#trying to drag myself through this art block

[woodlnds]

wip of a mourning cloak (nymphalis antiopa)

#trying to drag myself through this art block #mourning cloak #nymphalis antiopa #butterflies #lepidoptera #bugblr #entomology #insects

[heyidkyay]

Pause it, play it, pause it, play it | Market girl AU

Matty x marketseller!reader

Summary: Saturday's are always the same working the stall, until a stranger stops in to disrupt your cassette display...

Authors note: A one shot for you, needed something to help me with a little writer's block so I hope it's alright! Nothing too detailed, mostly just fluff, just saw that middle picture and the idea took root:)

--

“Oi, Rob… You see where I set those new slips I just had?” I called out loudly, riffling my way through the boxes I’d brought over from the van that very same morning. “I swear I left them here in one of these lot.”

Rob seemed to shuffle over towards me at the beckon, peering around the tent whilst I pulled apart one box’s contents. 

I huffed when I heard a familiar crunch and looked over my shoulder to see him stood there munching on an apple. “Nah, babe. Sorry. I can ‘ave a look though if you want, got Nance watchin’ out for me.” ‘Nance’ being Nancy, Rob’s massive Alsatian that had once been his grandad’s guard-dog when he’d manned the stall years back. 

With a soft chuckle I pushed myself up onto my feet once more, tucking my hair behind my ears as I went. 

“Have at, can’t for the life of me find them.” I told him, watching on in growing amusement as he bit down on the green fruit to hold it between his teeth whilst he mooched about the pyramid of cardboard boxes for me, “Sure you’ll still have enough left to sell? Last Saturday you ate your way through six of those, the one before that was the highest yet, at eight.”

Huffing, Rob took another bite of his apple and then shot me a wink. “Keepin’ an eye on me, are you?”

I rolled my eyes as a breathy laugh escaped me, falling against the stall’s main bench so that I could cross my arms over my chest. 

A quick glance at the time told me that we still had a while yet ‘til it hit nine and the market opened properly, letting that first bit of crowd sail in. Though I’d always found it was easier most days to just enjoy the atmosphere that was Portobello, instead of focusing in on the imminent mob.

See, I’d been at the market since I were nine, working the vintage stretch with my mum and aunt, having grown all too fond of the people and their many eccentricities. Rob was of the same cloth, though a tad bit older, just enough that I’d had the fattest crush on him and that East London accent of his as a kid. 

It had faded over time, mind, what with him jetting off a couple years back when he’d been a holiday rep in Ibiza and me realising that I’d wanted to try my luck at art school. Not that either of those things had worked out, which had ultimately led us back here, surprised not to be rid of the other.

He was as close as I could get to a best mate though. Strange yeah, but he was family, wasn’t he? Everyone who worked the market was.

“With an arse like that? Always.” I retorted easily enough to have him laughing along with me and shaking his head at my antics. Something he’d grown all too used to in the recent years since I’d come back and made my mark with a stall of my own.

It wasn’t anything too grand, my stall. Nothing like the tourist trapping shops that sat a little further down, but sweet enough for the likes of me and the massive music collection I managed to drag down here each weekend. Set up was always mad, yes, but with Rob, Nancy and a few other early starters, time slipped away quick enough.

“Here we go then.”

I blinked and looked back over at Rob, who was now beaming brightly at the set of LP slips I’d ordered in special, waving them about in smarmy pride. I swatted his side as I made a grab for the things, only to have him lift them up higher to where I couldn’t reach. 

“Don't be a twat, pass them over. We open in five!”

Rob simply chuckled in retort, taking another chomp out of that apple of his. “A thanks wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Yeah, yeah, I would’ve gotten to it!” I swiftly shot back, jumping up to swipe them from his grasp and grinning in triumph when I managed it. He only laughed, a slight rasp working its way into it like it typically did. “Thanks.” I added after I’d thumbed through the lot, smiling up at him as he made his way to the other side of the tent. 

“Buy me a pint and we’ll call it even, treacle.”

I gave him a roll of my eyes, but agreed without much fuss. “Fine, but just the one, tight arse.”

His hearty chuckle filled the steadily growing street of sellers and I watched on as he stroked Nancy’s collar before settling back in at his own stall which resided by mine.

“Penny’s take care of the pounds, my darlin’.”

I raised a single brow and tucked the slips into one of the closer vinyl cubbies- 70’s Proto-punk wasn’t much of a seller anyway. “You mean, look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves.”

Rob clucked his tongue, waving the correction away with the hand that held his apple core, “Alright, smart-arse. You knew what I meant.”

I smirked, tittering quietly to myself whilst he settled his usual bum bag around his hips. It suited him, I thought, the neon green pouch sitting atop that awful red and white apron he’d pinched off the butchers up in Notting Hill when he’d worked there for a weekend. Though I much preferred my own, my nephew having decked it out in all sorts of pins and patches for me a while back now. 

With that Rob and I settled into our own stations, me taking perch on the old wooden stool I’d found in the back of a garden shed, and Rob being his usual loudmouth self, beckoning the arriving customers on closer.  

The crowd grew bigger and bigger the closer it got to ten, lots of people stopped by to have a chat or a look round, a few purchased a couple of bits. It was mainly just the vinyls that sold these days, but I still had posters, cd’s, and even cassettes on show.

It wasn’t usual for the cassettes to get a good look over though, mainly just a ‘Oh! Do you remember them?’ and then a small laugh before people eventually moved on. Which was why I was more than a little surprised to see a figure having a right old rummage through the steady collection I owned, once I’d managed to wrap up another sale. 

Glancing about, I spotted a pair of old birds flirting with Rob by the pears, Nance having gone to settle herself down by my bag in the back to hide from their gentle clucking, and how the crowded mob had thinned out a tad since most people had made their way further down the road’s neck.

I tucked the few notes I held into my pouch and stepped over a tangle of cables to make my way closer to the person, taking in their too big graphic tee and the tight zip up that had been layered over top of it. The nearer I grew the more I spotted though, the slight nod of a head as fingers worked their way deftly through the collection, the array of dark curls that poked their way out of the sides of a worn cap, and then the tiny hoop which dangled from a right earlobe. 

“Looking for something specific?”

The bloke didn’t startle much, there was no real jump at the sound of my voice, only the slight tilt of his head, as though he was used to being caught off guard. I watched him closer after that, noting how his thumb trailed across one of the few Sonic Youth singles I had.

“Their ‘86 album?”

His voice was gentler than I’d first been expecting, rasped with a slight accent I couldn’t quite place. I blinked at his ask, skimming through the catalogue of tapes my mind offered me, which hardly ever seemed to move from their typical place of sorting. 

“Um, top right? Should be one there, got Sister and Goo too, if I’m not wrong. Though the ‘88 album seems to be their most popular- even in cassette form.” I had rambled a tad there, I knew that much, but it was all part of the job to me. Talk and talk until they either fled the scene or decided to buy more than what they’d first come for. “You into cassettes then?”

He gave me a low chuckle and pulled away from the stand slightly, it was then that I caught sight of his face, a tad bit stubbled and lips parted almost in wait. He must’ve been closer to Rob’s age than my own.

I raised a brow when he didn’t offer me an answer, tilting my head in turn. “Or, is it a gift of some sort?” I dragged out.

With a blink, he seemed to stand a little taller and I noticed he only had an inch or two on me.

“Er, no.” He muttered, before mimicking my head’s movement and propping his elbow up on the cassette stand almost as if he was attempting to suss me out. It took a second before he finally flashed me a slow but genuine smile, “Looking for a certain sound. Some tapes sound better than the actual record so I figured here would be my best bet.”

I hummed, crossing one ankle over the other. “The further back you go you can hear it, but most of their stuff's good either way.”

He smirked as he settled in further, looking out at me from under the brim of his cap, “Aren’t you meant to be selling it to me?”

My laughter couldn’t have been helped because he did have a point there, only… “It’s just not everyday that someone pops by to talk about music mediums with me.” I argued, all too pleased when I heard him give another hearty chuckle in reply, “So forgive me for my excitement.”

“Will do.” He simpered, eyes flicking down to where he still held the Evol tape, I reached out to tap its plastic top.

“That one’s known for its ballads, if that’s something you’re into, but,” I practically sang before peering round him to see if I could find the one cassette case I was thinking of, “If you’re wanting a specific sound then A Thousand Leaves is probably worth giving a listen to. Personally I don’t think it got the recognition it deserved, but there was a lot of experimenting whilst also managing not to betray their roots, you know? It’s softer, smoother, and the guitars are almost unmatched.”

When I went to hand it over to him just to have a look at, I found him already watching me with this inscrutable sort of expression. I merely brushed it off, figuring that he’d just leave if he did eventually grow tired of my ranting, then turned slightly when a round of whispers echoed around the tent. It seemed a few younger girls had wandered straight on over to the independent artists section I had placed by the front and were arguing over who got this one Sam Fender album.

I looked away and went to say something else to him, but the way he'd simultaneously moved to angle his back away from the cassette tapes when he too spotted the new arrivals wasn't lost on me. I frowned a tad, though chose not to comment on it. “So, what sort of sound are you searching for anyway?”

His gaze skittered away from the tapes to meet mine for a second and I wondered, briefly, why he’d so suddenly lost the relaxed stance he’d been in just minutes before, but then he said, “Anything I haven’t heard much of before, in truth.”

Mulling his words over I then gestured towards the stand. “Can I?” I gestured, and immediately he knew where I was going with it, jumping back a step to let me riffle through the lot. 

I pulled out a couple I figured he might be into, simply going off of the Sonic Youth album he’d been eyeing, then a few of my own favourites, not that I’d let that tidbit slip. 

Handing them over, I let him search through their titles and answered one or two questions he had for me. I had to admit he intrigued me a bit, I’d had music enthusiasts stop by and talk about this and that with me, even had a couple people who played and were searching for new stuff to learn and adapt, but him? He didn’t give much away.

“Any good?” I questioned once I'd wandered back over to join him. I’d only left him to look through the selection again when a customer had called me over towards the front, and was just tucking away the few extra coins I’d been given when he glanced up at me with a bright grin. I was a little surprised to say it caught me off balance a bit.

“I’ll take the lot.”

Trying my hardest not to outright baulk, I paused. “The lot?”

Sure, cassettes weren’t all that pricey, not compared to pressed records at least, but there must’ve been just over a dozen that I’d pulled out to show him and now he supposedly wanted to take them all.

He laughed after a moment, most likely at the baffled look that marred my face, and made to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. “That gonna be a problem?”

The question was almost argumentative, pushy even, but in a jokey sort of way, the kind you’d use when ribbing a mate, not now. Not with some stranger at a market stall. It only left me marvelling further.

“Might be, I’ll have to find a bag big enough to fit them all though.” I countered, hiding my own smile when I heard him laugh again whilst I spun around to fetch exactly that.

“Anything will do, love.”

I dipped my chin in a slight nod but didn’t go right for the usual stack of black baggies I used for most sales, instead I swiped one of the few printed totes I had hung up for trade and tallied up the price. “You gonna be alright walking the rest of the market stretch with that?” I teased him, looking up once the transaction completed to hand him the now very full bag only to find him already looking back at me.

He hummed around a sly smile, fingers meeting mine around the totes handle before they were slipping away again. “Think I’ll make do. Only came looking for these anyway.”

My brows jumped up in surprise as I watched him tuck his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. “Everyone loves Portobello.” I murmured and his light laughter echoed around the market stall once more before he simply shrugged. 

“Been a couple times before, and besides, don't reckon I’ll get a better deal than this, do you?”

My eyes narrowed when I smiled, humoured by his easy going nature and quick quips. I found that I wanted him to stick around a while longer, if only to solve the mystery he made. “No, don't reckon so.”

He lingered for a moment or two more, simply smiling at me and I found myself smiling back, before a gaggle of school kids wandered on over, loud and uncaring of the looks they garnered. They caught my attention too and I found myself reminiscing over years where I’d been much of the same. 

When I glanced back over to him, I saw that he was gone. My forehead pinched in confusion and I glanced around to see if I could spot him in the busy crowd, but it had grown all too quickly again and appeared easy enough for anyone to get swept up and lost in. 

I rocked back on my heels as I gave up the search, just before I was called over by one of the kids asking for a specific LP. I let it go, him and the strange encounter we’d shared, and went about the rest of the day just going through the motions.

By the time seven o’clock rolled around I was shattered and had already packed most of the stall away. I waited patiently for Rob to help me with loading the larger bits into the van, watching Nance for him whilst he wrapped up what remained of the fruit and veg, knowing he’d take most of it back home to his family. It was at that moment that I caught sight of something amiss in the vinyl cubby I’d used to hide those slipcovers in just before we'd opened. 

I walked over and was more than a little dumbfounded to spot a cassette lying there on its side. Standing On A Beach. One of The Cure albums I’d mentioned to that bloke in the cap earlier, the very same he’d gone and bought, and the exact one I was more than sure I’d bagged. 

I picked it up, feeling Nancy brush up against my side whilst Rob called out to say that he was just dropping off his usual round of goodybags to the nearby sellers. I waved him off, then looked down at the tape I held, pausing when my thumb caught on something attached to the back. 

Flipping it over I found a quickly scribbled note, its corner tucked into the case's opening so that it would hold its place. 

(It sounded like you enjoyed this one when I asked about it. Know it’s a first edition too, so I figured maybe you should be the one keep it. - Matty.)

Matty.

“What you smiling at, weirdo?”

I startled at the sound of Rob’s usual drawl, head snapping over to my left to find him already trailing back towards us, a happy grin plastered over his face. 

“Go on, tell us!” He ribbed, and now that he was drawing nearer I was quick to tuck the note into my back pocket. 

“Nothing, just this tape. Figured I’d keep it.” I told him with a small shrug, clutching the cassette closer when he hip checked me in passing and bent down to give Nancy a good old stroke.

“Thieving your own gear! Wow, that’s a new low even for you.” Rob chuckled, shooting me a bright smile before he stood once more.

“Hush up, it’s a goodun. Forgot I even had it.” I defended, but he merely continued to laugh at me. Rolling my eyes, I shoved his arm lightly before I said, “Now be useful for once and grab the last of those boxes for us, will you.”

“Tetchy.”

I simply snorted, shaking my head as I moved to pick up my bag, clinging to the old cassette case for a second before finally dropping it inside. 

“You coming then?”

With a deep breath I took one last glance around the stall and didn’t see anything that had been missed, so I wiped down my jeans and then gave Nance another pet, “Yeah, coming!”

…

My week continued on much the same after that. I worked in the local pub behind the bar when I wasn’t performing on the crate stage there and on my day off I took the tube over to see my mum and nan. They lived further East nowadays, closer to the clinic my nana hated but needed, and not too far from the street she’d grown up on as a girl.

Saturdays were my only market days, even though it was open most of the week. Rob usually did Fridays there and the rare Tuesday too, when he could be arsed. Though the rest of his time was used up by frequenting the old boxing club every other evening, training and helping out with the younger lot that liked to come in. I’d only been half a dozen times, but he was very much in his element there.

So in shorter terms, my week had slipped on by without much fanfare, which meant that Saturday had seemed to both crawl and shoot back around. 

I opened the stall like usual, only without Rob for the first time in ages. He had apparently come down with some sort of bug or other that he’d gone and caught off of his nieces when he’d popped round to see them Wednesday afternoon- and well, he was a man, wasn't he? Which ultimately meant that he was dying. 

He’d let me have Nancy though, seeing as she hadn’t been out very much since the cold had hit him. So the Alsatian had jumped in my van that same morning and had been as good as gold all day. To be honest, she was a much better seller than me and I could see why Rob always brought her along with him, people seemed to flock to dogs which in turn meant more sales for me.

I’d been fanning the crowds away ever since we’d opened, which typically only tended to happen during half term or school holidays, but nonetheless it was a more than welcome change after the crappy tips I’d garnered down at the pub the night before.

‘Cause well, since I’d dropped out of school I’d taken to performing there on the more livelier nights, a few covers, one or two of my own songs, and then I’d end the set and slide behind the bar to serve. Normally I was fine with that, the tips were often good when both the older folk and the younger lot rolled in, Friday nights especially. Only, there’d been a gig on down at the O2 so we hadn’t gotten our usual patrons in, and had instead been sacked with a couple of stragglers and a less than lively lot.

Still, today more than made up for it.

The sun was shining as much as it could do during a London March, the skies were blue although not completely clear, and the market crowd seemed to be in good spirits too.

Sy, who worked a couple stands down, had passed out a tray of coffees not too long ago, just after the lunchtime rush, and then Dianne and Reg had followed with some of their freshly baked pastries. They’d even thought to bring a little treat over for Nance too. 

I'd just texted a picture to Rob to show him what he’d missed out on by having a case of man-flu and had just got up to toss the last of the rubbish away when I was caught off guard by an unexpected surprise.

“You!”

Matty, my mind supplied a half a second later. The same name that had been circling my thoughts since he’d left me that note the Saturday prior. I blinked at the sight of him. He was wearing a cap again, although this one was different, a dusky navy blue that he’d gone and tucked under a giant grey hoodie. 

“Me.” He grinned in glinted amusement, jutting out his chin in a gentle hello. “Figured I might find you here.”

The snort I gave was unprecedented, “Oh, really? Wonder what gave that away.”

Matty smirked. Matty. It felt strange to put his name to his face then, even though it had been puttering around in my head like the bouncing DVD logo since the last time we’d met. 

“Got any more tapes for me then?”

My eyes squinted in my attempt to dim my smile, not really believing that he was actually here, before I pursed my lips and tilted my head at him. “Might do. Take it you liked the last few?”

He hummed, smiling down at Nancy who’d trailed on over and allowing her to sniff at his hand. When she nudged his leg with her snout I watched on as he dropped into a crouch to give her a proper stroke. Nance seemed to be quite taken with him after that. 

I propped a hip against the nearest vinyl cubby, crossing my arms over my chest whilst he replied, “They were good- helped a lot, in truth. You were right about the Roxy Music album, too.”

Chuffed with that, I shot him a pleased little grin. 

“You’ll come to learn that it’s to be expected.”

“What, you bein’ right?” Matty wondered with a low laugh, petting Nancy’s head once more before he forced himself back up onto his feet. 

“What I said, in’t it?”

He shook his head softly and I felt his eyes on me before I finally gestured him on over to the cassette stand. “I found a few new ones in the charity shop near my mum’s the other day, figured it’d be best to add to the collection after you nearly took the lot.” 

“Wow, and she’s dramatic too.”

I swatted his arm thoughtlessly, then stilled the second I realised what I’d done, but Matty was either none the wiser to my momentary pause or just didn’t care. “That come with the job then? Having to be mouthy?”

My jaw dropped a tad at his sudden cheek and I tutted around the tiny beginnings of a stuttered laugh, “You’re brave. I’ll let you have that. But honestly, you’re probably not wrong there either.” We shared a chuckle, coming to a standstill by the tower full of tapes, “Most of this lot have to be gobby enough to have a shout at bagging any customers, especially when Rob’s around.”

“Rob?”

I titled my head over towards the next stall which sat empty, “Yeah, he works the fruit and veg. Might’ve seen, or rather heard him last weekend.”

Matty gave a slow nod, dragging his gaze away from where I’d pointed and back to the many cassettes I had to offer.

“So what're we looking for this time?” I smiled, thoughts on The Cure tape he’d gifted me, although wary to mention it too soon. “80’s Punk? Electro? Rhythm and Blues?” I dragged that last one out, enjoying the sight of his smile and how it only appeared to lift on one side before dimpling the corner ever so faintly.

“Give me one of your favourites.”

“Mine?” I blinked.

He hummed again, fingertips trailing over multiple rows of cases. I watched the movement, caught up in it in actuality, before I tore my eyes back over to him. 

I caught him looking again, only this time around I didn’t much question it, not when the Saturday sun sitting high in the sky reflected so prettily in his eyes. Lightening them enough that they almost appeared to glow. 

I followed through on the ask though, once I’d finally managed to get my head in working order and drag my gaze back towards the task at hand, pulling out an extensive range of cassettes, both singles and albums, for him to view. 

Matty liked to talk, I quickly learned. He asked question after question, even when it seemed like he knew more than he was letting on at times, and he waited whenever someone else walked over, sitting amongst the back shelves with Nancy whilst I talked and sold a couple of vinyls.

Soon enough the sun had started to dip low in the sky and we realised that the hours had honestly escaped us. I was startled when I finally looked down at my phone to see that it was almost time to start packing away, having lost myself in the conversation we’d shared, or rather the debates we had both started over artists and genres, and what decade had done the most for music. 

“Oh shit! I can’t believe it’s almost half six!”

Matty appeared to remember himself at my exclaim, pulling out his own phone to see for himself and blowing out a large breath when it rang true. “Fuck, ah, I didn’t even realise.”

He actually looked somewhat apologetic when he met my eye again. 

I shook my head and waved him off, “You’re all good, actually one of the best market days I’ve had in truth, made almost double than what I did last weekend, even with the stash you claimed.”

With a soft laugh, Matty made to stand, holding out a hand to help me up too once he'd found his footing. I smiled softly at the offer and took it, perplexed by the careful callouses which lined the tops of his fingertips and the soft palm that accompanied them.

“You play?”

“Hm?”

My chin jerked over towards where an older acoustic hung on display in the stall across from mine, “Guitar. Do you play?”

His brows knitted together at the ask but he did eventually give me a low chuckle too, hand still holding my own. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

My eyes flickered up to find his and I gave a small smirk, unable to help myself. “Intuition.”

Matty scoffed in amusement, “Oh yeah? How’s that work?”

Shrugging a single shoulder, I stepped on closer to him, near enough that the brim of his hat shaded the top half of my face and the toes of our shoes almost aligned. “Just comes to me, I ‘spose.”

He quirked a questioning brow.

“What’s your intuition telling you now then?”

I bit down on the insides of my cheeks in hopes to contain my playful smile, figuring I’d best take the chance now while it was being handed to me. “That you’re gonna buy me a drink.”

“Am I?” Matty answered, voice dropping a fraction as a grin threatened to split his face.

Humming, I could only smile, eyes flickering between his own before they darted up towards the brim of his cap. With the hand not holding his, I reached up and settled it a little lower on his head, then glanced back down at that growing grin. “I mean, if you’re gonna keep coming back each Saturday then…”

His eyes narrowed a tad and finally he let go of the chuckle he’d been holding onto, leaning in even closer to me. “Intuition telling you that?”

“Hm, along with a couple other things.” I quipped, revelling in the hand that came to rest on the hem of my jeans. “So, that drink?”

Matty laughed, sweet and lovely. “Might know a place.”

“Good,” I murmured in the little space he’d placed between us, mouth almost touching his own before I was smirking and pulling away, “Guess you can help me pack up then.”

Matty huffed out a breathy chuckle whilst shook his head at me, watching as his hand slipped from mine. Though he wasn’t left lonely for too long, seeing as Nancy padded on over to him for another round of strokes whilst I set to picking up a horde of albums. “Tease.” He shot out, though he didn't look too disheartened.

I gave him a loud laugh in return, content with being labelled as such. “Well you’d best get to work then. Quicker we’re done here, quicker we can see about you and me sharing anything other than a drink.”

And he did, he set to work swift enough, the two of us slipping by one another with a gentle ease we shouldn’t have yet earned and sharing soft smiles in the lessening market bustle. All the while I continued to wonder and watch him, thinking back on the cassette he’d gifted me and the sudden fondness I’d found for him. 

“Ready to go?” He asked me not long later and I found myself never wanting to say no to that pretty smile of his. So I just nodded and took the hand he held out, Nance moving to join us too before we finally ventured our way out of the market street. Matty asking me every question he’d been holding back the further we got, and making realise that I had a horde of my own.

#the 1975 #matty healy #x reader #fluff #flirting #humour #fic #writing #plot #matty #the 1975 band #y/n #matty healy fic #matty the 1975 #reader #oneshot #imagines #heyidkyay

[taytrashmouth]

Meet me in the pouring rain

Harry James potter x fem reader.

Inspired by this pin: https://pin.it/2JlvuwrlR

It was your fifth year at Hogwarts, and you were always sort of alone. You had friends but they were never close. You were one of those in between people in school. Those people your classmates will remember in 10 years but won’t know anything about you.

Today was a cold day and despite that, the common room was far too busy to be reading in. And so you sat on the bleachers while the quidditch practice was happening below, to finally read your book in peace.

You could vaguely hear Harry shout instructions every now and again. Harry Potter was possibly one of your favourite people, simply because he was always nice to you.

He would lend you pens in class or explain something in defence against the dark arts. He check in on you at least once a week. He gave you his scarf at hogsmeade once because he said you looked cold.

And despite his fame, he kept to himself. What you didn’t notice was the subtle glances he kept sending you, the smile on his face when you wore his scarf. The stolen touches when teaching you how to get the correct brew.

Your nose was deep into the book you were reading you didn’t even notice Harry watching you from his broom.

In fact in was halfway through practice already when you finally looked up from the pages. And it was only because it had started to rain and your book was going to get wet.

You tucked your book into your coat and awkwardly ran down the stairs of the tent to run back to the castle…which was ages away.

“I’ll be right back” Harry told his team, squinting through the rain. He angled his broom downwards and zoomed through the entrance to the stadium, grabbing an umbrella in the process.

He quickly caught up to you on his broom and held the umbrella above you from his seat in the sky.

You looked up in confusion to see the boy on his broom above you sheltering from the rain.

You smiled. “Thank you Harry.”

Even those three basic words were enough to make him blush.

He put a hand by his eyebrows in attempt to block the water from his glasses.

He flew beside you as you walked, keeping you dry.

“What are you doing out at the quidditch field?” Harry asked.

“Trying to find a quiet place to read.” You replied blankly, still holding the book to your chest in attempt to save the pages.

Harry looked like he wanted to say something but he didn’t.

“What?” I asked.

“I know a place, by the lake…it’s quiet there. I can show you if you’d like…maybe you could read to me.” He stuttered.

I smiled. He was bright red and so was I.

“That- that would be nice.”

He smiled back and then to the floor. “That’s- good. Good that’s good.”

“I wouldn’t mind watching you practice though…” I spoke up, testing the water. Maybe Harry liked me….

He looked a bit shocked. “I’d like that. Great,” he smiled even wider.

When we arrived at the castle he hopped of his broom.

“Meet me here, noon, Tomorrow.” He said moving closer. “Bring a book,”

I blushed. And nodded.

He gave me a hug and said goodbye.

That same evening I was woken up by something I couldn’t see. That was until Harry took of his invisibility cloak

“Harry! What are you doing here?” I whisper, trying to open my eyes all the way, still half-asleep.

“I want to show you something.” He said.

“I’m in pyjamas.” I say, not that impressed with his timing. He seems to brush this off and shows me his pyjama pants.

I drag myself out of bed and follow him with my book in hand as per usual. Trying to fix my hair.

He leads me up a lot of stairs, hogwarts still feels so homey without the people all over the halls. Despite my asking he’s insisting it’s a surprise.

We reach the astronomy tower and he’s got the roof open and has placed down a blanket with cups of tea next to it.

I look up at him, feeling so special. He was so sweet. “Harry…this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” I tell him and lean closer on my toes to kiss his cheek gently, brushing his other cheek with my hand.

“I-I couldn’t wait, to see you…I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” He stutters, blushing like a mess.

I smile wider as we sit on the blanket and lie down looking at the stars. I’ve never seen them so bright.

Harry pretends to yawn to put his arm around my shoulders, I smile at how cheesy it is. It was kind of cute though.

I cuddle next to him and rest my head on his chest. I can almost hear his smile.

He takes my hand in his and immediately leans on his elbows.

“You’re freezing.” He lets out.

“I’m alright, really.” I tell him but it’s too late he’s already out of his quidditch jumper and handing it to me.

“Thank you.” I say softly and put it on.

We lean back to our original position.

“I like you a lot y/n.” He says, not nervous sounding anymore.

“I like you a lot too Harry. All of this means so much to me.” I reply and smile at him, lying on my side.

He sits up a little too and I don’t know who moved closer first but soon enough his lips were on mine and his hands were on my frostbitten cheeks. I placed a hand in his hair, almost wanting to pull him closer.

When the kiss finally broke we both just smiled, with a breathy laugh.

We watched the stars for hours until the sun began to rise.

“Read to me.” Harry whispered in my ear, stroking his fingers through my hair.

And I did, and he held onto every word.

#harry james potter x reader #harry james potter x reader fluff #harry potter x reader #harry potter #harry james potter #y/n #harry x reader #hogwarts oc #quidditch #gryffindor #female reader #x reader

[reanimationstation]

dragged myself out of art block kicking and screaming with some good old fashioned Michael Afton! i am just a sucker for mask imagery. i wanted to try this art style again with all the stuff i learned from the first piece, though i still went through a lot of trial and error here. more knowledge to add to the pool for future use though!

#victors art #michael afton #five nights at freddy's #fnaf #blood

[azures-bazar]

Accommodating 

Re-uploading this one shot because I wanted to add some changes. I'm experiencing a massive writers block tho, my inspiration is gone (my new job is taking most of my mental energy away but I love it lmao)

Here is some SOFT!Arthur one-shot, again, because boy oh boy it makes me want to write a full story about him going through our current era lol

Don't mind his absolute child-like fascination for modernity, I mean... it's cool to see our tough cowboy happy, isn't it ?

Arthur Morgan x GenderNeutralReader 

Word count : 2.9k

Short summary : You make Arthur try some new technologies, and it’s quite funny to watch his large blue eyes gaze at them ! 

A/Note : I bought myself a galaxy projector not so long ago and wondered how Arthur would react lol. Don’t mind it ! 

Tags : cute, Arthur discovers modern things, mentions of Avatar, movie-watching, snacks, cute nicknames, cuddles, soft boah is in the modern world, men can also cry

A cowboy in the modern world… what a weird story to tell ! Arthur had been in your life for a few months already, slowly accommodating to your era. Sometimes, it was fun, sometimes it was almost scary, and, occasionally, it could be sad. You knew Arthur was an outlaw, a thirty-six, probably thirty-seven year-old man who had been abandoned on the top of a mountain, but he never really brought the subject to the table. In fact, on a few occasions, he would mourn the rest of his gang, he would mourn his friends he would never see again. You had done your best to cheer him up during his rather sad moments, but nothing could really fill that void. 

Arthur missed these folks, a few names were frequently mentioned : Hosea, John, Tilly, Charles, Sean and Lenny. Six people he would describe at times, probably the six people he missed the most from his former life. A father-figure, his siblings, his closest friends… he often wondered what happened to them, to these people becoming distant memories he could only mourn. As of 2023, even little Jack was gone. You wished you could do something, probably beg for Francis Sinclair to come back and drag all these people he mentioned to your time… but Francis was long gone, not even bothering about stepping by your place anymore.

You knew Arthur loved drawing stuff, so you bought him a set of sketchbooks for him to practice. He would hole himself in your now-shared room, sitting on the edge of your window or on your bed, spending about one or two hours sketching figures, animals or even sceneries which appeared to be from a very distant era, mixed with modern buildings and figures he came across while wandering in the streets with you. You often left him alone for him to enjoy his solitude, listening to some blues while sketching his discoveries before he would head to you and proudly show you some of his works. One of your walls had a full set of Arthur’s drawings framed and displayed to the eyes of any guest coming in. After all… it was art ! And nothing could make Arthur more happy than receiving compliments about his sketches he often disliked. 

Arthur still had some hard time getting used to a smartphone you had bought him as you thought it would be a good thing to keep in touch whenever you would be away from him. He nearly broke his phone’s screen twice, unable to understand why it would not switch on, struggling to send you correctly written texts. His large fingers did not help much, he would get easily frustrated by not selecting the right letter for his text. You absolutely adored each one of them, finding them incredibly cute by knowing how much Arthur wanted to do things like you. Sending a text usually took you a few seconds, whereas Arthur would roughly spend one minute writing a five-word sentence filled with typing mistakes, some of them being due to his autocorrector. 

"Im misqing yoi, Y/N !" was an almost daily message he would send you

At some point, you saw an add of a galaxy projector while scrolling on some social media, right after telling Arthur he would probably get a lot of followers if he decided, by miracle, probably, to create an account for himself. He was handsome, had some sweet-looking traits and could easily model for some alternative brands. He often said he would never do such thing, finding his face too ugly to be shown to anyone. How wrong he was, he was probably the most gorgeous-looking man you had ever met ! But, somehow, you did not want to encourage him to post pictures of himself. Social medias were a rather dangerous place for healing minds, and Arthur still needed time. Besides, he would probably not even be able to post anything due to his lack of ease using his digital keyboard ! 

You bought that lamp later that night, it got delivered quite fast. You carefully unpacked your new tool and quickly headed to your bedroom, followed by Arthur who had stopped reading a book about extinct species as he saw you wander around your place with this curious thing you held. You calmly placed the lamp on your bed, reading the instruction manual while Arthur touched it several times, not understand what the hell this little thing was and what was its purpose. 

"What’s that ?" Arthur asked 

"It’s a galaxy projector." you answered. 

"Why d’you need that ? Can’t you just look at ‘em stars from your window ?"

"Light pollution prevents it. These are often used to create a cute ambiance at home or to distract kids. Wanna give it a try ?" 

"Sure." 

Arthur sat on the bed as you switched all lights off, plugging your galaxy projector on, making a large blue and purple light come out of it, filled with laser dots representing stars. The background was moving a little, creating a wave effect which froze Arthur on place. He kept his head up, looking at your now star-covered ceiling. His surprised and mesmerised face was absolutely priceless ! His eyes were shining, his mouth remained half-open as he could not help but stare at these fake stars covering your ceiling. All his troubles were forgotten, making him return to a child-like state. It was such a beautiful thing to see ! 

"And it can also distract grown-ups." you smiled 

Your cowboy-roommate did not even react. His attention was completely focused on the ocean of fake stars he had above his head ! Of course, Arthur knew what a projector was. It would have been awesome to see his reaction if he had never seen such thing before, he would probably have been trying to catch these laser stars like a cat and look confused. But, at the moment, his reaction was pretty cute. 

You left Arthur alone in the room to buy a ready-made lunch at the local market. He had a phone and would call you whenever he would need your help, if he would get lucky enough to make his fingers touch the right icon on his screen. It only took you a few minutes to buy some finger food for the two of you to eat while watching a movie, you came back to find Arthur exactly where you had left him thirty minutes earlier, in the same position, with this same amazed facial expression blooming on his face. He was hypnotised by these lights enough to feel suddenly so lost as you opened the curtains of your bedroom. 

"Wh… what’s going on ?" he said, placing his large hand over his eyes. "Damn sunlight…"

"I brought us some food. You wanna watch a movie ?" 

"Yeah, why not ! Just… just let have my eyes back first, hun." 

Arthur rubbed his eyes and shook his head while you smiled. You absolutely loved listening to him giving you cute nicknames, such as hun, sweetheart, lovebug… even calling you boo, sometimes, after he heard about that nickname while watching TV. It took him a few more seconds to leave your bedroom, keeping his eyes partly closed until reaching your living room, helping you placing all the food on the table, still looking surprised you did not have any forks or knives to eat these carrots, chips, mozzarella sticks and cucumbers. He glanced at the chips and took one between his fingers. Since his arrival in your era, he had never seen or had the opportunity to taste chips !

"What’s that thing ?" he asked. "Is that really food ?"

"Oh, that’s a potato chip." 

"Really ? Just like fried potatoes ?" 

"Yeah, just like fried potatoes, but smaller and thinner. We can eat them for snacks or very random occasions. Try it !"

Arthur nodded, taking a bite of the chip before smiling and taking more of them into his large hand. You could not help but chuckle at his sudden addiction to salty treats, wiping away a few crumbs stuck in his three-day beard with the tip of your fingers. He turned shades darker and smiled, gently taking your hand and rubbing it with his thumb as you launched the movie. Avatar, by James Cameron. Back in a day, that movie had been vastly acclaimed for its large technological progress, and was still pleasant to be watched to this day. You would take Arthur to watch the second Avatar movie someday soon in case he liked the first one. 

"Are ‘em blue folks real ?" Arthur asked while pointing a Na’vi on screen

"No, they’re modelled with computers." you smiled, trying to explain Arthur about motion capture in the most easiest way. "Our technologies allow us to record actors and then modify their bodies thanks to computers to morph them into these blue folks, like you call them."

"Is there a planet called Pandora too ?" 

"I don’t know. Probably ? The universe in infinite, and we didn’t explore much yet." 

The gaze Arthur gave you was adorable. You could see his eyes shine with admiration, it was such a privilege to be able to witness an era which was more than one hundred years ahead of his time, despite its good and bad moments. You had tried your best to keep Arthur away from newspapers in order to help him remain in his rather innocent state of discovery, knowing that a simple glance at the news on TV would probably make him terribly sad and somewhat nostalgic of his own time. 

It was quite unexpected, but Arthur cried during the movie. He cried because of its overall beauty, the story appeared amazing to his eyes, the soft melodies and choirs chanting in background soundtracks moved him a lot. He loved the bioluminescent effect of some scenes, the overall atmosphere of the movie, not taking his eyes away from your TV while wrapping his arm around your shoulders, gently kissing your temple at times. He adored that, he adored this moment. Having you close to him while being fully taken into this movie made him forget about all his past troubles.

"D’you also have ‘em guns ?" he softly asked 

"Maybe… why ? You want one in case you’d come across blue people ?" 

"Mmmm… yeah. Jus’ in case. I miss my good ol' revolver, sometimes." 

You rested your head on his shoulder, somewhat amused by his sweet attitude. You would listen to his gasps, his soft squeals, his almost inaudible wows… you could not deny how adorable Arthur was. You could even hear him sniff, his chest trembling a little whenever a scene would be emotional enough to bring him to tears. Who would have thought Arthur could be so sensitive ? Those who knew him much more than you did. Hosea and Charles, for instance, and most probably John at some point, even Dutch. Just by looking at his drawings, you could have guessed he had a soft heart and high intelligence hidden underneath his rather menacing appearance. 

The movie lasted for so long… you had time to check your phone about a dozen times while resting against Arthur whose eyes were glued to the screen. You did not even want to bother him, he was absolutely hypnotised by the movie and did not want to be bothered. You smiled at him as the credits rolled, noticing tears streaming on his cheeks as you teasingly poked them. 

"Getting a little sensitive, huh ?" you smiled 

"That was a beautiful show !" Arthur answered. "I loved every second of it ! Can we watch it again ?" 

"Someday, we will. But... let's just take a break, okay ?" 

Night came pretty fast, Arthur made you a lavender infusion, you found enough energy to work a little while Arthur sat on the couch and started sketching. Very random figures, some fantasy-like sceneries… and you. You could easily tell he was drawing you by looking towards your direction a few times, then proceeding to sketch something, and looking back again. Another artwork to frame, that was for sure ! 

"What are you drawing, cowboy ?" you smiled 

"Well… I’m trying to sketch you, but I can’t get it right… you’re too gorgeous and my hand shakes too much." 

"That’s… that’s really sweet !" 

"I mean it." 

What Arthur told you made your heart stop beating, you turned shades darker and hid your face behind your hands. Your smile widened enough to cause your roommate to move closer to you, carefully closing your laptop with a large smirk blooming on his face. He made you stand up, slowly uncovering your beautiful face before dropping a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

"You’re making me melt, you know that ?" you smiled 

"Let’s get you to bed so you’ll stop workin’ on your… weird machine here." 

"It’s a computer, Arthur." 

"Well, computer or not, you’re going to bed with me ‘cause it’s kinda late."

You shrugged, you didn’t notice how fast time had passed since you decided to get back to work ! Remote-working had its ups and downs, and Arthur had complained a few times about you staying up too late instead of going to bed and hide into his embrace. He could hardly sleep without having you next to him, and there were no ways to escape him that night. How could you resist these puppy eyes and insisting behaviour ? Your arms spread wide for him to lift you up while you dragged your legs around his hips. Arthur loved carrying you around your place, he could easily remain in shape by doing this almost on a daily basis ! You did not mind it. In fact, you loved having him carry you from a room to another. Bridal and koala style, as you called it, were your favourite. 

Arthur calmly put you on the bed and proceeded switching all lights off while you changed into some more comfortable wear, slipping under your blanket as Arthur moved next to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He took advantage of you turning yourself towards him to passionately kiss you before making you rest your head on his shoulder. You remained like this for a few seconds, in your pitch-black bedroom, up until Arthur cleared his throat. 

"Erm… Y/N ?" he sheepishly asked 

"Yeah ? What’s wrong ?" 

"Would you mind… switching the galaxy lamp on for a bit ? I… I liked it and…-"

"Sure, sweetheart."

You gasped at your own sudden reaction. "Sweetheart ? Really ?" you scolded yourself, covering your forehead with your palm. You never dared giving Arthur nicknames, not finding anyone of them suitable enough for your time-traveling cowboy, his sole name sounded just fine, you would sometimes call him by his surname. Sweetheart came out of nowhere, and was well deserved ! 

"S-sorry." you stuttered 

"Nah, it’s fine." Morgan responded. "I like ‘em sweet nicknames. "

Arthur smiled, deeply flattered by the nickname you just gave him. His heart pounded faster than expected as you calmly reached out to get the lamp and switched it on. A beautiful fake galaxy suddenly covered your ceiling, filled with laser stars which slowly moved along with the rest of the digital ocean of blue and purple clouds behind them. You analysed Arthur’s reaction and smiled at his sight. 

"Why do you like this lamp so much ?" you smiled

"Oh… it just reminds of home." Arthur answered as he moved closer to you, allowing you to place your head back on his chest 

"You never slept with a roof over your head before you came here ?" 

"I did, at some point… but I got used to fall asleep while gazing at the stars from a corner of my tent, or sometimes from my bedroll when I was away. Gazing at ‘em moving above me was always calming."

"If you want, we could go camping this summer. Would you like that ?"

You heard Arthur moan a little, feeling his heart pound faster. Your head rose a little, allowing you to get a better view of Arthur’s beautiful face. Your hand caressed his chest, drawing circles on them while you kept gazing at him. His eyes kept staring at the ceiling until he felt your gaze, slowly turning his head to you. 

"That’d be awesome." he smiled 

There were many things left to discover, many things you wanted to show Arthur. The world was full of treasures, modern or ancient, cultures you wanted him to get familiar with, places to visit… Arthur’s health was back to normal, you could now guide him through your own era without bothering about any health issues he would encounter. Indeed, that man was not twenty anymore, but you were ready to do so much for him ! You were ready to guide him, to be with him. Beyond what Francis had first asked you. Your help turned into a beautiful blossoming relationship filled with embraces, kisses and… very noisy nights. 

Switching this galaxy lamp became some sort of ritual every single night. Along with waking up to Arthur’s face and his hugs after you would come back from work, your daily embrace in bed facing a fake galaxy was your most favourite part of the day. At times, you would run your fingers into Arthur’s dirty-blonde locks, massaging his scalp with singing some song. Sometimes, he would do the same with you. You adored it, you adored him. No, you loved him… and did not have the courage to tell him just yet, but you knew this day would come soon enough. The world was filled with treasures, mysteries and beauty. 

And Arthur was going to find out about them. 

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader #modern arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #modern cowboy #soft arthur is the best #azurestales #cute #fluff #rdr2 au #sweet arthur morgan makes my heart melt idk why #red dead redemption #arthur morgan fanfiction

[emotionalsupporthufflefluff]

fancy rooms that hide unnoticed

Ominis Gaunt x GN!Hufflepuff!Reader (MC = Eliza Fig, Gryffindor) part six of the fancy series - [ToC]

Summary: Ominis shows you a secret room hidden away, and reveals a few more secrets of his own. Everything is finally coming together, so nothing will get in the way of that, right?

A/N: The highly requested continuation of the fancy series is here! I want to say sorry for taking so long but it really hasn’t been that long since I posted, maybe a week if that lol But! wanted to add that my next post will in fact not be the next part of this, but a separate request that i received in my ask box. (don’t worry, part seven will be right after!) Anyway, send in requests for Hogwarts Legacy! I need more motivation to keep writing and while i already write purely for myself and my entertainment, your encouragement and requests certainly spur that along. Anyway, i have a feeling everyone was waiting with bated breath for this chapter so read on!

“Hush, listen. Here- quickly!”

You weren’t sure where Ominis was leading you, but it was inside the Hogwarts castle and it was certainly not toward any common room that you knew about. When you entered through the transfiguration courtyard into the Defense Against the Dark Arts building, you tried to ask in whispers where your destination was, but received only a smirk and a hushing sound from Ominis as he pressed you into an alcove to avoid a prefect’s rotation.

You were squeezed in tight, pressed against each other to fit inside, and your breath stuttered as you wondered if you had ever been this close before- been so close that the line of your body pressed against his and you could feel his chest move with breath against yours, could feel his hands try to find somewhere to rest and end up claiming the spot on your hips. This was all well and fine, surely, though you noticed the side you entered from facing the hallway and worried that you would be easily noticeable. You reach out to take hold of a nearby curtain, pulling the string that had tied it off to the side. The curtain slid downward and encased the small alcove. You figured it would block out the light, but you turn and notice this as a windowed alcove, and the moon shone down onto the both of you. Looking back into his face, the moonlight danced across Ominis’ cheeks and bathed his hair in such a light that it looked more white than blond.

He was smiling, and you began to feel his hands slowly gliding across your sides. Gently, he pushed upward and back, sliding his hands across to the small of your back, pressing in. You were already pressed against each other as much as you thought possible- but even so, Ominis dragged you closer in. Everything felt stifling, like too much and not enough all at once, and as you stared into his open and relaxed eyes you were tempted to close the rest of the slight distance between the two of you. Your eyes dart down to his lips and you can feel your breath hitch just as the sound of footsteps gets louder nearby your curtain. Ominis squeezed you in reassurance, likely assuming you had been worried about getting caught, meanwhile scenarios roamed unbidden through your mind of leaning in and connecting your lips to his.

The moment was broken when Ominis’ hands left you to push the curtain aside, taking your hand once more. He led you down a seemingly dead end next to a staircase, turning to face a clockwork cabinet. He raised his pulsing wand, tapping it against the cabinet in a sequence that you didn’t quite understand, but that which started moving gears and stars across the front. Something clicked into place with a thunk and slowly the cabinet doors slid open to reveal a hidden passageway. Ominis had taken your hand then, leading you inside.

When you pushed through the exit, you were surprised mainly at how large the room was around you. Sure, Hogwarts had many secrets and hidden rooms, but this was bigger than even your common room. How was something of this stature hidden away for so long? Wide pillars separated the room at different points, and spiderwebbed boxes and dusty sheets covered the majority of the walls. There were blackened chandeliers, like some sort of spell went awry, and in the far corner, you couldn’t help but see a few training dummies pushed over and resting against each other. As you took the room in, Ominis wandered over toward the centre and started moving some of the dusty items around.

You approached slowly, your head on a swivel to take in as much as you can. You heard Ominis muttering some spells under his breath, turning to watch a few dusty boxes and sheets spin themselves into a long and low couch. It was coloured with a deep green velvet and dark brown wood- almost like being summoned directly from the Slytherin common room. You laughed, watching Ominis’ head turn at the sound to look at you.

“What’s so funny?”

“I mean,” You begin, shrugging for no one to see before taking a few more steps toward him. “There’s the fact that an entire underground ballroom exists inside Hogwarts that no one knows about- aside from you, apparently. There’s us being here after curfew, after you just rescued me from a whole band of poachers as if this was just an everyday ordeal. There’s the fact that a student using Unforgivables just threatened me and then disappeared in a poof of air. Oh- also that when you conjured that couch, it looked like you pulled it directly from what I assume the Slytherin common room looks like. So, yeah, take your pick I guess.”

You watch a smirk form on his face and he turns, closing the distance. He raises a hand to place on the junction between your neck and shoulder, squeezing gently before he finally responds. “This isn’t exactly a ballroom, but it’s called the Undercroft if you want a name for it. And the couch likely looks that way since I was taught that spell by my family- they have a certain… aesthetic to them. Considering that we’re a direct line from Salazar Slytherin, I’d assume the Slytherin common room might be modelled a bit after us.

“But for the rest of that- I don’t know if I’d find it that funny.” He pulls you closer, leaning his head forward until your foreheads touch, leaning into each other. “I was extremely worried, Y/N. Taken by poachers, put into a damned cage as if you were just a creature,” The hatred toward the end of his sentence was a new sound to you, and it sent shivers down your back. You watched him swallow roughly, then continue, “I’d rather it not be an everyday ordeal- I don’t know how I would handle that much panic and fear- but I would come back to rescue you any time that you needed it, Y/N. From poachers, or from Eliza herself.” You felt his hand tightening on you, his other hovering over your hip as if unsure. “You’ll be fine. I won’t let her do anything to you.”

“I’m sure it was just empty threats,” You mumbled, feeling lightheaded from the proximity. It was almost an imitation of earlier, with how close the two of you stood now. It was a new development, this closeness that he keeps initiating, and you were unsure how to handle it. You wanted it, absolutely, but wanting it and being able to withstand his proximity without immediately showing your true feelings for him? Those were two different things altogether.

“They weren’t empty, Y/N.” His voice was grim, his hand finally making full contact with your hip and pulling you closer. You wondered if this was his way of reassuring himself you were here, and safe. Your eyes darted between his own, down to his lips then back up again. Biting your lip, his voice continues in a whisper. “I’ve had dealings with her before. She means everything she says, no matter how far-fetched or ridiculous the notion.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be reassuring me, Ominis?” You tease, reaching your own hands out to his sides and taking hold of his shirt there, clenching it in your fists. Your fingers danced against his side, and you can feel his skin jump underneath the fabric. When he speaks, his voice has a certain breathless quality to it that wasn’t there a moment ago.

“I want you to be prepared. The reassurance will stem from our actions going forward. You’ll train in defensive magic, and I’ll never be leaving your side.”

“At all?” You breathe out, as if asking, ‘Do you promise?’

“Someone will be, at least. Sebastian and Poppy will help, I’m sure. Perhaps even Natty, if she is willing to speak to us. I’m sure she wouldn’t want one of her friends hurt by Eliza, now that she knows who she really is.” His hand pulls against you again, as if desperate for your contact. You flatten your hands out, letting your hands roam across his sides. “I’m not in all of your classes, nor am I in your house. We’ll work something out, though.”

“Ominis, you really don’t have to worry about me.” You felt almost burdensome, and he could hear it in your voice. His expression turned to one of confusion, then resolution.

“Y/N, I am absolutely going to worry about you. Not just because Eliza is a formidable enemy to have, nor the fact that poachers seem to be spreading and claiming new territories. Y/N,” He huffed, pulling his head back away from yours and sliding his head up from your neck to your cheek, “I’m going to worry about you, regardless if there’s anything to worry about. Because that’s just what happens when you-” He stutters for a moment, clearing his throat and trying to play off his slip- “When you care about someone.”

“I suppose you’re right, Ominis.” You take a deep breath in, eyes jumping around the room in nervousness. Reaching up, you take the hand pressed to your cheek and step away, dragging him along. “Come, let’s sit. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Such as?”

“Well,” You begin, sitting on the couch he had conjured, Ominis sitting to your left. There was enough room for someone to stretch out and lay on the cushions, but you had sat in the centre of the couch, and Ominis sat so close that your legs were pressed together. You laid your held hands across your lap, studying his stiff posture. “Let’s start from the beginning, I guess.”

“Our fight in the potions classroom?” His voice was low as if he was dreading this conversation. You were unsure why, considering you were the one who had run off without trying to talk things out initially, but you rubbed his hand with your thumb to try and calm him.

“Well, I was thinking more ‘beginning’ in the time sense, not the beginning of the chain of events that led to here.” You paused, glancing around the large open space around you. “Sebastian and Eliza seem to know each other?”

“They became friends when she transferred in our fifth year. They grew very close, very quickly. He told her secrets he shouldn’t have, and she showed him magics that even I didn’t know existed.” He took a deep breath, reaching his other hand out to place on your knee. “Fifth year was especially hard, as it was the first year that Sebastian came to school without Anne, the first year that she had been cursed. Sebastian refused to believe it was incurable- honestly, I think he still believes that- and he spent most of that year sneaking into the forbidden section of the library to research day in and out.

“He heard about a Scriptorium, one that Salazar Slytherin was believed to have owned, that was located in Hogwarts. Of course, being in my family, I knew of it and where it was, but I didn’t want anything to do with it. Salazar was known for his dark magic practices, and if he was anything like my family currently is then I knew nothing good could come from that Scriptorium, and I was right.” He swallowed roughly, his shoulders slumping as he leans a bit toward you. You replace your left hand in his with your right instead, reaching around him to pull him close against you. “Eliza managed to convince me, somehow, to open the Scriptorium. We had to solve a few puzzles to get through, and eventually, we made it so far inside that some sort of trap sprung, trapping us in. Eliza said the word Crucio was burned into the floor, and the skeleton of my aunt Noctua was in the corner.”

Dread filled your stomach, pulling him even closer. Your voice was quiet as you hummed out, “No, you didn’t-”

“I didn’t cast it, or have it cast on me. But Sebastian said there was no other way, that the door blocking the way forward had been carved with faces in agony. Eliza said she could cast it on him, that she knew the spell already. Sebastian had been just about to ask me, but I knew I wouldn’t have been able to cast it. But she did, on Sebastian. The door opened, but hearing my friend scream out in pure torture like that-” His voice caught, clearing his throat once more. “It was almost as painful as when it had been cast on me.”

“What? Did she-”

“No, when it was used on me, it was my own family.”

“Ominis-” You stopped yourself, unsure what to say. You could hear the grief in your tone, and finally, you pulled your remaining hand away from his to wrap around him completely, pulling his head down onto your chest. His hands slowly slid from your lap to wrap around your hips, leaving burning trails in their wake. He seemed oddly expressionless- emotionless, even. It scared you, how withdrawn he had become from telling this story. You rub his back slowly and try to project as much comfort as you could. “You didn’t deserve that. You never did.”

“How would you know,” Ominis sniffed, and you could finally feel his form shaking. His head was buried into your chest, but from the sounds he made you could tell he was finally beginning to cry. “You weren’t there.”

“Ominis, there is absolutely nothing in the world that you could do to ever deserve to be tortured like that. Especially from your own family.” You tighten your embrace before finally pulling just enough away, taking his cheeks in your hands and lifting until you could see his red-rimmed eyes. You wiped the tears from his cheeks, studying his face. “I can’t go back in time to fix anything, but by Merlin, I swear to you that I’ll protect you from that wretched family going forward.”

“You don’t have to say all that, Y/N-”

“I’m not ‘just saying it’ Ominis.” You drop your hands from his cheeks, taking both of his hands and pulling them close to your chest, cradling him. “I swear to you I will do everything in my power to support you.”

“I should be saying this to you, darling,” Ominis gently removes one hand from your grip to place on your cheek once again, leaning forward. Your breath catches, the move looking too similar to someone leaning in for a kiss, but he stops all too soon. “You were taken and threatened, I should be pledging myself to your service.”

“I’ve never been Crucio’d, though.” Your sentence was breathed out, no more than a whisper. It brought a visible and palpable relief to Ominis, though, and you couldn’t help but feel the mix of sadness that he has gone through it, and the comfort that you managed to pull him from his bad mood. Silence reigned as he absorbed this information before, lightning quick, he pulls you into a tight hug.

“And I’ll make sure you never will be, ever,” He whispers into your ear, his voice insistent- almost begging. You nod your head against his chest, scooting closer in and hugging him tightly in return. The way you kept pulling each other close, you were practically sitting in his lap. You both sat this way, taking comfort in the feeling of each other, for as long as it would take to soothe him. Finally, Ominis seems to have relaxed as much as he will so you begin to pull away, just enough to take your own seat back. “YN,” His voice sounded almost devastated, a mimic of how it sounded earlier when he thought you wanted to speak about the fight in the potion’s classroom.

“Yes, let’s speak of that now,” You agree to his unspoken assessment, though confusion quickly crossed his face so you clarified, “Let’s talk about the whole potion’s assignment incident.” The confusion slowly melted away from his face, seeming at war with himself. Eventually, his nervousness faded away and determination set in. You were just about to ask if you had assumed right, if that really was what he was about to say, but then he spoke.

“Sure. So how do we start this?”

“Well, it sounded like you saw me out in the Transfiguration courtyard.”

“I did. I misunderstood what was happening, and I overreacted. I apologize, Y/N.” His voice was measured, devoid of emotion, and it pained you how quickly he could snap between emotions like that. You didn’t want these to be one of the times he felt endangered, that he felt he had to hide how he truly felt.

“Ominis, why don’t you tell me then? What did you think was happening?” He hesitated, his face falling to look toward the ground as he thought. You gave him time, and with that, he took your hands and began idly playing with your fingers. Eventually, in a whispered voice that carried emotion you were glad to hear, he spoke.

“I thought Garreth was flirting with you.” You furrowed your eyebrows, tilting your head in confusion. Of course, he hadn’t been, but did it really look that way? “And I thought that you liked it, that you were flirting back.” At this your eyebrows raised, and then an involuntary laugh escaped your lips. Immediately a hand flew to your mouth as if to cover it, to put the laugh back inside.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. It’s not at you at all, just- the thought, of Garreth liking me?” You laugh again, covering it with your hand and shaking your head. “Such a ridiculous notion.”

“Why would that be ridiculous? You’re a fantastic person, Y/N. Any single person would be lucky to have you, I’m surprised you don’t have suitors constantly trying to vie for your attention.” You laugh again, shaking your head more. Patting Ominis’ hand, you find it within you to calm your laughs, to try to explain.

“No one likes me, Ominis-”

“That’s not true.”

“Even so,” You continue, ignoring his disagreements, “If they did, I’ve never been told. Not once in all the seven years I’ve been at Hogwarts has romance been involved in my life. No one’s tried to ask me out, or even fake ask me out as a prank. No one has sent longing looks my way, or written me love poems or letters, or merlin forbid, flirt with me.” You huff a soft laugh, scanning the area around you so you wouldn’t have to look into Ominis’ face, expecting it to be full of pity.

“Now I find that hard to believe,” Ominis finally said, his voice low. You bite your lip at the tone, unsure whether it would be considered ‘husky’ or if he had an undercurrent of hate or distaste. Finally, you release it and sigh.

“Whether or not you believe it is irrelevant, as that’s the way things are.” You take back your hands, an ache in your chest spurring you to stand and walk away. You feel a hurt growing beneath everything, a loneliness that you’ve been pushing down all along begins to bubble back into your throat. So long with no sign or sense of someone liking you. Poppy had always said your longing looks toward Ominis probably scared everyone else away, but you were so sure you had hidden your looks well enough with time. You don’t stare at him constantly anymore.

“Y/N,” Ominis’ voice is soft, and you can hear just the beginning of pity in his voice that spurs you into action.

“So this is a lovely place,” You squeak out, taking another few steps away from him. “So big and…” You hesitate, trying to find another word before finally you say, “Dusty…”

“Y/N,” His voice is a bit more resolved, less quiet than before, and you can hear him getting up behind you. Your voice is quick to respond, fear starting to flavour your voice.

“You should really do something with this place! You know, we’re not going to be at Hogwarts for very much longer, anyway.”

“Y/N,” You feel Ominis behind you, touching your arm gently and you take a few steps away, your vision skipping quickly throughout the room, though never landing at any place for longer than a second. Anywhere, but at him.

“We could clean this place up! Could be a project of ours, y’know how we’re always at a loss for what to do. Maybe we could even throw a party at the end of the year!”

“Y/N,” Ominis repeats, reaching forward to take hold of your arm and spin you to look at him. His face was set, determined, and he whispered out, “Please,” Before reaching forward with his other hand to place onto your cheek. You freeze, staring into his cloudy eyes, unsure what to say. Ominis couldn’t find any more words either, so he instead began to lean forward.

He was just going to come closer, whisper something to you. He did this earlier, when leaned closer to assure you. To provide comfort, or perhaps to insinuate that whatever he would say was important. You thought as much, but he kept leaning forward more, and his eyes began to fall closed. He began to pull your elbow toward him, and his thumb swiped gently against your cheek before it happened. Before his lips pressed against yours.

Oh.

Oh.

When you don’t respond right away, Ominis slowly pulled you closer to himself. His hand tightened on your elbow, as if afraid you’d pull away, and this spurs you into action. Your hands, previously wringing together anxiously, flew forward around Ominis’ neck and pulled him closer to you. You kiss back with everything you have, making sure that if this was the only kiss you’d ever get with Ominis then it’d certainly be one that he’d remember.

You felt Ominis relax under your ministrations, then felt a low moan travel through him and into you. The sound, the feel of it, drove you crazy and you raked a hand through the bottom of his hair, clenching your fingers and pulling gently. His hand fell from your elbow to your hip, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him once more. Again and again, you were held so close by him tonight- was he thinking of doing this every time? Like you had been?

When you both finally pull away, you’re breathless and hanging onto each other. It’s quiet aside from the both of you panting, and you stared into his face to watch for any sort of change. Meanwhile, he watched you as only he could, with his hands roaming your neck and back, squeezing his hands into a fist against you before smoothing them back out again.

“You can’t say that no one likes you, Y/N, when I’m standing right here.” He leans forward slowly, brushing his lips against yours before speaking again, right against your lips. “When I’ve been here this whole time, wishing there was any chance. Hoping for this moment, right here.” He presses his lips to you again, finally, in a brief and soft kiss. “If you want romance, I’ll give you the world. But you can’t,” His voice caught, and he began shaking his head ever so slightly, “You can not believe that you’re unlovable, Y/N. Not when I’m here, not when I’ve loved you this whole time.”

“Ominis,” And you can hear it, how wrecked your voice is. So full of emotion, of hope and fear and, of course, love. “Ominis, please don’t say this if you don’t mean it.” You pull him down closer, pressing your cheek to his so you’re whispering near his ear. “This whole time I’ve longed for you, I could not bare it. Please, be magnanimous, I’m not so easily cowed but if this is some sort of joke-”

“There is nothing more true,” Ominis interrupts gently, placing a kiss on your cheek before pulling back farther, looking into your face as if he could study you, his eyes jumping back and forth. “Y/N, I would provide you with the entirety of my life if that meant anything. I would stop at nothing to make sure you are happy and safe. You deserve the world and everything around it, and I want to give that to you.”

“I don’t want the whole world, Ominis,” You whisper, placing one of your hands on his cheek and brushing your thumb against his sharp cheekbone, “I only want you.”

“You have me, all of me,” Ominis whispers quickly, reverentially. “For as long as you’ll accept me.”

“You’re promising me forever, I hope you know.” You were smiling, your tone gently insinuating as such, and you watched a slow smile begin to spread on Ominis.

“Then forever shall it be.”

Ominis knew how to transfigure beds, apparently. You never did make it back to your common room that night, as the both of you spent the night in each other’s arms. The Undercroft was drafty, the chill trying to burrow into the tight embrace you held each other in until Ominis pulled a blanket overtop the both of you. Snuggling there together, whispering quiet stories of when either of you almost got caught with your crush, you eventually fell asleep.

You were worried all the next day, walking the halls and attending your classes, that someone would point out your absence from your room- ask you where you’d been. However, it seemed no one had noticed, or if they did they certainly didn’t care. There were no detentions or rumours circling around, and for that at least you were grateful.

True to his word, Ominis stayed glued to your side the majority of the day. Poppy was around during the time he could not be- aside from during Defense when Sebastian resolutely stood by your side and glared daggers at anyone that tried to come too close. You tried to assure him that you were fine, that obviously there was only one person to be wary of, not the entire class. He had only mumbled something back about Eliza being ‘convincing’ before glaring at another Gryffindor boy in the class that seemed to be staring at the two of you for too long. You shot a stinging hex at the boy to get Sebastian to laugh, pulling him from his dour look.

It was in Care for Magical Creatures, a class you shared with Poppy- but with neither Sebastian nor Ominis- that she showed up. You really hadn’t thought anything would happen, that everything she said was just empty threats. Or, certainly, that it’d take some time to plan something. But no, only about twelve hours from her disappearance was Eliza, jumping off of a broom nearby and approaching you with a direct look.

You looked around quickly for your friend, finding her on the far side of the area, spelling multiple brushes to groom the kneazles. She was bent over halfway, one hand on her glowing wand, the other petting a bright orange kneazle that was rubbing against her legs. The rest of the class congregated at other pens and Professor Howin was speaking to them, letting Poppy do her thing as normal. You had wandered back to the tabled area for your bookbag, forgetting your essentials for the class, but now you were alone and separated from the rest, instantly regretting your decision.

You started backing up, turning around to rejoin the class as quickly as possible when you froze. It wasn’t like how Petrificus Totalus had felt, you didn’t stiffen to a board and fall over, but you certainly weren’t staying in place on purpose. You froze in place as if someone had paralyzed you in shape, your foot outstretched to take another step, your face frozen in forced nonchalance. You felt an arm wrap around your own in an imitation of friendship, and the spell gradually let your limbs free. You turn your head to see Eliza, smiling brightly and looking directly into your eyes. She pulled and you followed, eyes widening in fear.

“I think we should have a little talk, don’t you?”

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #hogwarts legacy #fluff #fanfiction #fancy series #gender neutral reader #hufflepuff reader #gn!reader #yes there will be more #this entire series has gained so much traction that its singlehandedly fueling my motivation to write about five other stories #so yes #give me more validation i need it

[cantwritethetword]

Shut up, Merlin!

Fic Descript: Arthur learns the hard way that Merlin is very talented in the art of revenge after the king gets stuck wrapped in the drapes of his bed.

~A/N  - HEY ANON I TOLD YOU I HAD A MERLIN FIC IN THE WORKS !!!

I thought of this concept like AAAAAAGES ago and thought it was super funny and perfect for our little dynamic duo.

I have been absolutely vibing while on medication for my ADHD it's so nice to just be able to ✨start things✨ ?? and then, leave those things and ✨return later ✨?? and not have to drag myself to the finish line ?? crazy

- Enoy! ~

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Merlin and Arthur would die for each other.

There was no question about it. And they had come pretty close to it on multiple occasions. Whether it be facing trolls, witches, wildren, or mortal humans, both would take a sword to the heart for the other if the need arose.

If no danger was in sight, however, they would gladly throw each other under (the medieval equivalent of) the bus.

The pair had been out hunting, and a rather unsuccessful hunt at that. Arthur was in piss-poor form, which meant Merlin took every opportunity to run his mouth (and annoy the king further). They were making their way back to the castle, Arthur leading the way and Merlin trotting along behind.

"-do you remember when you missed that deer that was riiight in front of you?" Merlin asked, his face would suggest innocence but his tone proved he was trying to piss Arthur off.

"Shut up Merlin." Arthur replied flatly.

"And what about that time you were aiming for that huge bird?" Merlin continued. "But it flew off before you even had the chance to line up your bow?"

Arthur glared directly forwards, to no-one in particular. "Shut up, Merlin."

The men turned their horses off the beaten path and onto a lesser known shortcut through the thick forest back to Camelot.

Partially to clear the path, and partially to vent his frustration, Arthur swung his sword in front of him to clear some of the vines blocking their way. Perhaps the thickness of the foliage would deter Merlin from any more snide comments, and make him focus more on directing his horse through the areas too thick for Arthur to break.

Surprise surprise, Merlin continued as before. "And the rabbit- oh the knights are never going to let you forget that you lost a sword fight to an unarmed bunny-".

"Shut up Merlin!" Arthur groaned, wiping his face with his hands to try and wipe Merlin's voice from his brain.

"But we haven't even got to the-"

Merlin's taunt was interrupted by a sudden quiet, one that Arthur whispered silent praise to. "Have you finally taken my advice?"

When his servant didn't reply, Arthur slowed his horse. The now unnerving silence made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and at the faint rustle of vegetation Arthur whipped his head round and drew his sword - prepared to leap from his horse and engage with whatever potential threat may have overpowered his friend.

But the moment his eyes caught sight of what made the rustle, Arthur burst into laughter.

Merlin hung a few metres behind his dismounted horse, completely tangled in the green ropes. The tautness of the plant rendered him almost immobile, a fact that was well demonstrated by his fruitless wriggling.

"Now," Arthur said with a grin, his previous sour mood turned completely upside down. "What was that you were saying about the knights not letting us forget things? Because I think they'd love to hear about this."

Merlin's glare shot daggers in Arthur's direction. "Hah hah." He said sarcastically. "Now help me down you ass."

Climbing off his horse, Arthur threw his sword into the dirt and sat on a nearby fallen tree. His grin eating more shit than a dung beetle.

Merlin scoffed. "Really? You're just going to sit there."

Arthur shrugged. "I've worked hard enough on this hunt, I think I deserve to have a bit of entertainment."

Merlin rolled his eyes and writhed further, pulling at the greenery with all his might before giving up and letting his body go limp.

"You're really not going to get me out of this?" He asked sincerely, a hint of annoyance still hiding at the back of his throat.

"You're a big boy Merlin." Arthur grinned cockily, stifling a chuckle. "You can do it."

With another roll of his eyes, Merlin continued to wrestle against the vines. But it seemed no matter which way he pulled, somehow he kept tightening the bounds that kept him suspended a few metres above the floor. He couldn't even use his magic with Arthur watching him this closely.

"You know Merlin, I think if you'd just relax you would have been free by now." Arthur continued.

Merlin made a few disgruntled noises before continuing to wriggle in the plants.

After a few minutes, Arthur stretched his arms dramatically. "I could take a nap by the time you've finished."

"Do it then." Merlin muttered under his breath. "Lazy ass."

Ignoring Merlin's comment, Arthur folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

The warlock scoffed, before taking his opportunity to mutter a quick spell and free himself from the godforsaken foliage.

Unfortunately, he freed himself a little too eagerly, and left his body weight with nothing to support it. He toppled from the web of vines directly into a substantially deep patch of mud underneath him.

Arthur cackled at the sight, clapping his hands once before standing up and mounting his horse again. "Come on then."

Merlin grunted, dragging his feet through the ankle-deep sludge to where his horse was patiently waiting.

"I feel sorry for your saddle." Arthur grinned behind him. "Having all that dirt smeared over it."

Merlin shot him a glare. "And I feel sorry for yours, having your arse squashing it."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur quipped back a retort. "At least I'm not the one who has to clean it."

"I doubt you'd know where to start."

Early the next morning, before even the sun was up, Merlin snuck into the royal chambers. Not an unfamiliar process by this point, though usually it had far less exciting intent. This was not about cleaning, or polishing, or even returning stolen goods.

This was about revenge.

Focusing his attention on the sleeping king, Merlin swiped his eyes to the drapes of the bed at the top two corners, chanting an incantation. The fabric wound and tied itself around Arthur's wrists - perfectly balanced between holding firm without cutting off his blood flow. Then came the bedsheets themselves, winding around the bottom bedposts and around Arthur's legs with a similar spell.

Smirking to himself, Merlin slinked away to the furthest point of the room. Giving himself a mindless task of busywork to wait for Arthur to waken.

After what felt like hours, there was movement. At first, the sounds of a half-sleeping grunt and a rough attempt at turning himself over came from Arthur's bed. Then, a slightly bewildered collection of mumbles and tugs to the material. Before finally,

"WHAT THE-?" Arthur bellowed, thrashing in the binds. "MERLIN!"

Deciding to take this moment to make himself known, Merlin popped his head from around the corner. "Morning sunshine."

"Merlin." Arthur breathed an exasperated sigh of relief, before continuing his brash tone. "Get me out of here!"

Merlin smirked at his friend. "Oh but I've got a long day of work ahead, I feel I deserve some entertainment."

Arthur glared at him. "Merlin. Get. Me. Out."

Just to rub the situation in, Merlin sat on the lower half of the bed (where Arthur couldn't reach) with his legs crossed, letting his chin fall on his hands - eager to watch the show.

Realising his manservant was going to be absolutely no help, Arthur began thrashing again, tugging at the drapes of his bedframe with little success.

"You know," Merlin suggested. "If you'd just relax, maybe you'd get out."

"I can't relax!" Arthur cried indignantly. "I am stuck, and hungry - I haven't even had breakfast! I'm wasting away-"

"Oh you're fine." Merlin laughed, poking Arthur's exposed side.

Arthur shrieked and recoiled (as best as the bedding would allow), internally cursing his decision to sleep without a shirt on. He locked eyes with his manservant, watching the cogs tick momentarily in Merlin's brain.

"Oh~?" Merlin grinned. "What's this?"

"Merlin I swear to you..." Arthur threatened, trying his best to keep his composure. "I will throw you in the stocks if you come any closer."

Merlin shrugged. "You've done worse." And crawled closer.

"I'll have you executed!" Arthur's voice was beginning to break with nerves.

Merlin laughed briefly. "You wouldn't survive without me."

Pulling himself together, Arthur called upon his most serious, kingly, threatening tone. "I'll ban you from the tavern!"

Merlin rolled his eyes, before clambering behind his friend - reveling in the freedom he had to really draw out the anticipation.

"Guahards!" Arthur shrieked, a bark of laughter breaking up his command as he twisted as far away from Merlin as he could. "Help!"

"Oh they can't hear you." Merlin grinned, noting the way Arthur almost seemed to relax at that statement. Perhaps the king needed this more than he did.

Either way, Arthur was royally screwed.

Merlin's spindly fingers began climbing up Arthur's sides, making the king jolt and yelp with every touch. Even when all he could see was Arthur's reddening ears, Merlin knew Arthur's face was scrunched as tightly as possible - avoiding even the smallest semblance of a smile.

Surprisingly, as Merlin's hands climbed higher, Arthur's breathing relaxed. The tension in his muscles remained, not allowing himself the risk of letting out so much as a snicker, but clearly his ribs and armpits weren't where Merlin should be focusing.

Following the cues of his victim friend, Merlin let his hands drag down over the curves of Arthur's love handles. Instantly, the king's breathing hitched - bingo.

Continuing the previously-built anticipation, Merlin slowly scraped his blunt fingernails against Arthur's skin, pulling his digits from splayed out to centered on the king's sides. Arthur was practically vibrating at this point with the pure effort of keeping his reactions at bay. Desperately gripping at the tough-guy facade with a pained grimace on his face, he pulled at the drapes his limbs were caught in at violent, random intervals.

"You're allowed to smile, you know." Merlin teased right in his friend's ear, adding a little more pressure to transition into light poking.

Arthur yelped in reaction, before grunting - as if to remind Merlin that Arthur was the King of Camelot, far too tough for something as childish as being ticklish.

Unfortunately, he had a little shit of a man-servant. And someone who knew exactly what to do to get him to crack a smile.

"Huh, maybe His Majesty the King isn't ticklish after all..." Merlin proclaimed, watching Arthur's cheek twitch into a stifled (but amused) grin, before clawing his hands against Arthur's sides.

Arthur's body seized, pulling against the fabric holding him in place so tightly Merlin thought the bedframe might snap, before slumping into Merlin's tickly grasp.

And the sweetest, most childish giggles Merlin had ever heard bubbled out of Arthur's mouth.

"Meh-meh-meherlihin!" Arthur gasped between bouts of soft laughter. "Wahahait!"

"Oh?" Merlin raised an eyebrow (not that Arthur could see). "Are you ticklish, Arthur?"

Arthur ducked his head to his shoulder. "Shuhuhut up Meherlin!"

It was at this moment, Merlin realised that while Arthur was occasionally pulling on the binds, it didn't seem intentional. Arthur only seemed to really pull with one hand, and not even to protect himself.

It seemed he was only focused on covering his (now bright red) face... Interesting.

"What's the matter?" Merlin beamed, peeking his head around next to Arthur's. "It can't tickle that badly."

"Meherlin!" Arthur's eyes widened with a flustered laugh, before flicking his head in the other direction. "Shuhuht uhuhup!"

Merlin laughed. "You're one to talk about shutting up Mr Giggles."

Arthur's cheeks burned even brighter - the poor guy looked more flustered than Merlin had ever seen him before. At this point Merlin was having more fun teasing the king than actually tickling him.

Though by this point, Arthur was almost getting used to the clawing at his love handles, so Merlin decided to swap techniques and start squeezing at Arthur's hip bones.

Turns out, Arthur has the perfect layering of fat and muscle for Merlin to drill his fingers all the way into the king's hips without pain - just a hell of a lot of tickling.

Arthur screeched, and though his breathing became more frantic and his struggling became more erratic, the bubbly giggles from before sounded just as carefree (just a little less gentle).

"Meher- nohohoho- meherlin wahahait!" Arthur cackled, his face in a permanent beam.

"Well isn't this just adorable." Merlin teased, pitter-pattering his fingers over Arthur's stomach before returning to the king's hips. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you this happy."

"Shuhuhut uhup meheherlin!"

Merlin grinned at his friend, finally deciding to show mercy. Poor Arthur was nearing exhaustion, and he still had a full day of training with the knights ahead of him.

With a swift, inconspicuous mutter, Merlin loosened the drapes holding Arthur hostage. It took the king a few moments to finally realised he could free himself, and he escaped with a little less hurry than Merlin expected.

But even after Arthur's breathing returned to normal, and the flush had almost faded from his face, Arthur still had a massive grin splitting his cheeks and his arms folded over his eyes.

Merlin stood off the bed and let his friend lie there for a few moments, waiting for the usual threat or sarcastic quip that followed their usual banter sessions.

"Will that be all, my lord?" Merlin grinned, moving towards the door (and hoping to provoke some sign of life out of the guy.)

Arthur just giggled again. "Shuhut up Merlin."

#crow's tickle fic #merlin tickle fic #lmao I wrote half of this in the ER on a monday night #life be crazy but tkls persist #also I'm trialing out adding descriptions to fics so let me know what you think!

[nerves-nebula]

Idk about your intentions, and feel free to ignore me if I’m wrong, but Mikey sounds like a maladaptive daydreamer lol.

Just some background, maladaptive daydreamers use these huge fictional worlds called paracosms to escape reality. Some people do it because of anxiety or stress, but some do it as like a coping mechanism (which is how I’d see Mikey doing it based on your dissociation post) People with maladaptive daydreaming can stim while doing it, like rocking back and forth, pacing, etc, but some can master the art of being able to sit still and just daydream whenever. There’s almost an addictive aspect to it, and a lot of daydreamers have to take adhd or anxiety meds to shake it

Would Mikey stim at first but learn to stay still after Splinter lectured him too many times? Would his paracosm be the book that he’s writing about killing splinter? Idk feel free to look at this like I’m crazy but this subject is very close to my heart as I’m a daydreamer myself.

OK SO like. I don't know. and I don't know if Mikey has maladaptive daydreaming for a specific reason.

That being that I'm basing him on myself. I spent a lot (AND I DO MEAN A LOT) of my time in my head as a kid. I don't really know what a paracosm is so I'm not sure if I was exploring within them. but there are huge chunks of my childhood i really only remember via the emotional exploration I was doing inside these fictional worlds. Like most of puberty for me was just imagining gay fictional gods and forbidden love and abuse and violence and at all that. and it's hard for me to tell if that was a bad thing because it's linked to a very integral part of my personality- that being the desire to tell and experience stories.

I was always dragging around paper and pencils to draw these imagined worlds. But i was also often just sitting with my eyes closed (or sometimes opened, but closed if I wanted to really focus)

if I was painfully bored, or very anxious (which happened often, basically any time i was outside the house or not watching tv or playing a game) I would do this. If I was stuck in a car or a room while my siblings were fighting violently, I would force myself to try to only think about my characters. If the talk radio host was getting on my nerves I would try to drown him out by thinking about my characters going through their worlds and getting in fights and having sex and all that stuff.

this got even better (or worse, considering how you think of it) once I got earbuds/headphones and access to my cousins old ipod. I was finally able to fully block out the world and only, ONLY ever think of my stories. just how I'd always wanted.

and sure, I was always kind of spacey, but even when I wasn't thinking of stories and art I was bad at paying attention the way adults liked. I think adults liked me more when I was just sitting there thinking anyway, instead of being hyper and then having an emotional breakdown when i realize they thought I was annoying.

There was a particularly vibrant time for daydreaming around puberty where i had dozens if not around a hundred different intricate stories that I started to overlap, just because. And I'd go through them over and over, adding or changing little things, making up reasons that the characters would all end up living in the same bunker or fighting the same enemy. making up reasons for the god of war and his little lamb prince to be torn apart. making up reasons for them to attack each other. then forcing them back together through all the trauma.

and recalling these spaces makes me kind of shiver because they're almost like real memories to me. I remember thinking of these scenarios more than I remember my real life around 11-12 years old. And i think that's largely because after I got my blackbelt at around 11 years old, my parents let me quit karate, and didn't force me to do any more sports or anything. So for the most part I legit never left the house. My entire life was in these stories and in my art.

I really only stopped doing this once I got sent off to high school at around 13-14 and was basically FORCED to participate in the real world more.

but I did that all on purpose. i was bored, and i hated other kids because they never clicked with me. and it never seemed to interrupt my life in a way that my parents noticed or cared about. in fact it was the only thing that kept me from being actively suicidal for a while there!

so like. i don't know man. i don't know.

#nnstuff #ask #tmnt mikey #maladaptive daydreaming #i havent thought about those worlds in years #its surprising how few of them i still maintain considering they were all i had for years #personal

[chronsart]

Hello, I hope everyone has a happy new year.

I've been gone for a while, so I feel like its important to let people know where I've been, and I felt like maybe this could help someone if they read it.

I've had a rough year. Really who hasn't. I'm certainly not experiencing the worst fate a human could in this time. Even if they're not the same though, everyone faces their own Titan, their own kind of wall. It makes me feel small. But... kind of seeing everyone elses makes it a little easier for me to stand in the shadow of my own.

I've experienced some awful things over the years. Emotional and physical problems, but above all, what may be the worst, is that I've had a terrible relationship with my art and my writing. With everything I've drawn, I've felt as though my work has been nothing but disappointing or largely far from what I want. I've had this large, oppressive wall that makes me feel as though I can't or am unable to express myself the way that I want. I haven't had much faith in myself. Negative in fact. But... things have started to change. So, in 2024, I want to make the difference clear.

Things started changing in me in 2023. Maybe it was in play earlier than that. I had wins and failures, but I was able to pick myself up after those and try again. I felt lost. I looked for purpose, found a job, and a place I thought I might belong, and then lost it. I had done something wrong. It bothered me. But, rather than just stop and feel like this mental block, this wall had moved a little closer- I tried again. I didn't exactly push the wall back just yet. But i started to really look at it, and test the bricks. Take a shovel and really wack em. It didn't really do much at first, but I gave it a shot. At least I was angry. I didn't want to accept this anymore. But I couldn't very well break the wall with a shovel... so I dug a hole instead, beside the wall. I couldn't dig under the wall. It went too far. So I planted a seed inside it. The plant would need light eventually, but all seeds begin in darkness. So I put down my shovel, and I waited.

Towards the later quarter of last year, my life started to change. I had learned many new skills, I solved a few of the problems that were burdening me, and I have begun to feel as though I might be able to move forward. I started wandering into many unfamiliar things in life, and while I was scared at first, I wasn't so much by the time I'd charged through them. Or was dragged through, more like, in some cases. I'm trying my best to get into the swing of things, but the change of pace has left me very tired and I imagine I'll be struggling with that for a while as i adjust. I've still got a ton of bricks to break, and the hammer I made is still kind of heavy, but the wall is coming down.

I started selling plants in the hope that I could have a sort of backup to art. I just needed some distance. (But i also felt like I was running away. I just didn't really want to admit it.) I set up an art business selling plants, and ended up meeting locally with a customer to hand off their plant. Normally, I'd just sit it out and wait for them to show up after all the payment was in order. But, this time they knocked, so I came out to talk for a small bit, and... they ended up buying more plants, what do you know. And then we just started talking about things. Life, what we both did. We were both exhausted trying to keep things going, but we were moving. I mentioned my art on the side... I thought about just leaving it out of the conversation entirely, but it sorta slipped out of me.

This turned out to be the right thing to say. They said that they were opening a gallery. I was invited to be a part of it. After a month or so, we got things going. Yesterday, I was the first artist to have sold their work there. This is the first gallery I've ever been a part of, and it felt really nice to be a part of it and to meet so many other artists and hear their stories.

I realized I've been observing my art through a very dark lens. Yesterday, I was able to see my work through the eyes of other people. Despite all the flaws I saw in my work, other's saw the things they loved in it. And I know its not the first time. There have been plenty of people online who think what i create is cool. I guess I've just been blind to it. In a way I am. Even though I can see the numbers and the hearts, they don't really mean much to me if I can't really see the faces and hear the reactions of the people who see my work and what they innitially think of it, or when they see it in person. Art through a screen just isn't the same as when you hold it in your hands, and behold it in your world. Maybe, that's a good enough reason to start a physical sketchbook.

My art got printed for the first time in years two days ago. When i saw it innitially, laying on this bench, I was a little scared to approach it. I remembered all the flaws in that art, and this coil of anxiety wound up in my chest. But... I saw the look on the face of this person next to me, just genuinely looking at the art for what it was. After a moment, that coil loosened, and all those depressive thoughts slipped away. I remembered then when i was making that art, how I made it. What i wanted to make vs how it turned out. I didn't hit the mark exactly, but I could still appreciate the result. I even remembered the experience of drawing it fondly... and I kind of wished that I'd recorded it. Maybe i could have appreciated it better. I even wanted to create an alternative to that drawing. It felt really nice. It felt relieving. Like I could pick up a pencil again without worrying so much what i was going to create, to do it all over again. I even looked forward to it.

I guess working with my plants helped me figure things out in a weird, round-about way. And even my plants aren't perfect. They've lost leaves, wilted, died, but I've been learning to fix some of the mistakes I'd made. I've even managed to bring some of my plants back from the fucking dead, and I've managed to keep my others alive. Healthy even, thankfully. I do run a plant business afterall, but it took me roughly three years to get decent at growing them. And now I have around 400 plants in my house, and have plans to build a green house, maybe in the spring this year.

My art on the other hand... has just been so rooted into my damaged psyche that I haven't been able to open it up to becoming sustainable, despite people asking me about it. Maybe that will change this year. It feels like I can start to make it so. I want to reach out this year. I want to make people happy, even if I can't see them myself.

So... while I'm still terribly critical of anything I create, I feel like I can forgive myself a little more, and accept as well that while I can't make anything perfect to any degree, I can make a few things that are good and be happy with that. Even if i fail, the most important thing that I do is try again and make something new. Make a few things that I can like, despite what the nagging doubt in my head says.

I really hope that I can come to feel as though I can breathe again and to believe in my art and stories again. Maybe I can allow myself share more freely in the coming year. I feel like its more tangible of a possibility that I can believe in. Already I'm making more art, and more story projects to release. And I'm certainly not perfect, but I'm going to regret not trying just because I was afraid of making a mistake. I've learned, that making a mistake is easy, and getting back up is hard- but staying down hurts so much worse.

Right now, my seed has grown into a lovely little tree. It's reached a little further than my wall now, reaching light over the top that I've begun to see through its leaves.

I hope that the coming year is good to you. But if it isn't, I hope you find the strength you need to make it the best that you can. Maybe, collectively, we will make this year a little easier.

If you find yourself stuck like I have, maybe grow yourself a plant. Even if you're bad at it. Like, even the "I kill every plant I touch" kind of bad. I was there too. Its not something bound in this mystic "talent" people think you're born with when you're suddenly good at something. It's just like art. So, maybe, give yourself a chance. Find one, learn about it. What it likes, what it hates. Add it to your routine, or let it help you to create one. Every new little leaf and flower, is so rewarding to see when they appear. Each new leaf is different, even though its the same plant. Sometimes the first few are a little weird till they get going. And the roots, those are really cool too. They go wherever the water and the food is so that they can help the plant grow better leaves. So they're really good at finding things, even in the dark. They just feel it out. They don't know what it is, but they know its good or bad. They're especially good at finding all those cracks in the bricks that are too dark for you to see. And sometimes, they even break something loose, and let in some light so you can see through to the other side.

#chronsrambles #personal #dunno what possessed me to write all this #but it feels nice to get it all out of my system #i have an endless amount of stuff to complete but i need to just be at the point im not falling asleep at my desk hah #catch you later #happy new year #i hear its the year of the dragon #maybe I'll catch one by its tail

[formulatrash]

Hi Hazel! You have no idea how much I hate being a burden, but I’ve finally found a way to ask this question anonymously to someone in the same field who can understand me well.

How can I tell if I’m not a good writer? How can I tell if this feeling is real and I need to move on because writing isn’t my thing, or if I’m just experiencing writer’s block?

I’ve been writing about motorsport for a long time, and I’m still not sure if I can call myself a writer. I’ve worked for many places, some of which treated me as if I were the best, while others treated me as if I were a ghost - as if I weren’t even there.

English is not my first language, so sometimes I use a paraphraser to help me use punchier words. I’m ashamed to say this. I’m totally against AI. I’ve never used a chatbot before and have no idea how to use one. I’m just not confident in my word choice… I’m not even confident in myself. I always feel like a fraud and that I don’t deserve to work at a good place because I use that thing. I mean, how can I call myself a writer when I can’t even write a sentence on my own? And to make things worse, I’m a very slow writer. The only good thing is that when I write, I truly write from the bottom of my heart.

I’m at my lowest point right now. I just want someone to throw it in my face and tell me I’m not good at this because it’s really exhausting to “think” otherwise.

Hello anon,

I’m really sorry that you’re feeling this way. I think, if it’s any comfort, that there is no one who writes who doesn’t feel this way on occasion - except for, probably, genuinely bad writers. Please feel free to get in touch with me in private if you want to talk more; my email’s southwellhazel at gmail dot com and obviously, I’m not going to expose you.

Firstly: writer’s block is brutal. Even news writing can feel like dragging yourself through mud to try and do it when you’re in that funk. Again, I think that every writer, especially the good ones, goes through long periods of the fog descending and nothing seeming to click. I’ve looked back at things I wrote during writer’s block periods and realised they had worth, in fact are some of my better pieces, even though I couldn’t stand to look at or think about them at the time. 

(this one about F1 fan safety was during a terrible, terrible period of it; I felt editorially sidelined, my pieces kept getting rewritten heavily and I was incredibly low. I got really angry and had to have a fight to publish it, then felt like I’d wasted a battle because it was such a weak piece - looking back, it’s in fact quite good)

If you’re writing about anything, you’re a writer. There’s lots of people who will try and gatekeep that and my god, I hate every single fucker who contributes to threads and volumes and snooty little pieces about the magical art of writing. It’s literally just putting one word in front of the other and hoping someone else understands it. Which doesn’t make it easy but a lot of people really up the sense of the difficulty and what it means to have achieved some kind of hallowed writer’s status when honestly, it’s just a word for someone who puts other words together. 

I was talking to some people at hack drinks about this, a guy said how do you get up and just keep doing it when a lot of what you do feels pointless and I was like well: master woodworkers spend a lot of time putting up shelves. Sometimes they are lovely, beautiful shelves that people really appreciate in their homes but nonetheless, they are shelves. Once in awhile, there’s the job that actually asks for the master woodworking skills and they get to do all the fancy bits and they’re no worse at doing that for all the days they put up shelves.

Using a paraphraser doesn’t make you a bad writer. We wouldn’t be surprised if someone in another trade used a tool to improve the way they worked, why would it matter in writing? People get very silly about this; writing is a trade and a craft and what matters a lot of the time is accuracy. No one would be disappointed to see an architect take measurements. Using tools like spellcheck and paraphrasers and dictionaries is just the same as using house style or any of the other rules of writing that people get oddly passionate about.

English isn’t really my first language (in chronological order it’s more like my fourth) and honestly, most of the way I write is “wrong.” I don’t understand grammar terms (literally not a fucking clue what the pluperfect is) and I overuse parentheses, commas, dashes, etc. The only piece of pronunciation I can deploy accurately is the semi-colon; although most style guides recommend not using them. English is a bastard language and you can hack it all you like - please never feel like English proficiency is a particular barrier to writing in it. 

[edit: amazing that I managed to type 'pronunciation' instead of 'punctuation' above, proving my own point]

A lot of drivers speak in broken English and even the ones it’s a first language for often use repetitive phrases But we can all understand what they mean; sometimes it doesn’t need to be more than that. 

So: how can you tell if you’re good? Well, do you get up most days and write something? Congratulations, you’re doing better than the majority of writers. Do your pieces get published and read? Again, you’re over a hurdle many fall at. 

Some of the greatest writers of all time have been extremely slow. I’m an unnaturally fast writer because literally every thought that enters my head hits the page but that doesn’t mean most of them should be there. You are not in a race to be able to do it and trying to push yourself for speed is likely to make you more burned out and blocked and frustrated. 

Lots of things make a good writer: sometimes, just hitting deadlines is what’s needed. I admire people who can do that because I absolutely fucking can’t. Sometimes it’s being able to transcribe the podium quotes in real time, my one actual skill. Sometimes it’s even the moment where you turn in a few paragraphs and think fuck yeah, I’m writing-writing 

and then you open another document and are confronted with trying to describe a KIA hatchback and you’re like. Fuck me, I’m awful at this. I don’t know what a car is. What the fuck am I doing here.

Writing, especially in the internet age, is a fairly thankless task; people don’t tend to tell you when you’re good at it as much as they attack and pick holes in it. We’re probably not meant to get this much feedback, it’s literally bad for the human brain. 

But listen: if you’re writing about motorsport, especially if you’ve been doing it for awhile, then you’re a writer and you’re doing well. If you’re writing from the bottom of your heart then I have no doubt that shows and if you’re writing for the love of it, then that does too.

There are terrible writers who get good gigs purely because they aren’t wracked with these anxieties. It definitely doesn’t sound like you’re one of them; you clearly care deeply about your writing and that’s not a flaw. Sometimes, it’s really hard to love what we write - especially on the day-to-day - but I am certain anything you think about this much, anything you worry over this much, is a better piece than someone who goes into it without that care and attention and thought. 

And all of that comes from you, a good writer.

#work asks

[gophergal]

For the artist asks: 5, 13, 23, 16 and 24? :3

5. Anything you haven’t drawn yet but want to?

I have this thing I call The List in my sketchbook that I keep adding more crap to draw to. So. Yeah a lot of things. For example, a sequel to my "comfort character" drawing (the one with Medic, Sub-Zero, and Michael Myers in the car) but it's just the other halves of my otps (in this case Heavy Weapons Guy, Scorpion, and Jason Voorhees) begrudgingly hanging out because their menfolk are out raising hell and they're waiting on them.

13. Show your favourite drawing from last year

Oh that's so fucking hard to choose. Uhhh. I'm gonna show multiple because I can.

These two are my favorites I did for class, From The Garden and Body(Flesh Prison)

This is my favorite original fun drawing (Fettuccini the Good Noodle is my ttrpg character Korn Kenny's pet giant eel)

Then my two favorite fandom pieces. In which I fed the lesbians and acquired a new ship that has consumed my brain, respectively

16. What’s the most daunting part of your process? Ex, planning, sketching, lineart, rendering etc

Lineart my fucking BELOATHED. Unless I'm in a flow state, it's hellish. Absolutely feels like dragging myself through barbed wire and broken glass

23. Do you listen to music or watch shows while you work? If so, what’s your favourite?

Usually, I listen to podcasts or video essays. Podcasts: it's usually Distractible. Because I'm basic. Video essays: I like anything that goes in depth about media analysis.

24. How do you deal with artblock?

Smack my head against the desk and power through with a prompt or something. Harder to do during the semester since I also have class work that takes priority over fun stuff, but eh it is what it is. I just try not to let art block win by being stubborn.

[ARTIST ASKS]

#gopher rambles #ask game #artist asks #thanks for the ask kitty :3

[vermillion-san]

elevate || chapter I

Pairing: Various x GN!Reader (Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 4.4K+ words

Synopsis: When (Y/n) (L/n) struggles to adjust into a prep school and the expectations of their stoic guardian, they find themselves graffitiing an abandoned subway; where their life would alternate into the exact opposite of what it initially was.

HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THE 2018 FILM: Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse

Whenever morning comes, (Y/n) focuses on clearing their head; especially on a school day. Whether they were at their home or the dormitory of their new private school, they sought to distract themself from the responsibilities by doodling in their sketch book. And listening to music in the background was what put the cherry on top.

But oftentimes, the distraction does become an interference on their sense of time. As told by their guardians. “(Y/n)!” It took a good minute for the sixteen year-old to hear them, the AirPods that they were wearing to hear the music blocking their communication with the outside world (for as long as it could).

Realizing that they had to go to their school and settle themselves in the dormitory (a typical Monday), (Y/n) quickly gathers their art supplies, on the desk that they were leaning their sketch book on. “Crap..!” They then remember that they hadn’t even packed their luggage.

“(Y/n)! You should’ve left the house five minutes ago! Are you even ready?!”

(Y/n) slams open the empty luggage and shoves in a handful of clothes that they found, from each cabinet drawer that was apart of their dresser. “Of course! I’m on my way down!” They shove in all of the textbooks and notebooks -- that were left on their bed -- into their book bag, forcing it to fit in one ago. While doing so, they held their sketchbook by the spine, in between their teeth; they had intended to bring along the unfinished sketches that they were working on, since they wouldn’t come back to the house until the end of the week.

After packing both their luggage and book bag, (Y/n) dresses into their school uniform, tying the last knot of their tie before dragging along the two items with them, out of the bedroom and into the living room that was right next to it. “Where’s my laptop?” They begin to fulfill a scavenger hunt for the device, looking through the book shelf that was on their left, then the cushions of the couch that was across from it.

“If you want me to drive you, we gotta go now.” Their guardian, who goes by the name Levi Ackerman, hurries them. 

“No, thanks.” (Y/n) rejects the offer, as kindly as they could. “I can walk there myself.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” (Y/n) finds their laptop underneath a cushion and immediately take it out, pushing it into their book bag, despite it being overwhelming packed.

“Then you better go now!” Levi persists.

“In a minute!” (Y/n) now goes to the kitchen, wanting a serving of the oatmeal that was cooking on the stove. In the process, they nearly bump into their secondary guardian, Hange Zoe, who was about to take their leave while drinking black tea.

“Careful, (Y/n).” Hange couldn’t help but to aways find it amusing when (Y/n) had done their preparations last minute. They weren’t blind to read off the body language of the teenager that they had raised since they were an infant.

(Y/n) snatches a paper bowl from the kitchen cabinet, hurriedly serving themselves a good amount of oatmeal. When they were trying to find a plastic spoon, Levi addresses them in a more stern voice. “(Y/n)!”

“I’m already heading out!” (Y/n) rolls their eyes, locating the plastic spoon as they say this.

“That’s it.” Levi grabs them by the loop of their book bag, from behind. “I’m taking you there. You won’t get to the campus on time.” He begins to drag them to the main entrance of the apartment. “Let’s go.”

“Wait!” (Y/n) struggles to free themselves from their guardian’s grip, close to spilling the bowl of oatmeal that was nearly burning their hands. “I didn’t get napkins! I need napkins!”

Minutes later, you would find the family of three outside the apartment complex, saying their farewells. While Levi was putting (Y/n)’s luggage inside the car, Hange was smothering the high-schooler in kisses that plaster ever corner of their face.

“Hange, stop...!” (Y/n) always found it embarrassing whenever Hange had done so in public.

“In a minute!” Hange ironically repeats (Y/n)’s own words, continuing to take advantage of them by portraying a series of affection; until eventually, they had allowed (Y/n) to head their merry way. “Call me once you get there! I’ll see you on Friday!”

“Yeah!” (Y/n) waves a farewell to them. “See you on Friday! Bye Hange!” They look over at where Levi’s car resided, their happy expression falling when they realize that it was his cop car. “Seriously...?” Driving around in the vehicle never brought pleasant experience, especially at school. “We have to take the cop car?”

“The family car’s being repaired.” Levi, dressed in his work uniform, opens the door of the driver’s seat. “Get in, you’re already behind schedule.” He earns a groan of frustration from (Y/n), but thinks nothing of it.

Despite the fact that they were already in the car, (Y/n) complained about his persistence on dropping them off; a habit that he always had since they started going to a new school, much farther than where their previous one was. “It would’ve been fine if I just walked there.”

Levi retorts with the actual reason at hand. “And what? Let you put up more of those graffiti stickers?” (Y/n) stiffens at the sudden confrontation. “It’s insanely obvious. Your art style says it all.”

(Y/n) attempts to laugh it off. “You sure you got the right criminal? Because, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve been taught to respect public property; and by who? None other than you and Hange.”

“Don’t patronize me.” Levi looks at them from the corner of their eye, since they’ve decided to sit at the backseat. “You’re peeling off all those stickers on Saturday, do you understand me? I better not see another one around this neighborhood.”

“Yeah, yeah...” (Y/n) sinks into the cushion of the leather seat, arms crossed over their chest. Their eyes wander out to the window next to them, the car driving by a big TV screen that was implemented at a subway station’s exterior railings. The news channel was playing for the civilians that were stopping by, each of them enraptured by the news of the city’s notorious hero: Spider-Man.

Levi hears the voice of the news reporter, thanks to the windows being rolled down prior. The second that the vigilante is mentioned, he talks sourly about him. “Honestly...the guy only zig-zags into the city, once a day, and zip-zap-zoops the bad guy with a bunch of sticky webs; in his little mask, and answers to no one, right?”

“Yeah, Levi.” (Y/n) never spared much thought about the hero, only when they were told about the accomplishments that the had made in his career by their friends (back at their old school). But unlike Levi, they had respected the sacrifices that he had made to protect the city, based on what they do learn about those accomplishments and fights. They can’t picture themself doing the same, had they been in the vigilante’s situation.

“And meanwhile my guys are out there, constantly, lives on the line, without masks.” Levi emphasizes, off in his same rants about the vigilante. “You know ridiculous the entire concept is? Relying on some person that supposedly has superhuman abilities? The thought of it is absurd.” (Y/n) rolls their eyes the second time that day, unimpressed by the same rhetorical questions that he was using.

It wasn’t until Levi pulled up to the front of the school, (Y/n) had asked him. “Why can’t I go back to my old school? Where I actually have friends?” 

Levi sighs. “We’ve already had this conversation, (Y/n). It’s already been a month, and I’m over it with the sulking, in all honesty--”

“I just don’t like coming here, okay?” (Y/n) is as honest as possible. “It’s too elite. I should be at a normal school, where I’m far more comfortable at.”

“It’s call adapting, (Y/n).” Levi looks directly at (Y/n) when he says this. “Whether or not the social environment is underwhelming or overwhelming doesn’t matter. It’s about being prepared for the real world. And this school offers that.”

(Y/n) thinks otherwise. “I’m only here because I won that stupid lottery.”

And Levi insists that what they were saying was true. “No. You passed the entry test, just like everyone else. You have to understand that this is an opportunity; there are people out there that would literally kill to be in your place.” (Y/n) simply looks the other way, their pout never faltering. “You honestly want to ruin that? You want end up like your uncle?”

“What’s wrong with Uncle Kenny?” (Y/n) says lowly, not having the heart to look at Levi in the eyes. “He’s not that bad a guy.”

Levi hesitates. “He made his choice. And, in life, we each make our choices--”

That’s when (Y/n) is encouraged to raise their voice. “Well it doesn’t feel like I have a choice!”

“You don’t!” The confirmation creates an awkward silence between Levi and (Y/n), each of them avoiding eye contact from one another. It lasts for several seconds. Levi was the one to break it by rephrasing his words. “You deserve better than what me and Hange have. I’ve always made that as my top priority. Since the day your parents..” He pauses. “Since we...” He changes his choice of words at the last minute. “--...first got you.”

(Y/n) can understand where Levi was coming from, but frustration still resided within them; they hate how their life had altered, how different they became because of it. -- From an extroverted and ambitious student, to a insecure and secluded student that struggle to make their mark in an extremely environment. Of course, they were too prideful to admit that to Levi himself, confident that he would just tell them to pull through.

“Yeah, okay...” (Y/n) opens the door and exits out of the police car, before retrieving their luggage from the passenger seat. They share eye contact with Levi again, in which enables their guardian to say their farewell. 

“I’m not doing this to bully you.” Levi says bluntly. “I’m doing it because I believe it’s what best for you.”

“Yeah, I know.” (Y/n) has heard the phrase before, not even the slightest bit impressed. “I’ll see you on Friday. Bye.” They close the door on Levi, turning their back to him so that they can walk to the school’s main entrance. They don’t even notice that Levi was portraying a sense of empathy for them; to (Y/n), he had always come across as a stoic man that showed little to no remorse for other people’s feelings, them included.

As (Y/n) had anticipated, the classes were overwhelming, no different from the first day that they had transferred into the school. They were running to each class, the piles of books and papers growing taller as they finish each class by the hour.

So much so that it has them arrive late to their Physics class ten minutes late. By the time (Y/n) had arrived, the class was watching a movie off the whiteboard, in a dark room that interfered with this vision to find an empty seat. Once they do find one, at the center of the room, they creep underneath the lights of the player, to avoid any needless confrontation by the teacher.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t play out so well.

“(L/n), moving in the dark.” The teacher even pauses the video. “You’re late again.”

(Y/n) subconsciously hides their face behind the books that they were carrying. “Einstein said...time was relative, right? Who’s to say I’m the one who’s late? Maybe all of you guys are early..?” It was no surprise to them that no one among the classroom laughed at the joke.

Until they heard one small fit of giggles, coming from a student, a girl, with shaggy black hair -- extending down to her chin -- that blended well in the dark, her pale skin doing the opposite. When she notices a few glances that are sent her way, she apologizes in advance, her humor dialed down. “Sorry. It was just...quiet.” A smile appears on (Y/n)’s face because of this, the first time that anyone here had actually relished their joke.

“Would you like to keep standing there, or...do you want to sit down?” Their satisfaction doesn’t last for long when the teacher resumes the movie. They take it upon themself to sit down, coincidently right next to the girl that, supposedly, was amused by their humor.

In between watching the movie, the girl says. “I liked your joke.”

(Y/n) perks up, their smile widening. “Really?”

“It wasn’t really funny. That's why I laughed. But...” She shrugs when she admits. “It was fun. I liked it.”

Now that (Y/n) had thought about it, this was the first that they’ve ever even see the girl in this classroom. “Are you a new student?” The teacher steps in between the two, shushing them both as she walks by. Seconds later, each of the two would steal glances at one another.

Rather than spending the night doing homework or studying for upcoming quizzes and exams, (Y/n) decides to spend the next few hours with the one person they had always served as a comfort to them in the times that were the most stressful: Their Uncle Kenny.

Luckily, where he lived wasn’t near where Levi and Hange were, so going there was nothing but easy. Naturally, they would get caught for sneaking out past curfew, but they could care less.

(Y/n) could always feel confident in being their true self around Kenny, something that was the opposite at both school and home. They trusted the man tremendously with what problems were going on, because, even if he was harsh like his nephew Levi, Kenny wasn’t one to be so judgmental; at least, not most of the time.

“Uncle Kenny!” (Y/n) climbs up the fire escape of his apartment, smearing their face against the tall doors of his balcony, the curtains wide open for the grown man to see. Such an act never seizes to fail Kenny in making him chuckle.

Kenny treats (Y/n) to dinner, leftovers that he had prior, and washes the dishes and eating utensils that were used; while (Y/n) punches his punching bag, like an amateur. “If your ass came all the way here, at a school night, then something must be up. What is it?”

(Y/n) scoffs, their gaze concentrated on punching bag. “Nothing! I just wanted to stop by, that’s all! Things are going well. Got tons of friends. Passing all my classes.”

Kenny knows (Y/n) well enough to determine that they were saying the opposite. “You don’t even make an effort to hide the truth. You’re definitely Levi’s kid.” He finishes washing the dishes and such, returning to where (Y/n) was punching the punching bag. “Smart kids is where it’s at; place must be full of them, no?”

The thought of it makes (Y/n) laugh. “No, there’s no one.” It all seemed so tiresome to even achieve a concept that is overrated by the media and their friends.

Yet Kenny persists. “Now, I can’t go on in life if the family lineage ends with you; just because you got no game.”

“I got game.” (Y/n) says defensively, keeping their distance from the punching bag so that they can follow Kenny to the living room. “I just don’t see the point in using it now. I’m only a sophomore.” The two sit on the couch together, side by side. “I mean, aren’t you supposed to tell me that I should be focusing on school instead?”

Kenny laughs again that night. “Levi would. But, to be perfectly honest, I can care less.”

The easygoing man somehow convinces (Y/n) then think more about their romantic life. “Well...there is this girl.” They lean against one of the arms of the couch, legs tucked in to their stomach as they retrieve their sketch book from the coffee table.

“Oh, yeah?” Kenny leans against his own side of couch. “What’s her name?”

“Funny you should ask.” (Y/n) strains out a few chuckles. “Because, well, I thought the same thing myself.” The response brings more amusement upon Kenny.

“Is that so?” Kenny chooses not to tease more about it. “Well, if you do decide to pursue her, use the shoulder touch.”

“Sorry, the what?”

“The shoulder touch. You kids don’t do that anymore?” The clueless look on (Y/n)’s face reinforces the question that Kenny had meant to be rhetorical. “Okay--” He doesn’t even hesitate to demonstrate. “When you see that girl tomorrow, walk up to her, and go--” He places a hand on one of (Y/n)’s shoulders before portraying a sly look. “Hey.”

(Y/n) struggles to take their uncle seriously, genuine cackles escaping their lips. They push aside the hand as they say, in between their laughter. “Of course we don’t do that anymore, you know how ridiculous that sounds? These days, we kids are more physical, especially when it comes to flirting.”

“I’m telling you, (Y/n), it’s science.” Kenny shrugs playfully. “Girls these days are too sensitive. Best not take any risks.”

“I never even said that I had a thing for her.” (Y/n) shakes their head out of disapproval. “I don’t even think she’s my type, Uncle Kenny.”

“You say that now, but who knows?”

The idea of love never falters from being too tedious in (Y/n)’s eyes. “Seeing how hard it takes for Hange and Levi to make their relationship work exhausts me.”

“The fact alone that Levi even has someone to tolerate someone is more exhausting to think about.” Kenny couldn't agree more, but his tone is more of a sarcastic one. “Poor Hange.”

“Poor Hange? What about me?” (Y/n) retorts, a scowl plastered on their face. “I’m the one that’s being a victim to his overprotectiveness...” They felt their phone vibrate from a pocket of their jacket and take out the device, reading a text that they had received from the man himself.

Done with that homework?

“Is that her?” Kenny assumes that the text itself was from the same girl that (Y/n) had mentioned in the minutes prior.

“No.” (Y/n) returns their phone into the pocket. “It was Levi. As always, he’s worrying about my studies.” They wear a gloomy look when they recall back to their conversation with their guardian, ashamed of themself for not being as firm as they should’ve been when trying to convince Levi to withdraw them from the school.

For the sake of Kenny, (Y/n) decides to leave now, before it becomes a venting session. “I should probably just go.” They gather the belongings that they brought with them to the apartment. “I got a paper to submit tonight.” Right before they close their sketchbook, Kenny caught a glimpse of what they were working on (when they were talking with him).

Hence the reason why Kenny snatches the sketchbook from their lap and examines the drawing up close. “You and your sketches...” He conveys astonishment. “Have you put these up yet?” Another thing that made him great, to (Y/n), was how he was the only one to fully appreciate their hobby.

“Of course not.” (Y/n) sheepishly rubs the back of their neck. “You know Levi would find out. Someway, somehow. I can’t.”

All the more reason to then encourage Kenny to do what he had already planned out in this meeting. “Follow me.” He heads his way to the fire escape, gesturing (Y/n) to accompany him.

As much as (Y/n) wanted to refuse the offer, and be the mature one of the duo, they wouldn’t dare go back to the dorm that restrained them of any fun.

The designated area was secluded from the interconnecting railways of the city’s subway. Kenny casually walks into the tunnel that would draw them away from the public, while (Y/n) was cautious of where they were walking into, unfamiliar with the surroundings, but well aware that being present could get them in trouble.

“If we get caught...”

Kenny spared little to no thoughts about the consequences, not the unusual. “We run for our asses so that we don’t get caught.”

(Y/n) deadpans, refusing to believe that the man was in his mid-50′s and still kicking at life’s obstacles. ‘Normally, most people his age would be burnt out...’

Eventually, the two locate a station that was completely abandoned, secured by tall fences that were meant to keep trespassers away. 

“Where did you even find this place?” (Y/n) asks.

“Did an engineering job down here.” Kenny replies with ease, before climbing up the fence and performing a backflip over it. In just the blink of an eye, he was at the other side, exchanging a taunting expression at (Y/n).

It was easy for (Y/n) to climb up to the top, but lifting their dominant leg over the other side was the challenging part. They grit their teeth tightly to resist the urge to back out now, persistent on impressing their Uncle, who they can see is staring at them dead in the eye.

Fortunately for them, they got over, but they fell off the fence in the process, their face planting down to the dirty pavement, right in front of Kenny. They attempt to salvage the accomplishment they made by immediately getting back up, and ignoring the dirt that smudges their face. “The walk over here took a toll out of me.”

Kenny obnoxiously rolls his eyes and walks ahead. “Let’s go.”

The two are now standing at the center of a spacious room that contained wall to wall of graffiti, all but one that was untouched. “You know what to do.” Kenny tosses (Y/n) the first can of spray paint that he found in his personal bag, in which they catch on the spot.

Before (Y/n) knew it, they became invested in painting that bare wall, from top to bottom; overlapping certain colors, outlining the font of the letters that they had intended to spell out, and emphasizing the neon colors of the spray paint that they had sought to have stand out amongst the rest of the graffitis.

As this happens, a spider was stringing themself into the scene, its appearance not the same as any usual kind of spider; its movements were made unaware to (Y/n) and Kenny.

It all came so naturally to (Y/n), their confidence growing back on them for that moment alone; where they never thought about the expectations of others, or get nervous about the possibilities of failing. -- This feeling of freedom was a given to them, and they owe it to their Uncle Kenny for offering such an opportunity.

Looking at how the graffiti came out to be aids (Y/n) to reaffirm their desire in independence. The silhouette that stands in the middle of the word “expectations” was a reflection of what exactly they were going through, and Kenny could see it right through them; his depiction of (Y/n)’s potential never faltered, whether it was art, or simply life in general.

“Do you think it’s too cliche?” (Y/n) can’t help but to depict some kind of flaw, limiting themself from becoming egotistical.

“Hell if I know.” Kenny doesn’t wish to criticize on something that’s not his forte. And the response humors (Y/n).

Kenny hesitates to then mention. “You know Levi use to do this kind of stuff?”

(Y/n) expects a punchline. “Oh really?”

“I’m serious.” Kenny reaffirms. “I wasn’t at my best when I tried to do the uncle thing with him. I never really spent much time with him, despite the fact that I had took him in, after his mom died; because of this, he felt the need to find excuses to grab attention. At least, that’s what I think.”

“What kind of excuses?”

“Grafitti, shoplifting, etc...” Kenny doesn’t intend to go much into it, not pleased with how the past went down. “He didn’t start off on the right foot. And I was responsible for that, I won’t lie. If anything, it was because of him that I realized my mistakes; and for that, I’m grateful that he even lets me spend time with you.” (Y/n) wanders their eyes to the floor, attempting to process his words. “With you, I can at least redeem some aspects of my mistakes.”

“You made mistakes?” (Y/n) found it ironic. “That’s rich.”

Kenny sees why that was. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up smartalec.” But he prioritizes the point that he was trying to make. “Just try to understand Levi a bit more; he’s a pain in the ass, but he means well. You should know that, better than everyone else. Hange does.”

“Hange’s different.” (Y/n) says otherwise. “They’re no different from Levi, when you really look at it. That’s what makes their relationship both wholesome...and intact.”

“But that shouldn't mean you can’t do the same thing.” Kenny tries to have (Y/n) think more positively. “Make an effort. I’m sure he’ll hear you out, from beginning to end.”

(Y/n) doubts that outcome from ever happening. In the attempts prior, it had always been the same: In which Levi would never let them get the last sentence, nor finish it for the matter. “Sure.”

The faint ringtone of Kenny’s phone is heard by both Kenny and (Y/n). One glance at what message he had received, and Kenny says. “Okay, we better head on out; I got things to do.” The grown man as already exiting out of the room, while (Y/n) was packing the spray paint in their book bag.

But before they followed Kenny out, (Y/n) wanted to take a quick picture of their graffiti; for they were sure that they would never come back to this room again. They hold out the phone at the graffiti, snapping a few pictures on the spot once the lighting and angle was just right.

At the last minute, the spider that had came from the outside world (and snuck their way in the abandoned subway station) crawls out of the sleeve of (Y/n)’s jacket, and onto the upper hand of (Y/n)’s extended arm. Just as a gasp escapes their lip, the spider bites onto the hand, its bite injecting spider genetics into the blood cells of the teenager.

“(Y/n), let’s go.” (Y/n) reacts accordingly to the creature that had dared to harm them, slapping it to death with one go (using their free hand). After doing so, they leave the room and catch up to Kenny in seconds.

The lights go off and the corpse of the spider was left behind, with neither of the two visitors realizing that it was a radioactive one that had just transferred spider genetics to its victim.

It was only a matter of time until the aftereffects would come about.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #snk x reader #snk x y/n #snk x you #various x reader #gender neautral reader #spider verse au #levi ackerman #kenny ackerman #hange zöe #mikasa ackerman #aot x gn!reader #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot x you

[bvannn]

Weekly Update September 22, 2023

I’ve been all over the place this week but I think? I’m getting myself back together? Obviously the big news was that internship, I’m very excited for it, but because it’s next semester and not this semester it does leave me in a weird waiting game position. I was really hoping I’d be able to drop my bio course this semester because I’m terrible at bio but it is what it is, and if I have to get through one kinda crappy course to get the the internship, so be it. I also got the okay to go donate plasma again this week, so I can earn some more passive cash. I’m hoping to earn a spot at the chem stockroom too, but the delays with the internship may have cost me that opportunity. I’m still doing what I can though.

I’ve got a few drawings done this week, I want to do more but I am still battling exhaustion. I’ll try to get more done passively but I’m hitting a bit of art block in the way of just drawings, unfortunately. Maybe I’ll take a crack at inktober, but I don’t really know if dragging out my old ink pens and brushes would be worth it. I could do a non ink based one like artober or whatever but that just kinda feels like a copout. I’ll try to either pull together a comic or something in the way of OCs maybe, but I’m still prioritizing other projects.

Took another crack at music today, got the start of some drums and a guitar bass going, I’ll need to add an actual bass guitar and figure out some song structure but I’m getting close to going somewhere. Whatever it is probably won’t be very good because it’s a first try but once I get good and find my style I can always remaster it or whatever. Once I’ve built up some confidence I can take a crack at the other project I want to do. I don’t know if what I was doing on drums was even right but I can look at another little feature with komplete kontrol later to see if any of the samples there would help. I can also redo stuff as I go. Or maybe I’ll celebrate being able to donate plasma again by buying one of those fingertip gloves they make for archery, but instead I’ll use it to play guitar without slicing my untrained fingers. Or one of them grip training things, so I can learn those Van Halen style hammer ons. I need a fidget thing for plasma donation so it’s be useful there too.

Animation is going well. Jon is done for shot 1-3, Emile is almost done. Only reason I’m not finishing him tonight is because I’m tired. I forget if shot 1-4 or 1-5 or which one was the super prop heavy one I’m not looking forward to but it’s probably fine. Really I’d like to do an animation clip or something with my OCs after getting some music done but that’s a ways off. That’s why I want to do more with music but we’ll see how much time allows for that.

Waiting for internship and surgery is hitting hard so I might be in a bit of a slump for a while but I’m going to try to keep getting stuff done.

#weekly update

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Same anon who called you annoying, it's because you deserved to be called that for invalidating a person's SA trauma (and thier other traumas), yeah, I'm talking about that Alana person you were all beefing with in the ninjago discord server and I bet you're the anon who called her art ugly too when I don't think you have the room to call an art ugly if you take a look at yours and have some self-reflect in your life. don't get me wrong, y'all have some good arts but uhh "Make Art, Not War" ever heard of that phrase??? 😭😭

I don't know if you meant to send this to me because I am that Alana person but it sounds like there's some beef going on between people let me make it blunt to everybody

I am so emotionally done and burnt out by everything from being wrongfully attacked by certain people for coping like I do to nobody acknowledging that I have changed in the last few months I have gone through a major change attitude wise no longer reactive and more of I'm done and want no part of it.

My sexual abuse being invalidated...that's just the tip of the iceberg I've had my characters plagiarized by a creator on here and only after I threw a public fit did they get it in their mind to remove that and redo them like they thought they could get away with such a thing or lying about things I said when they know for a fact I did not,

Again, tip of the iceberg that I really just don't care to dig into anymore or try to make my side of the story heard. I've burnt the soap box

Judge me for my past and not how I am of my future is how it seems to be going right now

But if anyone cares or wants to actually find out who I am as a person I'm right here, and I have always been here

Me of the past would have immediately been on the reactive defensive side however I just want to vocalize I am appreciative of people defending me where I cannot because half the fandom has me blocked and so I can't defend myself and the factor that I have changed.

So again thank you to whoever is putting their neck out because I know by doing so you are putting yourself emotionally In harm's way. Please take care of yourselves and just be careful don't hurt yourself in order to protect me I made my bed I lay in it I don't want anybody else being dragged in.

#ninjago #emotionally burnt out #change #alana answers

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

Fic: “Comedian’s Night”

read on AO3

Fandom: Teen Titans

Rating: T (for violence/blood)

Summary: Robin investigates trouble in Jump City's local performing arts center and gets the unlikeliest backup.

@flashfictionfridayofficial​​

Getting back from Steel City, and Titans East, for a double-team mission against H.I.V.E. Five, Robin has one mission— the Tower's main computer alerts.

911 calls. Emergency service updates. Police scans. He inspects all waiting to be reviewed. There appears to have been a fair amount of criminal activity before and after Robin left.  No spikes. The Team are still on their way back, so Robin does another data check-through with a more critical eye.

Is that… a skeletal-white face mask, great. Great.

Robin can feel the eye-roll coming, tapping on some of the keyss.

Same suit, same cape, same gadgets—

Same old nonsense.

However, a new distress-signal blinks on the flat computer-panel displays.

Trouble right in middle of Jump City?

Robin considers his options, deciding to alert Cyborg who is still driving everyone else in the T-car and going himself. Someone has to.

*

"How's about I introduce myself, ladies and germs!" she shrills over the heightened chaos. "Ya can call me Duela—the Joker's Daughter!"

No—

Robin groans lightly, his entire body protesting as he turns onto his stomach.

"I'm sure am glad I know sign language!" Duela recites, bending the fingers of a woman's hand she melted off. "Comes in prettieeee HANDY!"

Her high-pitched maniacal laughter echoes through the building.

Damn it—

"Some days, I miss my ex-boyfriend," Duela says gleefully, an the innocent man writhing in pain from his bleeding shoulder. Two razor-sharp playing cards embedded in him. "But my aim is steadily improving, wouldn'ya think?"

Robin drags himself back onto his feet to go to the injured man, clamping his fingers over the wound. It's not life-threatening.

"Take your scarf, apply pressure on it… he's okay, okay?" Robin assures the man's frantic date. "You need to get yourselves out of here."

He blocks them from Duela smirking.

Under the spotlights, her emerald-and-purple outfit glitters.

Duela's exposed flesh has a ghastly white sheen. Maybe a chemical alteration?

That doesn't make her…

"Joker's daughter?" Robin says scoffing, his vision still a little hazy. His muscles tremble. "More like a wannabe clown psycho."

Her smirk widens.

"And who are you? Hmm?" she jeers. "The Ugly Traffic Light Who Could?"

Robin unclips an ammunition disc, switching it on. 

The activation light blinking red. 

"Green means go, right," he quips, throwing the disc at Duela's feet. 

In moments, a stream of concentrated freezing gas bursts out, and Robin moves. He has to see who else is left before—

"NICE TRY!"

The smoke…

Robin feels it inside of him like a burning sick-sensation, growing heavier. 

His knees start to give.

"Night, night," Duela sing-songs, getting out her bullet-firing lipstick.

Robin's vision blurs.

A gigantic red X shoots through the air, colliding into Duela before she's fired her weapon, pinning her to the stage-wall.

"Is that all you got, kid—"

"Some folks just ain't cut out for showbiz—"

*

A deep, coughing wheeze startles Robin awake.

He lifts off the concrete rooftop, dazedly examining himself.

"Take it easy," comes the static-filled voice. Not far off, Red X has a foot on the rooftop's ledge, gazing out into the neon-lit skyline. "You woke up two times already. Puked the first time, and then, you started mumbling in another language the second. But I'm no expert in Western European."

"…did you kill her?" Robin croaks, ignoring how his heart pounds.

"Came close," Red X admits. "She's gonna be going 'night, night' for a while."

"Is this a detour from robbing a bank, X?"

"Saving your life?" 

A loud tutting noise crackles Red X's mask voice-box. 

"You're going to return the museum's jewels you stole…" Robin demands, weakly climbing to his knees. Red X shuffles his dark, leathered boot off the rooftop's ledge. He doesn’t seem very worried about Robin's hand going for his utility belt. Or rather, for no belt. Red X holds up Robin's belt.

"Finders keepers."

"Is that all that matters to you? Being a criminal?"

Robin hesitates, Red X's finger suddenly pushing under his chin, tilting his face.

"Not all…" Red X says.

The whites of Robin's eyelets go big.

Red X drags his fingertip purposefully, tilting Robin's face further up. No, no—Robin struggles against the humiliated blush, jerking away.

A static-snort of laughter.

"Don't drive under the influence, Chuckles," Red X quips, tossing one of the T-communicators. "Call for a ride. Safety first."

"You…"

"And I'll catch ya on the flip-side."

He takes a running leap off the building, which Robin suspects City Hall, vanishing in mid-air. Yep, definitely the same Red X tech.

Same old nonsense…

Robin presses for Cyborg's number, a little defeated.

Great.

#flash fiction friday #teen titans #robin #dick grayson #red x #teen titans animated #teen titans animated series #dc #dcu #dc fanfic #dc fic #teen titans fanfiction #robin fanfiction #dick grayson fic #dick grayson fanfiction #dcu fic #dcu fanfic #robin x red x

[lacertae-dreamscape]

i recently had a downspiral about my drawing speed -how my brain is full of ideas but how hard and difficult it is to get the ideas out from my head and into digital (or paper) media.

how its a fight to finish one art, and it takes me forever, and i can’t help but feel like im tired and disappointed when i finish one art, when i wanted to do so much *more*

and a friend suggested to try and just. doodle things fast and uncaring about perfectioning them, about details, and fixing shit. just throw them out even if they’re not good or recognizable or if things don’t please me

just to get myself out of this moment where i feel like im trying to walk in a dream and moving inches instead of running while i strain against the limits of my capabilities.

and i still cant do it 100% but im going to try. it stings to look at my own hands and feel like i can’t compare, like they work against me, but

ive gotten so far already. inch by inch i dragged myself from being unable to draw to where i am now, where i can even offer commissions without feeling like im a fraud for daring to ask to be paid for things i make. and ill continue to drag myself onwards because i chose to draw bcs it makes me happy

even if im slow and it takes me weeks to make one good art. even if its difficult and i hate a lot of things i do and i make one art where my brain wishes i could do 10. im going to do my best.

im going to persevere because i cant do anything perfectly but i can do a lot of things imperfectly and it might not be the best, but its something only i can do. its me and my things and my efforts and years and years of struggling and still doing it, and being angry and feeling inadequate and taking breaks and having artist blocks and then biting through and still continuining on anyway.

and im glad im here. and i am glad i improved. it feels like a fight against myself every time, but every time i do even a doodle i know im not losing.

even if i can do 1 art in the 10 i want, and 100 more are doodles ill never share that i will hate. for that one art, for those 100 doodles, its worth the fight.

#fran talks #i fail in so many different ways #but this one thing i will continue #i will do and do and do and do it over again #i am not in a good place #i haven't been in a while #but i am. digging my feet in #that's all i can do #and ill do it