#these are more for my own little doodle enjoyments and keep me drawing when I get time

[draagu]

Hear me out...

Cherrybush :D

ok maybe I will do ship doodle requests for any ship

I wrote an essay in the notes is should've probably wrote here but lazy to copy and paste

#asks #rw shipping #if I am doing this then REMINDER #I am not prioritizing these like I did with the digitally drawn ship requests #these are more for my own little doodle enjoyments and keep me drawing when I get time #if I don't respond to your ask for like days I most likely am not feeling motivated or straight up kept forgetting to do it #I usually don't turn away asks unless you suggest something I get uncomfortable with (which happens almost never) #like I have a nightlight waiting bc I keep forgetting about it (anon I see u dw) #on that note uh #feel free to include designs if youd like with your requests #and please be patient #I am only doing these little doodles as traditional doodles #may not be the most detailed #im just having fun when I get the chance to #should I make a tag for these #probably uh #scug ships #there ya go #rw cherrybush #rw huntersaint #rw sainthunter #my art

[egophiliac]

I was wanting to try doing an art piece in the style of the signature spell poster art pieces you create. But I’m not really the best at coming up with a composition for such a thing.

Do you have a process for how you come up with the compositions for them?

oh, awesome! it is an INCREDIBLY enjoyable style to work in; I hope you have fun with it! :D

I'm not great at putting my thought/art process into words, so my apologies if this doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'll try! my first step is always to do a LOT of thumbnails to figure out both the idea and how I want to show it; not trying to do a real sketch or anything, just little doodles to figure out what exactly I'm trying to portray. (I also call these "garbage passes" because they're not meant to be any good, they're just there to throw things out. aha. ha. ...anyway.) I think it's important during that first stage to really focus on the idea and the layout and not to get too bogged down in the actual drawing yet!

I tend to save my final thumbnails, so I'll use 'em as examples (I posted the ones up through episode 5 here if you're interested!) (and, uhhh, spoilers through episode 5 also in this post, hopefully that won't be an issue!)

the main thing I try to think about in composition is balance -- not necessarily in terms of symmetry, but in where each element is placed and how much space it's taking up. remember, empty space is still space! it's also really important to think about the parts that don't have anything in them, as much as the parts that do!

personally, I like to divide things up roughly by both halves and by thirds -- there's a lot more in-depth info out there on why the "rule of thirds" in particular works well visually, but in short, our brains tend to focus on things that are placed closer to imaginary division lines, instead of in the exact center of an image. so even when I'm doing something that is very centered and symmetrical, I try to keep that in mind and generally aim around those for landmarks like faces/eyes (or...where they would be, anyway) and other focal points.

it's not a formula of "the character's face should be in this division of this grid" or anything, more like "our minds like to focus on these areas, let's think about how to use that", if that makes sense! and of course rules are made to be broken, art is lawless anarchy, and so on. but it can be a good starting place for deciding where you want to put things!

(blue - thirds, red - half)

and against the finished versions, because they do usually end up changing a lot (including the empty space of the border):

(...these actually lined up a lot better than I thought they would. :') it makes me look like I do things way more intentionally than I do.)

other stuff I just try to keep in mind is that our eyes like following arcs and paths, which can be a good way to guide the eye:

and frame and control the focus:

honestly, composition is one of those things I feel like I struggle with a lot, so I'm not sure how much of this is helpful or actually makes sense outside of my head. but hopefully it helps a little! it's all just stuff to think about while drawing and not anything hard-and-fast, so don't, like, stress out about making sure things are lining up exactly on the thirds or anything. again, it's more "our brains think these are the dopest parts of the rectangle" than anything else! take advantage of the cool parts of the rectangle!

NOW GO HAVE FUN DRAWING seriously though, it is always super cool that other people like this idea and style enough to want to do it themselves and for other/their own characters! thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

#art #sketch #twisted wonderland #...technically i guess? it's not about twst but there is twst art present anyway #i did have a few more examples but then i wasn't sure if you were cool with episode 7 spoilers. whoops. 🫠 #many other people have explained the rule of thirds and directional flow way better than me and i apologize #it is so hard to put things into words i am so sorry #me: the...you know...the lines...they sort of converge? like a triangle? #the internet: mm-hmm. yes. go on. #me: (sweating) the...the triangle points here...because it...it has a point. #the internet: it's doing better than you are then #genuinely shocked at how well some of these line up though #uh. i mean. actually it was all totally intentional and i put actual thought into it! NOT an accident at all! #my eyes darting back and forth shiftily are just ✨following the paths✨

[wondermacaroni]

Happy 4/13!! Since I’ve been posting group doodles lately, it was obligatory that we draw something to celebrate. Mine is in green (except for the shading, lol). Some thoughts on my history with Homestuck and my reread of the comic with friends are under the cut.

I’ll say preemptively, forgive me if the paragraph spacing is wonky. I don’t post a lot of big text posts, if any at all, so I have no idea if this will show up in a bearable to read format or not. Anyways.

I first read Homestuck on an early morning in April, soon before that year’s 4/13 and a little ways out from my 14th birthday in late May. I hadn’t slept at all that night, and my normal internet circles had slowed to a crawl as the sun began to rise. Bored out of my mind and too energized to sleep, I decided it was finally time to check out that one webcomic that I had seen some people post cool art for.

To keep it simple, I had a pretty big scare in the family that same day I started reading. Everything ended up and has been just fine regarding that, but I think it cemented Homestuck in my mind as a way to process things somehow. Now that I’m about to graduate college, I’ve returned to needing to process things, and of course, my way to process it.

So, one night a month or two ago, I’m looking into some Homestuck browser game (shoutouts to Wigglersim) when my friend asks what it’s about. I get a little clammy, but I do mention the game, Homestuck and all. Imagine my surprise when they ask for a link to check it out as well.

I could hear the interest egging me on like the Green Goblin mask at that point.

Over the next few days, we went from the browser game, to the doll maker, to installing the collection, to almost-nightly streams of our read-along with the comic. It has been a BLAST so far. Sure, we probably could have blazed through on our own much faster. But having someone there to break things down and engage with, especially for a work like Homestuck, has made the whole ordeal even more enjoyable overall.

To be honest with you, I could never really get myself to reread Homestuck before then. I had the collection installed on my laptop but I could never get past some feeling of shame that came with opening it, or even looking at it for too long. Even when I had finally forced myself to get comfortable with Homestuck Posting or die trying, the thought of fully reengaging and not dwelling in the bliss of memories was a little too much.

Having a friend there, one who has been willing to engage despite it all, has made the reread much less daunting. Despite all of my warnings of the future like a frenzied oracle, I’ve been able to expose that long-hidden soft spot after all these years. It’s like unclenching your jaw, in a way.

The time we’ve spent taking it all in has REALLY spurred us to put something out lately as well. Every turn of the New Year, my friends and I boot up a group canvas and collaborate on one big slab of doodles. Lately though, I’ve been wanting to do that a lot more, and so have my friends. With the reread, I finally decided to rip off the bandage and do something I hadn’t really done as a teen first reading through Homestuck— I decided to make some fanart.

It felt like uncorking champagne. Though it was probably more akin to uncorking sparkling grape juice. Whatever. I hadn’t done it, I did it, and it felt GOOD to do it. You get it. If nothing else, waiting to draw that fanart for eight some odd years meant that I didn’t have any old drawings to painfully reflect on, for better or for worse.

I don’t like doing much other than lurking. However, with all of the drawings we had made, it’d be a shame not to share them beyond like ten people. My friend started posting some, to some really surprising amounts of engagement, at least for us. I followed in suit for support, and I’ve seen much of the same myself. It’s intimidating to be perceived, but it has been nice to shake hands with the community from the other side of my normal lurking perspective. Thank you meowrails fans for your support, maybe I’ll cook again soon, who knows?

We’ve now gotten to the point in the comic where this reread just becomes a read, and right before 4/13. I never finished the comic past the second Alterniabound flash, though I’ve picked up on little spoiler things here and there. I’m excited, I’m nervous, I can’t wait to see what horrible ick I’ll get next.

With streaming this to my friend, I have accidentally convinced more friends to look into Homestuck as well. The network slowly grows, and with it, another ticket is reserved for a group movie night of Con Air. I can’t wait to see how it goes.

Anyways, that’s all for my yapping. Have a happy 4/13, consider a reread with friends, and thank you for your interest in my lecture if you’re reading or skimming through this.

#homestuck #413 #john egbert #man I’m sorry I just have a lot to say #homestuck posting in the house tonight

[psi-hate]

How did you start drawing and what were your biggest obstacles in getting to as good as you are now? (If its not too much to ask)

i started drawing when I was about 13, I was into the MOTHER fandom and looked up to a lotta artists there and tried my hand at it. It was mainly just some doodles I would do during school, but eventually I got a cheap tablet and drew for a few things I liked over the years like Steven Universe, Little Witch Academia, Splatoon and so on. My biggest issue however was that I never really did it consistently, I would pick up drawing for maybe a couple weeks every several months which was definitely a big hurdle in my progress being much slower compared to others.

I juggled a lot of hobbies, programming / game dev for example, and focused on those since I felt it was something I'd earn some respect from my family and secure a better future, and as such I really stagnated in art. It wasn't until the last couple years that I picked it back up as something I really want to devote myself to, no longer deciding what is "worth" doing aside from my own personal preferences.

I got into the hololive rabbit hole and met a great amount of friends through it, several artists and writers, and felt inspired again to just enjoy the act of creating. For the last 6 months or so I've pretty much been drawing exclusively touhou, and it's been the most enjoyable time for me as an artist to improve. Even now I'm still improving pretty fast, and I still think I could be drawing a lot more and getting that much better if not for my volatile mental health still being a negating factor in my motivation.

I've found myself in drawing after so long of being on the fence that I just want to keep it up for as long as I'm able. I don't think I'm as good as I should be yet, and there's a lot of progress I want to see happen now that I'm broadening my skills and going out of my comfort zone to experiment.

Ultimately, my biggest inspiration is just expressing myself through my favorite characters. I know I missed out on improvement by constantly shelving my skills, so I'm trying to make up for that now. I've drawn more in the last 6 months than I have in all of my life prior, and even then I feel like I'm doing less than most artists. I would like to keep up the pace this year.

Thanks for the ask! I appreciate being able to talk about this. It's not often I'm asked about this sort of thing so it's nice to get my thoughts out there.

#pk.text

[johnnysboytoy]

My Vampire Jonathan JotaJona AU

My longest running AU of all my favourite pairings and have way more doodles and pieces to illiterate and write for when I get more time.

Yes, this has a fic too - It's incomplete but I plan to add more in drawing and written form

Intro Extension - DIO kept Jonathan's head around and re-attached it to another body and wasn't very nice to him out of spite for revenge reasons... Jotaro and the surviving crusaders after defeating DIO went in search for other hidden vampires or survivors in his manor. Joseph recognised Jonathan from old photographs and they brought him home with Jotaro to recover. The rest of what happens afterwards in roughly in the fic~ (I use roughly as I'm still learning how to write stories properly)

Before this continues;

Further down after the two bigger black&white doodle boards: CW - mentions of abuse. All other tags being in the fic warnings itself though not all talked about here.

Jotaro in this AU is extremely protective/defensive over taking care of Jonathan. No one else in his mind was 'allowed' to apply care to Jona as Taro wanted the most alone time with him and the best times were during his chores. Romantic advances between them were difficult to keep under wraps, being in the same home was other family members and all but whatever time they got together, big or small was made the most of.

2. Sleeping at night was an unusually tender time as Jonathan would get disturbingly cold from his vampiric blood. Being alone whilst Jotaro was at school was one thing but being left alone further for bedtimes is more than he could handle. Jotaro being a fellow giant was affectively a human radiator, resulting in lots of cuddle time.

3 & 4. Under his hand-me-down clothing, Jonathan's borrowed body below the neck scar is covered in abuse scars from DIO's mistreatment (sorry JonaDio enjoyers)

The previous doodles didn't contain this detail, however his design in future will have these when showing his skin below the neck.

Some extra little scruffs from moments in the AU so far.

If you made it this far (I know I rambled alot, this AU has alot and still growing slowly but surely) then thank you! I can only wish to influence more people to become JotaJona enjoyers as I've done in the past.

This AU is very dear to me so if this was even a slightly interesting take, please talk to me about it!

#jojo ova #jjba ova #phantom blood movie #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #jonathan joestar #jotajona #jojo stardust crusaders #jjba part 3 #jojo part 3 #jjba fanart #fanart #doodle #sketches

[dualiti-real]

Pinned Post To Explain My OC Universe

Who are you?

The name's Spooky! (He/him) I'm an artist who likes makin guys. My art blog is @sp00ky-doodles and it's where I'll probably be reblogging stuff from initially.

What is Dualiti?

Dualiti is a country that has been sealed inside of a magical force field for about 1000 years in order to contain a very powerful magical threat.

Forgotten by the rest of the world and unable to leave the boundaries of their country, Dualiti over time has become a sort of fucked up and weird place. (Exacerbated by a buildup of magic in the area and aforementioned magical threat still being present.)

If you want a basic idea of daily life in Dualiti, imagine a mundane everyday activity (say, getting an ice cream cone from the store,) and then make it like 100% more over the top and dangerous. (If you want to get ice cream from the store you have to navigate the hell maze of product that changes its floorplan every five minutes, all while being hunted by like, a lion or something. This is normal and expected.)

Mostly though, Dualiti's worldbuilding is built around whatever I think would be the most fun thing to do at that moment. (Fun for me, not for anyone who lives there, depending on what I do with it.)

What is the Premise of Dualiti (the story)?

The story of Dualiti is the aftermath of a story failing to reach its conclusion. A great evil emerged, and when a group of heroes rose up to try and stop it.. they failed. They managed to contain the evil, but trapped themselves and the kingdom inside with it in the process.

The Magical evil entity is his own character, also. He's a silly guy who is terrible and I love him btw. He's like a magic parasite who can infect people and then they do evil.

I would say there's a main character, but I haven't actually settled on one. I keep finding that I'm enjoying bouncing between the stories of various characters who live in the setting.

Who are all these characters you've been drawing?

Wow thats so cool that you ask, I actually have a character list on my Neocities you can check out! It doesn't have all the characters (yet) but it has the ones I draw most frequently, with descriptions and everything! (some are more detailed than others though.)

Click here to check em out!

Why have you made this blog?

Basically, this fictional world is my toybox, and after many years of wiggling the dolls around for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of close friends and family, I'd like to perhaps show other people my toys. I hope you like them. Or hate them, I'm not your dad.

What will be on this blog?

Reblogs of various drawings ive done, maybe some rambling about characters and worldbuilding whenever I feel like it, maybe one day some actual writing if I'm feeling brave. I'll also be reblogging funny things that I feel vibe with the setting. I'll try and have an organized tagging system for everything.

So yeah! That's it, that's what this blog is. I may edit this post occasionally if something changes but so far I think this is a good starting point. I hope you like my little guys :)

#dualiti

[notsodailycake]

Ok so, more Rammy info dump

Imma start off and say I'm sharing this info dump for the ppl who dont know much of her, bc there isn't as many Rammy enjoyers, most are just mutuals

But I've been wanting to doodle her more, so with this post i leave my ask box open for doodle requests for her, bc i want stuff to doodle by tomorrow, but well anyother day will be fine as well Ú3Ù

And if you want i can doodle her with your oc as well (human version or huamn in general, i still struggle a tad bit with animals/animatronics 👉👈), just put in an image of them!

Basic info

♡Rammy the Racoon

•Real name: Renata Oliveira

•Age: 26

•Lesbian 

•Currently in a "friends with benefits" relationship with Roxy and Chica

For the new folks, here's some basic info about her, and another work featuring her

You can also find some more info of the au her human version is from here, if you want just the Rammy info, then scroll down to Character Relationships/Stories, and you'll fine her info under "Renata (+Suise and Rachel)", tho around the Timeline area, on 2021, you can find a bit of extra info about how she came to be part of the Pizzaplex

Now the dump

•She can be a bit dense at times

But she's very helpful still. She grew up with having to be well behaved so she would be on her teen sister's good side (it didn't need to be alot, her sister never wanted anything bad to happen to her and could be a little protective at times, but ya know, teens can be angsty).

She also learned to perform at a young age as she liked to put on shows after her sister's friends dressed her up. She also enjoyed singing alot of lullabies for her baby cousins (Idk if its a general brasilian thing, but how i grew up family is very important, and cherished, so she has a close bond to many of her family members)

She also is quite fluent in English, tho still struggles a bit still, causing her be quite oblivious to some jokes between her coworkers and not understanding them.

•She's also very abservent still, even if she cant understand a joke, she can read someone's body language very well, and can see whether they are lying or not. Not 100% right, but at least 90% of the time she is

She also has good memory (unlike me-) and is what she does in her role: Search for the lost items and give them back to their owner, if she doesn't remember she always has it written down on a small notebook.

•She's usually very friendly, and seen as the sweet niave type (which honestly, she is most of the time), but she can be smart when she needs to. And don't get on her bad side, cuz she's a good prankster. What type of prankster? The dangerous type if you annoy her (which can consist of insulting her loved ones or mistreatment of kids)

She doesn't play pranks as much, so you'll never expect it from her. It starts out harmless, then it gets annoying

The the target wont know its her with her innocent act, and will accuse the obvious ones. If they figure it out it's her, no one will be on their side as she plays innocent, then it gets a bit risky, and until they learn their lesson

She won't stop.

Tho that side of hers doesn't show that often.

•She's also a bit short tempered at times. She tries her best to be nice, but she breaks it a bit when she gets frustrated. Which can be out of small things such as, the sound of paper or gum chewing, snoring, or breathing the wrong way or skin touching even if her own (definitely not stuff i lose my temper with)

She learned how to keep her composure, especially around kids

But she'll need a cool off afterwards, which luckily Sun and Moon provide her with. Or cuddles with Chica and Roxy. Tho those are usually by the end of the day since both Chica and Roxy are usually way busier then Sun and Moon. Plus the twins are right next to Rammy's post, so it's faster to go in-between work breaks.

•As for her hobbies. She likes to play dress up and do her makeup, even if not for work

She also likes to sow and draw! Mostly designing her outfits. Most of the stuff she uses is hand made by her too! Ofc not everything but most of it

•And on a final note

Her area is basically a remodeled version of kid's cove now, which makes her be quite close to the daycare

She usually helps out sun and moon, her and sun having a close bond

They chat, share gossip, help each other with the kids when one area is more hectic

And in the end Rammy likes to help out in cleaning duty if the daycare

(Also, doodles may not all be done quickly, if at all, some might take days to make. I just need a collection of ideas to do throughout the times i get bored)

#info dump #fnaf #fnaf sb #fnaf security breach #security breach #fnaf oc #fnaf sb oc #fnaf security breach oc #security breach oc #fnaf animatronic oc #cakes art #cakes doodle requests #doodle requests #fnaf doodle requests

[foryourownbosom]

You’re amazing, can you teach me how you’re so good with art? Also hi I guess

hi dear !! sorry for replying to this just now, how are you? <3

first of all THANK YOU SO MUCH??? HDHDKF its so sweet of you to say that 🤧💕 i am still on the process of learning things and there are sooo many aspects of drawing that i still have to improve on and don't master quite well (& i tend to have periods of time when im honestly very unhappy with the things i do) so i really appreciate the compliment :"))💖 having said that i am by no means a professional so ofc this is all gonna be 100% limited advice from what i personally learned from drawing and not actually a serious teaching, its up to you if it helps you ofc !

so from my personal experience, the thing that helped improve efficiently over time and get where i am now is to primarily have fun experimenting with my art and not stress out a lot about getting the whole Serious Technical Aspects™️ right from the beginning (e.g color theory, values, anatomy, perspective, etc). now; while you do have to practice these things in order to improve of course, focusing *only* on those aspects head first without actually enjoying the art you are making will eventually end on frustration, feeling stuck, and a burnt out phase. these things will naturally flow and eventually get better with time as you keep drawing consistetly and practicing, so make sure to enjoy it in the meantime!

i like thinking of drawing as smth similar to learning an instrument. if you only and primarily focus on practicing scales and pure technique and never play any songs for fun, you are going to improve yeah, but it will feel tedious over time. mixing learning songs with a bit of technique here and there, or maybe a particular scale in order to learn a song's riff will not only make it fun and enjoyable but the process is gonna feel lighter, quicker and much more effective. with drawing and art in general, i think it's pretty much the same.

pick something specific from art you want to improve on and apply it to something you like. do you wanna learn how to draw clothes folds? you can look up references pictures of the particular piece of clothing you want to study and apply that practice with an oc of yours or fanart of someone you love. color theory maybe? pick a scene from a movie or painting you like and study the way they picked those colors, what do they represent, and maybe even use that color palette as a way of practicing for your own drawings. never be afraid of using lots of references and art (they are your friends and highly important!) as a way of inspiration and as tools for improving, that's going to help millions too . watching many youtube videos of lessons and advice of professional artists of various art topics also helped me a lot! just do anything that you feel is gonna help you make the process enjoyable- you are learning things as you go while you are also having fun in the meantime !

and finally, with all of this in mind, give it time and patience! do it at your own pace, little by little, not diving into everything, all at once. any little practice you do counts in the big scheme of your art journey, it will get better with time and you will get good at it, i promise . it seems easy to put all of these things down, but it took me years of doodling and doodling to get where i am and i still don't consider myself an expert because there are more things i don't know or dont have experience with, than what i do have.

in conclusion, and to sum everything up, i think the key to "get good" and improving is to pick little specific things to practice over time (whither that be anatomy, color, etc) and mix it with something you love so the learning process is more efficient and fun. and give it time and patience. one day you are gonna look back at it and realize that compared to lets say a year ago, your art actually got so much better !

i hope this helps you !!! (and sorry if this was a bit of a long and chaotic answer JSJJD im just. putting all of my train of thoughts out here) this advice is something that im still struggling to incorporate for myself and i'm trying to follow it more often, as i've found that during the times that im not pressuring myself that much and allow myself to have fun, its like the process speeds up a lot .

again, thank you so much for the compliment and im very happy to know you like what i do!! i hope this advice helps you somehow <3💕💕💕

#ask #long post #ish? #i think i rambled a bit too much ah #the reason i took so long to answer this was bc i didnt wanna be like oh! just practice :) #because while practising does make you improve its a huge simplification of the whole drawing process #and like. theres so many different ways of doing so #also sorry if there are weird sentences my english is not. working very well today #this has been in my drafts for almost 4 days god . i spent them re-writing and erasing things from this JHSJDJ

[slightlypossessed]

Tag some mutuals you want to get to know better

I was tagged by the lovely @amywritesthings, so tysm!!

let us begin!!

Favourite time of the year: October & November time of the year. I love, love October's spooky Halloween vibe and I hate when it ends, but I also love and welcome November because it's easily the best weather of the year, perfect for hanging out outdoor and walks.

Comfort Food: my favourite question! I love a good cheesy pizza and it's best eaten with friends/fam or while watching a movie or show, and never ever outside these two sacred (for me) settings. My dad also makes this perfect seafood pasta, each time a lil different sometimes with shrimp, others calamari, maybe both, other times he goes for salmon — but the fucking sauce? heavenly, beyond description, the absolute epitome of comfort and hearty food; I want him to open up a restaurant just so he could serve this delicacy of a pasta because everyone deserves a taste of it.

Favourite desert: jam mille-feulle. the most exquisite of patisserie. typing it out makes me feel the most pretentious I've felt but i seriously love it and everyone deserves to eat it and now how perfect it is. I don't like the ones with the cream piped in the middle, but rather the ones where it's spread out, they're just a more enjoyable treat. I'm also deeply in love with chocolate chip cookies and a good, warm orange cake.

Things you collect: a possibly very boring answer but notes. Like academic notes (and research and shit) I just can't bring myself to part ways with them, especially the ones for my fav subjects. I also collect doodles and stuff. I rarely throw out my own doodles and i keep my friends doodles and silly notes in class — i just love how they symbolise this frozen moment in time of random self expression, and we always have little inside jokes associated with each note or drawing, so yeah. I also LOVE to collect funky or cool looking stuff, like brochures or cards or anything really that's designed really well; I'm studying to become a graphic designer so shit like that helps inspire me, you know?

Favourite drink: Lemonade. simply put the most enjoyable thing in the world is lemonade, in all it's various iterations. Also anything cold and caramel, caramel latte, caramel frappe, caramel shake anything caramel and cold I'm in need of it. I also once drank this EXQUISITE drink that idk what it's actually called but it said blue island on the menu: it was mix of citrus and orange and a blue syrup and idk what exactly it is but it's simply the best thing I've ever drank, I still daydream about it.

Favourite musical artist: questions like these should be illegal because i simply have NO idea how to answer them. The answer changes every hour, every 4 minutes when i listen to a new song. however, i do have some names I'd like to share: Ólafur Arnalds, a literal brilliant musical mastermind, i love him and all his little tunes; Nelly Furtado & Timbaland, I listen to them and immediately get possessed by the spirit of the mid 2000's clubbing scene™, listen to them and have a good, good time; I've recently been really into M83, the genius of all his music boggles me everytime i hear it. I'm also a deep deep lover of soundtracks so 60% of my Spotify is just different movie and show soundtracks.

Last song you listened to: Leaving for The Trial from the Defending Jacob soundtrack. I just finished the show yesterday and it's so good and this is my fav soundtrack from it. And if you don't think of soundtracks as REAL songs (which would make you absolutely wrong btw I'm sorry) them I'm happy to provide the answer Eyes on Fire by Blue Foundation.

Last movie you watched: LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE!!!! i love more serious and sad Steve Carell characters, which is why i deeply love beautiful boy and now little miss sunshine. The movie made me cry, laugh, reconsider my life and have an absolutely rad time dancing along to Olive's raunchy little dance number (i love it sm u have no idea) EVERYONE should watch this movie it's brilliant and I'm ashamed to have not watched it much sooner than I did.

Last series you watched: Defending Jacob (as is mentioned a few paragraphs up) I love chris evans, and i love the dynamic he has with jaeden martell. The show is such an enjoyable watch i love the directing and the pace of it, i just wish they hadn't good with the ending they decided on going with.

Series you're currently watching: nothing rn. I just finished defending Jacob last night so I haven't had time to start something new, but I'm thinking maybe succession. I haven't watched any of it and it seems to be a fan fav recently so I might start it soon. I'm also thinking of starting Only Murders in The Building or Trust + I'm watching she-hulk at the moment, but unlike the other shows i mentioned I can't binge it yet cuz it's stil being aired weekly.

Current obsession: this is getting repetitive I'm sorry....but series and shows. I love watching them, and not just to get entertained, but i love to break down the plot, and study the characters, and admire the actors and their acting choices (and find similarties between their other characters) I love admiring the cinematography and directing and all the various camera techniques used, and god do i love the music, whether it be radio songs or original soundtracks i love how they use them i love it all and goddamit i want to be an actor or a director so bad!!

Dream place to visit: Italy. i fucking love Italy. also maybe the major US cities, like Chicago, New York, Boston, etc. maybe Sweden too.

A place you've been that you want to go back to: Twoo places actually!! one is UAE, i visited both Dubai and Abu Dhabi (I also used to live in Dubai when i was younger so it feels familiar in a sense). I love city lights at night and I LOVE the subway in dubai u get to pass by so many land marks and towers i love it, it's the best during sunset time (a lil busy tho because people are leaving work). Abu Dhabi is also amazing, i love the sea there sm!! we used to go walk (me and my fam) on the corniche every night and eat ice cream from a cold stone on the corniche, it was seriously the best time of my life. Also there's this sailing competition thing they do around the beginning of February that's so ethereal to watch, the coast just becomes full with pretty white sail ships.

The second place (although abu Dhabi and Dubai may count as 2 separate places but I'm putting them in one category because they're in the same country) is Alexanderia. I LOVE!! the corniche in Alexandria, it's a "long" city, it feels like one tall branch along the Mediterranean. It's so beautiful and i appreciate the roman/greek influence on the city, especially in its architecture. There's a food court/hang out place there called Tivoli it's right by the sea and has so many cafes and restaurants; there's something so purifying about drinking a cold, sweet lemonade right by the sea there. Also Fort Qaitbay is INSANE from the inside, if anyone ever visits they should go at a time where it's open to enter because holy fuck it feels like a different world. it's so high and the stairs are so steep, but the view when u reach the top is worth it (trust me) and it's so so much fun if you travel with a group of friends. The Royal Jewelry museum is also a must-see, the pinnacle of royal luxury. Ethereal to walk through, the architecture is insane. I can't believe I was in the bedroom of a literal princess judging her choice of silk sheets. The ceilings and chandeliers are a work of art (as are the floors, carpets, bathroom tiles, pretty much every inch).

The answer is very long but these places are so beautiful to visit and experience, and they're not often found on "top 20 places to visit" lists, so here u go.

Something you want: absolute peace of mind. I wanna reach a point where I'm content with what i have, and I also wanna have a comfortable living... situation (??) idk it's why I'm studying and trying to make something out of my self, I don't wanna worry about money and bills, and I wanna spoil my family — it's not realistic but it's something I want.

Currently working on: 28 different drafts, WIPs for different characters, including the moon boys, din djarin, matt murdock the outlaw of a lawyer, and carmen Berzatto because i recently watched the bear and I'm obsessed (and think everyone should watch the bear it's beyond captivating) anyway it's chaos and my motivation to sort through it is around 3%

Some more people to play: @preciouslandmermaid @astroboots

(p.s) not mutuals per se but they're people whose writing I admire and want to know more about them

#mutual fun #dash games

[keefwho]

April 09 - 2024 Tuesday

11:19pm

4/10

This morning I cleaned my toilet like I said. I spent a chunk of time figuring out that my spray bottle can't spray vinegar for some reason. I took my shower and made breakfast stir fry again with sausage this time.

For work I warmed up with rabbit sketches. I picked a sort of relevant animal to start practicing since I want to get better at drawing furries in general. I work on 57's commission and it got stressful at the end because he wants me to go above and beyond with the fluids. Its difficult and time consuming.

Before lunch I got in VR and was searching for a cozy wooden bathhouse world to do some writing in. I couldn't find one and settled for a more grand, stone bathhouse. I spent some time writing some thoughts down that I need to communicate soon. For lunch I made a chow mien ramen bowl in the pan with my own mixed vegetables and an applesauce.

The request today happened to be for DS on Unicorn Day of all days and it wasn't even rigged. I did a quick little lineless doodle after looking around for inspiration. Then I started working on my own stuff for an hour. DV wanted to call me while I worked to get some things off his chest regarding that SN person of his. He pointed out some things to me that kinda got me upset but he definitely didn't mean to. I listened to him until he had to go eat and I finished up my work. Then I finished BR's NSFW avatar edit before quitting for the day.

I spent my evening poking around Twitter and watching Twitch. I didn't do much of note. I was mostly waiting for DS since we were gonna do a furry tier list. When she became free, we did that and a couple other tier lists while she job searched. I took great enjoyment doing a live Cartoon Male Hotties list but it was too long for us to finish.

In bed we did puzzles and jumped straight to KH2 since it was so late. I only got a little further in Hallow Bastion. After she was asleep, I had some 'me time' I'm ashamed about because I keep fantasizing about scenarios where I'm put down. It's fun every now and then but continuing to do it has been hurting my self esteem. It seems easy enough to just think of something else but it's hard when I don't even feel worth it in my own fantasies.

~~~

Today was going well until the afternoon. Then I started thinking about some things and spiraling a little bit. And feeling really shitty about my life in general. I realize I'm not proud of any period of my life prior to maybe 2 years ago. I think usually when I say I hate myself, I hate past me. There really is not much to like about how I was back then. I REALLY hate that old me. I am chock full of regret.

On the opposite side I've been thinking about how I really do deserve someone that makes me feel wanted and is heal over heels for me just like I am for them. Its also just starting to seem possible that I could even accept a reality like that. Slowly growing my self worth is opening up a lot of possibilities.

#journal #diary

[hermitcraft-8]

Draw art in private and share it with friends! Post art for fandoms you're in and care about. Doodle if you don't want to do full pueces. I know what you mean when you say you're just making stuff for the attention-- like 90% of everything I've ever written was for other people rather than my own enjoyment. But that's no reason to just... drop it. At least not in my opinion. You can learn to love something, you know, in your own way. Your motivations for making art are unconventional but that doesn't mean art itself is any less worth pursuing. Try changing the kind of attention you seek from others, like asking for constructive critiques, or making something more experimental and observing what kind of reaction it gets. Try just... taking time off from art, too; it sounds like you're super burnt out. Focus on other things and come back with a fresh mindset. But don't ever say you're art isn't worth your time-- art is ALWAYS worth the time

i probably will keep drawing art for my friends, because they're the only people i think actually will appreciate it. or say something nice about it. i literally only post unfinished art and only for fandoms i really genuinely love and care about, which results in me getting literally no notes because they're shitty little doodles for shows no one likes, which ends up with me not wanting to draw at all. and it's not that im getting the wrong type of attention, i mean people literally just don't interact with it. there's no feedback, there's no advice, there's no compliments, except from sam and maybe rarely someone else. literally the only time people reblog things is when i make posts asking people to reblog things and then it feels weak and ingenuine. like a pity reblog more than enjoying my art. and i understand that that's on me for drawing things no one likes, but it still kind of feels bad, you know? so im just not going to try anymore.

#i mean this in the nicest way possible but like. saying i should draw only things im interested in? have you seen what i draw?

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Prompt #69 for @clarensjoy‘s Hinny FicFest 2021: "His pickup line wasn't as good as mine. Just saying"

Ao3 // FFnet

hey, tis us, last kids joining the party. hopefully it’s still alright!

.

It’s a Tuesday, so the din of the pub is a bit muted in comparison. Loud and full enough that nobody will get ideas about getting to know their table neighbours, but quiet enough that you don’t have to shout to be heard. Harry’s boot sticks to the floor as he steps inside and for a moment he’s about to let loose some colourful swears about arseholes who don’t understand that spent gum belongs in a bin, but his attention is quickly pulled away by another arsehole at the bar trying to flex his flirtation muscles.

If Harry reads the bloke’s mark’s facial expression correctly, said flex has been wholly unsuccessful so far. And Harry’s made his own study of the current focus of said bloke, since Sixth Year in fact, so Harry’s comfortable saying he’s something of an expert on Ginny Weasley.

Slowly - with a slight drag on his gummed left heel - Harry picks his way through the shadowy bits of the pub towards Ginny as she continues her valiant attempt to scan the menu. Soon, Harry’s close enough to join Ginny’s ‘enjoyment’ of her current companion.

The bloke is mid-build, just shy of Harry’s height, and almost as into his boy band hair as he is to excessive use of perfume. Things he apparently is not into include reading body language, accepting personal space boundaries, and wearing hats correctly. Harry winces - half for Ginny’s nose and half for whatever this stranger is about to have done to him - when Perfume Lover leans in closer to Ginny. “Hello, beautiful! No need to check that out, I already know what’s on the menu - me ‘n’ you.”

Harry’s suppressing his snort, and a bit of horror, at the line when Ginny leans in close, eyes sharp. If Boy Band knew what was good for him, he’d pay more attention to Ginny’s blood thirsty look than the fact that she’s drawing close. But honestly, Harry can’t fault him too much - for getting distracted that is - because one whiff of her hair and the simple warmth of her as she draws near still sends Harry’s heart pounding. That’s about where Harry’s ability to relate to Ball Cap begins and ends.

As expected, the content of Ginny’s low whisper is less ‘want to get out of here’ and more ‘guts for garters’ because the pick up artist is soon backing away with a shocked expression, stumbling over barstools and an innocent busboy.

With a grin, Harry steadies the busboy on his feet and swipes a paper napkin to drag the bulk of the gum from his boot. He doesn’t break stride as he tosses the napkin in a bin and makes his way towards Ginny, who has returned her attention to the menu and the tiny red straw between her lips.

Somehow, he doesn’t end up sprawled on the floor when she twirls it, or when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, or even when the waitress returns with a new drink. Instead, he keeps pace to end up with one arm draped around Ginny’s shoulders just as she’s left alone at the high top table. “Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk past you again?”

Ginny snorts, nose crinkling as she stabs at the ice with her straw. “Reckon I’m sticking with the other bloke tonight.”

Harry frowns even as he claims the free stool closest to Ginny. “His pickup line wasn’t as good as mine,” he swipes her drink, ignoring her indignant ‘Oi!’ and takes a sip, “Just saying.”

“How about get your own drink, Mr. Just Saying?” Ginny grumbles, though the blow of her grousing is softened by the quick press of her lips to his.

“I can’t decide between the burger and the stew.”

Harry raises his hand in the hopes of beckoning someone with relevant resources to bring him a pint. He receives a nod from behind the bar and soon turns his attention back to Ginny. “Is the new Firebolt nearby?”

Ginny tears her eyes away from the menu. “Pardon? No - we’re on the Cleansweep - ”

“Oh,” Harry shakes his head, “Must’ve just been my heart taking off.”

“If you promise to shut up I’ll do that thing you like so much,” Ginny manages to mutter with a roll of her eyes, pausing only once the waitress arrives with Harry’s drink. He takes a long sip while Ginny orders - apparently having decided on the burger. When the waitress turns to him he gets the same - though changing medium rare for medium well. Plus he adds, “And can we have the stew to share? With some bread.”

Once they’re alone again, Ginny nudges his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You got me all hyped for it too,” he shrugs and slips his arm back around her, “Besides, I’m not above asking for a takeaway box.”

“Glad you seem to know the real path to my affection, that line was bloody awful. Time to move on,” Ginny winks, “I’ll keep my promise.”

“No, no. You said Boy Band had better lines than I do and now I’m proving you wrong,” Harry takes another swallow and swipes at his upper lip. “I’ll earn that thing I like the real way.”

“Which is?”

“Wooing.”

Ginny sighs. “You won’t let it go, will you?”

“Nope,” Harry pops, sitting a little taller in his chair.

“Anyhow,” Ginny says, fiddling with his fingers, “How was the meeting with Kingsley?”

“Relatively unnecessary,” Harry shrugs, “At least I think so. But you know how they like to get input and whatnot. Which means lots of almost shouting and then Kingsley puts on that face and says, ‘You’ve all given me a lot to think about.’”

“Does he change his mind much, pre to post meeting?”

“Depends who offered alternatives,” Harry answers, taking another swallow of his ale. “Which is for the best. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit people say.”

“What did you ever do to make Robards hate you so much?” Ginny asks with a chuckle when Harry’s forehead connects with her shoulder.

“I dunno, but he must. Either that or he really values my ability to half take notes and mostly doodle magical creatures.”

“Do you take requests? I want my face on the body of a harpy.”

The din of the crowd briefly increases and Harry leans close enough that Ginny’s soft flowery scent overcomes the smell of stale beer and miscellaneous fried foods. “Gin, your face is already on the body of a Harpy.”

“Har-har, you know what I mean.”

Harry shakes his head and tips so his nose nearly touches Ginny’s. “There’s something wrong with my eyes,” Ginny perks up, rapidly searching him for any injuries she neglected to notice and he continues, “There must be. Because I can’t seem to take them off you.”

She groans, shoulders slumped back against her barstool. “Harry, you have terrible eyesight. And that might have been the worst line yet.”

“Noted,” Harry nods like she’s just given him a tip on a case, “I’ll keep trying.”

“Please don’t.”

“I love a challenge.”

The waitress returns with their admittedly overdone dinner order and Ginny nearly spears Harry with the prongs of her fork. “Do not make me sick up, this smells too good to waste.”

Harry scofs. “Right. We both know you’re tougher than that. Should I remind you that your secret weapon was the Bat-Bogey Hex - a hex largely based on snot?”

“And it still is,” Ginny grins after she swallows an impressively large helping of her food. “Talking about gross, though,” she follows, eyeing Harry sideways, “any specific plans for my brother’s stag do? And don’t tell me you’ve cracked under pressure and let George organise it.”

There’s something very Molly Weasley-eque in her expression as she says it, freckles alight and splattered over her cheeks and nose in a way that always has Harry’s insides twisting and burning, without failure. So he smirks, leaning in closer.

“Which brother is that?”

Ginny kicks at his shin, wobbling on her barstool. “The one with the big nose and lanky limbs?”

“Oh, that one,” Harry widens his eyes in mock realisation. “Right, yes. No, I’m doing it."

“And?”

“And?” Harry parrots, sipping another spoonful of stew.

“Remember the bogeys, Harry,” she scowls, huffs away a red strand of hair falling on her cheeks.

His elbow planted firmly on the bar, Harry offers her his most dazzling smile, green eyes glinting mischievously behind his round glasses. “Aw, Gin, it’ll be nothing much. Just your regular boys’ night out - a little bit of getting pissed, a little bit of going to a strip club.”

Ginny laughs throatily, her head leaned back and her long, red hair grazing over her waist, eyes closed shut. “Can’t wait to read Skeeter’s take on you visiting a strip club. Honestly, Harry?”

“Nah. But we will get pissed at George’s though.”

“Figured. Good for you, you deserve it,” Ginny smiles and tops it off with a bite of warm bread. “Thanks for the laugh.”

“I aim to please,” Harry smiles back and, for a while, they both eat in contented silence, the pub’s buzz fading in the background as they enjoy each other’s presence and the feeling that they’re safe, and seen, and loved.

Later, there’s a clatter as Harry pushes his empty plate further up the bar and scans Ginny promptly before he says, “Alright, hear me out - one last try.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, bored, swishing her spoon in his direction. “Shoot.”

Harry clears his throat.

“Kiss me if I’m wrong, but Snape was so fond of me he tried to adopt me, right?”

Ginny’s forehead promptly connects with the bar top.

“That’s it,” she grunts, ginger hair pooling over her arms, spread over the black countertop, “we’re leaving. Check, please,” she raises her head to speak, voice heavy with distress.

“Women,” Harry pretends to roll his eyes, “nothing ever pleases them.”

Ginny sticks her tongue out in response. She then hops off and strides towards the loo, hair flicked over her shoulder.

Harry shakes his head, grinning; he rummages through his pocket, thumbs brushing over the hardwood of his wand, feels the cold metal of the coins piled in there. Five silver ones rattle along the counter and the barman nods his thanks.

A whiff of flowery scent floats near him, her lips suddenly close to his ear as she whispers, low, “You must be absolutely knackered, because you’ve been running through my mind all day.”

Harry dips his chin slowly, green eyes connecting with her mischief-laden brown ones, a wide, playful grin on her face. “Ginny Weasley, was that a pick-up line?” Harry whispers back.

“Sue me,” she winks.

“No way. I’m rather turned on, actually.”

“Good,” Ginny follows, evilly, her lips still close to Harry’s ear. “Bathroom? There’s a private space in the very last one.”

“Fuck yes,” Harry exhales, as though he’d just received a punch to the plexus, and lets her drag him after her.

#clare's hinny ficfest #hinny #harry x ginny #canon compliant #banter & flirting #conversations at the countertop #hinny being hinny and loving a challenge #itsblissfuloblivion writes #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves

[pascalpanic]

‘Nilla Bean (Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x gn!Reader)

Summary: A cowboy in your coffee shop is not the way you’d expected your morning to go, but you’re not complaining; especially not when he’s as attractive as he is.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: talk of food/eating, brief allusions to alcohol, lots of flirting, sexual innuendos, I think there’s like a single use of fuck

A/N: okay I’ve been thinking about this FOREVER but I finally went ahead and wrote it!!! hope u guys like it, I’m a sucker for a coffee shop AU as a barista myself :) thx @theteddylupinexperience for helping me name it and motivating me to write it lol

When you started your shift this morning, you’d groaned as you tied the apron around your waist, expecting an uneventful day. Most were. If you were lucky enough to see someone you knew or to have an especially nice customer, you’d consider it a good day. You didn’t know when you walked in that it would be the good day to end all good days: nothing could top this one.

Weekday mornings in the fall aren’t particularly busy. The majority of your customers come around the morning rush, and the remaining ones are usually retirees or house-spouses and their young children. It’s enjoyable, days like these, that don’t require you to dash about the shop.

The only problem, really, is having nothing to do. You clean the coffee grinder, wipe down tables, wipe down everything else, then do it all again. Restocking, usually an endless chore, isn’t even an option; no one’s using anything in the first place. You and your coworkers chat, deep-cleaning the coolers, washing the blender stations, and doing the dirty work. When a customer comes, you’re the lucky one who gets to go take their order and put your task on hold first.

It seems like you’ve done every task twice, even when your manager introduces yet another idea for you to deal with. To bide your time, you prep coffee for later, rearrange the case of pretty little pastries that sits next to your register, and doodle on your station with a paint pen, humming to the soft music playing in the shop.

People come and go, some picking up mobile orders and some ordering from you, some choosing to eat inside and some taking their food to go. You sip your drink happily between customers- a white mocha with caramel.

At one point, you’re in the back and washing dishes when a coworker peeks his head into the back. “Hey, you got someone up front!” He informs you, and you nod and wander out through the swinging doors.

Well. That’s certainly a sight for a Tuesday morning.

The man standing at the register is wearing a painfully well-tailored suit jacket, with gray tweed and patches on the elbows. Beneath it is a white top and a black tie, and the man wears jeans on the bottom half. Interesting.

Perhaps more interesting is the large cowboy hat perched atop his head. The man’s face, below the brim of his Stetson, is incredibly handsome. He has an aquiline nose, a neatly trimmed mustache that wouldn’t work on anyone else, and warm brown eyes that make you smile softly.

“Hi,” you comment as you log into the register. “Are you a part of our rewards program?” You ask as part of your regular spiel.

The man furrows his brow then shakes his head. “Uh, no. No I’m not. Can you sign me up now?” He asks, and his voice makes your chest flutter with the tone. It’s rich and smooth, with a beautiful southern twang.

Looking at your register and back at him, you shake your head. “It’s just an app on your smartphone, really easy,” you tell him.

“Ah, damn,” he groans and pulls it from his pocket. “I’m shit with technology. Why don’t you just… type it in here?” He says, handing you his phone with a notes page open. His thick fingers accidentally lock the phone as he hands it to you.

You tap the screen to wake it and find the background to be a picture of a cute little pig all covered in mud. “Uh, you locked it,” you chuckle. “What’s the password?”

The man looks down shyly. “1-2-3-4. Don’t make fun’a me, I’m like a grandpa with these newfangled phones.”

It’s endearing, you have to admit, and it makes you giggle. “Not a problem. I’m not here to chide you on your security choices,” you shrug. You type in the code and find the app, starting the download for him before handing back his phone. “Can I get a name to start your order?” You ask as you look up at him.

His eyes hold a warmth there, radiating off of his smile. “Whiskey.”

“Your mother named you Whiskey?” You tease as you type in the name, returning back to the main page of beverages. “Some kind of legal name.”

The man shakes his head. “Nah, that’s just what I go by at work.”

Whiskey likes conversation, you notice, and it makes you chuckle a little. “You got a real name then?” You ask him, raising an eyebrow beneath your visor.

The man tips his hat. “Jack Daniels, at your service.” He says and offers you a hand, which you take and shake.

“That’s a lie. You’re telling me your nickname is Whiskey and your real name is a type of whiskey?”

The man shrugs. “My momma had a real funny sense of humor, I guess. My daddy loved the booze so they went with it. I work for Statesman, so I suppose it’s fitting.”

“Ah, the distillery,” you nod with a smile, not grasping the depth of what Statesman actually does. How could you? “Well then, Jack,” you say with an honest grin on your face. “What can I get you to drink?”

Whiskey, Jack, whatever his name is, looks up at the menu, scanning the different beverages. “Well. That sure is a lot of choices. I’m new to the area, so I don’t know the menu yet, and I don’t know the first thing about coffee other than how to make it in a machine,” he admits to you. “What would you recommend, sugar?”

Sugar. Your heart beats a million times faster at the man’s words. You’ve had lots of weird and creepy men call you different things, but you’ve never been flustered and enjoyed it. This man is getting to you, quickly. “Well, how strong do you take your coffee?”

He thinks about that for a second, fiddling with the button on his suit jacket. “Pretty strong. A little sweet, with cream. I usually take it Irish style,” he admits with a chuckle, tapping a belt buckle that you realize is a tiny flask. Jesus. That’s not cheesy.

“Well, we don’t serve alcohol,” you laugh and look down at your screen. “We have all kinds of flavors.” You list them all off, off the top of your head, now staring at the ceiling to recite them all. “And our seasonal drink is pumpkin spice.”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Wonderful and all, but what do you like? You seem like you’ve got a good taste, darlin’, tell me what you’d recommend.”

God, these names are going right to where they shouldn’t, especially not when this handsome man is leaning on your counter and flirting with you as he orders his coffee. “I like vanilla.” You shrug.

The man laughs and stands. “I hate to say it, sugar, but I’m not a very vanilla man,” he says, his head tilting down and his dark, sultry eyes peeking out at you from just below the brim. His voice is seductive, implying something else other than the flavor.

Oh fuck. “Oh, not like that,” you laugh as your face floods with warm blood, anxiety coursing through your veins. “Not vanilla in that way.” Fuck, that’s even worse, you think and grip the counter so as to not physically cringe at your words.

“Not like that, huh?” His words are still so seductive and flirtatious it makes you want to combust. Maybe you will, if he keeps this going.

“N-no,” you stammer, looking down at the menu screen again. “I mean, I just think it’s underrated. People dismiss it as boring, but it’s really just as interesting of a flavor as anything else. It tastes really good with our espresso.”

Jack tilts his head to the side, a smirk on his face. His lip pokes out just slightly to wet his lips and you shiver involuntarily, your skin pricking up all across your body. God, you hope he can’t see it. “I’ll trust you on it, ‘nilla bean,” the man drawls and stands up straight again. “Triple espresso with vanilla and cream.”

You nod and ring that in. God, if he keeps going with the nicknames, you’re going to melt into a puddle here and now.

“What are these?” He asks as his fingers trace over the drawings on the counter, lifting them and finding the pink and green powder of the dried paint has transferred to his fingertips.

God, he makes you nervous, but in a good way. In the best way possible, a way that makes you want to knock that cowboy hat off his head and find out if his lips are as soft as they look. “I draw when I’m bored. It’s been a slow day,” you chuckle as your own fingers trace the crawling vines and flowers you’d painted there. “Sorry about the transfer,” you chuckle and your fingertips brush his, making you involuntarily shudder again at the contact. His fingertips are calloused and radiate warmth.  “Uh, can I get you anything to eat?” You ask and gesture at the bakery case.

The man inspects it for a moment, looking at the various foods lined up under the soft white light. “I’ll take one’a these,” he says and pokes a finger towards the chocolate chip cookies through the glass. You nod and take one out for him, putting it in a little paper sleeve and handing it over. “How much is this gonna hurt my wallet?” He asks, pulling it out from the back pocket of his jeans.

“Give me one second.” You type in your code for your employee discount, which takes a moment.

“What’re you typin’ there, ‘nilla bean?” He asks, brow furrowing.

Looking up at him, you push your visor up your face and smile a little. “Oh, I’m giving you my employee discount. It’s ridiculously priced here.”

Jack frowns. “You don’t have to do that for me, sugar. I’m just a regular ol’ customer.”

It’s your chance, you realize, to say something or stay silent forever. “Well, I like you,” you admit and take the credit card he hands you, swiping it through the machine. “And I’m hoping you’ll at least become a regular. I’d like to see you more,” you tell him with a grin.

The man’s face lights up, even beneath the shadow of his brim. “I’d like that too,” he nods and pockets his card when you hand it back.

A beat of silence passes as the two of you smile at each other, both of you lovestruck immediately. “Uh, your drink will be right up over there,” you say and nod to the other end of the café. “Are you going to drink that here or take it to go?” You ask.

“Oh, here,” he nods.

“Perfect,” you say with a small smile. “Then I’ll just bring it to you when it’s ready. Nothing better to do today,” you shrug and wander down to the other end before Jack, Whiskey, whatever can refute you.

You take the cup from your coworker, humming to yourself as you put some vanilla and cream in the cup, pulling the espresso shots. When it’s ready, it barely reaches the halfway mark of the small cup, so you top it with a little whipped cream. You suspect the man has more of a sweet tooth than he lets on.

Pocketing a pink paint marker, you put a lid on the drink and walk out to the dining room, setting the coffee down across from him. He’s munching on the cookie he’d ordered, looking up at you with unintentional puppy dog eyes. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” you smile and pull out the chair across from him, sitting down and pulling out the paint pen. “I put a little extra whipped cream on top. I thought it would go well with the espresso, make it a little creamier or something.”

As you uncap the paint pen, Jack’s brow furrows as he watches you. “Whatcha doing there?” He asks as you bring his cup closer to yourself and write something on the top.

“Being brave,” you chuckle and cap the pen, sliding it back. “I gotta head back. Enjoy it,” you say as you stand and pat him on the shoulder.

Only as you walk back to the register does Whiskey comprehend exactly what you put on the top of his cup. It’s your phone number, in that chalky pink paint, and a smiley face beneath it.

Jack may not be great with technology, like he told you, but he immediately pulls out his phone and takes a photo. Then he enters the number into a contact, filling out the name: ‘Nilla Bean.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent jack daniels #agent jack daniels x reader #agent jack whiskey daniels x reader #agent jack whiskey daniels #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #kingsman: the golden circle

[imagining-in-the-margins]

From the Tree (S.R.)

Summary: The kidnapping case becomes personal when Spencer and Reader get a call about their babysitter. Request(s): spencer and the reader are on a local case with an unsub who kidnaps children and their son/daughter becomes a victim? Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst Content Warning: Kidnapping, fighting, knives, children in danger, pregnancy, guns, death (minor character), murder, happy ending Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

The drive home after wrapping up a long case was always a good feeling. No matter the awful things we left behind, Spencer and I were always driving towards something better when we were finally on our way home. But now that I was seven months pregnant, the drive was dramatically more enjoyable. Not only would my own bed be better than whatever shitty motel we stayed at, Spencer and I would get to sleep cuddling both of our beautiful babies in our arms.

“I’m so ready to be going home,” I sighed, readjusting the very little possible in my seat with my giant pregnant belly in the way.

Spencer only looked over for a second, cleverly keeping his eyes on the road rather than me. But he raised his hand to mine that was holding my stomach, gently rubbing the area with a small smile.

“I know. This was hard. You deserve a break," he said fondly.

I think we were both mostly just grateful that it was still daytime. So often we came back on a red-eye, but today was a beautiful day; the kind that would hopefully consist of swinging on the front porch and drawing silly chalk doodles on the driveway. If I could get through the squeezing without getting nauseous, I even considered making lemonade.

It was an idyllic fantasy I’d been finding myself sucked deeply into more and more often lately, and I knew that Spencer had noticed. He hadn’t said anything to me yet, and a part of me was worried that was his implicit rejection of the idea.

Then again, I had to give him a chance to reject it eventually.

“Speaking of breaks... my maternity leave is fast approaching.” My voice shook, and I hoped he would write it off as the rumble of the car instead. “And I’ve been thinking...”

Thankfully, Spencer noted my hesitance and saved me from the embarrassment of a lost thought.

“I know,” he said simply.

“You know?” I repeated, laughing as his hand returned to the steering wheel.

“You’re my wife. Of course I know.”

It’d been five years, but it still made my heart flutter when he called me that.

“What do you think about it?” I asked, compulsively smoothing out the wrinkles on my shirt and resisting the urge to cross my fingers.

Honestly, we hadn’t talked about my growing desire to leave the BAU. It was our home away from home— the place where we’d met and fallen in love. It felt strange to imagine a life without them every day, but… I wanted a life where my child knew us, too.

I knew that our daughter knew that she was loved, but it was hard. She hadn’t shown any signs of wanting to talk and had a lot of the early signs of autism, which wasn’t that surprising considering her father. Of course, she was only two, so there was no way to know for sure. But if she were autistic, it would be so much easier with one of us there with her.

Spencer knew that, too, I think. After all, he and his mother were close as could be. It made sense that he'd wanted that for his kids, too.

“I think... I’d miss you on the jet. But I’d be happy knowing you’re at home with our kids.”

There was a distinct excitement in his voice that he was trying to hide. Perhaps because he didn’t want me to influence my decision. But honestly, I’d made up my mind a long time ago.

“I’ll support you no matter what," he assured me, and I believed him.

“Thanks, Spencer. I haven’t decided yet. We’ll see what happens,” I hummed, feeling the gentle vibrations of my phone coming from my briefcase.

“Better hurry. You never know when they’re going to decide to grace us with their presence,” my husband joked back, pointing an accusing finger to the little one now doing flips in my belly.

“Right,” I laughed, finally finding the offending object and glancing down to see a number that felt eerily familiar. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Reid?”

“This is she.”

There are some things that you remember for the entire duration of your life. For Spencer, there were many, but for me, they were few and far between. That moment, where I answered a phone call like any other, was one of those moments. It was one that marked the death of the last shred of innocence I had.

Because as we turned the corner onto our street, the sun illuminating every terrible detail of the scene before us, I saw the flashes of red and blue light painting the white exterior of a house.

It was the police, and it was our house they were swarming.

So many things ran through my mind in that moment, it felt like another timeline. Another lifetime. But none of them ended up mattering, and the images that flashed through my head were equal parts horrifying and hopeful. They shouldn’t have been hopeful.

“There’s been an incident involving your daughter.”

I heard his words, but they felt like nothing. My heart had already been torn out and shattered into pieces under the weight of the 4 cruisers blocking my driveway.

Any other noise was covered by Spencer’s frantic breathing next to me, the sound of our seat belts unbuckling as he stopped the car in the middle of the road. I hadn’t even waited for it to stop all the way before my door flung open.

My body couldn’t move fast enough, and I spotted the man holding the phone. Spencer’s hands held onto my arm, trying to hold me on the ground with him as we approached the men scattered around our lawn. The door to our house was open, and the nanny sat in the back of an ambulance, her face covered by the cold pack as she spoke to a deputy.

“What’s happening? Where is our daughter?” Spencer spoke first, in that authoritarian tone I only ever heard at work. The same one he had promised to never use against our family.

“Are you Spencer Reid?”

“Yes," he replied curtly, trying to speed up the terrible inevitability we faced.

“Mr. and Mrs. Reid, I’m so sorry… But your daughter is gone.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?” I croaked, my throat tightening around the words that never should have been said.

“We got a call from the nanny reporting a home invasion. When she woke up, the child was gone.”

Spencer’s grip on my hand had never been this tight. At least, I think it was his hand. I couldn’t be sure which of was using more force, but together we were trapped in the crushing lock of our hands.

“I assure you that we are doing everything we can. But we’ll have some questions for you whenever you’re ready.”

He was still talking, but he sounded very far away. All my senses were overwhelmed by the darkness that our sunny suburban street had suddenly been plunged into.  Every sound was muffled under the sound of the blood rushing through my ears. My vision was rapidly narrowing to a pinpoint, and the only thing I could feel was the pounding of my heart against my ribcage.

“(Y/n), look at me,” Spencer was saying, and it finally brought me out of my stupor. “It’s okay. Look at me," he said through tears that I could hardly see through my own.

“Someone took my baby. Where is my baby?” I whispered, holding tight onto my stomach that suddenly felt repulsive and foreign. “Where’s my baby, Spencer? Where is our baby?”

“Look at me. You’re here with me. Breathe.”

Was he shaking, or was it me? It was impossible to tell, just like it was impossible to tell if the clouds had swamped over the sky or if my body was giving into the temptation of nothingness.

“My baby’s gone!” I finally yelled, trying to pull away from Spencer to go into the building that was supposed to be our home, marred with yellow tape and sad eyes.

“They took my baby!” I screamed, my husband’s arms the only thing keeping me sane as we both fell to the grass still damp from the morning dew.

I would remember everything about this, but nothing more than I remembered the hurt.

“I’m here. I’m so sorry,” Spencer sobbed, burying his face in my neck as he held onto my flailing arms tearing at the earth beneath us.

“I’m here," he repeated over and over again, hoping that it would be enough.  

Everything seems louder in the quiet. It made sense, and it was the thought my brain decided to fixate on in that moment, my eyes staring out the window of the BAU at the sunrise. It felt like it was mocking me, creating beautiful landscapes in front of me that I couldn’t feel anything for.

“Do you think she was scared?” I spoke the words out loud, hoping that they would drown out the static of the computer and the dripping of the pipes in the walls.

Spencer didn’t answer me. He stayed silent, seated at the desk reviewing any record or footage he could find of our family’s activity. I could hear his fast flipping, mixed with the occasional pause that indicated a distraction before he had to return to the same document.

I turned to him, recognizing that he hadn’t even stopped for a millisecond in response to my question. And for whatever reason, which I’m sure is documented and explainable, the lack of response filled me with the purest form of rage I’d ever felt. So, I asked it again, demanding an answer from the only other person in the world I could be convinced cared as much as I did about the current situation.

“Do you think she’s still scared?”

“Please, stop," he immediately replied this time, his hand finally stalling on the paper and his eyes clenching shut for a moment as he begged, “Don’t do this to me.”

“What am I doing, Spencer?” I responded with a palpable bitterness. I crossed my arms over my chest more to feel the embrace than defend myself from the pain. But I was glad they were there, because seconds later Spencer’s hands slammed on the table with enough force that his mug fell to the floor.

“Torturing me! Just stop!” he yelled, his hands then raking through his hair and tugging on the strands as he shielded himself from me the very same way that I had barricaded myself off from him.

“What am I supposed to do, not think about it? Are you not thinking about it?!” I shouted back; my voice hoarse but loud.

His was unfortunately the same, and I cringed at the sound.

“Of course I’m thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about it!”

I could feel the pain, but my brain was trying to shut it out. It was trying to convince me that my own husband was the enemy because it was easier than accepting that this was beyond our control. I didn’t want to fight with him; it wasn’t any more his fault than my own. But how was he handling it so much better than me? How could he be useful when all I could do was watch the sun and watch the hours pass me by while I hurt in the least productive manner?

“But thinking about it isn’t doing anything to bring her back and talking about this certainly won’t help," he explained, forcing his voice down to an appropriate volume, but unable to control the anger that still bled through.

I shouldn’t have blamed him for being human, but I did.

“Well I can’t just compartmentalize all my feelings like you can,” I cried, walking over to the desk and shutting the file in front of him, desperate to have his attention so that I might be able to feel something besides that pain. Even if it was just another, lesser form of suffering. “I-I can’t just pretend like –“

“I’m not pretending anything," he cut me off, his hand hovering over mine that remained on the folder. It didn’t touch me, turning in and out of a fist instead. With a deep exhale, Spencer looked up at me with tired eyes that reminded me just how little we’d slept. Still, the even darker bags around them were nothing compared to the redness and tears. “I’m just trying to use the little energy I do have to try and find our daughter.”

He tried to keep himself steady, but he was failing. I could see the frustration in every feature, and the exhaustion transferred between us now that we’d tired our voices.

My husband finally, cautiously lowered his hand onto mine, touching it softly like it would break under the weight of his fingers.

“Please, go lay down. This stress isn’t good for you," he pleaded as he stared down at our hands to avoid looking at the only one of our children we could hold that morning.

“I thought you told me that the whole stress causes miscarriages thing was a myth,” I nervously chuckled, wiping away the tears that insisted on staining my cheeks despite having no water left in me.  

“It doesn’t matter, you don’t deserve to suffer," he answered while continuing the comforting strokes against the back of my hand. I wasn’t sure which of us he was really trying to comfort.

I choked on a sob, the words coming out before I could stop them. I knew they would hurt him. I think that’s why I said them.

“Don’t I, though?”

“No,” he answered, his inflection harsh and high as he struggled to pretend like the words didn’t eat him alive.

“Maybe—“

But my mind wasn’t done destroying us, and no matter how hard I bit my tongue, I couldn’t stop the thought that had been consuming me for twenty hours.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it was true.”

Spencer clasped both hands around my hand now, bringing it up to his mouth in what looked like a prayer.

“You don’t mean that," he cried as his breathing rate exponentially increased against my hand.

“I don’t deserve to have another baby,” I said again, feeling the trembling spread from him up my arm despite his best efforts to keep it inside.

“Stop,” he begged so quietly it was almost inaudible, “Please, don’t say that.”

We knew what happened when people lost their children. We saw it so often it almost seemed routine. Understandable. Inevitable. Everything about this pain felt so certain. And although I wanted to feel that fear that we were falling apart like he so clearly did, all I felt was apathy.

I needed him to help me, but I didn’t know how to ask for it. So I just said whatever cruel thought came to my mind, hoping that he would be able to sort it out for me.

It wasn’t fair. Then again, none of this was.

“I couldn’t even protect the one we already have, Spencer. Someone took her and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“What could you have done?” he sniffled, trying to use that foolproof logic he loved so much to make sense of the chaos. Because there was no rhyme or reason to why these things happened. There was, but there wasn’t. So much of our life was based on pure probability.

I wondered if it was better to know those probabilities in that moment. It didn’t seem like it.

“I could have been there,” I mumbled.

I watched him as he started to stand from his chair without ever letting go of my hand. Sluggish but persistent, Spencer walked around the desk so that he could look at me without the barrier between us. He ran a hand over my hair until it came to rest against the back of my neck.

He opened his mouth to speak, but had to stop as his shoulders shook from the sob that wrecked his body.

“If you were there, then it just would have been you that got hurt. A-And I couldn’t have handled that, (y/n).”

His eyes were closed, and he brought his head down to rest our foreheads together. He felt so heavy, and I remembered for the first time during this situation that I’d also made a vow to support him in the darkest hour.

And there I was, failing him just as I’d failed our daughter, I thought.

But just as the words crossed my mind, Spencer’s hold on me got tighter, and he shook me ever so slightly as he tried to fight the demons that burned through every happy memory we tried desperately to hold on to.

“I know it looks like I’m handling this well but I’m barely holding it together. And I… I need you to know that I love you. I love you so much and I am so grateful that you are still here with me," he said through clenched teeth. “We’re going to find her, and we’re going to be together again.”

I wanted to believe him, but that solution seemed so distant.  

“What’s the point of anything good we do in this job if I can’t protect the people who matter?” I finally worked up the courage to ask as we began to sway ever so slightly in the direction of the couch.

“I don’t have an answer to that," he answered with a bitter honesty, his mouth curling to the side as he helped lower me onto the couch without any explanation.

I knew he wanted me to sleep before I collapsed into nothing, but the thought of sleeping without her…

“I’m so tired, Spencer,” I cried as my head fell to the side and hit the back of the couch.

My husband understood that it wasn’t the kind of tired that could be helped from sleep, so he didn’t tell me to try. Instead, he just took off his sweater and draped it over my shoulders.

“I’m here with you,” he reminded me quietly as I started to fall asleep.

“We have each other," he said as he kissed the top of my head. “We will always have each other.”

My daughter had been missing for 25 hours. In 76% of child homicide cases, the victim was killed within 3 hours of the abduction. After 24 hours passed, 88.5% of the children were dead.

I’ve never considered myself a lucky man. Really, I always sort of thought the world was out to get me. After all, I was currently walking through the doors of a stranger’s house, hoping to find my daughter still alive.

It was hard to find hope in a place like this. There were ways to cope with a tired mind, but a tired heart was harder to handle.

Even worse, my seven months pregnant wife was beside me, marching into the danger that might be waiting for us. I wanted to tell her not to come, but we both knew it would be asking the impossible of her. Honestly, we shouldn’t have been alone in this house in the first place, but we just happened to be the closest team members to the scene. It made a twisted sort of sense; we’d looked so hard for her, only to learn she’d been only a few streets away the whole time.

That was, if she was still there.

I didn’t want to think about it. My mind was rotating through the possible outcomes on loop, and I knew they wouldn’t stop until I’d seen the truth.

“Go upstairs. I’ll go out the back,” I instructed her, and she obeyed the command without a second’s hesitation.

I only let myself feel guilty for a few seconds, because I knew that I was sending her in the least likely direction. I just didn’t want her to be the one to have to find our daughter if things went poorly.

She didn’t deserve that.

I knew very little about the unsub; her name was Darlene, and she’d recently lost her two-year-old daughter. Her daughter, like mine, was suspected to be autistic. It was how the team had figured it out, but that did little to comfort me. She’d taken three other children before she found mine. None of them had made it.

From a distance, I heard the quiet creaking of the back door before I saw it. It hung open, gently tapping against the frame with the breeze. Each time it smacked against the wood; I felt my heart stop.

She was outside. She had to be outside.

Abandoning all protocol exactly like I’d promised not to, I bolted toward the door and out of the house without another thought. In the wind, I heard someone singing. The muscles in my neck tensed so tightly they hurt, but I forced myself to turn towards the sound anyway.

“Darlene Sallow—"

My voice cut out before any other words left my mouth, because I saw her. Wrapped up in a blanket that didn’t belong to her, I saw my daughter in the arms of a murderer.

She was alive. Her tiny face scrunched up as she strained away from the woman that held her swaddled tightly to her chest.

And all I could think was… Didn’t she know?

Didn’t she know that my daughter hated tight, confined spaces? That she could only sleep when she was sprawled out among the sheets, but still able to grab my hand? Why would she ever try to force her into the blanket after seeing how hard she would fight?

My hand holding the gun faltered, with every instinct in my body begged me not to point the weapon at my daughter.

“Go away! Leave us alone!” the woman yelled, turning her body away from me so I couldn’t see that face I’d fought so hard to find.

“Hey. Hey, look. It’s alright. Look, I’m putting the gun away,” I whispered, lowering the weapon because it suddenly felt so heavy to hold. I took a step forward as I did so, and I saw the knife in her other hand for the first time. “Hi. I-I just... I just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, go away," she spat back. And when she dropped her hand to rest the knife against my daughter’s back, I swore I felt the chill of the metal against my back, too.

“I can’t do that,” I said, my voice raspy and desperate in a way I never wanted my daughter to hear. There were so many parts of this I hoped that she would forget, and one of them was the fact that I had to pretend like I didn’t know who she was.

Would she remember that? Would she understand, even just for a fleeting second? The idea terrified me just as much as physical harm, because I never, ever wanted my daughter to feel like we’d forgotten her. That we’d abandoned her and left her on her own.

But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know enough about this woman or her background. I was flying by the seat of my pants, and I was certainly not an aviator.

“Darlene, wh—who is this with you?” I forced the words out, and the smile on her face made me nauseous.

“My daughter," she answered, relieved to finally say the words to someone else.

Swallowing down the correction I wanted so desperately to make, I continued to step closer while trying to remain non-threatening. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done; my imagination was still running wild with possible outcomes.

I prayed to God that my daughter ended up alive and well in my arms, because if she didn’t… there were only a few endings, and none of them were happy.

“Do you love her?” I asked, taking a few steps to the side in an attempt to see her face again. I succeeded for just one fleeting second before she realized, turning away from me again.

“Of course I love my daughter. I would do anything for her. That’s why I’m protecting her!” Darlene shouted, squeezing tighter to the tiny body in her arms.

The action was enough to force a quiet, panicked whine from my daughter. The sound felt so much like a punch in the gut that I actually doubled forward, my hand on my chest as I took deep breaths to combat the hyperventilation.

“Look at her. She’s scared,” I cried, hearing as the noises from my daughter became louder and faster. “S-She...”  

The strained word was followed by a shrill cry tearing through the air. It was a scream that I’d only ever heard once before. It was from the first night I’d left her, and in trying to follow me she’d fallen and scraped her knees.

But that wasn’t as simple as a pair of scraped knees. I could help those; with a little bit of ointment and a whole lot of kisses, I could stop that scream and replace it with something else. Instead, in that moment, she felt the sharp point of a knife at her back as she tried to fight against someone to follow her dad’s voice. Her dad, lying and pretending like he didn’t know her.

I couldn’t do it.

The tears covered my bloodshot eyes and each breath felt like fire, and I needed my daughter to hear my voice. I needed her to know that I was here, and I was trying to get to her. And in the back of my head, I knew that my primary motivation was that if this was the last thing that she’d ever hear, I wanted it to be something else.

“Her name is (y/c/n).”

“No, it’s not," the woman quickly corrected with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

“Yes, it is. That’s her name, and I know that because she’s my daughter,” I responded even louder, my steps towards her fewer but more purposeful. “She’s my daughter, and I love her, and I want her back.”

I hoped and prayed that the fates wouldn’t punish me for speaking the truth to a scared little girl who needed to hear it as badly as I needed to say it.

Darlene was panicking. In that panic, I saw the knife turn away for the briefest second before it was back on the squirming toddler in her arms.

“You don’t get to have her! She’s mine!”

I just needed her to do that again. I needed her to move the knife so that I could get it away. But I also needed to be closer. There were so many things, so many moving parts in a system that was too fast for even me to comprehend.

“Please. Please, just... let her go. She’s too little. She’s scared. Look at her,” I begged.

The sound of screaming still filled the air, followed by the familiar screeching of sirens. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, but I knew we were running out of time. Once more guns showed up, everything would quickly devolve into chaos.

“Please. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want her to see anything scary or bad.”

The world was so fucking loud. I just needed it to be quiet. I needed to think, to find the right thing to say before none of it mattered anymore. But what can you say? What do you do when your whole world is turning to nothing in front of you?

“I’m so sorry that you lost your daughter but… Please don’t take mine,” I said through broken sobs, my hands in fists that still tried to pray. “Please, I love her. I just want her to come home.”

There was a terrifying clarity that washed over the woman, a large smile spreading over her cheeks as she laughed.

“She is home," she whispered, and time slowed to a stop.

The too-bright sun shone too bright in the reflection of the blade as she raised it into the air.

“She won’t have to be scared anymore.”

“No!”

That word, the final plea of a father, was masked by something else. And despite how slow the world was moving; it took me too long to hear it. My body lunged forward before the boom hit me.

But the bullet reached her first.

I watched the fine mist coat the leaves of the bushes behind her, barely able to catch the limp body of a dead woman before she toppled to the ground with my daughter still in her arms. I’d never moved as quickly as I did in tearing her from the woman’s grip, not even pausing for a second to lower the deceased to the ground.

The blanket, loosened from the constant kicking was easy to unravel, and inside I found her, my beautiful little girl with her eyes clamped shut, her hands over her ears as her body trembled.

There was so much I should have done. I should have taken off my kevlar, should have taken the knife and thrown it far away. I should have cared about the dead woman laying on the ground in front of us, but I didn’t. Because my daughter was alive, and she was scared. I pulled her to me, turning to finally see the direction the bullet had come from.

And from the second story window, I saw my wife, her hands still clutching the gun as they hung out of the window. Her eyes were stuck on me, an exhausted, delirious smile finally gracing her face as the world suddenly returned to full speed. She turned immediately, taking off in the direction of the door as I lifted our daughter and ran in the same direction.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s here,” I cried as I heard the small cries start again, this time tired and lower than before. Holding the back of her head and feeling her tiny hands grab fistfuls of my hair from my neck, I tried not to sound as relieved as I felt.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.”

There were other people rushing into the scene, but none of them were the face I needed to see. I beat her to the door, and an excited wail echoed in the old house as she saw us.

When she crashed into us, my body finally released all of the tension that had formed over the past 27 hours. And I actually laughed at the way her belly got in the way of the hug, because everything felt like it was allowed to be funny again.

The sun wasn’t blinding anymore as it filtered through the windows. The air didn’t smell of dust and hatred; it just smelled of baby powder and soap.

“Mommy and Daddy have got you," my wife whispered, smiling through the deep breaths from all the excitement. “Everything is going to be okay.”

It wasn’t hard to find hope anymore, because she was in my arms again.

(Tell me what you thought of this fic here!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #angst #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

[biteghost]

Hey bite is there question that you hate being asking?

Honestly? I generally dislike being sent questions or comments that imply a want or demand for me to draw something.

This might be kinda weird, since I am an artist and my career is to draw?? But when people ask me to draw something besides what I'm currently working on, it makes me feel like I'm not doing enough. It makes me feel like I'm not working hard enough.

Perhaps TMI (mental health stuff), but I have really bad workaholic tendencies, absolutely awful self-confidence, a big scoop of self-loathing, and on top of that I've been pretty severely burnt out creatively for a long time... but I keep working in spite of all that because I desperately want to finish the things I start, and I earnestly love to make comics and characters!

(note: I don't share this because I am trying to brag or gain sympathy - I am seeing a therapist about this and she's helped me a lot with unpacking my busted brain. But it takes a long time to rewire your mind, and I'm still learning my personal boundaries and new, healthier habits to help me cope with my problems.)

I don't know if working through the trouble is a good thing, honestly. It's probably bad. I should probably be resting. But like, I can't just stop working, you know? I have to pay my bills and stuff.

So, when I'm dealing with my own mental health problems but somehow still manage to post the little art I do, it's like, genuinely a miracle. But getting comments or asks about other pieces, other fandoms, other characters, other projects... to put it bluntly, it just makes me feel bad! I know it isn't meant to be harmful - people like my work and my characters and want to see more of it! That's really flattering! But ultimately, at the end of the day, it just makes those voices in my head telling me I'm letting people down and not working hard enough and being lazy all the louder.

I want to clarify: if you have sent me an ask that was reminding me about a sketch I posted a long time ago that you'd like to see finished, or asking me to draw a character I haven't doodled in a long time, or asking me about a fandom I haven't made fanart for in months - 1) please don't feel guilty - it's okay and I don't blame you for your excitement and enjoyment of the art I make! 2) I probably won't be answering it, and will continue to just work on the art that I have the energy and time to focus on.

Thank you for understanding and for your patience! Please be patient and kind to creators you like online - you don't know what they're going through and it might be very difficult for them to create! 🙏

Instead of asking for 'MORE' of something, try instead to leave an ask or comment expressing what you appreciate about a character or a piece they made recently. Or tell them how you discovered their work and what finally made you hit that 'follow' button. Or just tell them what you like about their art, characters, or stories! Those kinds of interactions can be a lot more encouraging and uplifting than asking for more work from them.

#asktime #not art #long post #also hey: i promise I have not forgotten about old sketches I posted that I said I would finish #i just have not had the time energy or focus to get back around to them #sorry

[exophile3d]

This is the last of my current Monster BF request ficlets. @ur-favorite-pincushion​ asked for naga mutual masturbation. It’s taken me a while as I struggled a bit with the inspiration for it, but it all came together today. Also doodled him, but I hate the pose and his crappy hand so meh.

Poison

Male naga / Female reader (NSFW)

“You’re poison running through my veins.” Alice Cooper.

-----------------------------

The familiar scent coils around you as you descend the stone path into the dark maw of the cave. The light from your torch licks the walls and leaves orange stains that fade to black as you pass. You know what awaits, far below in the depths. You need its aid, for it alone can give you what you need, and you know the price it will put upon its produce, a price that already has goosebumps setting the hairs on your arms on end. There is no other source for this unique toxin however, which paralyses then eats away at your enemies from the inside out while they still live. Your foes are many and foul, deserving of a horrific death, and this is not the first time you have bartered with the creature for its goods.

The narrow sloping tunnel opens onto a well-lit, circular cavern, no more than forty feet in diameter, which makes up the subterranean trader’s living space. The roof is hung with roots that have grown down from the daylit world in search of water, and now serve a new purpose as they form loops when they try to grow back out towards the light. Shelves and chests line the walls, filled with books, crafting and potion-making paraphernalia, and assorted trinkets. While the trader makes and sells his own ready-made potions, you have come to take directly from the source, to harvest the product in its raw form, and make your own, even deadlier brew.

The cavern appears empty as you step across the threshold, and for a moment you wonder if he has perhaps gone hunting, but a lazy hiss from above soon puts paid to that idea. Your gaze shoots up in alarm, and there, in an almost impossible position is the naga you have come to procure from. His upper body hangs free, dangling in mid-air about ten feet above your head, while the thick, lengthy coils of his tail are looped in and around the roots hanging from the ceiling. Black hair frames his slender face, and his scales glimmer in the light of the torch in scintillant shades of golden yellow and cerulean blue. Short, sharp horns protrude from his face at nose and temple, and put you in mind of some of the more dangerous vipers you have seen in the wilds.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” you say. He has never been bothered by your intrusions in the past, but there is always a first time, and you really do not want to be on the wrong side of him.

He descends smoothly towards the ground and you step to one side to allow him to alight, the coils above unwinding in stealthy silence as he does so. Once the last of his tail has reached ground level, he holds his torso aloft on the front quarter so that he is looking down on you from a height of around seven feet. He smiles, although the expression is one you had to come to learn, so different is it from a human smile. His mouth is stiffly edged, with no mobile flesh at its borders, just larger scales that hint at where lips would be on another being. It extends back to the base of his ears, and you know from intimate experience just how wide his jaw can open. Now it hangs ajar just an inch or so, and his forked, red tongue slips out occasionally to savour the air: his smile, or his closest approximation of one.

“Not at all,” he replies. The voice is deeper than you would expect from a creature with a face so slender, and it is as soft as velvet. You resist the urge to look into his eyes. You know the danger inherent in that, although he has already told you he is not in the habit of harming his customers: it would be bad for business. “So what will it be today?” he asks lightly. “I have some new brews that are colourless, tasteless and undetectable when added to wine, for example.”

You swallow, your eyes drawn up over his hard mouth as he speaks, and itching to wander higher. You both know that is not what you came for.

“I’ve also been working on a condiment, a spicy sauce that will leave the taster burning inside,” he offers. A normal trader would be lifting the relevant bottles now and placing them in the customer’s hands, enticing them to buy. He has not moved from where he hovers just before you, tantalising your nostrils with the dry, earthy smell of him. Your gaze passes the small, spiked horn on his nose and pauses at his cheek.

“My need is for something a little more … raw,” you say. You are swaying on your feet now with the effort of keeping your gaze away from his eyes and you can feel your resolve wavering. His hand catches you under the chin, the underside of it cool and soft, and one of the few areas of his skin that is bereft of scales. He helps you past the final few seconds of your resistance, tilting your face up until your eyes meet his and your surrender is complete. Twin orbs of gold, speckled with jade suck you into their depths and your entire body suffuses with warmth.

“I think we can accommodate ‘raw’,” comes the silky response, but it sounds muffled, distant, external. All you care about is drowning yourself in those golden eyes. A familiar pressure begins to build, starting at your ankles, then working its way slowly up your calves and thighs as hard, gold-and-blue scaled coils are thrown around your body in quick succession, and you draw a deep breath, while you still can.

“Let’s see what we can … negotiate, shall we?” he asks. You nod, careful not to move your head too far in case those fascinating eyes are lost from view. The pressure is around your waist now, pinning your arms to your sides, and you are lifted from the ground as easily as you would lift a doll. You are aware of the cave ceiling above you moving as he transports you bodily to the pile of satin-covered cushions and plush furs in the circular depression in the far corner of the cave, and deposits you neatly in its centre. His coils undulate against you, squeezing and releasing as he rearranges you both to his liking, and in the process, he strips away your clothing in slow, efficient motions, holding your enraptured gaze through every last second of the undressing.

Presently, he hums in satisfaction. Your torso is secured in the lower, tapering end of his tail, while the thicker portion closer to his midriff is parting your legs as his upper body hovers above you. You can see the salacious enjoyment he is taking from having you trussed and yielding like this, and it alone would be enough to arouse you. But it is what he does to you physically, creating sensations no male of your species could ever emulate, that brings you back here time and again for the experience that only he can provide. His ridged scales tickle and tease where they rub between your thighs, and the length of  tail he has pressed around your chest is moving from side to side incessantly, dragging cool and smooth against your nipples. With each movement, he constricts just ever so slightly, making each breath just a little more of an effort, and causing the blood to pound in temple and crotch.

He lowers his face to yours, brushing the cool scales of his mouth against your lips, and tasting you with a darting, forked tongue. “You know my price,” he hisses. You nod, heat snaking through your belly as you think about what is in store, and as always, you hope that this time, he will give you what you truly want.

“My arms,” you slur, appalled at the sluggishness of both your words, and your limbs as he releases them. His tail wraps tightly around your breasts as soon as your arms are free, and begins to constrict and slide against them once more, sending tingles through your body from breast to groin. You reach down, trailing numb fingers across the soft scales of his belly, down to where his vent awaits your touch. You find he has already broken free, and his twin shafts are emerging steadily from their sheaths, slick and hard beneath your fingers. You draw in a ragged breath at the evidence of his desire for you, and as you exhale, he closes his coils to the point where you know your next breath will be a tiny, shallow mockery of itself.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against your mouth. Those golden eyes seem to swirl in your vision at this intimate proximity. He knows. He has always known, but you suspect he likes to hear you say it while he denies you. You grasp a shaft in each of your hands, taking as firm a grip as you are able, and begin to slide the skin up and down in long, smooth motions. He gasps against your lips, and tightens his grip around your ribs until you squeak in protest.

“Tell me.”

“Inside,” you gasp. His fingers have reached your own heat now, and they run teasingly against your folds, circling your clit as the wider portion of his tail continues to slide between your legs, igniting its own heated friction.

“You’ll have to be a little more explicit than that,” he advises in a tone that could melt icebergs.

You groan, annoyed at him despite the pleasure that is causing little shivers and shudders throughout your entire core. You want to comply with his racy demand, and tell him how much you want him inside you, but not only does he already know, but you know it won’t make any difference. It is always like this: he teases you with the prospect of the full force of his twin rods plundering your depths, promising ‘next time’, ‘next time’; but he never does. He knows it will keep you coming back, like an addict, hoping that one day he will relent.

His fingers slip past your lips and pass easily into your constricting depths. You draw in a shallow breath, nowhere near as much as you need, and the sensations strengthen as he buries two fingers in you to the last knuckle.

“If you don’t tell me, how will I know?” he asks. His eyes burn, his scales chafe your nipples, and his fingers plunge in a steadily speeding rhythm while you consider how to respond. Your hands work at his cocks, sliding against them with the same tempo as his pounding fingers and you can think of nothing now but how they would feel inside you. They are smoother than the rest of his hide, but ridged in a million tiny scales that you know will set your insides on fire, and warmth floods your crotch as you imagine being taken and pounded and squeezed and ravaged by him.

“What do you want?” he demands, his voice close to a roar now as he finger-fucks you while your hands move in a blur against his slick dicks, and you know you are both close.

Annoyed at your silence, the very end of his tail, no thicker than your wrist, wraps around your throat and closes off what little air remains to you. Your chest begins to hitch. Each sensation blooms with added potency and you shudder uncontrollably as with the last of your air, you gasp, “I want you to fuck me.”

He thrusts forward with his hips, forcing your hands to the very base of his twin shafts as your simple expression of desire, spoken with the very last of your breath, causes a veritable explosion of cum, and he empties himself onto your belly in hot, spurting gouts as his fingers curl inside you and send you shuddering into your own breathless climax.

Panting, red-faced, but tingling with satisfaction, you suck in a huge, noisy breath as his tail unwinds from your chest and throat. You can look him in the eye with no effect now that his needs are met, and you find there the same lazy delight that you are sure marks your own features. You stay still for a while, basking in the afterglow, until he releases you from his coils to perform the service for which you came. You watch fascinated as he opens his jaws to their full extent and milks his own four-inch fangs into the glass jar you brought for this exact purpose. You dress quickly, not wanting to outstay your welcome, and take the jar as he hands it to you. He keeps a grip on it, causing you to falter and glance to his face as you try and fail to take it from him. His eyes sparkle and threaten to draw you in again, and you drop your gaze quickly, noting the jar has twice as much venom in it as the last time you came.

“For your enemies,” he says, and the ‘s’ comes out as a low, vocal rumbling ‘z’ that sets your skin tingling. “May they die in pain and regret the day they crossed you.” Your brows twitch. He has never expressed interest in your use of the toxin before, and you wonder if perhaps it signifies a change in your relationship.

Whether it does or not, you both know you will be back, for next time, next time, he may just fulfill your wish.

#naga #monster x human #monster love #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #monster lover #snake man #poison #venom #toxin #naga lover #naga fucker #naga boyfriend