She furiously shook her head, and the old lady sighed.

"Well, hope I'm not dead when you finally decide to interact with others." The female bustled away as other people walked upto the counter to place their order.

Y/n turned to Lucien, her face red, and she gestured to the display of sweets. He grinned when she turned away again. "Choose what you would like to try. I always go for pineapple, but chocolate is also good."

Lucien dipped his head in a nod when she glanced at him to make sure he understood her, and then the two of them went on to get their cakes.

As they were about to leave the shop, the owner of the shop called to him. "Psst. Hey! You!"

When Lucien glanced up questioningly, the lady Y/n had been talking to motioned at him to come closer. He inched towards the counter behind which the lady stood as Y/n talked to another one of the workers.

"What are your intentions for her?" The lady hissed at Lucien as soon as she was sure no one could hear her.

Lucien blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Don't you dare even think of hurting her. Males have hurt her enough. She is a pure soul, and if you hurt her, then I will carve your eyes out with a spoon. You hear me young man?"

Lucien nodded, dumbfounded. Thank the cauldron though, Y/n decided that moment to walk up to the two of them.

The old lady smiled at her, and then shooed Y/n and Lucien away. Y/n rolled her eyes and led Lucien out of the shop.

She crossed the road and settled onto one of the many benches overlooking the Sidra. She patted the place next to her and he obliged, studying her.

"What were you and the old hag talking about?"

"Nothing..."

Y/n raised a brow but stayed silent as she dug into the treat in her hands.

The two of them sat in silence as they ate, staring at the waters of the Sidra.

Unfortunately, soon enough the two of them were done eating, and Y/n turned to Lucien. She smiled. "Did you like the cake?"

Lucien gave her a smile. A genuine one, one that felt like he hadn't smiled in centuries. He probably hadn't.

"I did. Thank you for making my solstice better."

"I enjoyed the time too, no need to thank me."

And then the two of them parted ways, Lucien thanking her again and her telling him not to worry about it.

Lucien watched her until she had vanished between the crowd, then he turned and decided to walk to secluded place before he winnowed back to human lands.

A soft breeze caressed his face, and he closed his eyes, savoring the cool touch. His mind drifted back to Y/n.

He smiled softly, opening his eyes and leaning his head back, staring at the stars twinkling down at him, as if they were winking.

Maybe... just maybe, not all fae were miserable and hateful.

Maybe there was someone out there, like Y/n, who would not hate him for simply existing.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

Y/n only had one thought in her mind, and that was to hurry up.

She had been out in the market, getting the things she needed according to the cooking book she had recently bought.

She had decided to surprise her best friend since childhood with a home baked cake, and hence the rush to get home and start the preparations.

The catch?

Y/n was shit at baking.

The few times she had tried to bake, she had either ended with something that was too hard to even be called a rock, or with something that vaguely resembled... puke.

Even thinking about it sent shivers up Y/n's spine.

But back then she hadn't used a cookbook's instruction, she tried to reason with the sane part of her brain, the one that knew this was a bad idea.

Hurry up-

And she smacked into a wall. A very warm wall.

All her bags slipped from her hands and onto the ground as she stumbled back, barely keeping herself from falling onto her ass.

She lifted her head to apologise to whoever she had crashed onto when her eyes met russet and gold. Lucien.

She paused as she watched him cock his head, a little smile spreading on his features.

"I seem to notice a pattern, Y/n."

She lifted an eyebrow as she bent to gather her stuff. He followed. "What pattern?"

She tried to shoo him off by waving her hands, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. "You are always crashing into me. That sounds like a pattern to me."

She scowled, knowing that if her father or any of her friends saw her, they would yell at her for being disrespectful to someone who was helping her.

He grinned, glancing at her as he stood, most of her bags in his hands.

"Do you need any help carrying these?" He questioned when she climbed to her feet too, and she blinked.

"Oh no, it's alright. I'll carry them myself. I don't want to bother you."

"I insist. And it's really not a bother. I have nothing else to do. These are really heavy, let me help."

"You really don't have anything else to do?"

He smiled triumphantly, as if he knew he had won. "I don't."

She sighed. "Fine then. My house is nearby. Thank you vey much."

He shook his head, that smile still on his face. "No worries."

She led him to her house, a peaceful silence between the two.

It wasn't long before they reached her house, and she turned to him, keys in her hand.

"Please come in. Let me make you some tea." That was the least she could do for him.

"Oh no, that is unnecessary, I don't want to bother you. It was my pleasure to help."

"I insist. And it really is not a bother." She smirked, throwing his words back at him.

He shook his head, grinning. "Fine."

She let the two of them in, setting about to get some tea ready. "So, may I ask what you are going to with these?"

When Y/n turned to look at him, he gestured at the bags he set on the counter.

"Because from what I saw outside, these things are usually used for baking."

Y/n smiled. "Yeah. It's my friends birthday today. I was thinking of making her a cake."

"That's great. Do you bake often?"

Her smile now turned sheepish. "No. I tried a couple of times, back when I was younger," -six months ago- "and I damn near brought down the whole kitchen once."

Lucien chuckled. "So now you think you can do it properly?"

She picked up the cookbook nearby and waved it at him. "I will follow instructions this time."

Judging by the amusement in his eyes, she thought he would laugh, but he didn't. He simply extended his hand towards her and asked, "Can I have a look?"

She handed it to him, turning to check on the tea she was brewing.

The sound of the pages being flipped were the only sounds other than her pouring the liquid into cups for the two of them.

When she turned back around, she found him staring intensely at the book, his brows furrowed, a downward tilt to his mouth. She tried to make no noise as she set down the cup in front of him, hoping to not disturb his concentration.

But he glanced up at her, frowning. "This won't work. This is too complicated."

Y/n blinked, taken aback by the seriousness in his eyes and words. "What do you mean?"

He closed the book, setting it aside as he pulled the cup of tea towards him. "Baking is simpler than whatever bullshit is given in there."

"You know how to bake?"

"I helped my mother when I was younger."

"And exactly how many years ago was that?"

His eyes narrowed. "How many years since you baked anything?"

That made Y/n shut up.

She sighed ruefully. "Maybe I'm just not supposed to bake."

Lucien shook his head. "I can help."

She glanced at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "I don't have anything else to do anyways. I can help you bake the cake."

"I don't want to bother-"

"Its not a bother. I would love to help."

Y/n smiled behind her cup as she took a sip of her tea, a warmth spreading through her chest.

"Thank you. I appreciate the gesture." Then, she looked at the redhead for a moment longer before turning away. "And you know what? I am noticing a pattern too."

•○🌑○•

After a day filled with trying to decide on the flavour for the cake, the decorations, making the cake and laughter, it was finally time to sleep.

The party had been perfect, so many memories made, and so many things she could think about.

But no matter what, Y/n couldn't stop thinking about him.

She didn't remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so thoroughly around a male, let alone one she knew nothing about.

And as she went to sleep that night, trying not to think of how his eyes twinkled in amusement when she had dropped an egg on the ground- huffing and puffing- she failed to keep that smile off of her face.

•○●⛦●○•

Lucien's pov.

After the day filled with helping her bake, correcting anything she had been doing wrong and watching as happiness spread across her face when the cake came out almost nearly perfect, it was finally time to sleep.

The day had been perfect, a reprieve from the constant ugly thoughts Lucien had about himself. Memories had been made, though unexpected.

But no matter what, Lucien could not stop thinking about her.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself so thoroughly around someone, let alone someone he barely knew anything about.

And as he went to sleep that night, trying not to think of how she had jumped around and squealed in excitement- so much so that she had nearly burnt herself by the hot pan- Lucien failed to keep that smile off of his face.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

Soon enough, Y/n learned that the handsome male with the metal eye, Lucien, was the Lucien Vanserra. The youngest son of the High Lord of Autumn Court.

He frequented the shop after that day they spent baking, him and Y/n becoming fast friends. He'd told her that he lived in the human lands with his friends, Jurian and Vassa.

Recently, she had learned that this Jurian he was friends with was the Jurian from the war centuries ago, the powerful human commander, remade by the Cauldron.

Expect Lucien to surprise a four hundred year old fae who thought she could not be surprised about anything anymore.

Y/n shook her head with an exasperated grin, finishing braiding her hair. She had spent the whole afternoon wondering what hairstyle would look good with her dress for her meeting with Lucien, eventually settling for a simple braid. Few strands framed her face, and she thought it looked better than any elaborate hairstyle she could have done.

Even after six months of being friends with him, he never failed to shock her by telling her things about himself.

He had sent a letter in advance that he would be visiting today, and he wanted to meet with her in their favourite cafe before reporting to the High Lord.

She had, of course, agreed. He was the only friend she had other than the female she had baked for, what with her being cooped up in her home with a book in hand when she wasn't working in the nearby jewellery store.

A knock sounded on the door, and Y/n practically flew down the stairs, taking a deep breath to calm her heart before opening the door.

There he stood in all his glory, smiling at her. The fading sunshine made his hair look on fire, his skin glowing.

"My lady. You look quite...dishevelled." He murmured, his eye twinkling. Y/n frowned, lifting her hand to her hair. It had looked good when she checked it in the mirror. Maybe the braid didn't look as good as she thought it did. In which case, she wanted to go and jump off a cliff.

Before her hand could touch her hair though, Lucien caught it, grinning and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, all the while maintaining eye contact. Y/n blushed.

"When I said dishevelled, I meant you look like you've run a mile. That looks exquisite." He said, straightening and flicking her forehead. "You look exquisite."

"Shut up." She mumbled, shoving his shoulder and stepping out, turning to lock the door. When she had finished, she turned to find him leaning against a pillar of the front porch. He smiled and inclined his head towards the road.

They walked towards the cafe, talking about his past days in the human lands and her job at the jewellery store. How she didn't really care for it and was thinking of taking up something else.

They soon reached the cafe which stood right on the banks of the Sidra and had outdoor seating as well in the backyard, right next to the river. As they settled down in their usual seat in a corner right next to the river, her eyes sharpened on the paper stuck on a nearby wall.

"Hey Lucien? Do you see that?" Y/n questioned, making Lucien glance back at it.

"Yeah. Looks like they're hiring." Lucien's eye lit up as he turned back to her. "You should try." She nodded enthusiastically.

Soon, they finished their food and Lucien was waiting to pay, having insisted on paying while Y/n talked to the hotel's owner. She was quite happy Y/n said she wanted to work there. They finally settled on her starting in two days.

After that, as they were walking home, the delicious smell of freshly baked cakes reached them. Y/n grinned at Lucien who took her arm and walked towards the stand where an old lady was selling small round cakes that were the size of Y/n's palm. They made idle conversation with her while she handed them their treats.

"You two make a good couple. Are you mates?" She asked as soon Y/n took a bite. Which was very unfortunate as she immediately choked on it. Lucien patted her back, grinning as he turned to the lady.

"No, we aren't mates. We're just friends."

"What a shame. But maybe the bond hasn't made itself known yet?"

Lucien shook his head with a sad smile. "That would've been wonderful, really." Y/n's had whipped to him, her eyes wide. Did he just say what she thought he did? Could it be that he... no. That was stupid. He had a mate that he would die for, regardless of whether she liked him back. He would never...

"But I already have a mate." He continued.

"Oh I'm so sorry then for assuming things."

"Don't be. It's not like it matters anyway. She doesn't want the bond."

"Oh mother, that's truly unfortunate. Maybe you could be with someone else? I loved someone in my youth, but he never paid me any attention. Then one day my friend advised me to forget the male. Now I'm married to my friend and I think I couldn't be any more happy."

Lucien looked thoughtful. "That's a good advice, I must say. And I'll definitely think about it." He winked at Y/n, making her blush furiously.

They continued on after that, though there was silence now compared to their earlier mindless chatter. And it was filled with tension. Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, staring into the waters of the Sidra nearby.

As they walked, her mind wandered to what Lucien had said to the woman. Could he really mean what he had said? He wasn't one to joke about such serious matters... but then again, maybe he was jesting.

Soon, they had reached her house, and she stepped up to open the door.

"You want to come in? We can have some tea..."

Lucien smiled. "I would love to if it's not a problem."

As she set about making the tea, he sat watching her every move. Which made her work extremely carefully, wondering if he was judging her. Which was absurd. Because, not only would Lucien never judge her, but also because she never would have cared for something so trivial as someone judging her. So why did she care now?

Because you lov–

She shut the thought down before it even finished.

•○🌑○•

Lucien's pov.

It had been over a month since he had seen his Y/n, and he was already craving her presence. Initially, he been able to go longer periods without meeting his friend. But as time went on, he became more and more enraptured with her and shorter and shorter became the time period between his visits.

The way she laughed on anything he said. The way her eyes would light up when she looked at him. The way he could make her blush by just looking at her. How she would get excited when taking about the newest book she was reading or when she learned something that made her happy.

He just couldn't get enough of her sometimes. All he wanted to do was stay and bask in her presence.

Of course, it wasn't possible, what with his work of going back and forth between human lands and the Night Court, as well as Day Court, where he had been spending some time getting to know his father.

It was a shock when he found out that Beron wasn't his real father, but he was adjusting. She had a big part in his acceptance. And he was grateful for it.

Now, he was going to leave his emissary duties for the Night Court, going to live in his father's court permanently. Which was why Feyre had decided to have the whole of the inner circle and him go out to eat for dinner. Lucien had suggested the cafe by the Sidra for the ordeal.

The place where Y/n currently worked.

He was smiling at his thoughts of her when he knocked on the door of the River House. Nuala opened it, greeting him with a smile before letting him enter. There was already sounds of chatter coming from the living room as he walked towards it. Everyone was here then. Great.

The quicker this was over, the faster he could spend time with Y/n.

He would leave soon, but that didn't mean he wouldn't come back to Velaris. He had important people here.

He had informed Rhys about his departure a few months ago, and had agreed to stay till they found someone who would be willing to take up the duties of Lucien. They were still searching for someone, so Lucien was still the emissary.

•○●⛦●○•

Lucien tapped his leg on the floor impatiently, his eyes constantly flitting between the tables and booths in search of his friend.

It had only been a few moments since he had arrived with the inner circle, but he simply couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of her.

While he was searching for Y/n, he failed to notice the High lord and lady's, as well as the entire inner circle's eyes on him.

He craned his head, and he finally heard that beautiful voice he'd been dying to hear from behind him.

"Good evening. May I take your order?"

He turned his head so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, but Lucien didn't care as his eyes met those of Y/n's.

Her mouth lifted at the edges, a knowing look in her eyes as she turned away to converse with Rhysand.

His brain didn't process the words being exchanged between the two, he was so busy admiring her.

And wondering when the damn dinner will be over so he could finally talk to her and catch up.

When she left the table after taking their orders, she distcreetly brushed her hand against his bicep, pulling a smile on his face.

Just an hour or so. He reminded himself as he focused on the table in front of him, ignoring the looks of the inner circle, including Elain.

Which wasn't all that hard.

•○●⛦●○•

The time seemed to pass slower, just to torture Lucien that night.

Right when Lucien was about to loose his patience, everyone had finished dessert, and were on the verge of leaving.

Lucien stood, nodding at Cassian and Azriel in goodbye, hugging Feyre and shaking Rhys's hand. Making some excuse- unconvincing, he was sure- about having to go meet up with Vassa and Jurian, he walked away, eyeing the place Y/n had disappeared into.

He knew that she was about to leave, had probably already left, and he couldn't wait to tell her all the juicy stories he'd acquired over his recent travels, as well as the budding tensions between Vassa and Jurian.

The moment he stepped out onto the road, he heard her voice.

"So desperate to meet me fox boy?"

Lucien smirked, turning to find the owner of the voice leaning against a wall. "You wish."

Her eyebrows lifted as she pushed herself off the wall. "Sure. Didn't seem like it was just my fantasy when you were searching around like an eager puppy."

He grinned, though a flush climbed up his neck at being caught red handed. "Just wanted to see you so I could tell you about Vassa and Jurian."

Y/n grinned, throwing her arms around his neck as she buried her face in his neck. He returned the hug in kind, warming up his body a little through his magic so he could ward off the chill in the air surrounding them.

They stayed in the hug for longer than seemed appropriate, but no one was watching anyways. And neither of them cared if anyone was.

Y/n was the first to pull away, smiling shyly up at Lucien.

"You want to get some cake before we go home?" Y/n questioned, beginning towards the general direction of her home.

"I feel like we should make it ourselves." Lucien wiggled his eyebrows, throwing his arm around her shoulders as they began the trek to her home.

She shook her head slightly, becoming redder by the moment as she grinned softly at her feet.

•○🌑○•

It was solstice tonight.

It had been one not-long-enough year since he'd met Y/n.

Lucien's chest felt lighter than it had been in ages.

They had already found a new emissary who they trusted, and so today was Lucien's last day as a member of the Inner Circle.

He was here today to deliver some reports to Rhys.

The sound of utensils and laughter greeted him as soon as he entered the River house, the inner circle being as loud as ever. But as soon as he stepped foot in the dining room, everything went silent, all eyes turning to him.

He smiled at Feyre, nodding to Rhys and pointing to the papers in his hands. He placed the stack on a table nearby, before nodding again to the rulers of Night and turning away.

"Wait! Where are you going? Come have dinner with us." Lucien looked at Feyre, shaking his head.

He didn't want to stay. Not when all that was going through his head was how he would go up to Y/n's door and knock, and how she would open the door suspiciously, those eyes narrowed. But then she would realise that it was him, and she would fling the door open with squeal, tackling him into a hug, laughing. How when she pulled back, she'd realise she was in her pajamas and would self consciously brush herself down, touching her hair. How–

"Lucien?" Lucien winced, coming back to the present.

"I can't stay. I have to go meet a friend."

"Oh. Did you plan a meeting beforehand?"

"Oh no. She doesn't know I'm here. I'm going to go surprise her."

"She?" A gentle and soft voice intoned. Lucien stiffened. The voice he had wanted to hear acknowledge him ever since the bond snapped for him.

He turned to look at Elain, his brows rising as he took her in. She was standing from her seat next to the shadowsinger, her knuckles white from clenching her fork so tightly. Her brows were furrowed in anger, and she looked murderous.

"Yes..." He didn't really know how to answer the question, so he simply watched her.

Rage entered her eyes. "Is this the female you went with that night when we were out?"

Lucien blinked, wondering what was making Elain so angry. "Yes. Exactly that one."

Elain huffed out a bitter laugh. "So is she trying to steal my mate now? She did look like someone who steals males."

For a moment, no one moved. There was so much silence it was deafening.

Almost everyone was staring between Elain and Lucien, their eyes wide. Except from Amren, of course. Nothing could faze the little devil. And Nyx, who waved around a piece of carrot like a sword.

Lucien smiled slowly. "Glad to know your thoughts on my life, mate. I will let her know of your amazing thoughts about her."

Lucien turned away, walking towards the foyer, but just before he turned out of sight, he glanced back, his eyes meeting Elain's.

"She and I were only ever friends, but now that you've said it, I realise that we never were meant to be friends." Lucien smiled slightly, bowing his head. "Thank you."

And with that, he left, ready to meet with his friend.

•○🌑○•

Y/n's pov.

Her solstice had been normal. Nothing great to do. Her father had gone out drinking with his friends, her friends having been busy with their own families. Even the old hag was busy tending to and celebrating with her brother.

She was sure Lucien would also be busy with something, since he hadn't written to her to let her know of his arrival if he was coming.

That left Y/n alone.

But then suddenly, a knock had sounded on the door, and Y/n's heart had fluttered before even knowing who stood on the other side of the door.

After Lucien told her what was going on with Vassa and Jurian, he began telling her of the events that went down in the High lord's home as she got ready to take a stroll around Velaris with Lucien.

Her blood boiled when she heard of the things Elain said to Lucien, but a smile of reassurance from him was all it took for her to calm down.

They were in the main square of Velaris right now, watching the people dance around the huge fire in the centre.

It had become a tradition in the recent years for the people of the city to come together and dance the night away, laughing and drinking and mingling. It was a wholesome event, where younger people would gather around the old towards the end of the night and simply listen to their tales.

This was the first time Y/n was attending with someone else, as usually she would come here alone and sit next to the elderly, watching as younger couple her age danced around and bonded.

The glow from the fire danced in Lucien's eyes, making it look like there was fire inside those mismatched eyes. There was a relaxed grin on his face, one like she'd never seen before. He seemed so careless now, so free, it made Y/n smile too.

"You're staring." He pointed out, his voice barely audible over the cheers and the faeries singing along.

Y/n blushed, but in a sudden burst of boldness, she spoke, looking away. "It would be a crime not to."

From the periphery of her eyes, she found him gaping at her and had to suppress a triumphant smile.

"You know, I feel like the Mother took extra time making you."

He let out a surprised laugh, the sound lighting fires across Y/n's body.

"All that extra time to make me ruined by a fucking scar."

His tone was light, though Y/n could sense a hint of insecurity and sadness under the joy.

She turned to him, watching as the smile slowly vanished from his face at the look in her eyes.

"You are beautiful, Lucien, scars and all. And if I had the chance, I would show you how beautiful they are to me." She let her hand reach up toward his face, ignoring the heat entering his eyes or the way his pupils dilated as she traced the scar that ended at his jaw.

"Beautiful. So fucking beautiful."

HIs eyes fell shut as the music came to an end, and the people dancing around the fire dispersed for a moment.

"Y/n..." He whispered, his hand reaching up to hold hers against his face.

The music started up again, a soft and slower sound than before, more sensual.

This one was for people who were a couple or in a relationship, just a slow waltz to cool down before everyone again joined in a faster, more traditional dance.

"Dance with me."

The words were a shock to her system, and she nodded without even thinking.

It wasn't until the two of them had begun dancing, her arms wrapped around his broad and strong shoulders, their faces barely inches away, that she remembered that this was a waltz for couples, and she and Lucien were definitely not a couple.

She glanced up at him, his eyes already fixed on her. She opened her mouth to tell him, trying to ignore the warmth against her skin from the fire behind her, his body pressed so close to hers in the front.

"Lucien, this dance is for-"

"I know." He mumbled, his eyes smoldering. "I know." He repeated, making sure she understood.

Suddenly, his arms around her waist became more apparent, the way they rested over her lower back. The way the stray hairs that had escaped his low bun tickled her neck, the way his breath washed over her skin when he exhaled.

Y/n's mind was about to either stop working, or remind her of Lucien's touch every two minutes, and honestly, she didn't know which one she prefered.

He never broke eye contact once during the whole dance.

Soon, but not soon enough, the slow music came to an end. And the people that sat along the outer edge cheered, clapping and demanding the couples kiss. And as all the couples shared that intimate moment, Y/n's heart rate picked up, panic clawing up her throat, feeling so many eyes on her and him, wondering what Lucien would do.

She didn't have to wonder long, though.

Lucien began leaning in, making Y/n's eyes flutter closed. She swallowed, licking her lips.

Then she felt his hot breath closer to her face, his lashes brushing gently against her skin as she felt those plump, beautiful lips on the corner of hers.

She felt him smile against her skin. All the while, it was hard to breathe.

But then he pulled away, a flush on his cheeks. If it was because of the heat of the enormous fire behind her, or because he was genuinely flustered, she couldn't tell.

As the faster music started, Lucien grinned wickedly at her.

"Let's dance, my lady."

•○🌑○•

Y/n's feet were sore, but it was all so worth it.

At some point during the night, she had discarded her shoes next to a kind old male who she had known since she was a child.

All the dances after Y/n and Lucien's initial waltz had been fast paced, where everyone changed partners every few moments. It was one of the best things that had happened that night, getting to know new people and dancing and singing along to the top of their lungs.

It was all so beautiful.

She had always thought so, watching from the sidelines. But now, being one of the people she would have watched, it was a whole different experience.

The dancing was supposed to go on for atleast one more hour before the elders gathered and began telling stories. That would go on for the rest of the night.

And so, Y/n decided to get some rest, maybe somewhere on he benches near the Sidra where it would be quiet before returning to listen to the elder's tales.

Listening to loud music for hours was one way to invite a headache.

Y/n began making her way up to Lucien, who stood on the opposite side of the huge fire, but then she paused, simply admiring him.

He had discarded his embroidered overcoat next to where Y/n had placed her shoes, now only in a simple, thin white shirt that clung to his sweaty frame, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He laughed as he held the hands of a little girl, giving her instructions on how to move. The little girl's tongue poked out of her lips as she concentrated, and Lucien was just as concentrated as her.

Once the current music came to an end, the girl grinned up at Lucien, and he ruffled her hair in return before she ran away, maybe to her friends.

Y/n finally walked up to Lucien, smiling tiredly at him.

"Hello, you."

He smiled back. "Good evening, my lady."

Y/n rolled her eyes at the title. "Shut up."

"Can I not even greet you now?"

"Yeah yeah whatever. I'm going to go sit at a bench, rest a little then return. You coming?"

He nodded, walking over to where his coat lay on the ground. He picked it up along with her shoes then returned.

When she tried to take her shoes from him, he waved her away.

The two of them walked in silence, heading towards the quiet river. Once there, they walked onto the bank and settled down where the place was relatively drier than all other places. Y/n dipped her feet in the cold water, releasing a relieved sigh at the soothing sensation.

Lucien pulled out two packets from the pocket of his coat, tearing open the wrapper and handing one to Y/n. She looked at him, confused.

He simply opened his pack, and then bit into the cake.

"Why do you have these with you?" She questioned, though she began nibbling on the little treat.

He shrugged. "Jurian found these at a bakery in mortal lands a few days ago. I thought you might like it."

She smiled, staring into the water as she slowly chewed.

"The inner circle were in the crowd tonight."

Y/n whipped her head to look at Lucien, but he didn't even seem bothered or interested in talking about the inner circle. He said it so casually, like he was telling her it was night and not day.

After a moment, Y/n spoke. "Was Elain there?"

He nodded, taking a bite of the cake. He took his time chewing before he gave her a response.

"I saw them after the fourth or fifth song. Apparently, they'd been watching since the first song."

Y/n gaped at him.

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Why are you so nonchalant about this?! Your mate saw you dancing with me on a song meant for people involved romantically!"

He blinked, then raised a brow. "And?"

"That might ruin any chances you had with her!"

He shrugged again. "There was never any chance anyway."

"Lucien! You-"

"Look Y/n. It's been long since the bond made itself known. It's been long enough that if she wanted to accept the bond, she would have. And long enough that if she didn't want the bond, she would have rejected it."

"Yes I know but you love her-"

"Let me speak, love. Let me get this off my chest. I never loved her. She didn't give me the chance to. The pull I felt towards her was simply the bond clouding my judgement. The desperation with which I seeked to gain her attention was me simply yearning for happiness. If I had not been so lonely and upset all the time, maybe I wouldn't even have acknowledged the bond if she ignored it too.

"And maybe I am a bastard for that, but I don't know what had gotten over me for the past year or so. I had lost almost all of myself, until you came along.

"You-" Lucien looked at Y/n, his eyes bright "-you made me realise that I did not need another person to make me happy, and that I didn't have to stop being myself for someone to love me. And i will be eternally grateful to you for it."

Y/n shook her head, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. "Lucien, you deserve to find love. You deserve to have a happy life."

"And I know that now. All because of you."

"But I did nothing." She sniffed, her cake forgotten in her hand.

"You didn't have to. Just simply being my friend and showing me kindness made a significant difference in how I saw myself."

"But what about Elain? What about the bond?"

He smiled. "She can be with anyone she wants now. She wanted to have control over some aspects of her life after having been forced to turn, and honestly, I don't blame her. I would have wanted to do the same if my life had been anything like her."

"And what about you?"

Y/n felt like she knew the answer, but she still wanted to know.

"I do not need a bond to be with someone I love, you know."

"And who is it that you love?"

His smile turned knowing. "You know the answer, don't you?"

"Tell me still. After all, you do love hearing yourself speak."

This was a serious moment, but Y/n felt like if she didn't try to lighten the air by joking, this would become real. And she didn't know if she could handle that.

"I love you, Y/n."

She closed her eyes, telling herself this was not real, that she would wake up soon, and realise this had been a dream. Just like all the times before she had had the dream of being with Lucien and then waking up, all alone in her bed and staring at the ceiling.

But when silence settled around her, him staring at her expectantly, she realised this was no dream.

That someone like Lucien really was in love with someone like her.

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping out of the corner of her eyes. "You don't mean that."

She felt his thumb brushing away the tear a moment before she felt his lips on her cheek. "I do. I am in love with you, my lady. I would do anything to show you how much I love you. To prove to you that I really do."

Her eyes fluttered open, staring into his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers. "Why?"

He chuckled. "What do you mean why? There is not need of a reason for me to love you. I simply love you because you exist."

After a moment, she whispered what she had been dying to scream. "I love you, Lucien. I love you so much."

His smile widened, and he began closing the distance between them. "Then let me be yours."

Just before their lips met, she mumbled. "Be mine."

And her body ignited.

•○●⛦●○•

Her joints were creaking, but the old hag watched, and waited.

She had this primal need to have the little girl she'd watched grow up in front of her eyes find happiness, and she would threaten even the mother if the need arose to make Y/n happy.

But she didn't have to do that, because as she watched, the fire head male leaned in and pressed a kiss to Y/n's lips, and the old hag smiled, giddy with happiness and excitement.

And then she turned away, meaning to hobble back to the solstice celebration in the main square and leave the two younglings to enjoy the night together.

But then she paused, staring at the young female that stared at Y/n and the fire boy she'd fallen in love with.

Slowly, the old hag's brain remembered that this female with soft features and silky hair was the high lady's sister. And in turn, Lucien's mate.

Damn the mother. The old hag cursed, shaking her head.

"Leave them be." The hag ordered the girl in front of her, who turned to her with wide eyes. "They both deserve happiness. Don't you dare think about getting in the way."

The girl in the lilac dress nodded, her eyes becoming watery, but the hag had already begun walking away.

And after a final glance at the giggling couple on the riverbank, the girl turned away, jealousy and relief warring in her chest.

•○●⛦●○•

When Lucien pulled away, his hand still resting on her cheek, she couldn't stop a giggle from escaping. His lips quirked, a little swollen.

"Something funny?"

She shook her head, her cheeks warm as she turned back to the water. "Should we do a toast, my lord?"

He laughed at that, shifting closer to her as he put an arm around her shoulders. "And what will we toast with? We don't have wine or anything."

"We have these cakes." She pointed out.

He lifted his cake into the air. "Alright then. To love!"

Y/n wrinkled her nose. "And cakes!" She said as she raised her hand, and Lucien laughed.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Carefree and happy.

And Y/n simply watched, admiring.

Loving.

•○🌑○•

Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

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sporesgalaxy · 4 months

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I know this is something u were probably asked before but as the guy that has a good relationship with art....how do you do that??? I mean I get that this question is vague but how do you not care if it looks bad? Do you just?? Keep on going till it looks like you want it to look? Despite the agonies? You seem like you enjoy talking abt this thats why im asking, dont feel the need to answer if u dont wanna

hmmmm. You know, I don't think about the agonies much these days. But it's not that I don't care. I guess I've become a freak who sees beauty in the agonies, sorta? It's kind of complicated! I will do my best to explain!

First of all, I know that I have the unfair advantage of having no ambition. I don't have a goal for my art besides making art when I feel like it. That makes it easy to be less judgemental-- I remember having a rockier relationship to my own art during the time when I thought I would make it my career.

This is why I like talking about my perspective, though!! I think it's important to try not to let yourself be consumed by self-criticism as an artist, even if self-criticism is necessary for you, and hopefully my carefree way of looking at things can help balance things out haha.

Anyways, ambition or not-- and I know how this sounds but bear with me-- art doesn't ever look bad.

(Barring ethically harmful art, ugh, I don't want to get into ethics so just-- surely you know what I mean!!!)

Art gets a lot less stressful if you can tell yourself that no art is bad, and remember the reasoning behind that until you really believe it. It isn't a fast process, but it's very worth the work.

The truth is that art either looks how you want it to look, or it looks different from the way you want it to look, but both are ultimately neutral. You CAN make art that looks different from what you wanted, that you still feel pleased with.

When art looks different from how you wanted, the gut reaction you have is often to call it bad or get frustrated. And of course it's frustrating! Maybe you feel it's not as effective at communicating something as you'd hoped, or you feel it's not as visually impactful as you imagined...but it's important to remember those things are only your perception. Not an objective fact. And art is a two-way street! A communication between creator and observer! And communication is really weird and complicated.

•••

Other people's perception of your work won't ever be exactly the same as yours. Sometimes this is desireable and sometimes it isn't! Maybe your art will communicate the thing better to someone than anything they've ever seen-- even if a more effective version could theoretically exist, the "imperfect" version that actually exists and communicates is all that matters to the observer. Or, maybe a feature that turned out exactly how you wanted it to will fly completely over an observer's head, and not have the effect you wanted at all. A lot of the time, you'll never even know.

An artist can NEVER fully control an observer's perspective, so at a certain point you have to live with what you have. You already do this, to some degree, if you have ever EVER decided to stop working on a piece of art and share it. You can always keep adding to something. You can always keep editing. But sometimes, you stop. And perfection doesn't exist, so when you stop it must be because the art is good enough for now. And nothing about "good enough" is objective!

And is that really so bad? Surely people who grow fruit understand that a fruit which is smaller than they imagined can still feed somebody-- that at the very least it will feed bugs and microorganisms and be useful as fertilizer to grow more apples. Your art still means something, still accomplishes something, is still worth making whether it turns out how you imagined or not.

A lot of art is learning when to quit and move on. As a habitual perfectionist, this was something I had to learn early, to stop myself from erasing holes into every piece of paper I drew on.

There's this rule I was taught in middle school drama class: if you fuck up, act like you didn't fuck up. The audience doesn't have your script memorized, so odds are they won't have any idea you fucked up unless you tell them. Other art works the same way. No one knows what you wanted to make but you. And more importantly, a "perfect" version of your art doesn't exist (no "perfect" version of anyone's art exists, or ever will).

The version you made exists, so you have to find what's worth loving about that version. You have found what's worth loving in the imperfect art of others many times. Many observers will treat your art the same way you treat others' art. Why not treat your own art that way, too?

It sounds really REALLY corny, but I try not to think of this as embracing "mistakes." I think of it as celebrating coincidences.

I really really like coincidences. I like that every circumstance wasn't guaranteed to happen, that everything comes down to chance. I think all the little random things are beautiful because they turned out however they did, and not any of the millions of other ways things might have turned out. It's a coincidence that my genes expressed the way they did. It's a coincidence that my parents met in college. It's a coincidence that my oldest friend and I both got to middle school early every day, and stayed close even when we didn't share any classes.

Art is full of coincidences! I try to draw a straight line. The line does not turn out straight, because of the way my hand is shaped and the way my muscles contracted, because my body is not exactly like anyone else's in the world. No one else would have drawn that slightly not-straight line just exactly how I did. It's mine, and it's crookedness is what makes my art mine. Okay, maybe it's a little too crooked for what I want this time-- I'll erase it and draw a new crooked line at a bit of a different angle. There we go, I like that! Now it's my beautiful, irreplaceable crooked line! And the ghost of its predecessor guides the eye just so, and no one else's two crooked lines would guide your eye the same way, only mine! Isn't that nice on its own? Just to have made something that can't ever be replicated? To have made something no one else has ever made before?

You can also apply this in a bit less dreamy and more practical ways, I promise haha.

For example...I've never been a canvas flipper, as a digital character artist. I don't mirror my canvases to see if they still look preportional to me from either direction. I also don't usually draw visual novel character sprites that need to look good mirrored in either direction to serve their function, so it's never been a practical concern of mine.

I consider many kinds of distortion on a character I've drawn to be a good part of the visual flow of the image. Like a smear frame in animation, distoriton in the right places can make character art look dynamic and energized because it can lead the eye through a certain visual flow over the form of the character. If I were to flip the canvas, that eye-leading effect might hit differently because my American eye is used to reading from left to right-- perhaps it doesn't feel as "smooth" going in the opposite direction. This doesn't mean I need to change the distortion necessarily, it just means I prefer not to flip the canvas.

Often, these distortions aren't intentional. They're a coincidence of how my muscles move as I draw, and the areas my left-to-right American eyeballs instinctively pay more attention to. But the effect is still desireable to me. So, happy coincidence!

I think...that's the best I've got for now? Feel free to ask for clarification. I hope it's not total nonsense!

#asks #art tips

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taylortruther · 9 months

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re your tags "the way taylor views and approaches love is way different than mine" "so in general a lot of her songs don't strike me as super romantic"

promise im not trying to start discourse or anything, im just very curious for you to elaborate on that because i find it fascinating. how exactly do you see the way taylor approaches love, and how is it different from the way you do? and can you elaborate on why you don't find her songs romantic in light of that?

the reason im curious is because ive always felt that some of her songs describing situations i think she finds very romantic, always give me mild ick (namely "the other side of the door," i find the idea of begging for someone back who cheated on you and admitting you "need them" kinda icky, but i think she finds it romantic in a way), so its interesting to me your tags kinda echoed that feeling and im curious for you to elaborate

you dont have to answer if you dont want though

well tldr you know how i am a ~touch grass~ nondramatic blogger? i am that way in my relationships too fjkadsl. and i don't think it's a hot take to say taylor isn't like that. she wants to be a lil melodramatic and romantic and passionate and out of control--she described wanting that (and thinking love should make you go crazy) for a long time. and i like passion and intimacy but i do NOT like feeling out of control and the times i allowed it were bad for me.

BUT!!! the really great thing about taylor's view of love is that we have seen it evolve and grow over time. she's addressed a lot of these things herself, because she's tried to unlearn a lot of behaviors that were hurting her! the archer, and much of lover in particular, is so stunning (to me) for that reason--she goes through her mentality of wanting conflict, going for the jugular, running away when things got hard or scary, icing out her partner, and basically begs him to help her through it. she said in so many ways, "don't let me let you go because i am my own worst enemy and i want to learn to be a good partner, not someone who cuts and runs." ie, she learned that cruelty works in movies, but life isn't a movie, life is about support and having healthy conflict so you can grow together. significantly different from "if this was a movie, you'd be here by now." i think she's been really clear about putting the work in and i love that and i will acknowledge that forever because it is hard to change, and she doesn't get enough credit for it within the fandom.

and this is completely normal/expected when you look at the maturity and growth of a high schooler to a 33-year-old woman. you live and you learn! it's really fascinating to see taylor do that in front of us, and i feel lucky she shares that with us.

but in general think taylor is also really driven by proving people wrong, and romanticizes her struggles more than i do--it is what makes her such a hard worker and beautiful artist and so growth-oriented. i'm not like that at all LMAO. like, i grow but i am just... different in my approach. and that's neither good nor bad for either of us.

#writing paragraphs about taylor swift

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httpcarlossainzcom · 8 months

Text

Idealizations Concerning Real Life Relations - cs55

here is part 2 to this mini series

warnings: i have very bad grammar (sorry not sorry….) also this is an 18+ fic minors do not interact!

summary: Carlos loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

song inspiration: summers over interlude - drake and majid jordan, each time you fall in love - cigarettes after sex, from the dining table - harry styles

word count: 26k (sorry babes)

this is split up into multiple parts so dont worry :)

There’s something about Carlos that makes people drawn to him. He’s charming, enrapturing, in every sense of the word. Makes people feel special. His laugh is infectious, loud and often more entertaining than the original joke when he does that thing where he claps his hands, or falls to his knees if it’s funny enough. Being around someone like that is refreshing. He’s captivating and easy to be around, easy to love. He’s such a bright light no matter where he goes, a beacon to those in his vicinity.

And he’s so, so kind. To everyone that speaks to him. Even to those that don’t speak and just look, he offers a kind smile. When someone has his attention, they have it all, his big doe-eyes holding eye contact, nodding to let them know he’s listening and being attentive. He’s a good person. A little hard to understand, hard to get close to. So people say, so you’ve learned. But he’s good. Not much is known about stars, anyway.

You’re watching him right now, always watching. You’re on another stained sofa in a different house than the one you usually went to with your knees pulled to your chest, a cup of beer resting on your knee. He’s chatting with someone, looks like the guy is showing him his tattoos. Carlos smiles, looks enthused, points to one that he must like based on his reaction. Then he’s holding up his own forearm, pointing to a small piece of ink, and then of course, he’s pointing at you.

Just before coming here, you and him had been at his tattoo shop. He drew the most beautiful, intricate little shooting star into your ribs. A little fireball attached to a long trail of stardust, smaller little twinkles falling off of it. It was simple clean line work, lines thin and dark. And then you drew two of the most basic five pointed stars on him, in a small blank space of his already existing sleeve.

You warned him, told him you couldn’t draw a straight line with a ruler, let alone a heavy, vibrating tattoo gun. But he assured you he wanted it, that he needed to get that spot filled anyway.

Though both stars are small, one is bigger than the other.

‘This one is you,’ you had said, pointing to the larger star, ‘and this one is me,’ you continued, moving to point to the smaller one.

‘Is it?’ Carlos had asked, a teasing smile gracing his mouth as he leaned into you.

‘Yeah,’ you had breathed against his lips.

Your soft kisses turned to soft touches, touches that transformed into soft moans. Right there in the parlor.

He’s talking louder now, getting excited. “Look how good her lines are! I didn’t even have to help her that much…” he goes on and on and you smile into your cup.

It was actually a really shitty tattoo. Lopsided, with the points of the stars all different lengths. But hearing him praise you, express how much he actually likes it? It makes your heart burn, glowing bright pink in your chest. You get up and sonder over to him.

He smiles as he sees you, opens his arm up for you to tuck yourself into his side. His arm going over your shoulder, and yours going around his waist. You rest your empty hand on his tummy, can feel how it tenses as he laughs.

“Ah, my little artist herself!” he says.

“That’s a stretch,” you deny, looking towards the guy across from you, “Alex right?”

He nods. “Yeah the one who has spent the last 5 years in school studying medicine and plants,” his voice holds a twinge of regret, a longing for life that isn’t run by tests and grading scales.

You laugh lightly. Ah, the botany guy. “Graduate program?” you ask.

He nods again.

You tap your fingers on Carlos’s stomach, trying to think of something else to say. “Oh! Do you know Charles? He’s not in the same plant… program or whatever but he’s doing a graduate program too.”

Alex smiles. “I don’t know him aside from the parties he shows up at sometimes, but I’ve heard of him around campus. Where is he by the way? You usually have him and Luiza with you when you show up here right?”

Your brow furrows as you take another sip of your drink, readjusting yourself so your back is against Carlos’s chest. He rests his hands on your hips, and cheekily pushes against your ass. You ignore him. “I actually don’t know? We haven’t hung out in a while…” you hum contemplatively while you play with your bottom lip. You look up at Carlos. “Do you know? Lando’s not here either.”

He shrugs, expression bored. “Lando said he has something to do tonight, maybe he’s finally eating Luiza’s pussy. And you know Charles hates these parties almost as much as you.”

You pout still, but Alex swiftly changes the subject.

“Anywho, you’re a tattoo artist now?” he tilts his drink in the direction of Carlos’s arm, his smile playful and knowing. “Must be pretty special to be able to get behind the gun and work on this one. He’s a snob.”

You’re about to deny it once again but Carlos interrupts you with a snort. “Obviously she’s special, we are special friends.”

Alex’s eyebrows raise and you laugh a little. Your eyes sparkle when you look up at the brunette behind you. “Are you drunk?”

He grumbles and wraps his arms around you tighter before mumbling into your neck. “No… not really, but I am horny,” he whispers.

You tut at him, scolding with a whisper, “I literally just jerked you off earlier.”

You’re swiftly ignored as he turns his attention back to Alex, “If you’ll excuse us, we have to put aquaphor on our tattoos.”

You send Alex an apologetic smile, but he just laughs, turning to head in the direction of the kitchen.

Carlos’s hand is tight when it grips yours, a vice like hold as he drags you through the house. It’s at a frat this time, so the upstairs is lined with bedrooms. People are littered through the hall, and in the open bathroom you can see a girl cutting a line on the porcelain sink. The guy behind her holds her hair for her. A modern romance, like a scene from a movie. There are the stereotypical socks on door knobs, and thankfully the music is way too loud and the bass is boosting so you can’t hear what’s going on behind the doors. You almost run into Carlos’s back when he comes to a stop in front of a locked door void of any sock.

“Carlos,” you hiss, “we can’t just have sex in a random person’s room.”

He’s somehow procured a key and gets the door open. “Yes we can, but this isn’t someone random’s room, it’s ’s. He lets me use it sometimes.”

He doesn’t notice the slip of the tongue, once again, but it leaves an icky taste in your mouth. Thick and unpleasant on your tongue. But you know in due time the taste will change, into one of starlight, heady and intoxicating, and so wholly Carlos.

“Lando goes to uni? I never see him on campus,” you wonder aloud tentatively taking a step through the threshold. It looks like a typical college boys room. A desk with a computer and school work scattered all over. A floor littered with shoes and clothes, along with a nightstand that has the lamp, the lotion bottle, and the kleenex box that sit on top of it. You laugh to yourself. Weird.

“Mmm, he’s enrolled and goes just enough to not get kicked out so he can keep getting his student loans and living here,” he replies as he locks the door.

Immediately he’s backing you into the bed, urging you to lay down. He stays close, lips on yours, hands hastily pushing your shirt up and over your head so your top half is bare under him. He pauses while straddling you, looks at you with hooded eyes, taking in the way your long hair fans out against the grey sheets of Lando’s bed. With eyes raking over your skin, his tongue peeks out to lick at his lips subconsciously as he fondles your tits.

“You’re so sexy, your body is so nice,” He pinches your nipples, making them pebble between his finger tips, “love the way you respond to me,” he purrs.

You make a soft embarrassed sound as you blush and bring your hands to your face to hide.

Like every time you try to hide from him, he pulls your hands away and gives you a sly yet sweet smile. He looks down at you, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Why do you still get so shy with me? Hmm?” With your hands in his, he brings them to his clothed torso, urging you to touch him.

His mouth parts when you graze his nipples, and he breathes out a tiny, pleased laugh. “I get the same way for you, can’t you feel it?” He trails your hands down even farther, until they are rubbing against the bulge in his jeans. He sighs, head hanging back, letting you pleasure him for just a moment.

You go to undo his belt but he stops you. “Not yet,” he says as he swats your hand away. He kneels down, kisses and sucks at your collarbones, as he grinds softly into your lower belly, quiet little sighs sneaking out between his kisses.

He’s slowly moving down your body until he gets to the new tattoo, fresh and vibrant against your skin, the edges still a little red. He gently runs a finger over it, before kissing next to it, all around it. “I love it, do you love it?” he murmurs, doe-eyes jumping between the ink and your face.

You run a hair through his brunette locks, brushing them out of his face. “Yeah, you did such a good job, thank you.”

He hums and you feel him smile into your ribs before making his way a little lower. You stop him by pulling at the hair you have a grip on.

“Wait, I wanna- you always take care of me…” you look at his cock. “Let me?” you ask.

He sits back up and regards you like he’s debating on letting you have your way with him before he huffs and shuffles off the bed. He stands at the edge and rids himself of his shoes and socks and you watch as you follow his example.

Next he gets rid of his shirt. You take him in, admiring the lithe, trim cut of his small waist, how his jeans and belt rest on his hip bones, the lightest little fuzz of hair that travels down his lower belly. The very obvious hard on pushing against the zip. You crawl over and sit on the edge of the bed in front of him. He cradles your face and your eyes flutter shut at the touch.

“You wanna take care of me, my baby? Wanna make me feel good?”

You nod as you take his arm into your hold, glancing at him through your lashes before pressing a sweet kiss next to the tattoo you gave him. He coos.

“C’mere,” he says, applying light pressure with the hand on your face.

Up close you can see the flush that has taken over his skin. He has little droplets of sweat forming at his hairline. It’s always so hot at these parties. Maybe it’s because you’re always with him when you attend. He’s always burning so bright, fiery hot.

The hand on your face pinches your cheek sweetly, and now, your cheeks are warm too. He laughs a little before he kisses you. “I know just how you can make me feel good, pretty,” he says against your lips, biting quick and sharp.

He threads a hand in your hair at the back of your head and guides your mouth to his neck. “You can kiss me here,” he sighs, extending it so you have more room. “And here,” down to his collarbones.

You kiss and suckle softly at the bone that protrudes, and pull the thin skin between your teeth for just a second. You moan when Carlos hisses and the hold in your hair tightens. Pulling away, you look up at him. He looks down his nose at you, bites his lip before he smirks a little.

“You wanna mark me, don’t you? Was the tattoo not enough?” he answers the unspoken question swimming in your eyes, while simultaneously teasing. He’s acting cocky, but his voice is airy and has a bit more vibrato than normal, giving away how aroused he is.

You nod eagerly. Of course you want to mark him, of course the tattoo wasn’t enough. Maybe you’re greedy, or maybe you’re just in love. But you don’t think it will ever be enough; a part of you will always yearn for more. He takes his time searching your face before he nods a single, short time.

Carlos doesn’t usually let you mark him, and if he does, he’s usually particular about where. This fuels you, and you sink your teeth into his faintly sun kissed skin, rolling it between your teeth harshly, sucking until you’re sure that his skin has turned the color of the prettiest violet.

When you lick at your work to help ease the ache, a moan gets caught in his throat. You rub your thighs together. His noises always get to you, always make your pussy weep inside of your panties. With his chest rising and falling rapidly, he pulls you off and pushes you back onto the bed, a little forcefully, but you don’t mind. He’s always been a little rough with you. Stars are known to be destructive from time to time.

He crowds your space, taking a spot in between your open legs. Being sat on the bed, his abdomen is eye level, and he pulls you to his tummy when he twines both his hands in your hair again. You lick the center line off his abs before you kiss, wet and open mouthed.

“Yeah, kiss me there,” he moans.

You peek up quickly, and see that his head is tilted back again, blissfully letting your mouth work over his skin. His hands in your hair massage at your scalp encouragingly. Gentle and subconscious with his movements. His abs tense and jump when you nibble at one of the bumps of muscle, and he pushes into you, eager, maybe a little desperate. Although he would never admit that.

He holds you there, guiding you where he wants you till he’s pleased and backs away from the bed enough for you to have space on the floor when you drop to your knees.

Your pussy pulses, gets a fluttery heart beat of its own, as you watch Carlos undo his belt. Anticipation makes you sink a hand between your thighs, makes you press and put a little pressure on your cunt to give you just a bit of relief.

His hands are big and strong, and the glint of the belt buckle matches the glint of the rings that decorate his fingers. The glint of the zipper as he pulls it down. He rubs himself over his boxers, shimmying his jeans down just little as he does it.

“Do you wanna kiss me here too?” He’s smiling a tiny smile, talking quietly as his fingertips play with the tip of his cock. He sounds a little breathless too.

“Please,” you all but whimper, mouth watering.

He hums, while he drags his briefs down his length until it springs out and bounces back to his tummy. He sighs when he starts to stroke himself with one hand, the other settling on your face, petting a little before he taps an open palm on it.

You try to hold in the moan, but when his hand connects with your skin again, just a little harder than before, you can’t. It makes Carlos’s hand on his cock speed up. His mouth parts in awe. Gripping your jaw, he pushes it side to side, and you just let him. You let him play with you like a little doll. Another teasing smack lands on your face.

He sighs, lust filled and dreamy. “God, you’d let me do whatever I want to you, wouldn’t you?” His thumb is running over the slightly reddened skin of your cheek. You nod in his hold.

You would. It’s scary to think about, the extent you feel like you’d go to, to have him, what you’d let him do, let him get away with.

He brings his cock to your lips, but pulls it back when you try to suckle it. You pout, and then he taps the tip of it against your lips, groaning when he says, “Yeah, I know you would, you’re so good to me, so perfect,” he taps the length of his cock on your cheek a few times, he marvels at the little string of precum that connects his tip to the apple of your cheek.

His cock feels thick and hot and a pleasant kind of heavy on your cheek, much like how it feels on your tongue. When he finally lets you taste him, you start by curling your tongue around the crown, licking up some of the precum that has dribbled from his slit. You love it when he leaks for you. It shows you what you do to him, how bad he wants you. He confirms it when he sighs small affirmations.

“That’s it, such a good girl for me.”

You look at him, smiling a little at the praise, tongue teasing his slit, and his face makes your pussy throb. His mouth is parted and his eyes are hooded, like he wants to close them, bask in the pleasure, but keeps them open because the desire to watch you with his cock in your mouth outweighs it. He pushes his hips forward.

“Suck it, baby,” he whispers, soft and salacious as he guides the tip past your lips, little by little until it touches the back of your throat.

You’re confident about a few things, but your head game is close, if not at the top of your list. Little to no gag reflex to hold you back, mouth wet and sloppy as you drool all over his length. Tongue skilled as it moves up and down the sensitive vein running on the underside, while your throat contracts around his tip.

His hips stutter like he’s gonna pull out before he pushes in as far as he can, hands forming a makeshift ponytail with your hair as he holds you down, buries your nose in the coarse patch of groomed hair at the base of his cock. He moans, whines, high pitched and loud. He pulls out of your throat with a gasp.

“Fuck, your mouth,” he drools, praises.

He gives you a second to catch your breath, admires the way your eyes are glassy with tears, mascara smudging the slightest bit, surely to be running by the time he’s done with you. You love it when he fucks you hard enough to make you cry, hard enough to make your makeup run. It shows how well he did it, how badly he made you fall apart. He’s got a few pictures on his phone of you looking ruined and fucked out. He says you look so pretty like that, with teary eyes, a messy face, and hair knotted from being fucked into the mattress.

Then he’s fucking your mouth. Hand coming down to your neck so he can feel the way his cock fills it up every time his hips snap forward. His body curls over yours some as he bends a little to reach your neck, and you can feel the heat from his body ignite the air around you as he slides deeper, inch by inch .

Every time he pulls out you take a quick breath through your nose, before he’s pushing in again, your throat like a spit-slick cocksleeve designed specifically for him. The perfect amount of wet and the tightest type of grip. His breathing is audible and ragged above you, harsh huffs, and occasional moans color the air when you swallow around him. His cock is so hard and hot in your mouth, throbbing and pulsing on your tongue.

Your hands are on his thighs and you can feel them tense, almost tremble as he pulls your head down onto him over and over again. He’s less considerate now, stingy with the breaths he allows you to take while he chases that high. He’s groaning loud and unabashed, and you’re choking, bubbles of spit forming at the corners of your mouth and around the base of his cock. He holds you down one more time, shaking your head by the ponytail so that the tip of his cock rubs against the back of your throat then he’s hastily pulling you off.

You rest your forehead on his lower belly, trying to catch your breath. You can feel him too, getting a hold of himself, due to the expanding of his stomach as he takes deep breaths. He still has his hands on you, touching just like always, running his fingers through your hair. Until he’s pulling you up by it.

He’s quick to get his lips on you, and his tongue is quick to slide into your mouth. When he tastes himself on you, he sighs, smiles into the kiss. With hands cupping your face, you smile back, basking in the attention and sweet affection. You reach your hand down and grab his cock and his hips jerk. He pulls away at first before subtly fucking into your hand and moaning. You drink it down like the sweetest champagne, his sounds intoxicating in their own right.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he rests his forehead against yours, “wanted to cum in that mouth so bad… wanna cum in your hand right now,” he pushes a long slow thrust into your palm, his foreskin sliding with his movements. He sounds like it’s so difficult to hold back, to keep from cumming right there in the palm of your hand. “You’ve got me so hot baby, wanna cum inside you…” He places the softest, pleading kiss to your lips.

It almost sounds like a question, his voice light and airy, lilting up at the end. Soft and gentle as he brushes his nose against yours, a gesture that is as painful as it is sweet, a touch too tender for what you both are. But it makes you keen in his hold, body pressing to his, as close as you can get.

Your hands are running over him, and his running over you, just taking up each other’s space, breathing each other’s breaths. His hands slide to your hips and spin you around so you’re facing the bed, a little rough, impatient, as they yank your pants and panties down. They knead at your ass, when you lower to your forearms and arch your back, presenting yourself to him.

Carlos drops to his knees behind you, spreads your cheeks so he can see your cunt, pretty and pink and glistening. He rubs his two first fingers in between your plush lips, and your legs spread wider. You push back into his touch.

“Just fuck me, please, I can’t wait,” you breathe.

He hums, plays with your pussy a little more before you feel him spit on it. Then he buries his face into you, tongue coming out and licking from your clit, to your core, all the way to your hole between your spread cheeks. He swirls his tongue around it and you peep, the feeling oddly pleasant, but unexpected. Carlos huffs a little laugh while he pulls away. He sheds his pants, and you follow suit, before settling atop the bed, once more on all fours.

His big hands fall on your ass, jiggling it a little. He groans at the way the fatty part ripples before settling back into place. Gripping his cock with one hand and pulling a cheek to the side with the other, he rubs the tip between your silky lips. The sloppy, wet noises fill the room, loud and clear. The sound of the distant chatter and subdued party music outside the door is distant, barely there, all your focus on Carlos. He hisses as he watches his cock sink inside of you.

“So wet…” he rasps out as he fucks into you with shallow thrusts. He can see your arousal shiny and sticky on his cock, no lube needed.

You nod as your head dips, hanging between your forearms. He bottoms out and you let out a high pitched whine. “Yeah, want you so bad, baby…”

He stays buried to the hilt for a moment, hands running over your ass, your back, squeezing at the smallest part of your waist. His touch feels so good, electric on your skin. But you’ve felt his cock before, many times, and you’re no stranger to how good that feels. It makes you lean forward, makes you drag your cunt up his length, before you push yourself back onto it.

Carlos gasps, hands squeezing hard at the motion. “Fuck… keep doing that.”

You whimper as your work your pussy over him, throwing your hips back, fast and consistent. Getting high off the sounds Carlos is making behind you. The soft curses, the loud groans when you start to circle your hips slightly. The way he just lets you make him feel good.

You collapse onto the bed, arms giving out due to the pleasure coursing through your body, and you turn your face to the side, hands gripping the sheets beneath you. His palm settles on the small of your back, halting your movements so that he can snap his hips forward, punching pleased gasps from you. You turn your face into the sheets, trying to quiet yourself.

He doesn’t like that apparently. If the hand gripping your hair and yanking is enough to go by.

His body is over yours, chest to your back as he fucks into you with short, hard thrusts. “Wanna hear you pretty girl, want everyone to hear you,” he whispers in your ear.

You squirm in his hold, slowly getting overwhelmed by the way his body is making you feel, by the way you slowly climb higher and higher until you feel like you could touch the stars. “Feels… so good…”

“Yeah, I fuck you the best don’t I?” he purrs, “Better than anyone before me? Better than anyone will after me too, right? Always gonna want this cock, aren’t you?”

You whine because you know it’s true. You know no matter what you do or what happens between you and Carlos, he’s always going to live in your head, always going to have a place in your heart, your body is always going to remember him and long for him. Not even just in a sexual sense either. You think he knows this all too well.

He pulls out of you with a ragged breath before situating himself on his side behind you. He urges you to push yourself against him, back to his front, spooning. He grips the thigh of your top leg, pulls it up to your chest.

“Keep them open,” he instructs.

You do as he says, looking down your body where you see him bring the tip of his cock to your center again. He’s watching you though, braced on his elbow, while his free hand guides himself into you. The way your eyes roll back before squeezing shut with knitted brows makes Carlos sigh, the way your mouth drops open when he pushes in the last few inches makes him moan.

He’s going slow. Long, punctuated plunges into your cunt. He’s got his face buried in the place where your neck meets your shoulders. Breathing out lewd moans, his grip on your hip tightens as he bites and kisses at your throat, breath scalding as he pants into your skin.

“Love your pussy, fuck…” he brings skilled fingers to your clit and starts to massage with tight constant circles. You buckle in his hold, glance down at his hand again, watching as he touches you just the way you like, the way he knows you like. The way he knows will get you shaking in no time.

“Please let me cum,” you beg.

He hasn’t purposefully been edging you, but you’re worked up. Usually he fingers you, goes down on you, before you even get his cock inside of you. But due to the change in routine today and the lack of stimulation, the pressure in your core has been building quick, almost putting you at your breaking point already.

He’s well aware, voice teasing yet aroused when he coos, “You wanna cum baby? Yeah, you do?”

You twist in his hold some so that you can look at him, show him the tears in your eyes, hoping that they convey how badly you want to do just that.

His eyes are shiny too, pleasure so raw and apparent in them. He kisses you, licks into your mouth as he keeps that slow pace to his hips. The one that’s so deep, the one that brushes your sweet spot inside every time he glides against your sensitive walls.

“Want you to cum too,” he says it with a sigh, like he’s so close, just needs you to finish him off, “you’ve got me so… think I could cum just from being inside you while you cream on my cock, just from feeling that messy little cunt cum around me,” he’s moaning as he speaks, his hips losing rhythm, speeding up some as he gets closer.

You nod, the hand you’re leaning on holding tight at the sheets, the other keeping your legs spread. “Yeah, want you to cum inside me, cum with me…” Your eyes are closed, and your voice is kind of delirious as you feel it all come to a head. Your pussy is already tightening around him.

He hisses. “There you go, that’s it baby… can feel how close you are,” his hips have almost stopped, just the smallest, minute little thrusts still going. He brings the fingers on your clit down to your leaking cunt just for a second getting them nice and wet before circling your bud again, faster, a little harder than before. Focusing on your pleasure, on making you finish. You keen as the leg you’re holding up starts to shake.

“Gonna cum,” you warn, the hand that was gripping the sheets coming up to your tit to play with your nipple.

Carlos curses on a moan, “Yeah, fuck… me too.”

He feels it, the way your body goes tense before you let go. How you tremble against him as your orgasm rushes through you, moans and whimpers falling from your lips. Your pussy clenching around his cock is what sends him over the edge.

“Fuck, I’m cumming-” he gasps out quickly, before biting down on your shoulder, grunts of pleasure muffled as he fucks into you as deep as he can, repeatedly, with those small thrusts. You feel his cock throb inside of you, cum filling you up.

You smile, serene and spent when he goes limp behind you. His arm comes around your waist, pulls you closer. He keeps his cock tucked inside. You run your fingertips over his arm and feel the slight scabbing of the stars on his skin.

He shivers at the touch. Sitting up some, he curls over you. Your eyes are still closed, content, chest still rising and falling with your deep breaths. He leans in and kisses you, so sweet. Tastes like rose petals dipped in sugar.

He’s still on your lips when he mutters, “Now we have to figure out a way to get out of here without getting any cum on Lando’s sheets.”

You giggle, nod, and then kiss him again. You’ll clean up in a little.

It’s deliberate, the way you choose not to think about the reason why he wants to clean up, get going. How he doesn’t want to stay the night with you.

~~~

“I want you to get out a pen and a piece of paper and then clear off the rest of your belongings.”

School is back in session, winter break ending far too soon. It’s your last semester, your degree is so close you can almost taste it, with only 3 classes left till you’re walking the stage in your cap and gown. One of the classes is a writing class that you saved till the end of your university run so you had something to look forward to.

It’s a Thursday afternoon and you’re sitting in the back of your Creative Writing lecture hall. Someone’s eating so it smells disgustingly of peanut butter and the seats are filled with college students who just rolled out of bed at 12pm, everyone slightly disheveled and the crowd lackluster as the professor paces the front of the room. She’s quickly become one your favorites however, the last few weeks in her class proving to be entertaining as well as educational. You paw your sweater sleeve up in your fist and hold it to your nose and lean forward attentively.

“Now, I want you to think about someone you love. It can be a real person, fictional, completely imaginary. Dead or alive. Old or young. Doesn’t matter. You just have to love them.”

Of course starry doe-eyes flash in your mind. A crooked grin that pulls down a little farther on the right side. The centered mole just under his bottom lip that you kiss softly, so often when he’s distracted. The scar on his cheek that you run your fingers over when he’s resting on you. You do love Carlos, you have for a while now.

“Write that person’s name at the top. They are going to be the model of basis and foundation for one of the characters in the short story project that we have due mid-April. So you’ve got approximately 2 months to finish it.”

A chorus of groans sound around the hall. The boy in front of you rests his head on his arms, looking defeated.

“Hey,” your professor laughs, “this is the last year for most of you and this is the only project you have this semester. And it was in the syllabus. Not sure why you all sound so despondently surprised. You didn’t really think you would get through the whole course without one did you?” she inquires, still pacing the front of the room with a quirked brow.

You honestly don’t mind. It will be a good distraction when you’re left to entertain yourself. Carlos’s actually been more on top of his apprenticeship attendance lately. It’s a good thing of course, but you don’t see him as much as you used to. That’s not to say that you aren’t together an incessant amount, just a bit less than normal. You scribble a tiny ‘Chili ♡’ at the top of your paper.

“Now with your muse in mind, I’m going to ask you a series of questions so that we can get some finite details about your fictional character on paper for you to use and reference as you’re writing,” she pauses, clicks to another slide on the projector. “What is their favorite color?”

After writing the question you pause. Surely it’s red right? That’s basically the only color he wears. Maybe black? You had helped him color his hair black just a few days ago, the stains on your pillow a lightish grey colored reminder every night… Still, you go with your first instinct, scrawling ‘red’ on the lined paper.

“Their birthday?”

You’re quick to answer this one, he’s a Virgo, so his birthday is… A small frown starts to tug at the corners of your lips. What day in September did he say? Did he ever say? Did you guys ever even actually talk about birthdays? ‘Virgo’ gets written next to question 2.

“Are they close to their parents? Closer to the mother or father? Are they estranged? If you know why, please elaborate.”

You know you don’t know this one. Fairly certain Carlos hasn’t even mentioned them in passing.

“What role, or character archetype are they playing in your story?” she clasps her hands in front of her. “Are they the hero? The love interest? The villain?”

You answer that one hastily.

A few more questions are asked, some that you can answer, some that you can’t. They gradually get deeper, more personal as your professor carries on with them.

“Okay. Now I want you to think hard about this character, and about the muse you’ve crafted them after. Could you answer all of the questions I asked?” She moves a weighted gaze around the room. You feel like she’s looking directly at you when she speaks again. “Do you really love the person you chose for the basic character prototype? Again, they could have been real, imaginary or fictional, but do you really love them, or do you love the idea of them? The version of them that you have pieced together in those brains of yours.”

Your heart stops for just a moment, you can almost feel how you pale, the color draining from your cheeks. She continues.

“I only ask because I want you to grow to love the character you are creating. This isn’t Psychology, I’m not here to make you question the love, or emotions you do or don’t feel,” the class laughs at this. The class with the exception of you. “But I am here to make you better writers. And one skill that you can have as a writer, a creative, or fiction writer especially, is building a connection with your characters. You’re going to be working on their, the character you’re outlining, story for the next few months. And when I read your work I want to be able feel the connection you have with them.”

She waits for it to sink in before continuing. “So I ask again: Do you love the muse you’ve chosen, or do you love the idea of them? Because loving someone and loving the idea of them are two completely different things. To love an idea of someone or something is to love it in a very surface level and/or superficial way. Still with me?” she questions.

You are, but you wish you weren’t. You think you’re going to be sick.

“Good, so as I was saying. It’s superficial. To be blunt, you love them for what they could be not for what they really are. As writers, many of us are guilty of this.”

The thing about being a hopeless romantic is that you think about life in could be’s.

“To truly love someone or something is to know all the little details about them, their virtues and their flaws. The reason why they prefer winter to spring. How old they were when they got their heartbroken for the first time. When they figured out who they are as a person, or if they are still searching. I asked those questions at the beginning of class to get you thinking.”

Your hands are starting to tremble just a little. Words on your paper coming out sloppy. You do love Carlos.

Your professor takes a deep breath, flips to another slide. “How can you expect to love the character when you don’t even truly love who they are modeled after?”

The room is quiet for a second. Someone raises their hand.

“Isn’t it possible for characters to change as you write them? Like I can’t change my person, but I can change my character, like write them the way I want so that I end up loving them.”

Your professor laughs again, light and airy as if she expected someone to ask. “Ah, yes. Character development is a thing of course. Although this is something that happens naturally throughout the story. But to change your character, like how you described?” she shakes her head and tsks, “Is it really love if you have to change them?”

The sound of your paper crumpling is blaring in the quiet room. You pull out a new sheet, writing your sister’s name at the top. Her favorite color is green, her birthday is July 8th, she’s closer to your dad because you and your mom have always had a bond she couldn’t recreate with her, she’s the hero in the story, not the love interest like Carlos was… The lecture continues, and you don’t even notice when the bell rings, too busy thinking about how you do love Carlos.

~~~

Carlos’s playing the newest version of Final Fantasy on his PS, the one you got him for Valentine’s day just a few days ago. You remembered him passively saying that he hadn’t played since he was little, and how he said he missed racing the chocobo’s.

His eyes flicker between his tv and you walking around his room. You’ve been to his apartment many times, but still, you always move around and take everything in like it’s your first time there; your fingers running over his manga collection in the corner, tidying up his desk, lighting the linen candle you brought from your place.

‘A gentle smell’ you had told him with a sweet smile, ‘because you’re sensitive to certain scents.’

He gets distracted, the pleated skirt you’re wearing catching his eye even more than the improved graphics of the game. He doesn’t quite hear you when you speak up.

“Huh?” he asks, dragging his gaze up your body only to be met with a knowing look of your own. He smiles sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, before taking a seat in his computer chair, not too far from his bed where he’s sat. Flipping through one of his tattoo sketchbooks you ask again, “What’s your favorite color?”

Carlos isn’t surprised when you decide to make conversation. Before you started wandering around his room, you were on the bed with him while he played but you were a little fidgety and fussy, like you had something on your mind. He suspected you got up to try and distract yourself from your thoughts.

He hums and tells you that it’s black, maybe red.

You ask his birthday next. He tells you September 1st.

Adjusting himself against the headboard of his bed, he opens for you when you make your way to him, crawling across his duvet. You take it upon yourself to settle between his thighs, back against his chest. He wraps his arms around you and continues to play, his chin resting atop your head. He smiles to himself when he feels you start to trace the stars on his arm.

“Are you close to your parents?” you question again.

He makes a small pondering noise. “Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Uh- they worked a lot I guess and-” He pauses. You don’t sound like you’re prying, just soft curiosity lacing your tone, but he still hesitates. “Why are you asking?”

You hum and lean up a little to peck at the line of his jaw. He purrs at the contact, content. “Just wondering,” you state, pressing back into his chest.

It’s quiet for a bit, you annoyingly plucking at the little bit of arm hair he has, making him laugh and playfully scold you, nuzzling into you and nipping at your cheek in retaliation. You giggle and he gets that sharp feeling in his chest, just like he always does.

He thinks that’s the end of your questioning but too soon, you speak up again. “Do you prefer Winter or Spring?”

“Winter, but my favorite season is Fall,” he says glancing down at you quickly before redirecting his attention to his game again. “You’re being weird, are we playing 20 questions or something? No, I’m not a virgin. What color panties are you wearing?” he asks, trying to make a joke.

He chuckles when you lift your skirt to check before flipping it down again. “Pink,” you reply.

You’re about to talk again but he interrupts you, “Wait let me see, I didn’t get a good look.”

He hears you huff and can imagine you rolling your eyes as you do what he asks. You put it down again after a few seconds.

“Just a little longer,” he tries.

“Ugh, can you stop,” you say, a giggle leaking into the words, “I’m trying to talk to you!”

He groans over dramatically like he’s exhausted, but he gives in. He always does with you.

“How old were you when you lost it? Your virginity?”

The fond feeling in his chest starts to dwindle, and Carlos can feel the first little pricks of irritation poke at him as he answers your question shorter than before. “17 or 18.”

You make a small surprised noise, looking up at him shocked. “Really that old?”

He doesn’t glance back, stays focused on his game, hoping that you get the hint that he doesn’t want to ‘talk’ like this. “Yeah, I was a late bloomer and also an idiot.”

You smile at him before going back to tracing his tattoos. “I doubt you were an idiot. That was just part of your story, a little chapter in your life.”

He tenses at your words but shortly after, a lull falls into the conversation. But as soon as Carlos relaxes, a small frown takes over his face when you ask if the girl had been his girlfriend. And again, you don’t sound overbearing or anything, but he knows you can tell he’s not interested or invested in your questions. The atmosphere has shifted from pleasant and content to stiff and vexatious.

“Yup,” he says, voice taking a stern edge despite his efforts to mask it.

He feels you tense against his chest, your fingers halting on his arm. “Are you mad at me?” you ask hesitantly.

Immediately he feels bad, and sighs. “No, I’m not,” he says quietly, trying to be gentle.

But it seems you just don’t get it, because not even a few minutes later you’re asking, “How long were you together?”

And he does his best to not snap at you, but he can’t stop himself when he goes rigid behind you and his words come out harsh and scathing. “Why does it matter and why the fuck are you interrogating me all of a sudden?”

You turn around between his legs and gape at him with a shocked expression. “I’m not interrogating you? I’m literally just making conversation? Trying to get to know you better?”

“And why’s that?” he says, his tone flippant and annoyed.

You pout and furrow your brows. “Am I not allowed to get to know you?”

His jaw ticks and he casts an annoyed gaze around his room, looking anywhere but at you, as if not acknowledging the confused and hurt arch of your brow will make it go away. “You haven’t tried to in the last what? Five months?”

“Six,” you correct him quietly.

You sound unsure, like you don’t know why he’s lashing out like he is. And to be fair, it’s out of character for him, at least with you. He’s really not this cold towards you very often, almost ever.

Usually things with you both are great, easy. Fitting together in each other’s lives almost perfectly. So seamlessly they are almost completely intertwined at this point. You meeting him for his breaks at his lessening shifts at the coffee shop, him meeting you after classes when he doesn’t have work, going to each other’s places after he gets off from his apprenticeship. The parties every now and again. The tattoos.

But he supposes it’s easy to put two blank canvases together when there are no details known about either of them. That’s what he was hoping for at least.

“So am I just not allowed to?” you repeat when he stays silent.

With an irked groan he tosses his controller to the side and rubs his hands over his face, rakes them through his navy hair. “I just don’t get why you are asking in the first place.”

You regard him quietly for a moment, taking in his bored stare. He knows the disinterest in his tone is agonizingly apparent, and he knows it hurts you, just like the detached dismissal that he has ready on the tip of his tongue will. He expects you to keep pushing, to bicker with him just so he doesn’t give you the silent treatment.

He doesn’t expect you to start crawling off his bed.

He sighs and reaches out for you, getting a grip on your arm before you can get away completely. “C’mon, what are you doing? Are you mad at me now?”

“I’m not mad, I just don’t see the point in staying here if you aren’t going to talk to me.” You’re trying to sound impassive, but he can hear the hurt in your voice.

“But I am talking to you. I talk to you all the time, what do you mean?” He hates that he almost sounds like he’s whining, but he just doesn’t understand and he’s frustrated that you are prying and making things deeper than they need to be, than they should be.

“Not about things that matter,” you reply curtly.

“But the things you’re asking about literally do not matter, ___,” he states, just as short.

You hang your head back and he can see your lashes fluttering rapidly. He knows you’re trying to not cry. Blinking to rid your eyes of unshed tears. You do that sometimes, cry when you get frustrated. As articulate as you are, sometimes things are hard to get out. You sound defeated and disheartened, but your words also have a hurt edge to them when you say, “They matter to me, anything that has to do with you matters to me.”

He knew you were close to tears, but when you look at him with glossy eyes, he softens almost instantly.

“Baby,” he coos, sighing again as he tugs you back to between his legs, back to his chest like when the conversation first started. He wraps his arms around you and kind of sways a little as he pecks your hair. “I just don’t think it’s important. Like the past is the past, and that’s it, you know?”

He knows you’re pouting, and your voice is short and whiny when you insist, “I just want to know.”

He hangs his head back and knocks it lightly against his headboard, trying to be patient with you. “It wasn’t like a bad relationship or anything like that but I just-”

“Does it still bother you?”

“No, but it’s still something I’d rather not think or talk about,” he’s talking to you slowly, like a child.

You’re quiet for some time, but Carlos just waits, knows you have more questions.

It’s tentative and rushed when you speak again. “Was she your only girlfriend? If it wasn’t a bad relationship, why did you break up with her?”

He takes a deep breath, actively trying to not be short with you. “She was the only serious one, and she broke up with me. Nothing really happened.” He shrugs, tone getting softer as he speaks. “Just the stereotypical case of unreciprocated love, or like one person just not feeling it anymore.”

“So you loved her?” It asked so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear you over the chimes of his game still playing in the background, forgotten and now sound tracking the trepid atmosphere around you.

He doesn’t verbally reply, just nods. He knows you’ll feel the movement.

It hurts him when you go still in his hold. Like you didn’t want that to be the answer. You recover quickly, however, inquiring him again. “Did she break your heart?”

He can’t help but laugh a little behind you, the words sounding far too dramatic for him. “Yeah I guess so?” he answers, “But it wasn’t like traumatizing if that’s what you’re thinking. I just cared for her more than she cared about me in the end. That’s how it always is, right?” He pauses, hums like he’s thinking. “Plus she was the first girl I was with, blah blah blah, you know how the story goes.”

You make a confused noise in front of him like you’re trying to understand and wrap your head around what he just said. “Did that really not affect you at all?”

You’re probably wondering why he is the way he is, if his first heartbreak isn’t his anti-commitment origin story. He doesn’t blame you.

Jeongg thinks about his words for a second. He’s not lying. It wasn’t traumatizing. Maybe it did change him, how he views things, people, love. But it wasn’t tragic. He just kind of became this way as he got older. He has no real backstory for why he is the way he is, why he loves to be loved but will never love in return. Not in the way the other person deserves, at least. Even if he wanted to, he never would. Because as selfish as it is, the one thing he craves more than love, than anything, is his freedom. And in his head he can’t have it all.

And maybe that is tragic in a sense, but he’s never really thought of it as a bad thing. Knows that sometimes in order to have something he wants, he has to give up something else.

“I mean… I see love differently now. I don’t know if my viewpoint changed because of the break up or just because I got older and realized what’s important to me, but I probably used to think about love closer to the way you do… head in the clouds,” he nudges you playfully, like he’s trying to lighten the mood, “too much faith in people. A top tier romantic and the number one idealist.”

He knows it’s hard to picture. But he was more like you than he would care to admit. Maybe that’s why he’s so much more careful with you. Because he knows.

“How do you see love now?”

Sometimes Carlos thinks he’s heartless. But when you ask him questions like that, the kind that you already know the answer to, but ask anyway, hoping that he will tell you something different, tell you what you want to hear… He knows he’s not because his heart aches in his chest.

He knows he’s not heartless, because he does his best to be soft with you, to make whatever this is between you both, as painless as possible. And that’s why he never lies to you about this kind of stuff, because he knows if he did, it would hurt so much more later. And he doesn’t want that. Carlos is selfish with you, but he never wants to hurt you.

“You know how I see it, ___,” he murmurs softly, like he’s trying to be gentle. Almost like he’s reminding you. “Why are you asking questions that you know are going to-”

Hurt you.

He doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t need to. He knows you know that’s what he means.

He feels bad when you start to backtrack. “No, no. I’m not. It’s okay…” you rush out as you shift onto your knees and face him again, hands coming up to cup his face. “Thank you for telling me,” You kiss him gently, hands squeezing, thumb rubbing over the scar on his cheek. You’re too soft, too good for someone like him. “I’m sorry for being nosy, I was just curious.”

His hands on your hips squeeze, and he pulls you closer, brushes his nose against yours before he kisses you. “It’s okay, I’m sorry for getting upset just-” he breathes hot and sharp against your lips, “Kiss me.”

Falling into each other after moments like these is easy. It’s been happening more lately, rough talks turning into rough touches. But again, it’s just so simple. It’s easy to stop the fights and the questions with his lips against yours, it’s easy to forget the things he does behind your back when he has you on yours beneath him, and it’s easy to pretend like that’s all there is. Just you and him. Two parts of the same star you might say.

But even though it’s simple, Carlos still wonders how long easy will be enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part 3 will not take as long as part 2 did cause i just need to write a little bit more until im done. i hope u guys are loving it so far. if u do dont forget to like a reblog <3

#carlos sainz #charles leclerc #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x oc #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz jr #scuderia ferrari #cs55 #cs55 x reader #smut #fluff #formula 1

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possessedpasm · 7 days

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sorry if this question sucks. do you have any wisdom on how to keep going. maybe even specifically as an artist. i cannot keep any hope. dont feel too pressured. im just desperate for answers. and i love your art.

Hey, it's ok :} I'm glad you reached out-- This is definitely not an easy thing to ask, but I'll try my best here

Personally, the things that keep me going aren't gonna be very grand or deep to everyone, but I don't think that there Has to be any deeper meaning or point in the things that help uplift you...

With art, I've come to love and appreciate imperfections in the things I see and do. Like, uh, my art is Super sloppy sometimes, or i don't like my anatomy, or I could go on... but does that make it any less valuable to me? It's part of me. The same goes for other people. However small or seemingly meaningless something they make may be passed off as. They still made something from a part of themself. And with each imperfection they may see, I see something unique and beautiful and human! I love it :} and like... people are still creating art, 10's of thousands of years later. Like. We haven't stopped. Nothing can stop us. It's inherent. Reflecting on it is kinda mind-blowing...

(And as a "Thing I Learned" side note: I feel we're often told we need to have A Big motivating factor behind the things we do in life (for me, the thing I do is make art). Usually, those motivators include but are not limited to: Being A Success, Having A Larger Purpose In Life (tm), Proving Yourself, ect ect... and I've kinda had to let that go, as scary as it may sound. I let go of the notion of Needing to be A Success (tm) because what are the limits of success? Where do they end? Begin? It's arbitrary. And it drove me into a corner. We make those lines ourselves, lest society do it for us (god forbid.) I took the time and found what makes me happy, and do those things instead of focusing so hard on what other people expect of me. It's a slow process, but it's paid off emotionally)

I know you will find something that creates a spark in you, eventually. That goes for anyone else reading this feeling similarly. Hope (for anything) is something that grows, and growth takes time. So be patient and kind to yourself as you grow, or re-grow. Think of yourself as a little plant... would you be mean to a little plant? I hope not

#talkin pasm #text post #advice stuff #among some of the other things that keep me going are little birdies sunshine good music going on walks and bugs #it sounds so typical but it works for me #little birds make me go :]

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plaguethewaters · 2 months

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@thetiredyuk i am having more Thoughts about that one - ranboo is the sone of death beeduo au. I was about to just send you an ask but also this is almost 2k words so it may be better off as a post lmfao

So like. bullet points time, this is an approximate summary of what i think the Plot would be like - wordbuilding aside

(Temporary mcd, suicide warning)

Year like, 1500 something (to be more well researched but i do want it to be like. something something renaissance. it works) we've got two poor ass kids born of the same year. Except tommy is pretty much a normal guy, liked by his family and such. His parents have enough children they can gamble for at least one to be successfull, so they send him to be a painter's apprentice in the hope he'll make some kind of money. There, in the slighter bigger town thats almost a city but not quite, he meets tubbo. Now Tubbo would have been a normal guy, except he was born with facial deformities so now everyone thinks he's a demonic freak hated by the gods (this renaissance world is politheistic bc kristin needs to be there and also i wil not do christianity if i dont have to lmao.)

Tommy is not intimidated by any gods. obviously. also his dad is really into the goddess of death and he prays enough for both of them, so he's like. protected and shite. And he immidiately hits it off with the cursed boy

surprise hes not actually cursed but people are dicks anyways. Tommy makes him a fancy mask to cover his face - even thought its totally cool as shit, but its cool enough only tommy should ever get to see it - and that eventually does help him. Because tubbo wasnt like, a shit guy. Hes a damn good builder and knows how to read, which are talents big enough that the costruction workers for that church out of town are ready to ignore the whole probably cursed thing. As long as he as the masks.

Tommy: makes him the first genuine gift hes ever received in fifteen years of life Tubbo: never takes it off again. like never Tommy: shocked pikachu face

anyways so tommy dies like. super young. They have their fun for a few years but at like seventeen tommy is called to be the artist for this very fancy duke of the town over - and at the start they'r super happy bc that means Money and Food and Roof over your head and shite. its a very good fucking deal.

except the noble is a bastard. His town revolts against him, and when they storm the castle they aren't exactly asking names or faces: tommy gets immidiately like, super destroyed by the crowd, and dies a few minutes later.

Tubbo hears of this like five months later bc its the fifteen hunderds and hes poor.

He does Not take it very well ngl

He goes a bit murdery - basically hes like "im not living without tommy, might as well burn down a village while im at it right, right."

Now ranboo, in all of this, freshly the equivalent of seventeen for an immortal death being, is starting on their training to actually become death- His mom send him on a quaint little village in europe thinking "hey, the most those guys die of is like. malaria. consumption maybe. itll be easy as hell"

And now like two hundred different souls are around him with FIRE written on their foreheads and Ranboo feels distinctly outside of his range, to be really honest.

he steps a couple ethereak planes down just to see what the heck is the matter - if this is another of those voide beings his mom will be Super Pissed and they want to see that reaction

And it isnt the void people

Instead, in front of their eyes, the singular most beautiful person hes ever seen - and hes seen lots, in this line of work.

He cant see their face, but their actions speak enough. The sheer rage, the almost dance like movement of their body perfectly framed by the light of their torch, seeing no humanity or mercy in whatever their searching for. their hair look angelic in its softness, burnt by the worst flames of hell and yet tended by the same hands who wield it - strong hands, clearly forged by hard work and dedication. This is a guy who has nothing to lose, and there's little Death loves most than someone who doesnt fear it.

He has to go down, has to speak to them immidiately.

So he does.

There's really no time - his mom had given the singular rule not to interact with humans, shell be on them in Seconds- but one question can be asked in the haste: "What brings a mortal to do this?"

"It's all for you, love!" the mortal says. They also say some other things, after, but Ranboo is not very well versed in the human tongue and they are speaking Very Loudly.

(Tubbo actually said "Fuck you, you motherfucker it's Your Fault, you took every single thing i love". Easy mistake, if one thinks about it.)

Their mom is Pretty Pissed but she does undesrtand stupid things done for young love. So she's like "eh, ive loved mortals too. go have fun" and everything

Except a year passes, and ranboo still hasnt even spoken to the guy, and she remembers suddenly Mortality Exists.

Shes never had them take a soul who died naturally - for lack of occasion, mostly - and they may have been. a tad sheltered. They most definitely do Not know what death actually is like for humans, nor how long does it take for them to die

she wonders if it would be a tad overprotective to take this over for them

she thinks about seventy years in the future, at most, when the boy dies. She thinks that her son cannot cry but can definitely cry. she thinks of their screams of sadness ringing through her ears-

Tubbo wakes up in the river, alive.

He did not Intend to be alive, and it's actually quite unfortunate for him to be so.The survivors are quite angry and probably close to him, now. Welp, no way to die is reallt any worse than another, he thinks. Ill just wait here for them.

When the pitchfork collapses his heart and he continues breathing, he understands something might be a little bit wrong.

And like, a good five hundred years pass like this.

Things Tubbo has learned in his five hundred, twenty three and two halves years on this demon forsaken earth:

Clothes get so much shittier over time. he has One (1) tailored shit from the 1800 and Nothing has even barely compared to it ever since.

getting stabbed does not hurt less just because youre not actually dying. Poisoning is actiively way worse since you're not actually dying. Diving off cliffs is Not Fun. In general, try not to do dying things even if youre immortal

theres a hole in his heart where his loved ones were and it will never get filled

Food gets esponentially better over time. Lord bless whoever decided curry should go on chicken because they were Cooking For Real. Chocolate was still better before though.

Working for soulles bosses has not changed At All in all of this time tho.

he works at mcdonalds because no college would accept his non existant resume, and being immortal dosent deprive him of his needs unfortunately. The manager took one look at this kid dressed from like three different centuries with a goat mask on his head and was like. why not. at least youre not a stoner and you know how to read.

His coworkers firmly believe hes a criptid and have a full going investigation to prove it. The highest bet at fifty dollars says hes mothman in disguise, there to eat the fliest that live on their shitty food. The lowest bets hes an angel waiting for the right time to brign down armageddon.

Every night he goes in the woods to an almost forgotten Death altar and he prays. Half of his prayers consist of insults and the other half are pleas for her to fucking kill him already

This does not help the criptid chronicles

Kristin also has like. only so much patience. Hes holding up the prayers line - which is actually still pretty fucking used in central asia - and hes generally annoying as shit.

She takes ranboo by the scruff, gives them a passable human form, and throws them down there. Get your shit together boy youre like a thousand years old. Get your man (to stop fucking with the phoneline)

Ranboo is Not Enthusiastic about this but cmon. Hes death. How hard can working at a mac really be?

Spoiler it is

Spoiler it does Not matter, because awkwardness aside ranboo is funny, and easy to talk to, and compassionate and caring. He doesnt want to kill tubbo, he doesnt look at him like hes a fictional creature (and yes marcie, hes seen the bet table), he isnt his soulless boss. Tubbo is grieving but he also very desperstely wants a friend.

One day someone stops at his shitty apartment at like three am

Ranboo stands in fron of his door drenched from head to toe, holding the possibly smallest kitten tubbo has ever seen in his Life. Hes miserable but the cat is miracoulously dry, screaming their head off - and ranboo is panicking. Are they okay are they dying? Do you have any food i dont know what he eats but its so small and i didnt know where else to go- please i dont want it to die or something and-

The moon shines on their long, wet hair and their stupid fucking suit is as wrinkled as ever. They look like they desperately want to rub their hands against each other but there is a kitten in the way and it probably makes them even more anxious - theres very little messes bigger than him, right now.

Tubbo falls in love.

They heal the kitten and keep enderchest in their now shared apartment.

They grow closer, and closer, and something is forming. Ranboo is aware a relationship cannot be based on lies, as much as it worries him how tubbo will react.

so he prepares like a romantic ass evening

roses and candles and a nice dinner with a fancy wine

tubbo almost gets flustered

except at the end of the night the confession isnt "i love you" but "im the guy who took away your only ffamily".

and he sees Red.

Ranboo doesnt remember what tubbo screamed, not exactly. He remembers grief, and crying, and feeling worse than he ever believed he could. He remembers the endless guilt sitting in his chest, and the slam of a door - maybe from the inside out. Hes definitely outside, now, and the house ifìs far away enough eh cant see it, but that could also be the tears.

His mother finds him crouched in a patch of grass, tears steaming down their cheeks in a constant flow. Shes not aware if they'd returned to death form to feel safer, or because they believed they deserved the burn. Shes not sure what option makes her feel worse.

shes aware that this is. pretty much her fault

TO HER DEFENSE she was not really aware humans were so touchy about death. The souls she reaps arent very talkative and the guy shes with is chill about it so like. maybe this one is weird

(the guy she's with is Phil, whos Decidly not a human but has also decided not to tell her yet. For the bit, yknow? He's been a live a couple thousand years, it would be awkward to drop it now. He's also somewhat a serial killer and Not Normal about death At All)

BUt this is still here fault and she does have to set it right a little bit

So she summons Tubbo to her persnoal room in the palace and goes like. "oi. why r u so mad little guy"

And hes like: you took away the single person whos ever loved me ever

"Wait that's the only problem?"

"What the fuck else would it be"

"thought u were mad at him cause he lied lol"

"LYING IS NOT WORSE THAN KILLING A GUY"

Anyways Kristen is so relieved rn. She thought tubbo was phisically like, repulsed by the concept of death and all, and he was mad that Ranboo lied to him and all. Which he is, but the rage is so so much less than the grief yknoe. And she knows how to fix it if its just one (1) measly soul

Tommy is so fucking confused

Th modern world is full of sounds and weird textures and the food is fucking fantastic but also Too Much, and Tubbo introduced him to this weird ass potion hed called a bong and now hes seeing gods the likes of which had never been discoveres

Over all hes just happy to be alive and with his best friend

He kinda hates ranboo. The fucker threw a scyte at him for no reason when tommy would have Almost Certainly survived because he is simply That Cool. Ranboo didn't believe in his awesomeness enough and is thus a Bitch

Tubbo is. iffy

He cant deny he has a teensy tiny crush now, because hes far too deep in this for that

But also ranboo did like. lie straight to his face

but also tubbo would Not have believed him if a random guy showed up at three am at a mcdonalds saying they were the child of death

and he Did trust that what he saw in ranboo was real, betrayal aside. No one fakes looking That much like a wet cat

so it does take a while. couple years in fact, to get back at the level of trust they had before (inster a cool anime montage where they have lots of fun together as roommates and cats coparents and all)

One night when they are - not back together, because they hadnt been dating before, but back to that almost definitely dating just not officialized stage- ranboo asks him if would ever want to be mortal again.

And tubbo thinks of it. His time on earth had been so plagued by grief hed never really ecperienced anything it had to offer. Hed never seen the sights or did anything at all besides praying for death, and thats kind of a shitty way to pass five hundred years

'But tubbo what about your humanity? wouldnt it be irrevocabily lost by giving awau something so fundamentally human as death" someone would ask. And tubbo would anser "ehh who cares"

He hasnt been fully human since hes burned that whole village down, anyway. And he likes the benefits of this life more than whateer moral superiority a Normal human would have over him

just-

"and tommy too, obviously. I get the feeling you dont like him dead" Ranboo jokes.

There's no decision at all then. Fuck yeah, immortal boyfriend and immortal brother what more could a fucker want.

They get to cause chaos on earth and probably kill a bunch of rich people for a long long time

the end :)

Im like. very tentatively calling this Deathless Death, in the vane hope that i will write something for this better thant bullet points. But for now bullet points it is

#beeduo #cbeeduo #ctubbo #cranboo #ctommy #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp fanfic #this is the longest thing ive written in Months #plague writes

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wisyhana · 4 months

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These are some pages that I made as fanart for a fanfic i Really Love. It's something rare that I look back and actually kinda liking the result- 😂 I've been trying to improve my panels flow(?)/pacing And the Lettering- adding words in comics is pretty hard 🥺 if you had some insights, pls let me know ❤ or just give me what you think... Thank you so much!!

Hi! Thank you for waiting this long hahaha

First of all I love your Yugi, is so freaking adorable, big fan over here aaaaaa.

And okay we're gonna talk about comics. Oh boy. It's not a topic I dont like talking but it's something I get way too.... intense, even if I feel I don't have much to defend with. Anyway I'll try to not be so detailed and serious about it so I can bring a decent commentary!

Disclaimer that I have a lot of issues with the use of thought bubbles, but that's a me thing. Myself I try to avoid them so I can focus on a "show more, talk less" type of flow. So if I start talking about them it's because of that, not that you'r doing a bad thing or anything.

I like how you use the panels, by themselves and ignoring the dialogues, they work perfectly fine! I think my thing with the pacing is that I'd draw a 3-4 pages comics instead of 2 for this scene alone. It's a pain I know, but I think for this type of scenario adding a little more of time could help to appreciate some details, like Kaiba being notoriously angry, the moment he touches Yugi's forehead, etc. But this is also a very personal opinion because I'm a sucker for very sloooow interactions, so all this I'm saying is for the sake of a slower pacing. Sadly you gotta draw more or write less if you want to get that effect, also you can get in a situation where things end up vague and ugh, what a pain hjdfhjhds.

I have a serious problem with dialogue bubbles, I never know where to put them Dx. I always feel they're on the way or that they hinder the reading or that they look straight up ugly hahahaha. I think you use a good space for them! they're not in the way of the faces or important scenes, but I can see you needed to add arrows for the conversation to work. In my opinion the dialogue works perfectly without the arrows. We all know there are two people talking so having only the faces on the bubbles was enough to understand who was talking and what order follow.

Now, if you want to work on bubbles without using the faces to show who's talking and don't lose the order in the way, I could recommend something like this:

Sorry if it looks way too clumsy! But a thing we artist have to deal is how the order of the bubbles affects on the flow of the dialogue. Specially when we don't have a specific way to show how the person talks (for example japaneses have many ways to show character's expression so it's easier for them to identify it.) So we need to focus on the flow.

A wonderful person who talks TONS of this matter is the motherfucker Scott McCoud!

This is just an example of how dialogues can contribute to the time and spaces and how the order affects the reading. This is not the exact example for what I mean but Scott is a badass of the comic and the complexity of it.

Understanding Comics The invisible Art is a masterpiece, I blame him for making me doubt is I'm doing a good job or not.

Okay before I go way too into this, one last thing and this is personal opinion. I love white background but you gotta be very careful to not make it look like lazyness. You don't need to draw a full background but maybe adding some shading can help to make the illusion of space rather than having a blank space. Of course this is just my opinion.

Anyway, I really like how you work! my huge recommendation would be to simply take your time on it, I feel it shows a bit of impatience or nerviousness, but that's just my idea. So far you're going a good way on creating comics and I'd love to see more of them :3

Hope this helped you in some way! And as always don't forget to have fun drawing your beautiful bois!

this is me everytime I draw comic and find a inconsistency.

#ask #comic #scott mccloud

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lord-westley · 6 months

Text

Howdy Bestie @tolkien-fantasy! I hope you enjoy this matchup, I haven't written for BG3 before and it's been SO long since i've written in general so hopefully it's somewhat good! (i even included canon lines he says to Tav)

I match you up with Gale of Waterdeep!

I'm going to go off script of the whole Tav storyline

You guy's met one day in Baldur's Gate many years ago at Sorcerous Sundries, a huge and magical Library

He noticed you were struggling to reach a book on the top shelf, so he helped you out

Gale stood behind you, and grabbed the book before looking down and offering it to you with a grin

"Ah, A Primer on Mythical Beasts. An excellent choice!"

And with that single comment, the two of you clicked, forming an unbreakable bond over your mutual love of books and knowledge.

At the time, Gale lived in Waterdeep, further up north- a City much, much larger than your home in Baldur's Gate

The day you met, you spoke so proudly of his home. How beautiful and magnificent it is- and the libraries. Oh the Libraries in his city are large full of rare books and tomes.

Gale invited you to come to Waterdeep some day, so that he may show you said libraries

but alas, with the journey being long, it would not bode well with your ailments. So you declined

The day Gale had to leave Baldur's Gate was a sad one, although neither of you lost hope to keep in contact

You two sent letters each and every day, talking about anything and everything.

Gale would send you tomes regarding your current obsessions, and would always look forward to your next letter in response

One day though, the letters stopped. You kept sending letters to him in hope of a reply

Maybe he's just busy? Yeah that's right, he is Mystra's Chosen, so he's probably busy with his duties to her

But a letter never came

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. But you didn't lose hope and continued to send letters

Then one day he just... appeared

Gale stood right in front of you at your little house on the edge of Baldur's Gate

He stood right in front of you, disheveled, bruised, and exhausted. And yet- there was a huge happy grin on his face despite the anxiety shaking in his hands

Gale explained everything to you, not leaving out a single detail, being as honest as he can

Okay so now timeskip and finally get to the romance part lmao

If there is one thing I know for sure, is he ABSOLUTELY adores all the mortal aspects of you

from the way your hair puffs up like a Owlbears feathers

to the mud staining your clothes during outdoor adventures

Gale thinks you're drop dead gorgeous

you're so different from most people in Faerun, and he's met a lot of people and he absolutely adores it

He supports you in everything you do, constantly purchasing new tomes for your interests

new journals, pens, and materials for your artistic hobbies

good luck charms and rare crystals

And dont worry about having too much stuff, like books and material. His tower has shelves upon shelves of books and storage.

He might even use some little wizard magic to expand on his tower just for you

"Whatever you need, you have only to ask"

Gale helps you as much as he can with your pain and ailments

He's constantly researching new spells and medicines with the help of Shadowheart

And if you're up for it, he'll create potions for you to try and experiment to see if it helps

and if it does! he happily teaches you how to make it so if there is any point where he is gone and you've run out, you'd be able to make it!

On any particular day where the pain is especially bad, he's at your beck and call. To the point of having Tara stay by your side when he is unable to

"Are you alright? If you have need of me, just say the word."

I feel the need to touch on your height for a moment

In comparison to him, you're so small but not once does he mention it. He understands that it can be an insecurity

But secretly? he absolutely adores your height

The way he can comfortably hold you in his lap as he reads makes him so so happy and warm

One particular moment that really stands out, is how he dropped something in a hole, unable to reach it

But you were there! and happily grabbed it for him... atleast not without a silly comment from him before you did

"That's not a Gale-sized hole."

Or how despite your size, you're SO strong, and it never fails to make his heart flutter seeing you lift heavy items. (his str is 8.. mans is WEAK)

He constantly asks if you could carry something for him just to see you flex your muscles

One specific time, there was "danger" that appeared out of nowhere

It startled him and you came to his rescue. Taking care of it with absolute ease

"I um, once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one's desire for... other forms of stimulation.."

I wouldn't particularly say Gale is a morning person, so good luck waking up in the mornings trying to escape his grasp

He'd try holding onto you for as long as he can before you get annoyed that you need to get up

Only then, will he finally let go

Sometimes he gets up with you, but some mornings, he's too exhausted from his night owl activities that he falls right to sleep (with some struggle since you're no longer there)

Please bring him coffee or even tea to bed, waking him up with it. He would melt and get so flustered

He'd grab onto you, holding you tight and press a kiss to your cheeks

"Ah, to hold the world in the palm of one's hand"

Gale LOVES to hold long philosophical conversations with you. He uses such fancy big words and loves to hear your point of view on things that most would ignore

The two of you could stay up late for hours, simply debating on topics

Some nights it get's so intense he'd break out a paper and quill to write down each others thoughts, comparing them and create charts

Now for you chaotic gremlin habits, at first he was a big worrywart. Unsure if it would be safe to do something

but overtime, he learned to accept it, and simply join you on the fun

After everything he's been through, He fully heartedly believes to just throw oneself into something, to not worry too much about rejection or what may happen. As long as you try.

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster. But you know what? I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in."

All in all, he is a very loving partner, who loves to dote on you

who loves to indulge in everything you ever do and say

he'll be with you until the end of time, refusing to leave your side

"You taste of untold delights. How about we continue our tasting?"

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #Gale #Matchup for bestie

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mystique-roses5 · 4 months

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Hello! this is my first ever ticci toby writing, so i hope its good! 😅

Warning: Murder, a tiny bit of stalking, and that's it.

Masterlist

Night shift.

(Not sure who the artist is, if you know tell me so I can give credit.)

Beautiful warm dark brown eyes. Has a nicely trimmed beard. 5'10. Pale skin, more on the thin side. Dark brown hair with little highlights. Maybe around 22 - 26. Always seems to have bruises and scars on him.

That's who I see everytime im there. He orders the same thing, black coffee. I've been wondering about him for awhile, he always comes in looking like he just got beat up. There was also times he would come in with another guy who also seems like he's hurt. But I dont say anything.

Usually when he comes in he's very silent. I would greet him like, "Welcome, if you need anything just tell me!". He would respond with this "Mm" like he's acknowledging me, but brushing me off at the same time. When he comes to the counter to order the coffee that's when I finally get to here his voice.

His voice was pretty deep, and husky. Its the kind of deep that would send a girl to her knees and make her heart flutter. Hearing that voice took me back a little, I mean with how he looks it fits him well, but it did startle me a little bit.

I gave him his coffee and as he was about to pay me he stopped and stared at me. I was confused and asked "is anything wrong?". He didn't say anything, he just stared at me. I started to feel a little uneasy. So i stood there, waiting, i was starting to think about how uncomfortable and awkward this is. Then all of a sudden he asks me something. He asks, "What's your name?". I was taken back for a second, but then answered.

That's when i found out his name. "My name is toby." he said. I answered with "Its nice to meet you toby!", he just gave me a nod and got his money out of his pockets and left. As I was packing up to go home, I seen something, in the woods. Staring at me. It was a tall figure with what looked like orange goggles, and a mask. I started to feel scared, so I stayed in the store and was debating whether or not I should call the police. After about a minute I tried to get my phone, but then I realized it wasn't in my purse, so I checked the counter and it wasn't there either.

That's when i realized, its gone. Not gone as in I lost it, but it must have been taken away. I started to race my mind thinking back on who could have had it. But then I remembered that I left to go to the bathroom for a sec while that guy was in here, what was his name? Toby? That had to have been it.

I saw the figure start to walk closer to the store, looking at me, but then I saw what he had on him, two hatchets. That's when I started to book it to the other end of the store. I was going to try and run to the back door. But before I could make it, i looked behind me and there he was, the man was right behind me carrying this hatchet that looked brand new.

I tried to get out the back door but the door knob was busted. So I did the next thing that I thought was apparently a great idea. "Please! Dont hurt me!" I say pleadingly as I get on my hands and knees. He stares at me. But as he was staring, I could clearly see he was smiling underneath the mask, because the mask was slightly going up.

That's when I realized there was no way out. As I tried to crawl away, he grabs me by my ankles and rolls me on my back. He pushed his boot right into my stomach, causing me to scream and cry out for help.

When I looked up I saw him swing his hatchet, and everything went dark.

Masterlist

#creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby #oneshot #creepypasta

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meanbossart · 11 months

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I'm happy you've transferred a bit to tumblr, only because of the anonymity ask feature. I'm far too shy about interacting with my favorite artists. Your artwork is like super inspiring to me to try and progress and get better. Whenever I see any comics posted I *sprint* to go and buy them lmao, the art is beautiful 🤌

I feel like every artist gets asked this, but how'd you get so good at anatomy? Or what's your advice on how to study/draw it? Same thing with the really dramatic shading/coloring you do. Your art is just so nice, I apologize for the long ask lmao.

no apology needed! this is such a sweet ask, thank you so much 😭 i, like most people tend to look at my older work and go "man i could have done this so much better" but knowing that it encourages other artists makes me glad that some of it is still out there, even if im no longer happy with it.

here's how you get really good at anatomy-- literally have reference right next to you at all times LOL seriously, whenever i do a really good pose you can be sure that 99% of the time, i had a 3d model or a photo reference for it on a window right by it. when you get over the idea that you need to be able to draw everything from memory, your life and work will improve so much! you will find yourself stylizing and improving your own reference material anyways, and now that you dont have to crack your skull trying to figure out how a pose works from x angle, you can use that time to actually make your stuff look more interesting by adding your own touches to it.

as for lighting/heavy shading, i would suggest the same, plus looking at how other artists stylize their own shadow-work, finding what you like, and seeing how it adapts to your own style. Trying to recreate shadows from a real life picture is helpful, but you will find that it doesnt always translate well to your art.

i recommend checking out Jason Shawn Alexander ( my favorite artist!), Frank Miller, Sean Murphy (of Punk Rock Jesus fame) and Marcos Mateu-Mestre for examples of artists that do incredible work with dramatic light and shadow!

#ask #advice

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marieabubb08 · 1 year

Text

Miss Manager

It all started with your aunt.

Your aunt has been a music producer for different artist for as long as you can remember.

By the time you graduated college, you were in desperate need for a job.

And your aunt heard about this and so she reached out to you about this important job.

“This one company I worked for before is debuting a new boy band and they are in desperate need of a manager. You can try to apply if you want.”

Now, your aunt told you the company was a bit small so the salary wont be too big

But you were desperate. After all, it was better than none and you needed the money fast.

And so you applied.

The interview was nervewracking but definitely not as challenging as you thought.

They asked you a few questions about yourself, your work ethic and other questions that really told them about your personality.

Just after a few days, you already received a call back from them anndddddddd…..

Surprise suprise

You got in! Congratulations!

The next day you met up with some staff who taught you the things you’re supposed to do.

Reviewing and reminding the boys about their schedules. Checking up on the events, stylists, their lessons. Scheduling their calendars. Talking to producers, event organizers etc etc

Needless to say, you are packed madam

But no worries. You are used to stress and you say yes to everything without no second thought.

After that brief showcase of your supposed job, the staff introduced you to the 5 boys.

Izuku Midoriya, the sweet, shy main vocal and leader of the group who proved to you that singing isnt just about belting because his voice serenaded you with how sweet, sincere and emotion-filled his singing was.

Shoto Todoroki, the cold and stoic song-writer, vocalist of the group who you thought would be pretty popular with the ladies once they debut because of his handsome face.

Katsuki Bakugo, the hot-headed producer, rapper of the group who was rather brash and looked to be rather stagnant in his work only for you to be surprised that he can play a few instruments and is the jack-of-all-trades of the group

Eijiro Kirishima, the talkative and bubbly singer, dancer who may seem clumsy with some normal things but when it comes to performing, shows why he was chosen for the group. His passion shines through making him very ‘manly’ in your eyes.

And finally, Denki Kaminari. The flirty main dancer of the group who can move his body incredibly fluidly and flawlessly as if bending your back towards the ground while doing a split was as easy as walking.

Now everyone was very polite and welcoming to you (even Bakugo no matter how ummm…unpolite he was) telling you that if you needed help they will gladly help.

But you shook your head, telling them to focus on themselves and their performance on stage and you’ll worry about everything that happens behind and before the stage.

A few months before the debut date, you had approached all the members individually asking them on what theme they want for the structures of their sound and message to look and sound like.

And that interview brought you a lot closer to these boys as they talked to you about their ideas, personal experiences and personalities.

Izuku told you that he wished their message would integrate that of never giving up hope and to always looking at the beautiful things in life rather than looking at what things you dont have.

A lesson that he had learned growing up from being always bullied about alot of things. His appearance, his life etc. And he wanted everyone especially the youth to feel like he knows how it feels to be alone and to feel like the world is against you.

But looking at the things he loved and he had like music, performing, his friends and his mom made him realise that all his wishes were just his wants and all his needs are already given to him.

Katsuki wanted to intertwine the main idea Izuku gave with adding the lesson he learned from his now band leader.

The lesson of the power of compassion and empathy. He was a prodigy in everything he did and so he felt cocky about it and almost like he was ontop of the world and everyone was just below him.

He even told you that he was one of the people who bullied Izuku but changed his ways once he realized how empty he felt even with all the glory.

Feeling something towards others made him feel more whole and important to the world and he wanted to teach everybody who was and still an asshole just like him that it is better to care than not caring about anything rather than yourself.

Shoto wanted to integrate the journey of the long road of unbias acknowledgement and acceptance of oneself.

He was a victim of parental abuse from his father that left him and his whole family scarred.

His mom especially, was damaged to the point where she became insane and detested anything and anyone who reminds her anything related to his father.

And him, getting some attributes from his father made him hate those parts believing them to be a curse, something monstrous like his father.

But once he learned how to accept that those parts arent Enji Todoroki but rather fully him, Shoto Todoroki was he able to let go of all the hate towards himself and his isolation from others.

And now that his father is trying to redeem himself from his past mistakes, he is no learning not to forgive yet, but to acknowledge that his father is trying without the bias of just chalking his father up to be just bad.

He knows that the world is morally gray, and so is his father whom he is now trying to erase the view of him just being the devil himself with a black, inked heart but rather a man realising the large doom he put onhis family cause of his mistakes.

And thats what he wants to share to the world. You dont have to forgive someone, but you need to forgive yourself if you want to move forward in life. Just because you remember a trait as something evil doesnt mean it is because like he said, the world is morally gray and so wait befor you judge.

Eijiro wanted to add the sense of positivity and being brave.

Being brave doesnt mean having no fears but rather fearing something but still facing it.

Its what makes a person so manly as he says.

And so many people bring down themselves just cause of the misconception of bravery.

They let their minds pick up on their flaws so much that even strengths will be considered as a flaw just because them or society doesnt like it.

And so he wants everyone to feel as positive about themselves as possible because you cannot be brave about external forces when you hide and run away from your internal insecurities and fears.

Denki, being last that you asked found out about each and everyones ideas and suggested only one thing. A story.

If its a love story, a self-ove one, a story of that of a hero, etc etc.

What he wants is something that would start as flawed just like he was when he started training in this company.

But he wants that one day if this band does seperate, he can look back on it and tell himself.

'This was my-no our story on how we recognised who we are, our strengths and weaknesses. This is our character development, the era where we improved our flaws and make our goods as excellent as possible. And I think we did it correctly.’

And hoped that maybe the future generations who’ll find their music, if they were lucky enough, would find this story and tell themselves that its never to late to start the journey they went through.

All of these made you cry small droplets of tears.

Each went through alot of things that may seem shallow but is actually so rooted and deep once you dig deep enough.

But you notice one motif of their ideas: The want to help, teach and reach out to everybody.

Your mind brightened as you ran to the office to suggest them an idea that popped in your mind.

“Why not call their group name: Hero? It fits with their whole theme and wants for their careers.”

Needless to say the boys, the staff and some higher ups liked it and decided to stick with that.

And so the day they debuted came and you were amazed with their talents when ir came to acting on the music video (just as you though their talents were just in performing, you were wrong they were excellent actors as well)

The song ended up becoming well. The views werent that bad and they were earning a few fans here and there.

You thought it would be the best to let them perform on a small scale and schedule those on small auditoriums(?) with the maximum of a hundred people with only 2 performance a week.

Well your mind slowly started to change about that decision when you saw them practice their song at 1 in the morning. All of them drenched in their sweat but they all enthusiastically agreed when Izuku asked for another rundown.

They reminded themselves of the promise they all told each other:

“Even if thousands, hundreds or even one person came to see us, we’ll still perform like its our last.”

And they definitely did.

Ome of their first performances infront of the public only had less than a hundred but they all performed like they’ll die if they did not give a 110% of their power

You can bet that after that one performance, all 60 people who came to watch their performance were in awe and some even at the state of open mouthed shock because of how charismatic and mindblowing everything was.

You were also in big awe. You were used to watching some performances by other artists that were more well known.

But this. They were spectacular even if there were no special effects or fireworks, no nothing. Just the passion, talent and hardwork of these boys.

After the stage, the 5 approached you, before bowing their heads as low as they can. Thanking you for your hardwork on setting up a stage where they can perform like they have always dreamed of.

But you also bowed your head, but this time in apology.

You admitted that you had indeed doubted their skills. But with just this one performance, you were convinced that they could do so much better and alot of people deserved to see their love of performing.

You promised that from that point onward, you will do more than your best and not doubt them because they are clearly using everything they have.

So what is holding you back from doing the same.

This turned out to be longer than I thought oml-

Part two coming soon (probs today cause I dont wanna listen to my online class-)

#mha x reader #idol!au #anime #todoroki shouto #kirishima eijiro #bakugo katsuki #midoriya izuku #denki kaminari #x reader #manager!reader #idol!mha

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