#I have finally found an easier way to draw his hair in my style

[big-friendly-birb]

I wanted to draw him in something ✨fancy✨

#kingdom hearts #kh #kh3 #kingdom hearts 3 #my art #fanart #zexion #ienzo #kh ienzo #kh zexion #I enjoyed drawing this a lot #had to include several patterns it’s a requirement #this may be my only Christmas artwork so I hope y’all enjoy #I have finally found an easier way to draw his hair in my style #so there’s that #it’s still perplexing

[thxrnking]

Day One - A Night Children AU One-shot

Tag List: @phoenixriaartemis @anja-the-sane-sibling @simplycreatorjo @miraimeity @sparklingdiva678 @punsandquips @lyna-possibility @32nder @libralelia @luvvy-star @caitlynnrosespn @generalakuma @anonymous-gremlin @mightnightmooon @delphinus-dancer @mudpuddlenl

Summary - Today's the first day of the rest of Jack's life. So what's his choice?

Content Warning - implied physical abuse/torture

----

Everything hurts. A pounding throb is threatening to tear my head apart while my limbs ache, every muscle feels over-stretched, and I’m pretty close to just slipping back into unconsciousness. Something itches though, at the base of my brain, something pushing me to stand and look. I have no idea at what.

It takes some time to drag myself up, every muscle crying out in overworked agony. With a stretch, my joints crack and pop back into place, releasing pressure I had no idea I’d been carrying and drawing from me a long sigh of relief.

You’d think standing would be easier now that I’m sat up. You’d think. Not even halfway up, my head reels, swirling worse than a snow-globe. Everything’s spinning around me and I land heavily back on the bed. I think I might be sick.

I don’t know what happened. I vaguely remember my friends, there was dancing, but after that there’s nothing. No faces, no names, not even a vague feeling in any direction. Just a great blank slate where my memories should be and the more I look at it, the more my head hurts. It takes a minute or two but I finally manage to stand. My balance is still off and I stumble into my dresser which isn’t fun, and all thoughts leave my head when I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

At least I think that’s me. Same pale complexion, stellar cheekbones, striking jawline, but that’s not my hair. I’ve had the same hair my whole life, short, red, gently styled. Easy to maintain and iconic; but the hair in the mirror is an inch shorter, and black. Well except for a small pink streak near the top of my head.

I reach for it in shock, barely believing as my reflection does the same. What the-?

“You’re awake.”

The sudden voice scares me near shitless. My knees thud against the dresser but I don’t have time to feel the smack, turning to see Wanderlust standing a short way away. At least I think it’s Wanderlust. He looks taller; his clothes and his crown are darker, more twisted. Over his shoulders is a feathered cape that can only mean one thing. Mother.

“What happened to you!” I blurt, but he doesn’t even blink.

“What do you remember?” he asks.

“Nothing. I-”

Wait.

Cold. I remember being cold. I don’t remember what happened to my blazer, but my shirt was torn and damp and I was littered in cuts and bruises. I look down at my chest. My smart shirt isn’t torn. It’s purple and neatly pressed and fits me perfectly. As ever it’s good at hiding Mother’s sins.

A hollow ache blossoms in my chest. I’d been alone. Restrained and locked away. Never mind days it had to have been weeks. Had anyone even realised I was missing? Did anyone care?

I start to cough, hacking and spluttering; desperately trying to catch my breath as my chest spasms over and over. My stomach twists, wrenching violently as I drop to one knee, trying and failing to catch myself against the dresser.

I’m going to be sick, or I would if there was anything in my stomach. For a few minutes I’m retching as my body tries and fails to eject something, anything from my mouth. When was the last time I ate something?

Then comfort floods me as something warm comes in beside me. An arm wraps around my shoulder and pulls me in. I look up. Wanderlust holds me, his grip firm and strong as he pulls me close, gently hushing me. The ache in my chest fades to a dull pain.

I remember.

Wanderlust was the one who found me. Walked right in with a new smile, some new clothes, and quiet promises to keep me safe. I’d flinched away but he didn’t care.

‘Trust me.’ he’d said. The two dumbest words I’d ever heard him say. Of course I trust him.

Wanderlust moves to stand, pulling me up with him and without thought, I follow his lead. I hold tight as I try to get my legs to take my own weight. I’m not ready to let him go; he’s so warm. His fingertips drag along my forearm, sending goosebumps dancing across my skin and I think he knows what he’s doing because his lips are quirked in such a shit-eating smile. I just might melt in that smile. Gradually, he drags them towards my hand, taking it and interlocking our fingers, holding tight.

My head is swimming as we stand there; he’s holding my hand up, while the other has dropped to my back, holding me close; it’s almost like we’re dancing. As if we’d ever be allowed to stand this close.

But we are.

With a gentle twist of my fingers as he lifts my hand, Wanderlust encourages me to turn, wrapping his free arm around my waist again and pulling me back against him.

“Look at us,” he tells me.

So I look.

This can’t be us, I tell myself. The arm around my waist tightens like he’s afraid I might walk away. I should. We agreed a long time ago that we can’t be together. No one will accept us, and there’s more important things to focus on.

But look at how entwined we are. Wanderlust’s chin on my shoulder, his chest pressed firm against my back, his arms tight around me. His lips brush against my cheek as he presses a soft kiss and I can’t help but drown a little.

How many times have I let go for the greater good? For the sake of safety or sacrifice? Don’t I deserve this? Don’t I deserve to be happy?

“What do you think?” There’s a sly smile on Wanderlust’s lips as his reflection pins me with an unyielding gaze.

I stare at us. At my hair. At his crown. In his eyes. My eyes flit to every point of contact; like a drink of cool water after hours in the hot sun, it’s all too much and not enough. I push myself back into his hold, and Wanderlust pulls me closer. He’s only too happy to give me what I want. Finally.

“Perfect.”

#Just Dance 2024 #Jack Rose #jd Jack Rose #jd Jack Swan #jd Wanderlust #Night Children AU #NCAU #Jacklust #Wanderrose

[brighteststar707]

Faye!! Congrats on the milestone my sweet 🎂 your event is so precious and thoughtful and I just love it as much as I love you!!! 🩷🌸

Pretty please could I pick a toy for our lovely Zen? I was so tempted to go for dark chocolate you don't even know like I'm just thirsty all the damn time tbh

Lola! I was so excited to do this request, I love any chance i get to unpack some of Zen's backstory (though I must say, it was quite fun to imagine Zen's fantasies for a minute)

I'm so happy you like the event theme! I wanted it to be something special for such a milestone, and I'm really fond of how it turned out.

I'm also really fond of this fic, I love some Zen lore. I hope you enjoy <3

✧ Toy ~ Memories from their past

Hyun at age six is quiet. His mother once told him that good boys don't call attention to themselves, so he tries his best to blend in.

Secretly, he wishes he didn't have to be a good boy. He likes singing (especially where others can hear him), he likes playing like the other kids do. He doesn't like pretending to be invisible. He tries so hard, and it so rarely works. He can duck his head and hold his tongue all he wants, but there is always someone who wants to talk to him or touch him.

The other day, a lady in the supermarket tried to hold his hand and pat his hair. His mother was very upset (with her or him, he's still not sure).

He doesn't like going outside very much anymore. The only place he really likes going is school. Not because of the classes. They're difficult and boring. But his classmates are usually nice. They choose him first when making teams for games - sports is easier than anything they learn at school. He likes how it feels when they all cheer him on. He definitely isn't invisible then.

It's less fun when his classmates make him ask the teachers for things they want (recently it was for a longer breaktime which the teacher did not want to give). They don't care that it gets him into trouble. They believe the teachers like him more than the others. He doesn't think that's true.

Sure, some teachers are nice to him, but most of them are so strict. They get upset with him when he makes mistakes (Hyun does not like maths) and give him harder exercises. A lot of them tell him the same thing:

"Don't expect life to be easy just because of your looks."

He isn't sure what that means. He doesn't think his life is easy.

He likes his brother. He's the smartest person Hyun knows. He has answers to all the questions he asks (even the ones about maths). Even more than that, his brother is kind. He doesn't laugh at Hyun or tell him that he's being bad, even when he draws attention to himself.

He didn't even laugh after their mother gave Hyun a terrible haircut recently, even though all the kids at school did. She had been telling him that he was ugly, that his hair was too long, that it was distracting. Despite how much Hyun had begged her not to cut it too short, she ended up chopping most of it.

He liked his hair. He misses it now that it's all gone.

His brother did not laugh. Instead he ruffled his hair and told him that he looked older. He promised him that he would help Hyun style it as it grew out and maybe even comb it the way he does. They have never looked alike, but perhaps that way there would finally be a similarity.

Maybe Hyun would be able to be a good boy if he was more like his brother.

Hyun at age fifteen is angry. He left home a few months ago, after a particularly nasty fight with his mother. She had found the scripts he had hidden even after she had made him promise to drop performing and work harder at school. It had resulted in a screaming match (another one, they were becoming increasingly common recently). That wasn't the reason he left, though.

He had gotten used to tuning out the yelling. The final straw came a few hours later when his brother came to talk to him. For just a few seconds, Hyun had felt the sense of comfort that he had only ever felt with his brother. He was good at reminding him that her words were just a result of her frustration, that he wasn’t ugly or useless or one of the other things she liked to call him.  

But that feeling didn’t last long. His brother's eyebrows were furrowed, a look that did not suit his face, and Hyun knew something was different. Instead of comforting him, his brother had said something along the lines of why haven’t you given up this hobby yet, you know this isn’t going to get you anywhere. You can’t do this forever.

Something like that. Hyun’s ears were ringing too loudly for him to properly hear everything. To have to hear these things from his brother was a betrayal bigger than he had ever felt.

That night, he packed up his most important belongings and slipped out of the house. He hasn’t looked back since. That doesn’t mean he isn’t still angry, though. In fact, the longer he has been away, the angrier he gets.

He has started to see things more clearly. The way he was treated as a small child, like a nuisance who could only do wrong, whose hobbies were annoying and looks were burdensome. The way he has only ever been discouraged, the way he has always been wrong wrong wrong. All while his brother was praised as the perfect child.

The injustice of it makes him seethe with rage. He doesn’t recognize this version of himself, the one who is always a step away from exploding.

It has helped him survive out on the streets, though. His new friends use his anger to help them pull off robberies. He is taller than most kids his age, and when he squares off his shoulders and clenches his jaw, he can look very intimidating. He doesn’t like how it makes him feel afterwards, but he needs the money. Even when he isn’t trying to be intimidating, store owners are usually to busy admiring his face for them to notice the things he’s stealing.

His hair is growing past his ears. He’s not going to cut it again if he can help it. He pins it back and makes tiny little ponytails to keep it out of the way when he’s training.

And oh, he trains. He’s attending auditions like crazy, whenever he can fit them between the short work gigs he lands. He keeps reminding himself that he’s waiting for just one break, that one good show will kick start his career, and he won’t have to live like this anymore.

If only someone would cast him. Every director he has met so far has complimented his skills (which feels good) and his looks (which feels less good) but tells him that he still needs time, and to come back in a few years.

Hyun doesn’t have a few years, he wants to tell them. He wants to scream it, after a while, in each of these director’s faces. He is crashing at a different house every night, on blow-up mattresses and lumpy sofas. He eats only what he can scrounge up in a day, be it from the little money he earns or whatever he can steal. He has his eye on a cheap apartment listing, but it will be a while before he can afford even one month’s rent.

It's the idea of this mythical home (one with no rules, no arguments, no forced haircuts) that keeps him going when his doubts start to creep up on him. He has to believe that he hasn’t made a big mistake, because he’s in too deep now.   

Little does he know that he's a week away from landing his first role.

Zen at age twenty is unsatisfied. He keeps getting cast in the same archetype over and over again. His lines feel repetitive, his monologues uninspiring. He wants more for his characters, more for himself. At the same time, he cannot afford to branch out and take risks because he needs the money. On top of that, modelling gigs pay more than acting, so he’s spending more time in front of a camera than he’d like.

With a lot of his jobs centring around his appearance, he has been learning how to care for himself in a way he has never done before. He has treated himself to a few hair care products, and enjoys brushing out his hair every night after stressful days. Investing time in himself feels like an escape from everything else in life. He can be playing the fifth romantic interest character in a row, but at least he will be beautiful doing it.

It’s a phrase he has slowly been learning to get used to. He is beautiful. He is handsome. It’s funny, he has heard it countless times throughout his life, but only recently has it stopped feeling wrong.

He feels like he has hit a wall in his career, and his personal life is not looking any better. His girlfriend broke up with him a week ago and it still doesn’t feel real. He should probably be sadder about it than he is. All he feels is lonely.

She was great, really. They had met after a show and hit it off quickly. At first it was nice. He liked the company, craved the affection she gave him. But with his workload as it is, it was impossible to manage a relationship at the same time. He never got more than a few hours off of work (most of which he spent resting), which cut down on the time they could spend together significantly.

They drifted apart; it was inevitable. And despite him knowing this deep down, he didn’t expect her to leave him like that.

Now he’s lonely and anxious. Not a good combination. For all his regrets about his time spent with the gang, at least he was never lonely.

Some of that anger he carried with him as a teenager can sometimes still flare up in him. He sees people his age who have the support and care of their loved ones, when he ends every night by himself in his crappy apartment on the sofa with a beer and a script. He remembers how unfair things are, how he wishes things could have been different.

Oh well, it's no use dwelling on what could have been. He can only face the future head on and keep pushing. He will try his best to remind himself why he chose this path, despite all the difficulties he is facing.

Zen at age twenty-four has butterflies. He’s on the phone talking to a bubbly stranger and something feels different. They call him often (he’d like to think more often than they call any of the others) and ask him about his day in detail. Despite having received so many compliments throughout his life, when they compliment him, it makes him blush. He feels comfortable, more so than he has in a long time.

He wants to follow this feeling, the excitement and anticipation for as far as it will take him. Something tells him something good is waiting at the end of it.

#lolaalee #300 follower event #mystic messenger #mystic messenger zen #mystic messenger hyun ryu #mysme zen #mysme hyun ryu #hyun ryu #my writing

[sydneyofalltrades]

More Moni to bless your feed have her first interaction with the choir

Monique was disgusted. “Noel, tell me this is a joke.”

Noel turned to her. “What?”

He watched as she gestured to the grey dress and white button down. “This? I’m going to school in this?”

Noel nodded solemnly. “There isn’t anything I can do about it. Saint Cassian promotes modesty over style, unfortunately.”

Monique grimaced. “Oh, Lord, give me the strength to make it through this day.”

After having put on the ghastly thing, Monique took her new bag that Mona had generously insisted on giving her. It was still black, just bigger and not torn.

“Have a wonderful first day at school, Monique.” Monique read the note attached to the bag. Noel shrugged.

“Yeah, Mom’s not around in the mornings, she has super early shifts and a bunch of late shifts so I only really see her during her lunch break.”

Monique reread the note and smiled a little. “She still puts in effort. No one ever did that for me before.”

Noel handed her a bag. “Yeah, well, she really cares for people. Here’s your lunch.”

Monique took the bag and sat down and ate something with her brother.

It was heavenly. Not eating something rotten or feeling guilt for stealing or hoarding. Just a warm meal made for her.

The two of them found their way to the high school and Noel held Monique back.

“Hey, Monique? I’ve got some friends who want to meet you, and.. they’re a little intense sometimes.”

Monique shrugged. “I’m sure I can handle them. Oh, did you tell them I speak English?”

Noel shook his head. “They didn’t ask.”

Monique grinned. “Perfect.”

They walked into the school and Monique saw five other students, one in a wheelchair, waiting at the front entrance.

“Noel! Over here!”

Noel turned to the choir and sheepishly waved. The others walked over, and the guy in the wheelchair pushed himself to match their pace.

“Hey, guys! This is my new sister, Monique.”

He turned to the French girl and she nodded. A redhead girl stepped up and extended her hand.

“Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg, pleasure to meet you.”

Monique took her hand she shook it. “Merci! Tu as le visage d'un âne!”

Noel snorted and Ocean’s smile faltered slightly. “Oh, don’t you know English?”

Monique shrugged. “Oui, mais c'est plus facile de parler en français.”

Noel was quick to translate. “She says she does, but it’s easier for her to speak in French.”

Monique giggled slightly as Ocean’s little frown.

Another girl with curly hair dyed bright purple held a small Tupperware container.

“Hi, Monique. I’m Constance, and I made these for you.”

She opened the container and Monique looked inside to see her favorite desserts from home. She looked at Constance and smiled.

“Merci. C'est très gentil de ta part.”

“She says that’s very nice of you, Connie.”

Constance beamed and the boy in the wheelchair started using his hands very quickly. Monique didn’t understand but she knew the others did.

“And this is Ricky,” Noel said, “He’s mute but he’s still one of the most expressive people I know. He loves drawing, can you show her some, Rick?”

This boy, Ricky, pulled out a sketchbook and showed Monique an array of space drawings, of cat drawings, of portraits, of nature. Monique was stunned.

“It’s very beautiful,” she said softly. Ocean pointed at her.

“I thought you didn’t know English!”

“I never said that,” Monique snapped, “It was just more fun seeing you struggle.”

Ocean pouted as the others laughed. The guy with a cap looked up from his phone.

“Mischa,” he said, also with a thick accent. Monique was surprised.

“Where’re you from?”

“Ukraine,” Mischa said proudly, and Monique smiled.

“Thank God I’m not the only foreigner. I was worried.”

Mischa shrugged. “It’s hard, but you get used to it.”

The final girl, with brown pigtails, raised her hand slightly. “And I’m Penny,” she said softly, “It’s wonderful meeting you, Moni. If we can call you Moni.”

Monique thought about it. No one had ever given her a nickname before. But she smiled.

“Sure. It’s nice.”

Penny smiled and tried to hug her, then restrained herself.

“You probably don’t like hugs, huh?”

Monique shrugged. “First time for everything. Besides, you guys are.. alright, I guess.”

Penny gave her a big hug and Moni smiled a little. She looked up at Noel’s friends, at a ragtag group that she was now a part of.

And she kinda liked it. Now she wasn’t so alone

#moni gruber #the amount of moni content i make these days in uncomparable #i love her so much fr #ride the cyclone #rtc au #sydneys weirdness

[mercy-thompson-fanfiction]

Glow

“Hey!” An unfamiliar voice brought her back to herself. She turned forward again and came face-to-face with a man she had never seen. His dark hair was gelled, which seemed to just be the style now, and his smile was too white in the LEDS to be natural. 

“Hi!” Tala called back over the music. 

She was instinctively wary of the new person.  With too many people on top of her, she found herself doubting her ability to catch any sort of distinct scent.  She knew Riley wasn’t far, nor was Cai.  Werewolves and bloodhounds weren’t quite one and the same so she couldn’t pinpoint where nor could she find Sara or Ryan among the mass of people.  

“You need a drink?” He asked.

Tala lifted her cup and shook it a little to drive the point home.

“I’m good.”

It had to be that exact moment that someone behind her bumped into her hard enough that some of the liquid sloshed out of the cup.  

Perfect.

The guy laughed.

“Looks like you need a refill after all,” He nodded his head towards where she had initially come onto the floor with Riley.  “Let’s go grab one—“

“I’m sorry that took me so long, I couldn’t find your jacket.”  It was Cai.  If she hadn’t caught his scent as he had all but grabbed her ass while slipping her phone from where Riley had tucked it into the back of her bra, she would have elbowed him.  

Cai handed her the phone he had just slyly stolen from her in the first place while wrapping his arms around her.

She hesitated too long, brain trying to keep up with the easy escape that Cai had just dangled in front of her.  Finally, leaning back into him, she hummed.

“Thanks.  This is,”  She gestured at the guy still standing in front of them.

“Oh, Will?”  There was a smile to his voice that did not at all match the anger she could scent.  “He’s in my Econ course.”

How Cai kept track of any of the people in any of his courses, Tala wouldn’t understand.  She knew two names—Riley and Sara.

Will slipped away, something like a “good to see you, man” left his lips before he dissipated into the swarm of drunk and horny young adults.  

Cai stepped back off of her as much as he feasibly could while in a crowd, but his right hand slid across to her left wrist and he dragged her back the way she had originally come.  They were only about seven or eight people-deep into the crowd, so slipping away wasn’t too hard.  Already the distance was easier on her ears.

“What are you drinking?”

“Rum and coke.”  She answered robotically, not missing the way his nose wrinkled in disgust as he took the cup.  “Hey, I’m fine.  I barely had any—“

He was already talking to the student behind the bar.

“Can you get her another rum and coke?  A classmate of mine slipped something in this one.”

Tala’s mouth went dry and she made eye contact with the bartender.

“I’m fine.”  She assured him.  “I didn’t drink it.  He just…”

Saw it happen. Her brain supplied, but the words didn’t reach her lips.  She had been too distracted to even notice, how had she not seen that?

The student neither of them knew seemed to hesitate for a moment before apparently deciding Tala looked sober enough to be safe.

That was something she would unpack another day.

“Here,”  Cai handed her the new drink and ushered her back towards the coats.

“I’m not leaving Riley here.”  She stopped him.  “Or Sara, for that matter.”

“We aren’t going to leave, it’s just the only spot that’s remotely quiet.”  He said, following her until they had returned to the furthest most corner of the penthouse.

Cai was right.  She hadn’t noticed how much quieter it was in this section because it all felt loud when they had first entered.  She almost laughed at how drastically her perception had changed after maybe thirty minutes.

“What time is it?” Cai asked her.

“It’s—oh.”  Tala blinked at the brightness of her screen and frowned when she realized they had been here a little over an hour.

Time flies.

“Ok, not bad.”  He nodded.  “We have time, then.”

He closed his eyes and leaned up against the wall, drawing a deep breath.  To any of the other students, he just looked tired of the social scene.  Tala would be quick to believe that as well, except she had known how angry he had been just moments before.  

“Thank you.”  She said, breaking his moment of peace and he smiled, but didn’t open his eyes.  “I was completely—“

“Did your mother not teach you that you don’t thank Fae, Hauptman?”  His eyes were glowing when he opened them again.

Wolves…their eyes didn’t really glow.  This was something unique to Cai that she had noticed at their first full moon together.  She hadn’t asked.  Magic worked in funny ways and he was, admittedly, correct.  They shared an experience of being just a little outside the usual in terms of werewolf physiology.  

“You’re only half.”  She thanked her brother-in-law all the time.

“Your brother-in-law probably just isn’t collecting.”  As if he were reading her mind. His grin didn’t leave. “I wonder how much you owe.” 

Tala crossed her arms. 

“Are you collecting?”

“I am.  You owe me a few, actually.”  

If he was being serious about debts, then she owed him more than a mere few.  Tala replayed the day alone and counted at least three.  She would have to change her whole manner of interaction now.  What a pain, and in a group of humans, too.

“I’ll count it as one if you answer my question.”  He raised an eyebrow and Tala groaned.  It only elicited a laugh from him.  “One question, Tala, I promise.”

“Do you really not consider us friends?”

It was such an obvious question for him.  Cai Cornick needed nothing more than an ego stroke to fuel him for a lifetime, it seemed.  Everything he did was in an attempt to get a reaction out of someone, including—in Tala’s own personal opinion—his decision to attend the same university as her.  Approval-seeker if not an attention-seeker at baseline.  

“We spend breakfast and dinner together nearly every day, in a group of shared friends.” She told him, tapping her chin with her index finger childishly as if she had to really think about it.  “We’re in no less than five group chats together.  I let you practically grope me just to get rid of a creep.  Do you honestly think that sounds anything close to friendship?”

The problem was, she wasn’t just pretending to think, because a part of her really was.  There was no harm in being friends with him so long as she didn’t give him anything too incriminating to report home about.

“An answer, not a riddle, Hauptman.” 

“Yes.  I can consider us friends.”  She rolled her eyes. “But don’t stick your hand down my dress again if you want to keep it.”

“Fair enough,”  He agreed, pushing off the wall and brushing past her to return to the mass of people.  “I’ll be sure to make sure you’re begging for it next time.”

The frustrated snarl that ripped from her throat was decidedly not human.

A/N - Hello hello, am I maybe dumping drafts and such as I prep for a possible new computer situation? Absolutely.  I’m trying to collect these ones that I wrote originally for Tumblr all into one massive story over on AO3 that’s kind of just a collection of one-shots set to a timeline.

#fanfiction #mercy thompson fanfiction #Mercy Thompson series #alpha and omega fanfiction #alpha and omega series #patricia briggs fanfiction #tala #cai

[erodasfishtacos]

#HendallReunited

prompt: request was to write broad but to write something angsty

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: language, sexual content, angst

Harry always had issues with saying ‘no’ to people. He never quite grew out of his manners even when he should have.

He said ‘yes’ to way too many things- signing autographs for rude fans and paparazzi, and agreed to way too many things Jeff suggested.

Saying yes to everything didn’t make his life any easier is the thing. Especially when it came to his wife. She was usually left with the aftermath of him being too nice.

The media painted Y/N in a negative light occasionally and so did the fans because she would stand up for Harry and not let him say ‘yes’ to every single request.

She would tell disrespectful fans he’s not signing autographs because of the way they were screaming and interrupting his work.

Harry wished he could do it himself - admired that his wife didn’t give a fuck what people thought about her. He cared entirely too much what the world would think.

The couple didn’t fight about much - no, not really. Normal couple stuff for the most part. But this was the exception, this is where Y/N found most of their turmoil.

Every few months it would rear it’s ugly head and they’d find themselves in the same position over and over again.

This time - it was really fucking bad.

The couple had been staying in their Los Angeles home for the last few months whilst the singer finalized his album and began promotion.

It was boring meeting among boring lunch outings to get all their ducks in a row. Jeff - his manager the main orchestrator.

He was a great manager and a good friend, but it was also business too which Harry didn’t always comprehend.

At the end of the day, Harry was making Jeff millions upon millions of dollars. But Harry didn’t think that way.

**

Harry was in a stuffy conference room at the The Late Late Show to work on the script and ideas for the show. Promo had been nonstop.

He was a bit tired as it was nearly just hitting eight in the morning and he had been up late with you - having some late night loving in the hot tub.

“As for guest - Kendall Jenner,” James Corden’s producer states. All the men agree but Harry is taken aback.

“Why...why would we have my ex-girlfriend as one of my guests?” Harry interrupts, confusion knitting his brows.

Kendall and him didn’t end on a bad note - not at all. They hooked up a few times after their ‘break-up’ but once he’d met Y/N she was understanding when he cut it off.

Y/N wasn’t necessarily jealous of the model, but didn’t love when they’d run into each other at events. She was still overtly flirty with Harry without much shame. 

Harry also didn’t have an desire to see her or host her as a guest on the show. She was nice but he wasn’t interested in being friends with her. They didn’t have much in common and he was head over heels for his wife.

“The media will eat it up, dude. Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner reunited on a show after four years?” Jeff smiles, the others nodding in amicable agreement.

This is one of this times where Harry needs to say “no,” that it’s disrespectful to his significant other to use an old flame for promo for his album.

He already knows ‘hendall’ will be trending within minutes and he can’t imagine how that would make his parter feel.

“I just...this doesn’t seem like a good idea?” Harry begins hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than a statement. 

“Why not?” Eric, one of the writers asks.

“Y’know, I’m married. I don’t think m’missus would appreciate if I did somethin’ like that just for promotion,” he states, scratching at his jaw uncomfortably.

“Look Styles, we’re not asking you to fuck the girl. It just a interview, c’mon,” The executive producer gruffs - wanting those guaranteed views.

Harry swallows - looking at his manager and then at everyone else at the table looking at him for an affirmative answer.

“Uh-sure,” Harry fumbles, feeling anxiety rise into his throat. Fuck, he’s such a god damn pushover.

He’s trying to find his voice to go back on his agreement but the meeting wrapping up and people are leaving with final handshakes.

**

Harry doesn’t know how to tell Y/N what is going on. He’d been keeping in stored in the back of his mind, not ready to have a blowout.

He never found the perfect time to bring it up and now it was too late. It was the morning of the show and he was due to be at the rehearsals this afternoon.

Harry had finally decided he was going to tell her this morning over coffee but forgot that she had a girl’s day planned with a few friends.

She was already out to breakfast with them when he woke up. His phone had one text from you.

Hi baby. I’m out with the girls. See you at the show tonight. I’ll meet you there around six! Love you!

He was fucked royally and he had no one to blame but himself. Maybe it’d be okay, maybe she’d roll her eyes and tell him he’s an idiot.

Realistically he knew that was just a sweet dream at this point.

—

Harry was fidgety and kept mucking up his lines during rehearsal as it got closer to the showtime and his missus arriving.

Kendall had arrived for hair and makeup without seeing her ex-boyfriend yet. He dreaded seeing the model.

Kendall and Y/N had met a few times at different events. It was always cordial. Kendall was always casual - their relationship was never more than a couple fun dates and sex.

They were kind to each other when they met but he couldn’t deny how much harder his partner kissed him on the mouth afterwards.

Before he know it, his wife is hugging him from behind as he talks to a producer about which cameras to look at.

Y/N noticed the way he tensed up at first and thought about how unusual that was for him. Normally, he’d lean back into her with his full weight causing them both to stumble and laugh.

He slowly, cautiously turns around and his face  relaxes a little bit but not completely. “Hi baby,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss.

“You look so handsome,” she replies, admiring his brown pinstriped suit and her pearl necklace that he’d snagged awhile back. She thought it looked better on him anyways.

“You look even better, s’fuckin’ pretty, love,” he gushes, coming back in for another kiss - a little too sensual for the setting.

She was donned in a cropped white shirt, showing of the smooth expanse of her tummy. An oversized blazer of Harry’s, ripped jeans, and heels. 

Harry thought fleetingly he couldn’t wait to fuck her after the show. Then remembered that mostly wouldn’t happen.

Reggie, the musical lead, slides up to you two. He smiles wide at you, saying, “Can’t believe you agreed to the guest this evening.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, Harry’s raise nearly to his forehead, but when she opens her mouth to ask him to explain they’re interrupted.

“Harry!” The leggy model trots over to the little group. Dressed in an interesting one-piece suit that has sewn in heels. She looked beautiful as ever, of course she was a model.

Both of them turn towards the oblivious girl, “Kendall,” Harry replies with a twinge of anxiety - eyes repeatedly looking at his significant other’s profile as multiple emotions flash.

“Hiya, you’re Y/N right?” Kendall smiles kindly, offering her manicured hand.

She accepts, “Yeah, uh-good to see you again.”

Harry knew she had connected the dots quickly in her head. The hurt, confusion, had hit her eyes before narrowing into full-blown rage at her partner.

“I promise I’ll go easy on him,” Kendall jokes before pinching at Harry’s cheek teasingly. The model was a natural flirt with everyone she got along with.

“Oh, sure,” she replies lamely, attempting to not let her feelings burst out in that moment with her husband . She knew it wasn’t Kendall’s fault.

“I’m going to go grab a bite to eat. I’m probably gonna puke when we do ‘spill or fill’. See you guys soon,” the model waves before trailing off with her assistant.

“Did you kn- of course you knew she was your guest,” Y/N seethes, turning to fully face the guilt-stricken-singer.

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, “I did.”

“How long have you known for?” She demands to know, keeping her voice at an angry whisper to not draw attention.

Harry wasn’t going to lie to his love, “About two weeks.”

Y/N replies with a laugh, “let me guess, you let Jeffrey talk you into this bullshit, again.”

His silence is all she needs to know it’s true.

“For Christ’s sake, of course,” She huffs bitterly, “what’s even worse is you didn’t fucking tell me. What the fuck?”

Harry bites his lip, not able to rasp out anything but a pathetic, “m’sorry, love.”

He wasn’t usually good at taking responsibility during a fight. He was stubborn at best but he couldn’t deny his way out of this.

“You will be, you-“

They were cut off by the staff, the audience was trailing in and Harry needed to get mic’d up now.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she points her finger at his chest before storming off to the side of the stage where she’d watch from.

Fucking shit.

**

Harry was a performer. It’s easy for him to push things to the back of his mind so he can entertain a enamored audience.

But tonight, he was struggling. Eyes flicking over to the teleprompter more than usual, his demeanor not as vivid and carefree.

Not when his wife was glaring daggers at him from stage right. Her hand constantly at her mouth, biting at her nails - a nervous tick of hers.

“Next up, the one, the only, the beautiful model and one of my good friends, Kendall Jenner!” Harry introduces when she walks out and waves at the crowd.

They hug and when they pull apart they step over to where they were playing the game. Either answer the question or eat a nasty food picked out by the other.

They weren’t allowed to see each other’s questions before the game started- both going on blind which put Harry more on edge.

“Okay, Kendall. Rank the members of One Direction on most to least attractive or you will be eating...” Harry spins the table, “Cow tongue.”

She flinched at the disgusting plate, smirking up at Harry before considering her course of action, “I think I can answer this one.”

He wasn’t looking forward to her answer. Neither was Y/N by the way she nearly shaking her foot off her leg.

“Okay, I got this. You - the most attractive, then uh- Zayn....Louis...Niall...Liam,” she laughs, “but all of you are hot!”

Harry fake laughs and acts like he’s impressed by her answer as the crowd roars and cheers. 

When Kendall picks up her notecard - she laughs in surprise at the question before looking at him with bright eyes.

“Okay, um, bull penis!” She giggles before starting the question, “I’m dying to know this answer. So...your first album HS1 was released four years ago, correct?”

He nods, apprehensive.

“Which songs were about me? Especially was only angel?” She laughs at Harry’s pale expression before without another thought he shovels the rancid food into his mouth.

Harry looks off to the side to see that his missus is no longer sitting there. Just Jeff - who gives him a thumbs up.

**

The first thing he did when the show ended and the lights dimmed was bolt off to Jeff - ignoring Kendall who was about to say something to him.

“Where’d Y/N go?”

He thought she might have went out to get a breathe of fresh air but for the next hour and a half he hasn’t seen her once.

“She said she wasn’t feeling very good. She told me to tell you she’d meet you at home,” Jeff shrugs unbothered.

“Damnit!” Harry curses loudly, ripping out of the microphone and the little pack in his back waistband.

“Harry,” Jeff scolds at his unprofessionalism that was abnormal for him.

“No! Don’t fucking ever ask me to do shit like this again. You fucking knew what questions were on those notecards and you said it wasn’t anything about our previous relationship.”

“Harry-“

“Don’t fucking talk to me. You’re a real shit manager sometimes, you know that? Do not contact me tonight or tomorrow for that matter, you douchebag,” Harry barks before storming off towards the dressing rooms.

All the employees were standing around in shock, staring at the popstar as he ignored everyone around him.

Harry was famously known for being a kind, amicable guy. So it took everyone by surprise to hear him speak like that. Even Jeff was shaken up a little.

—

The house was pitch-black as Harry pulled up. The house’s first floor was lined with large, bay windows and not a single light was on.

He could find one room illuminated which was your bedroom. A dim side lamp must have been flicked on. He imagined her purposely turning off all the lights on the trek up the staircase.

Harry didn’t want to admit how much he was trembling with awful nerves and anticipation as he slowly turns the knob of the shared bedroom.

Y/N wasn’t laying in bed as he expected but found the bathroom door shut tightly. He noticed a little yellow bag with tissue paper off to the side by a dresser.

He knocks on the oak door, not daring to enter without permission.

“What do you want?” Y/N answers, tone flat and emotionless. 

“Can I come in, baby? Please...” He wasn’t ashamed to beg for forgiveness at this point. Hearing the emptiness in her tone scared him shitless.

“I really could care less,” She replies coldly from her spot in the scalding water decorated with bubbles.

Harry had never felt more unsure in his life as he enters the bathroom.  Y/N had gotten proper pissed at him or vice versa before - right before a concert, an award ceremony but she’d never left without him.

Her head was laying against the foam headrest and her body was covered by the soap water. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy from crying.

Harry kneels next to the tub, “look at me, please pet.”

 Y/N takes a moment before turning her head and opening her eyes. They were distant, disappointed in the man in front of her.

“I should have told you about Kendall. I should have put up more of a fight to get someone else on instead,” Harry admits, his hands desperately wanting to reach out for her.

She shakes her head with a heart-wrenching sniffle, “it’s not just tonight, Harry. We’ve had this conversation continuously for three and a half fucking years. You try to please everyone, despite them giving no fucks about you.”

“Are you that much of a pushover? You let your ex-girlfriend flirt with you in front of millions. Do you know how embarrassing and unfair that it to me?” She wipes at her eyes to stop the tears spilling over.

Harry hadn’t thought of it like that - to be honest. But he agrees, it wasn’t fair and downright cruel to do that to her.

What? All because he couldn’t say ‘no’ because he didn’t want people to be mad at him? It was pathetic and ridiculous.

“I-I won’t let it happen again, lovie. I mean it, I truly do,” Harry whimpers reaching over to cup her cheek and wants to cry when she pushes him away.

“You’re a broken record. You’ve said that a million times before but don’t change,”  Y/N points out, eyes boring furiously into his wife’s.

“I’m goi-“

She cuts him off with a sharp edge in her tone, “Just leave me alone, get out.”

The man’s face crumbles and for a second, she wants to just end the fight and makeup but then nothing would change.

“Baby-“

“Get out!” She finally bellows, tears streaming down her face steadily.

He obliges, head hung in defeat as he closes the door behind him. He stands there’s blankly for a second before going to the walk-in closet.

He’s pulling out a fresh pair of cotton underwear and a large sleepshirt for his partner, laying them neatly on the bed.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself while he waits so he pulls out his phone to mindlessly scroll.

He throws it against the wall when he sees #hendallreunited is trending number one on Twitter at the moment.

The singer strips down to his briefs and sits with his back against the tufted headboard, staring blankly at the wall.

His eyes catch a neon pink pair of his swimshorts tossed carelessly on the decorative vase in the corner of the room from the night before .

“Fuck, baby - no need to rush,” Harry groans into Y/N ‘s mouth as she pushes him until he’s sat on the edge of their California king.

She reaches impatiently for the tie on his neon pink swimshorts and yanks them off his slim, peach-fuzz thighs before throwing them onto the vase without a care that it was worth over twenty-thousand pounds.

After edging her in the hot tub with his fingers and mouth, she wasn’t waiting any longer before clambering onto his lap, pulling her swim bottoms to the side, and sinking onto him.

He felt guilty when his cock twitched at the thought of it. But when reality set back in, the arousal with the memory evaporated.

It isn’t much longer until the door is pulled open and  Y/N’s padding into the room with a towel secured around her.

She looks at the clothes Harry set out for her and pointedly walks past them to pick out her own nightwear. 

That really shouldn’t make his eyes tear up as he watches her slide on a similar pair of panties and an oversized shirt. Spotting a purpling bruise on her upper in thigh from his mouth.

 Y/N silently walks past the bed and to the bedroom door, looking back before bleakly stating, “I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”

He frowns, wrinkles appearing on his forehead, “You can sleep in here, love. I’ll take the guest room.”

Harry doesn’t get a reply as she just shakes her head and closes the door loudly behind her. 

It’s just - he’s never seen her this upset. She was usually fantastic at communicating her feelings and hashing things out.

She wasn’t one for the silent treatment or ignoring the topic. It had his chest rising faster than usual with anxiety. The serious of it overwhelming him.

He states at the wall for a very long time without wiping the fat tears brimming over his trembling lips.

*

He couldn’t sleep - it was half past three and he hadn’t even laid down or clicked off the lamp.

Harry accepted sleep wasn’t coming so he begins to tidy the already clean room. He picks up the shorts and tossing them in the hamper.

He refolds some joggers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer and when he went to move the little yellow bag - curiosity got the best of him.

There was no card and he wasn’t sure who it was for or if it had been a gift already give to Y/N that she had returned home with.

Harry really shouldn’t - but he does. Gently tugging out the paper and reaching in to feel fabric.

Pulling it out, it takes him a minute to identify what it is - two baby onesie. Who was having a baby?

He lays them in front of him, eyes widening in surprise as he reads what is printed across the black cotton.

The first one was the colors and font of his upcoming tour merch with the photo he used on his tour announcement with the heeled boot and white pants.

Love on Tour - Due Date: September 2025

With Special Guest Appearance from Baby Styles

The second one was simple and read across the chest:

I’m having your baby (and it is your business) with embroidered kiwis all of over it.

He frantically reached back into the bag to pull out a bundle of pregnancy tests tied with a silk bow.

They weren’t necessarily trying for a baby but they’re weren’t not trying either. Harry wanted a baby as soon as his missus was willing to give him one.

“No, no, don’t one,” she’d whined into his mouth when he’d reached over to grab a condom off the nightstand.

“Oh sweet thing, you want me bare? Fill you up?” He croons happily, coming back to grip at his thick base and tease at her entrance.

“Ye-yeah, H. Please,” (Y/N) whimpers, bucking her hips in the hope he’d slip inside her.

Harry hums, “Might give you a baby though, y’want me to knock you up?”

“Want it, wan-“

He cuts her off with a hard, blissful kiss as he thrusts all the way inside before pulling out to do it again. 

“Gonna give it to you, whatever you want, lovie,” he promises.

The two had never used protection afterwards. It had start about seven months ago and from his knowledge she’d still been getting her periods regularly.

Occasionally, he would palm at her flat tummy and pout, “Haven’t put a baby in you yet, ‘ave I?”

He was so ecstatic but disappointed in himself for ruining everything and pleasing everyone other than who he should be.

Harry needed to fix this. He didn’t want Y/N to lose the excitement of having their baby over a dumb choice of his.

The man’s out of the room and not knocking before entering their guest room. His now pregnant love is laying on-top of the covers.

One hand subconsciously on her belly - which she removes and places next to her when her wife walks in.

The television was on but the volume was low and Y/N wasn’t watching it in the first place anyways.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, “I opened the yellow bag.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, a little taken aback. she was going to surprise him tonight and forgot to store it away for another time after the fight.

Harry has happy tears dribbling down his cheeks, “you’re having my baby?”

Y/N nods, running a slight hand through his curls. She still had a nasty knot of anger and uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.

It pains her, wanting to share this moment of excitement with Harry but she just couldn’t. The uncertainty of whether Harry would put everybody’s needs before his own baby.

“Come back to bed, want t’talk and celebrate. M’so bloody excited,” Harry murmurs, a large smile decorating his face as he smooths a palm over the expanse of her tummy.

His wife shakes her head and places a hand over his, feeling the cold metal of all of them. “I want to be left alone.”

The twinkle in Harry’s eye diminishes to devastation as he realizes that he’s fucked up so badly that she doesn’t even want to celebrate.

“Pet, can...we just forget about it tonight and be happy ‘bout the baby?” Harry asks selfishly, knowing it was unlikely she’d agree.

She didn’t, a firm expression on her face, “no, I have a lot to think about.”

“Like wha’?” He asks anxiously, unknowing of quite the reason she was so furious.

“Like how you say yes to everything and everyone. We talk and talk about how you need to say ‘no’ and do what’s best for you - for us. You agree to and never follow through”

She takes a shaky breath and continues, “it’s affected our relationship before when you’ve had to cancel our vacation away from all this for a charity concert you’d agree to perform at last minute, dinner reservations because you told your friend we’d be at their art showing they wanted you at.”

Harry knew she was right. He did those things. He wanted everyone to be happy with him - to a fault.

“Tonight was just icing on the cake, you allowed your manager to talk you into hosting your ex on that show. Out of all the people in the world - her. With flirty questions and jabs from her. You let that happen. You care about making everyone happy but in return you don’t care how it affects me. That’s pretty shitty.”

“I’m...I’m really fucking scared you’ll do that even when we have the baby. I need you to put them first and right now...I’m not sure if you’re going to. You can’t put the person you want to spend the rest of your life with first now, how do I know you’ll do it with the baby?”

Harry chokes out a sob as he presses his forehead against the bed, his broad shoulders shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this hard - years ago maybe. He felt like his wife didn’t have any faith in him and he was to blame.

He looks up at her with swollen eyes - at a loss for what to do or say. He loved her so much and was over the moon that they were going to have a baby.

“How do I fix this, darling? You’re right, I really fucked up. M’sorry,” Harry cries, grabbing at her hands and she allows it.

“Just saying you’re sorry won’t fix it,” Y/N replies flatly, letting Harry squeeze and kiss at the backs of her hands.

“Then what do I bloody do to fix this?” Harry raises his voice in frustration, staring in bewilderment at his wife. 

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “Do not raise your voice at me, Harry. Actions speak louder than words.”

Harry swallows harshly, pressing one finally kiss to her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She repeats.

“I love you, I’ll fix this,” he promises with conviction. He knew what he needed to do and do it tomorrow. So he and his wife could enjoy her new pregnancy.

“I need space tonight, I just...please”Y/N says quietly, rubbing at his shoulder.

It wasn’t the first time they’ve slept in separate rooms because they weren’t getting along but they normally found their way back to each other before sunrise.

Harry nods, lip still tremble with the residual anxiety of the conversation. She allows him to press a soft kiss to her mouth before leaving the room.

—-

Cafe Habana was busy - but no one was paying much attention to Harry and Jeff. It was the morning after and Harry had demanded a meeting over breakfast with his manager.

“Y/N pregnant,” Harry states bluntly after their drinks arrive.

“Oh? Congratulations, dude. That’s exciting!” Jeff leans over to pat him on the shoulder, a big smile.

“The baby is due in September. My next tour starts in next July. The baby will be about nine months. I want to be at home with them for the first year.”

Jeff doesn’t look pleased, “what are you getting at Harry?”

“Reschedule the July and August tour dates. Tack them on to the end of the tour,” Harry lays out flat. 

He hadn’t talk to his wife about this but he knew this was how he could prove that he could say ‘no’ and not be a pushover.

“No Harry. Look I get you’re excited about the baby - but that will be such a fucking hassle,” Jeff frowns, sipping his mimosa.

“I’m not asking, Jeff. I’m telling you that’s what needs to happen,” Harry replies firmly, tone strong and unwavering.

Jeff is definitely taken aback by his client’s conviction. 

“While we’re on the topic, do not ever put me in a situation like you did yesterday. It affected my wife and I. And I will choose her over this career any day.”

The manager nods in surprise, “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking for an apology but if you ever pull something like then I’ll be looking for a new management team. Are we clear?” 

Jeff once again nods, unsure of where this is coming from but at the thought of losing his biggest client would be disastrous so he’d do whatever to accommodate him.

“Consider it done,” he tells Harry before clearing his throat in a slight panic.

—

Y/N woke up to an empty house. She was restless, she asked Harry to prove to her that he could be what she needed. However, it was a bit unfair because she didn’t know how he could do it.

It’s just…she had a baby to think about. They both needed to be put first and if it took a gnarly fight for Harry to realize it...so be it.

“Baby? Love, where are you?” She hears Harry echo through the whole house. She was sat in the kitchen, on a stool by the island, idly sorting through mail.

“In here!”

Harry jogs in, panting like he sprinted from the garage up to the kitchen. He comes to stand in front of the love of his life.

“I might have not completely fixed everything but...I tried,” Harry tells her, cradling her face in his large palms. “ I just got back from lunch with Jeff. I told him about the baby.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I rescheduled tour dates so I can be with you guys at home in London for the first year. Then...maybe you guys can join me after?”

“Harry…” she’s at a loss for words.

“And I told Jeff that if he ever puts me in a situation like that again, I’m firing him.”

Y/N stares at him, in awe and admiration of the man she chose to marry and keep forever. His face was so sincere and vulnerable.

Harry didn’t know whether it would be enough. If it wasn’t he’d keep trying but all he could do was hope. He waited with bated breath as she processed his words.

“Baby, you-for me?” She murmurs as she stands up and crowds into his space. He instantly wraps her up into a tight hug, missing her touch.

“Of course, pet. I’d do anything for you, I mean it. I’d quit this whole career if you wanted tha’,” he tells her truthfully - lips brushing her forehead.

“I love you, so so much,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re havin’ a baby,'' Harry sighs dreamily into her mouth, tongue sliding against hers. A large hand came to palm at her belly.

“Yeah, m‘having your baby,” She giggles as he begins to trail the kisses down her jaw and neck - pressing her into the marble countertop.

“Should we name it Kiwi?” Harry rasps as he slides the tank top strap off her shoulder so his lips can meet the cap of her warm shoulder.

“We are not going to be that celebrity couple who names their baby something weird,” Y/N groans as he grounds his hips into hers with intent.

THE END

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[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt.4

Summary: In his attempt to get to know his wife, the Darkling realizes he might be getting too close.

Warnings: angst, swearing, sexual innuendoes, slightest bit of fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three   

=================================

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Not only did she agonize over the slightest possibility of his words being true, but the lingering of his lips on hers even hours after they’ve left tormented her mind. Instead of sleeping, she sat outside in the darkness with nothing but stars to keep her company. She shuddered with the cold wind as it chilled her, even the kefta didn’t protect her as well as she thought it would.

Sighing, she smiled up at the night sky, watching the stars in their celestial dance. It’s undeniable, she’s envious of them – their freedom is undisputed, their beauty unmatched by anything earthly. No one can force a star to marriage, no one can dull its brightness.

“Are you alright?” Genya spoke up, startling Y/N into a loud gasp.

Turning around, Y/N giggles in slight panic, a hand resting on her chest. “You scared me!”

“I didn’t mean to”, she chuckles too, coming closer to Y/N who let out a relieved sigh, only to look up once again.

“I couldn’t sleep”, she explains, “So I came here to watch the stars.”

“Most people are afraid of the dark”, Genya raised an eyebrow as she fixed her gaze on Y/N instead. She studied her carefully, unsure if she should invest all her hopes and dreams in her – no matter how striking she is.

“Oh, I’m scared of the dark!” Y/N exclaims, pointing up at the sky, “But the night sky is littered with lanterns, meant to guide you home. My mom always told me to look up whenever I feel lost, because the stars will help me find answers to any worry.”

Pursing her lips, Genya frowned, “Does that mean you doubt your plan?”

“No”, Y/N replied with haste, “I am simply trying to understand some of the chess pieces I thought I had figured out.”

Looking back at the Palace, Y/N’s eyes found the window of her room in an instant. A dark figure passed by it, the candlelight revealing the figure is pacing.

“He��s not a bad man, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Holding her breath, Y/N’s eyes find amber ones, “That’s not what I’ve heard. His deeds have spoken plenty about the strength of his character.”

“He’s fighting a war, not just with the outsiders, not just your father, but those on our side as well.” Pausing, Genya steps before her, “Do you know what they call him?”

“The Darkling”, she states, “A starless saint, a demon, a shadow king.”

“So many of those names are meant to demonize him, to shun him from society simply for the power he was born with”, licking her lips, Genya reaches for Y/N’s hand. “His own people are dying simply for who they’re born as – humans, Shu, Druskelle, they’re all sharpening their swords. If he’s not feared, we’re all dead.”

Nibbling on her lower lip, Y/N closed her eyes. Exhaling, she faced Genya once more.

“Does that mean I should applaud him for the way he’s treated the First army so far? How can you defend him when he’s the one who brought you here…to the emperor?”

Retracting her hand, Genya flashed a smile – one too strained to be believable. “He tried to defend me and got himself punished for it. So I’m here and I’m telling you to give him a chance.” Walking past Y/N, Genya stops just a few paces behind her, “He might surprise you.”

All the things Genya said became faint echoes inside Y/N’s head. When she returned to the room, she was ready for a new quarrel with Kirigan. Despite her readiness, he was sound asleep as she slipped her kefta off. With trembling fingers, she lifted the comforter only to stifle a laugh upon a surprising sight. Not only had there been a pillow to separate them, but three to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally roll on his side during the night. Perhaps she did smother him the night before and for once, she didn’t feel ashamed, rather satisfied. If he’s so insistent on sharing a bed, why would she make it any easier on him?

Tossing the pillows aside, she slid onto his side. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she tried to wrap an arm around his middle, but she couldn’t do it with her heart clenching wildly inside her chest. She drew back, forming tight fists at her side as she glared up at the canopy in frustration. If she’s going to play well and win, she’ll have to swallow her pride and withstand some discomfort.

Staring daggers at the back of his head, Y/N held her breath as she half climbed atop of Kirigan. Waiting to see if he’ll wake, Y/N finally released a shuddered breath. Burying her nose in the crook of his neck, she finally felt herself warm up after being outside for so long.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled his scent – woodsy and clean as if he had just had a bath. She never realized it before, but he smelled the same way on their wedding day…and night. But also earlier when he was pressed against her, devouring her mouth. Just the thought of his arms around her, his tall frame against her and the feverish kiss they’ve shared had caused her heartbeat to quicken with no shame.

And while she drifted off, she failed to realize something else – the Darkling was very much awake.

Instead of moving away when he felt a weight atop of him, he struggled to even his breathing. She smelled like spring, like lilacs and oddly enough, he enjoyed it. Most times, he’d crinkle his nose in disgust for strong, flowery scents made him nauseous, but she didn’t have the heavy, unbearably thick air of perfume cling to her – it felt like it’s her natural scent.

Smiling, the Darkling allowed himself to relax once her breathing calmed down and while her hands and feet felt like icicles, her cold nose brought most of the discomfort. Once she warmed up, by stealing his body heat, the Darkling began to drift away too. After all, he was winning.

A single ray of sunshine came through the window, its heat tickling Y/N’s nose. Sleepily, she brushed at it then tried to turn away, but something blocked her way. She lazily opened her eyes and saw the strange bed canopy overhead. When she remembered where she was and how she fell asleep last night, she felt her face grow hot as blood rushed to her cheeks. Even her body seemed to blush. She moved her head toward the other side of the bed and looked at where her husband’s supposed to be, yet he was gone – only the pillows she could have sworn she removed remained.

There was no way of knowing it, but each morning, the Darkling opened his eyes and looked at her first. No matter if she was drooling or her hair matted on her face, he quite enjoyed his view. She seemed gentle, almost like a saint sent to remind him light can exist along with darkness he’s been shrouded in.

Disgruntled, she sat up and huffed. She wanted to wake up at the same time as he did. One, she wanted to see his reaction and laugh, two, she really wanted to discuss the kiss from before. Then again, she just wanted to see the general at his most vulnerable state – waking up disheveled, just like any human would. His perfectly styled hair unnerved her and she couldn’t help but wonder if Genya used her power on it because she had never once seen a hair out of place, not even after their kiss.

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried to catch him alone. Unfortunately, she barely saw her husband at all. A fleeting glance of acknowledgement was all she received as they passed each other in the hall, both surrounded by others.

At night, she laid awake in hopes of speaking to him before bed. The faint candlelight on the bedside table kept the darkness away, relieving her fear. Would he laugh at her if she admitted to it? After all, isn’t he the one who can create darkness out of thin air? Perhaps he’d shroud her with it and prove he truly is cruel, but she had no way of being sure. He must never know of it and she truly hoped never to see his display of power.

Lost in her thoughts, she blinked and it was morning.

Wide eyed, she sat up and looked to his side. It was unmade, the pillow dented right where his head was and yet she can’t remember hearing him arrive in the night or leave in the morning. She never does.

“Fuck”, she mutters under her breath as she slams a fist in his pillow. Grunting, she buries her face into it, muffling her frustrated scream.

“Are you done?” Genya frowned at her, waiting by the door while Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs into a pillow.

“YOU’VE GOT TO STOP SNEAKING UP ON ME!”

Scoffing, Genya rolled her eyes. “You need to be more perceptive about your surroundings.”

A knock on the door had startled them both, enough for them to both let out a strangled scream. The door opened before either of them gave the permission and once they realized who it was that entered, they didn’t need a reason as to why.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The Darkling grinned at his wife who narrowed her eyes at him immediately.

“Your voice gives me a headache”, Y/N complains.

Squinting at her, the Darkling wondered if a woman could be so infuriating without wielding some mystic power to make her so.

“I believe you agreed to ride with me.”

“Oh”, Genya smirks, “She’ll ride you –“, covering her mouth, Genya giggles as she sees Y/N’s glare is on her, “I meant, with you.”

“I’ve prepared the horses”, he waited for her to respond, to give him reason to dislike her yet she didn’t.

“I will keep my word”, Y/N stood with her formidable gaze on his. She dared not look at his lips for they brought memories and self-loathing she’d rather avoid. After all, what kind of a woman quivers for her enemies touch?

“Wonderful”, he smirks, “I’ll wait for you to dress.”

Remaining in his spot, his hands at his sides, Kirigan raised his eyebrows as both women stared at him.

“Get out”, Y/N waves him off and he clicks his tongue.

“You may not let me touch you, but I can look.”

Angry, she narrowed her eyes at him, “That didn’t stop you from pinning me to a door.”

Genya’s eyes widen, pressing her lips to stop herself from commenting on their little exchange.

Shrugging, he stepped closer. His eyes raked over her body, the nightgown leaving little to imagination. “You didn’t seem to protest”, he leans in, “Especially since you proved you could easily escape me.”

Swallowing thickly, she exhaled through her nose. She couldn’t argue with that, now could she? If she wished, she could have forced him to unhand her. She could have fought him, but she didn’t. She may have been startled when he kissed her but she barely tried to push him away and still, when she had the option to back away, she was the one leaning in for a kiss when he lifted her onto the table. He played a game with her and she lost that day and now he gets to be smug about it.

“As your husband, I promise to protect you from all others. If anyone harms you, they’ll part with their life. For that alone, I deserve an occasional view.”

Winking, he takes a step back and sends a smile in Genya’s direction before turning on his heel and walking out.

“YOU KISSED HIM?!”

Groaning, Y/N throws her head back, “Sort of. It’s more like he kissed me and I didn’t fight him on it.”

“So, does this mean you like him?” Wiggling her eyebrows, Genya squealed in excitement. “Are you bringing him on this plan of yours?”

Holding out her hand, Y/N shook her head, “No, no and no. I don’t trust him one bit and he isn’t exactly a man who’d go along with it.” Exhaling loudly, Y/N decided, “He must be removed along with the emperor.”

When she walked outside, Y/N breath was caught in her throat. The sight of the general on a horse truly felt like a fabrication. Never had she seen a man as majestic as him, as proud and aggravatingly cocky all at once. With his black kefta and the cape, he rode on a black stallion as if he were a mere extension of his will.

She wasted no more time in mounting her white mare, chasing after the Darkling who seemed to only then notice he’s not alone.

Her horse was not above average size, but she was alert and slender-limbed. Her muscles and good nature allowed Y/N to keep up a fairly good pace, never too far behind the black stallion her husband rode. The stallion was clearly riled up, competitive by nature. Anyone else on its back would be a great danger for the rider, but he clearly trusted Kirigan.

The wind blew her hair back and the cold was rather unforgiving on her skin. Passing him narrowly once they entered the woods, she didn’t look back. Instead, she gripped the reigns tighter and continued to breathe as the cold air made her mouth dry and throat scratchy.

Feeling his gaze on her, she relents, looking back at him.

“Where’s your coat?!” He shouted after her and only then did she realize it must have fallen off. Genya made it pretty for a romantic ride, not quite as practical for a race. But that’s not what truly made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. The hint of worry laced in the words of an angry general is what betrayed him and she couldn’t help but wonder – what if it’s more than just lust for him?

“It was slowing me down”, she couldn’t suppress a victorious smile just as he couldn’t suppress an annoyed grunt. Yet they both slowed down, neither of them speaking as they turned around and headed straight to the palace.

“You’re an avid rider.” The general conceded as he dismounted. Before she could blink, he was beside her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her of the horse and effectively stole her breath away.

The rosy colored cheeks left him defenseless as he stared at her too, a little too intently for it to be innocent. Taking her hands in his, he brought them up to his mouth, blowing at them. She kept her gaze at him, undoubtedly in shock as her cold hands started to tingle with the warmth of his breath.

“I’ll have to leave for a few days”, he speaks before she has a chance. “You’ll have the bed all to yourself.”

“Don’t I have to come? If it concerns my peo –“, she began, but he silenced her.

“It’s got nothing to do with the army. I’m merely doing an errand for the emperor.”

Looking at her hands still in his, she pursed her lips. “Doesn’t he have enough servants to do his bidding?”

A breathless chuckle escapes him, “Why? Will you miss me?”

Rolling her eyes, she snorts, “Why? Do you fancy yourself as someone of importance?”

He looked at her like she's the Sun, angrily squinting at every second she spent in his presence. He never looked at her other than in frustration. At least she thought so. It’s how he looked at her a month ago when they first met on a field stained with Druskelle blood. He stood there, alone and victorious as she stepped over the bodies after arriving on this side of the fold with a Sandskiff.

All of their conversations were arguments – she’d narrow her eyes and he’s squint at her, throwing jabs at each other every chance they get, but this felt different. Something changed after the wedding and she wasn’t entirely sure what.

Achingly aware of their closeness, she couldn’t help but ask. "What is this between us?"

Pausing, he looked at her with wonder. If he could put it to words, it wouldn’t make any sense. His mind could hardly fathom what exactly she meant to him other than being a nuisance, but he didn’t exactly hate her as he believed at first when he admittedly hoped she’d find herself eaten by Volcra while crossing the Shadow fold. What he hated was not having a choice. He hated how arrogant she is and how little respect she has for her superiors. He especially hated her mortality, her species and all the atrocities they’ve committed against him and his kind.

He didn’t love her, that he was sure of. He couldn’t possibly care for her either. Lust, winning this game, feeding his ego by having Zlatan’s daughter at his feet is what he longed for. So no, he didn’t love her, but a part of him feared he might love her in time. For the first time in a very, very long time, the Darkling had a fear and it carried her name.

Perhaps that’s why he reacted the way he did when she asked him if there is something between them.

"Nothing." He grabbed the back of her neck, his lips pressing against hers hard.

He was right, she realized. There was nothing between them, nothing between their lips, not even air.

Pulling away, he smirks as she inhales sharply.

"Did you feel a connection?" He looks her in the eye, his lips set in a firm line.

"Yes", she whispers shakily.

His eyes harden as an ache in his chest reminds him of his fear. Someone like him must give up anything he could possibly love for the loss and disappointment are inevitable. She’s mortal, an enemy behind his borders he can never trust. So he will shut his heart out. Love is not an option for the Darkling, he reminds himself. The last time he allowed himself to love was also the day his heart turned to stone. So, he will not love her and she will not love him. He will destroy that possibility, cut any ties that bind them. Lust is the only thing he will let fester.

Leaning in, his lips brush hers softly as he whispers against them, "That's why you're a fool." Stepping back, he heard her gulp. “The connection you feel is lust, that’s all we have and it’s all we will ever have. Accept it.”

“Is that true or are you just afraid?!” Her voice wavers and she instinctively steps toward him, asserting dominance she felt was lost.

“General”, Ivan calls out, just in case Kirigan needed an excuse to leave.

“Afraid?” The Darkling chuckles dryly, averting his gaze to Ivan who waited for him at the entrance. “I’m not afraid of anything”, he remarks as his eyes lock on her lips again, “Certainly not of my wife.”

As he stepped back, the Darkling caught the strangest look in her eyes. It looked like clarity, total and complete sobriety from the ecstasy his presence gave her. She stood proud, despite the self-loathing in her previously warm eyes that slowly turned them back to the ice she held when she first laid her eyes on him.

=============================

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart​

Part 5  

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #shadow and bone #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #the darkling au #the darkling fanfiction #the Darkling fic

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels

A/n this literally poureddd from me, might be bad bc recently i’ve hated everything i’ve written (my drafts are full lol)

--

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairing: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x psychic! sunshine-y! reader

Warning: mentions of sexual harassment, slight cursing, near death experience 

--

Enjoy it, because it doesn’t last. That’s what the older girls whisper, mock casualness attempting to disguise bitter undertones as I walk past them. They say this, sharp nails ready to be covered in blood as red as their lipstick, because the pile of gifts from my ‘admirers’ keep coming. Circus hands keep approaching the long vanity in the dressing room tent, tapping me on the shoulder politely to shove cards and bouquets of flowers in my lap. They don’t understand that the praise isn’t because the patrons of our performances find me more beautiful--they’re desperate for my favor. They’re desperate to know their future.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the pageantry of it all has not yet grown old to me. My hair is still in the process of being styled, my stage makeup is half done, and I am not yet coated in that golden shimmer Senia always dusts across my cheeks and shoulders. But I am more enhanced than I normally am, eyes made bright by thick coats of mascara, cupid's bow made prominent by ruby lipstick. The lip look is more daring than I’ve been before, but there can’t be much harm in change. Not when half the women here keep looking at me like I’m the saint of virginity. 

It’s not my fault that the Ringmaster thought an angelic aesthetic would work best for the fortune teller who walks around before the show, reading palms so that people can have their pockets picked. It’s not my fault people want an angel to take the stage and call people down from the audience to get a detailed reading around the crowded circus tent. I don’t pick the costumes, and while I acknowledge that mine shows the least amount of skin, the Ringmaster found a way to dress me as suggestively as possible without ruining the illusion of innocence. 

At least the flowing tulle wings that are stitched into the back of my costume are beautiful. It’s easier when I enjoy the good. 

“Y/n!” The familiar call of Senia. I turn my head, beaming. “You’re a vision, and all of those jealous girls--you can tell them to take their wrinkling faces and--” 

“Seria.” For someone so much like a mother, she often needs to be reminded that not everything needs an aggressive rebuttal. “Think about it from their perspectives--their entire existence is dependent on how sellable they are, how attractive they are to men who only want to use them. If that makes them mad at me because they feel like my youth and novelty is taking from them, then that’s okay.” She raises a fine eyebrow. “I can take a few mean words.” 

Seria purses her lips. “Okay, but I’m just as old and tired and you don’t see me trying to poison you.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“Look, it's our very own saint.” I roll my eyes, Via’s shrill voice piercing through me like an annoying papercut. “And in such a scandalous lip color--has the Ringmaster finally taken you to the ivory tent?” 

Ivory tent. It’s been mentioned to me before and always in jest. “Where he takes me is none of your business, if not being the favorite hurts you so badly ju--” 

She laughs, the sound is pure vile. “Being the favorite is the worst thing you could be in a place like this. You’re shiny and new and soon you’ll be as used as the rest of us--Seria’s use is waning, what happened to her today is proof of that. Soon you’ll have no one to protect you.” 

When she looks at me I see more pain than hatred. “I think we’d get along better if I had it in me to hate you.” 

She raises an eyebrow before shaking a cigarette from a small box into her palm. “You’ll get there, princess.” 

The nickname leaves me burning. There’s nothing more consuming than fire. “You better pray to the real Saints I don’t.” 

via laughs, lifting the cigarette to her lips and lighting it with her abilities. She walks away, turning my threat into that of a child’s. 

“She’s right on two accounts.” Seria hums, “The Ringmaster will kill you if you wear that lipstick and Ketterdam turns people like you into people like me. We could save up, pay off your indenture--get you out.” 

Seria doesn’t need to make sacrifices like that. Not for me. Besides, there’s no leaving Ketterdam for me. Not anymore. “Being like you wouldn’t be a bad thing.” I scratch my arm, see through material wrinkling as a result. “And I can’t--I can’t just leave. I’m a psychic, no Grisha can see the future. I need the facelessness of Ketterdam.” Her lips thin in protest. “And don’t think I didn’t hear what she said about you--what happened to your foot, and what’s in the ivory tent? People keep saying it, whispering it like there’s--” 

“That tent is nothing that will ever concern you. I’ve given you my guidance, and the one thing I ask is that you never ask or go to the ivory tent.” 

I swallow once, the intensity in her eyes leaving me raw. “What if he tells me to?” 

“He won’t.” Seria breathes. “He doesn’t like that for you.” 

This isn’t an argument I can have now, not with two minutes until the show starts. “And your foot?” 

She shrugs, holding up a bandaged ankle. “You get older, your ligaments like the tightrope walk less and less. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re not tightrope walking like that--” 

“Yes, I am. The Ringmaster doesn’t know and he can’t--if I start giving him performance trouble--you don’t know what happens to the girls who can’t pay off their indenture by performing.” 

I swallow once. “You’ll be careful?” 

“Always,” she grins, “Besides--one day you’ll know enough about tightrope walking to help me on days like this.” 

The last time I trained on the mini-tightrope had proven me to be a disappointment. Still, I smile at her softly. I open my mouth to respond, but a quick tap to my shoulder silences me. 

“Miss,” a circus hand I recognize begins.

I smile politely. “Please leave any gifts on my vanity--” 

“It’s not a gift,” he mumbles, voice taut, “You have visitors.” 

Something solid pushes itself into my chest, wedging itself between my lungs. Have they found me? “I-I don’t take visitors. Not before shows, if someone wants a private reading they’re to go to my tent at the front--” 

“We’re not here for readings or any of the other lies you sell.” 

...Surprising. I let my gaze move from the face of the circus hand and towards the individuals behind him. A man, tall and dressed in business attire--hat and all. His face is all sharp angles and his eyes are emotionless. His leather-gloved hands grip the head of an intricate cane. Next to him is another tall man, dressed a little more casually, with dark curls. Lastly, there’s a girl, with oil-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. 

“Then what are you here for?” 

Seria, never one to leave me unattended around strange men, takes a step in front of me. “I know who you are, Dirtyhands, and I know there’s no business you could find with her.” 

What? Dirtyhands? Can people in Ketterdam ever just be normal? 

“I wouldn’t speak so certainly.” I don’t like the way his eyes narrow at Seria or the way his grip on the cane tightens. 

Thoughtlessly, I stick a hand between them, forcing Seria back slightly. “I apologize, she’s protective--always assuming the worst in people. Though considering she called you ‘Dirtyhands’, maybe that’s what you want.” 

Ugh. All I do is ramble when I most definitely shouldn’t. “Want what?” 

Eyebrows drawing together, I force myself to hold his gaze. “For people to assume the worst.” 

The response seems to confuse him. That’s okay--I’ll take anything over aggressive. “The only people I want to assume the worst are those I want to be right.” 

Okay. Dramatic was a fair assumption. 

“Seria.” Oh no. I know that voice. I know that voice too well. “They tell me you're injured.”

Seria stiffens, as does every performer when he addresses them. “Not too injured to perform, sir.” 

The Ringmaster sneers. “I can’t risk you falling and embarrassing me. Perhaps tonight you’ll make your money by spending the entire show in the ivory tent.” 

The way she hardens wrenches my gut. I press my hands to avoid reaching out for her. “I can do the tightrope.” The Ringmaster’s gaze shifts towards me. “I can do it--and I can do it well and I’ll give the profit to Seria.”

He tilts his chin, regarding me in a way a woman should never be regarded. He’s a predator and I’m a lamb that’s lost its way. Still, I hold his gaze. I don’t flinch, even when he moves to brush his knuckles along my cheek. His touch is acid. Pure, burning acid. “The wings I placed on your back are decorative.”

“I don’t need them.” Total bullshit. 

“Hm,” he breathes, letting the smell of alcohol fill the space between us, “I’ll allow it.” The Ringmaster drops his hand to his side. “Wipe that lipstick off your face before someone mistakes you for one of these common whores.” 

How I don’t throw up at the sight of him is a miracle in itself. By some small mercy, he turns and walks away before I have to respond. 

“You’re an idiot--you know you’re not ready for the tightrope.” 

“There’s a net,” I try to keep my voice light, dismissive. She remains tense. “Seria, I had to.” 

“No, you could have--” 

“It’s not fair that you’re always a shield for me. When the opportunity to shield you for once comes, I’ll take it.” Turning before she can protest, I try to walk forward. The stranger places his cane where I intend to walk, intentionally warning me that he decides when our conversation is over. Unfortunately, I used up all my patience with the Ringmaster. “130 kruge.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the estimated amount I’ll make tonight, unless I’m late and excluded from the show. Either make up the deficit you’ll be costing me or let me go.” 

His eyebrows draw together, shifting his expression from neutrally calloused to something much darker. “Kaz.” This comes from the girl. She takes a step forward. “Look one step ahead.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Everyone thinks you’re not supposed to look down, but looking up is just as impractical.” She pauses, expression strangely mesmerized, “Look one step ahead--not at your feet.” 

My genuine smile shocks me. “Thank you.” 

“I should be thanking you, Sankta y/n.” Her head bows, hands held together as if in prayer. 

Oh. She’s one of the religious that believes me an actual Saint. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if I was a Saint I’d be able to help people.” No matter what I do, no matter how much blood I offer, I can never help people. “And as you’ve seen--I can’t.” 

--

The crowd’s roaring is a different world to me. On the platform, feet away from the other wooden structure acting as solid ground, everything is different. I am now in a world where the only thing to believe in is a taut rope. The net is beneath me. I’ve seen it--I’ve checked it. 

“And for our grand finale!” The Ringmaster calls, voice billowing over an excited crowd. “Our very own angel defies death!” 

An odd way to phrase the tightrope walk. It’s never called ‘defying death’.  I had been surprised when I was told that tonight the tightrope walk would be the grand finale--I assumed it was because it featured me. I’m always the finale now. I try to move my foot off the platform but it’s planted firmly. No. I need to see Seria--I need to see who I’m doing this for. I force my gaze to the ground, panic rising in my chest. 

Instead of Seria, I see Via--her smirk apparent even from here. Spite’s a decent motivator. My foot descends off the platform, touching the tightrope cautiously. And then I move my other foot. All of me is now on this damn rope. I hadn’t been unforgivably horrible during practice, but I hadn’t been graceful either. 

Don’t look down, don’t look up--only look one step ahead. One step ahead--one step at a time. Balance. I take another step. The room is so silent there’s no doubt in my mind the sound of my bones cracking would be heard from the back row. But there’s the net. There’s always the net. I take a second step. And then a third--eyes focused on only one step ahead. 

And then the phantom of flame comes to claim me. Fire. The world around me is burning. Damning the consequences, I let my gaze fall to the world beneath me. The net--the Ringmaster had an Inferni light the net on fire. Via--that explains the look. 

I can’t fall--the guilt would kill Seria. 

Panic twists my stomach as I continue forward. One step ahead. One step ahead--the flames lick upwards, promising pain and grief all over again. One step ahead. One step--that’s all there is to it. The warmth of the fire calls to me. Burning. Burning--and one more step. This isn’t forever. This isn’t permanent--either way this will soon be over. 

There’s no miracle for me. No good grace, no wings that would let me save myself. There is only balance. 

One step ahead. And then another step. And then I see the other wooden platform. Thank the Saints. I grip the ladder of the platform as quickly as possible. The cheers mean nothing to me as I scurry down the ladder. 

I feel a sharp breeze, a Grisha putting out the flames. Anger pools in my chest as I move towards the exit of the tent. 

“Y/n.” No. Not him again. That man--Kaz, Dirtyhands, whoever he is--needs to go away. “Y/n.” I turn sharply, anger pulsing through me. My expression must be feral, because he stalls. “They didn’t tell you that they were going to burn the net.” 

The fact that he can tell--that he can see my panic and how close I came to death twists my anger into something more fragile. “No.” My posture straightens. “I need to go now, I do--I do readings after shows.”

“Y/n.” He repeats, firmer. 

My nails dig into my palms. “I’m going--” 

“I know what you are.” 

Tensing, my breathing stalls. “What?”

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kazz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #soc imagine #six of crows imagine #my works #series #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #sab netflix #grishaverse imagine

[gohyuck]

the purge: society

pairing: firefighter!san x reader

genre: purge au, angst, some fluff

warnings: mentions of violence (especially violence against cops), murder, blood, injury, weapons (guns, knives, metal baseball bats)

word count: 2.4k

note: this was originally meant to be a drabble and it’s still pretty short so i didn’t get to elaborate on the characters but honestly maybe i’ll explore a purge universe with ateez someday because this was fun (i’ve never watched any of the movies though so i’ll have to get on that)

“What the fuck?” 

He hadn’t expected to see anyone left alive on this street.

“Shut up and get down,” You hiss, reaching your good arm up to grab onto the man’s jacket collar before unceremoniously pulling him towards you. He stumbles, falling gracelessly onto you. A scream bubbles up in your throat as he accidentally puts pressure onto your already free-bleeding bicep, but you get ahold of yourself just in time, only letting the quietest of wounded moans escape you. 

“You’re the first person that hasn’t tried to kill me before talking to me all night - oh, shit,” The stranger trails off, swearing when you effectively stop him from speaking further by placing your switchblade right under his skin. It’s only then that he even pauses to take you in: your back is up by the police car door, sure, and your left arm has a massive gash in it, but you’re armed. There’s a pistol laying idly in your lap, kept company by a metal baseball bat. 

Not to mention, the knife at his neck. 

“What the hell are you doing, walking around unarmed and with a first aid kit? Also, how the hell are you unarmed and with just a first aid kit? What the fuck?” You let the questions out in a rapidfire fashion, and he can’t help but clock the slight rasp in your voice. It’s easier to recognize than the pained wheeze you’re trying very, very hard to suppress, but neither escape him. He’s trained to notice the little things, anyways. 

“You need to bandage that shit up,” The man ignores your questions, moving his head just enough to miss your blade but also enough to be able to look you in the eyes. “How long has it been bleeding?”

“That’s none of your business,” You grit out. “Answer my questions or I’ll kill you right here and now.”

“If I answer yours, will you answer mine?” For some reason, he doesn’t seem to be panicking just yet. His gaze is sincere, but it’s too solid to be that of a bona fide idiot. You suck in a breath of air. Threatening him would be so much easier if he didn’t seem like a nice guy. It’s hard enough to live through the night, you don’t need guilt on your hands, and you know you’re going to feel guilty when you kill him. And you will kill him.

You need that first aid kit. You’ll do anything for it.

Anything, starting off with lying. 

“Sure,” You reply, steeling yourself for any sudden movements he might make now that you’re faking amicability. Maybe he’ll believe you to be vulnerable and try for your pistol or your bat, or maybe he’ll be properly cruel and finish off your arm. You don’t want to think about it. He lets out a sigh of relief, and you can’t help but wonder if you’ve actually affected him after all. “Now speak.”

“Not unarmed, there’s a police-issue pistol in my jacket and a tactical knife in my jeans. I’m not totally nuts. First aid kit’s for my buddy, though, I’ll be real, you need it way more than him.” There’s something resembling concern in his expression as his eyes flit between your torn arm and your face, but that barely interests you. You haven’t truly registered anything after ‘police-issue’.

You lean in, pressing the edge of your knife against the skin directly above his adam’s apple. For the first time since you’d cornered him, your mystery purger’s breath hitches. His eyebrows draw together in confusion. It’s no matter. You no longer regret the fact that you’ll have to tear his jugular out yourself. 

“You’re a hog, huh,” You stare him down, any sympathy you might’ve had gone. For a moment, it seems as if he has no concept of what you’re saying. A second passes, though, and his gaze clears. 

“Firefighter,” He responds, though the word is garbled due to him attempting to keep his movements to a minimum. You pull back slightly, very slightly, to let him explain. “I… found a dead cop, jacked his pistol. I’ll show you my ID, if you want.” 

“Let me see it.” You nod your head at him as if giving him permission to live a little longer, though you both know full well that identity theft and identity fabrication are legal, too. Might as well see how much effort he puts into a fake. The man waits until you pull back just a bit more, enough to let him slowly reach his hand into his back pocket before producing a lanyard. 

You grab it out of his grip with your hurt arm, not willing to move your knife too far away from his throat. You simply don’t have a good enough read on - you glance down - San Choi, ACT Firefighter, Employee ID: 018-102-4 to allow yourself any leeway with him. 

His gently smiling face stares up at you from the plastic card, protected only by a clear sleeve connected to a red lanyard. San’s photo has black hair and an undercut, styled so his forehead is on display. A pair of dimples makes a guest appearance, and, overall, he seems like a genuinely sweet guy. The ID looks real, too, so maybe you aren’t totally fucked. 

The San under your knife has bleach blond hair that almost falls over his eyes, though you suppose you can’t blame him for skipping out on the hair product tonight. He seems slightly tanner than his photo, his skin beautiful even now as dust from the aftermath of the explosion starts to settle against it. 

Right. The explosion. 

Recalling the events leading up to you meeting San forces you to remember that you have a gaping, bloody gash in your left arm. You’re honestly lucky to be alive, having ducked and used the car you’re against for cover from flying debris after a building down the block had exploded. You’d just finished driving your knife into a cop’s side - third cop of the night, eighth of your career as a purge cop killer - to make sure that he was dead when you’d heard the bomb go off, and you’d dropped before even thinking about it. Something had hit your arm on the way down, and when the adrenaline had finally left your system, you’d taken note of your blood-soaked sleeve. 

You’d closed the car door after that, sealing your third murder of the night in the vehicle just so you could lean up against the door. It had been 6:31 in the morning then, and you had figured that someone would come by and kill you in the last moments before legality ensued again. You’d assumed that you’d fight, of course you would, but your arm being totally fucked definitely put a damper on your belief in your ability to overcome anyone or anything else. 

Instead of the disgruntled, trigger-happy purger you’d expected to eventually find, though, you’d been found by San Choi. San Choi, who’s currently staring at your wounded arm like it’s grown eyes and can stare back. 

“Come on, let me fix it up,” He pleads, lifting the kit up with the hand that’s farther from you. “You might not trust me, or whatever, but the purge is about to end as it is. I have a paramedic friend, Seonghwa, who’s taught me the basics of -”

“Shut the fuck up.” You tell him, though you’re quickly losing your bite. He obeys regardless. God, your arm really, really fucking hurts. Before pulling your knife back, you check the watch on your wrist. 6:47. Stay alive for 13 more minutes, 780 more seconds. You’ll be fine. You take the shakiest breath you’ve ever taken. 

You pull your knife away from him. 

Nothing happens. 

“I’m going to use an alcohol free wipe and then wrap gauze around your arm, okay? You’ll just have to hold out until we can get you to a working hospital after that,” San speaks as if he’s talking to a child, or a scared animal, and you can’t blame him. He doesn’t seem like a purger, but you technically are one. You wouldn’t put it past yourself to attack on a whim if you were him. He, very slowly and with his hands in your full view at all times, opens the kit and pulls out the requisite materials. 

“Gonna need you to rip your sleeve off above the cut.” He continues, leaning back as you bring your knife up to your clothes and slit the cloth right above your wound. You tear the remainder of the sleeve off your arm before throwing it behind you somewhere. San gently grabs ahold of your elbow - his palm is calloused in a way that tells you he lifts regularly, and you’re sure of this as he discards his jacket and you watch the muscles ripple in his arms under his thin black shirt - and places the wipe against your cut. 

Your reaction is instantaneous: now that you’re completely past the adrenaline stage, the feeling of something, anything against the gash has you reeling to cry out. Before you can even process that you’ve made a sound, a hand presses hard against the back of your head, shoving your mouth against San’s. 

He doesn’t know how else to shut you up. 

His lips are chapped, but the sensation of being kissed so suddenly jars you out of your pain. San attempts to pull back, and you can already feel the apologetic wince he’s about to give you, but he brushes over your wound with the wipe again and your pain doubles back. It’s you that pulls him in this time, pressing your lips to his sloppily but forcefully as if it’ll alleviate the burn in your arm. 

Kissing him only slightly muffles you at best, but you no longer care. The purge isn’t over yet. You could both die at any second. Hell, San could kill you at any second. His hand moves from the back of your head to cup your face as he leans in towards you to deepen the kiss. His lips are chapped, yes, but they’re soft. He tastes like mint and copper: there’s a cut in his lower lip. You don’t mind. 

San pulls away for a moment, but only does so to grab the gauze from the kit. Once he’s wrapped it around your arm once, twice, thrice, he leans back in and your mouth accepts his own eagerly, your other hand coming up to drape over his shoulder. Neither of you know why you’re doing this, kissing a stranger with such fervor as one of you bandages the other up, but you both know that there’s really nothing else to do. 

It’s only after he finishes taping you up that the two of you pull away fully. His eyes are still just as kind as you’d thought them to be at first, though his lips are far more swollen than they’d been mere minutes prior. You admire your handiwork, eyes tracing his features as he admires his own, thumb very, very gently running over your gauze. Both of you raise your heads to smile sheepishly at each other at the exact same time.

Three things happen in rapid succession. 

“Good?” San’s voice is barely above a whisper, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Just as you’re about to speak - 

“San!” A voice, low and hoarse, interrupts you, and you look up to see the barrel of a gun pointed directly at the space between your eyes. You’re frozen in place for a split second before you start reaching for your own pistol. Your fingers brush the grip when - 

The clock strikes seven, and sirens go off all around you, signalling the end of the purge. 

The gun is out of your face. Your hand moves off of your own.

“San,” The owner of the gun pays you no mind, suddenly, his entire focus on San. The gun-owner reaches a hand out, and the firefighter beside you takes it, allowing himself to get pulled up to his feet. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, Yunho, I’m totally good,” San responds, giving the taller man a cat-like grin of reassurance. Yunho’s got a fireman’s helmet on, and you suppose it’s good as protection. He must be a fellow firefighter, then. He’s tall, and though he’d seemed nothing short of severe mere moments ago, he seems softer, kinder now that the purge is over. The transformation is enough to give you whiplash. His right hand is wrapped in bandages, and this catches San’s sight at the same time it catches your own. “What the hell happened to you, though?” 

“That policeman you killed had buddies,” Yunho replies with ease, but you don’t miss San’s wince. Seems like he hadn’t just happened upon that police-issue pistol. You can’t help the small grin that fights to make its way across your face. “They tried to get into the station, we had to fortify ourselves. We’re mostly fine, just that Woo’s lost a finger. He’ll live once he stops whining about it. We were mostly worried about you, honestly, taking fucking forever just to find a first aid kit. Who’s this?”

Yunho moves the topic of conversation over to you so naturally that you barely even realize what has happened before San is reaching a hand out to you to pull you up to a standing position. You grab ahold of your pistol, though you shove the bat off your lap before allowing yourself to be brought up. Without thinking, you practically plaster yourself to San’s side. Now that he’s for sure what he told you he was, and now that you’re no longer in danger of dying, you can’t help but feel inexplicably connected to him even though neither of you know each other. San wraps an arm around your waist naturally, and neither of you miss Yunho’s eyebrow raise. Neither of you acknowledge it, either. 

“This?” San asks rhetorically, turning his head slightly to look at you. He’s smiling again, and you find that you want to see it more often. Maybe you’re experiencing the onset of delirium. You hope not. “This is…” 

“(Name),” You reply, being honest. There’s no need for you to lie. Besides, you owe San answers, right? You stick your uninjured arm out, letting Yunho shake your hand. San’s grip tightens around your waist. 

“I’m (Name).”

#first #five #tags #dont #work #san #san fluff #san angst #ateez san #choi san #ateez angst #ateez fluff #san x reader #choi san x reader #san smut

[melliflovs]

Domain Expansion - Gojo x Reader

Word Count: 2,093

Warnings: voyeurism, degradation, oral male receiving

Summary: Gojo gets too impatient to make it home and has his way with you.

A/N: This has been bouncing around in my head for like two days after getting the idea from a TikTok, I don't know if it's been done yet

"Gojo," You giggled pushing his hand off your thigh. "We're in public." The hideous bright orange vinyl seats clung to your bare legs as he subtly pushed your skirt up under the wooden table. You were tempted to indulge him, his fingers slowly sliding back up to the inside of your thighs. Right before you shifted to give him easier access, two of your students slid into the booth across you. Clearing your throat you quickly closed your legs, his hand slowly retreating.

Yuji placed a basket of fries in the center of the table, "Thanks" You grinned picking one up and eating it. "So, boys let's talk fingers." Both you and Gojo were pro keeping Itadori alive for the time being, possibly the only ones in the curse killing world who were. Over the past week, you and Gojo had curated a list of where you could potentially locate Sukuna's fingers - the past week may or may not have also included you being bent over the desk in between teaching lessons. It wasn't a secret that the two of you were together but you did try to keep things discreet.

You pulled out the list of finger locations, giving one to both students with a grin, "This is where you should be able to find them. I-" You were cut off by the feeling of Gojo's hand returning, making quick work of opening your legs back up and sliding his fingers to the inside of your thighs. He didn't move for a moment after that, letting you decide what you want.

"Boys, could you guys order me a soda really quick?" You asked a sweet smile on your face. "How about a burger too" Gojo added, "Extra cheese."

The two students stood up in unison, uttering "Yes sensei" under their breaths as they went. You watched as they approached the register, opening their mouths to talk to the waitress. Turning back to your boyfriend you subtly hiked up your skirt, your thin black lace panties exposed to his eyes only. His eyes widened behind his glasses. He leaned in closer to you, his voice coming out in a low purr, "Wear those just for me? What a good girl."

One of his arms wrapped around you, drawing small circles on your shoulder. "Do you know what I'd do to you if they weren't with us? I'd fuck you on his table if I could. In front of everyone here."

A blush spread across your face, you felt as if you would melt into the floor from embarrassment. You were ashamed of how well his words were working. Your reaction only seemed to spur him on further. "I bet you like the idea of being bent over and fucked until you can't think anymore while everyone watches."

You tried to clench your thighs together but he held them open with one hand, "Tsk, tsk, too late for that." Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his fingertip run up and down your clothed folds. His breath was hot on your neck as he leaned down again.

"So wet already? I guess it does get you off." Smirking he moved your panties aside, "I'll rip them off later." Slowly he trailed his finger up to your clit circling it before dipping back down towards your entrance, slowly entering you with a single digit.

"W-What if they notice." You stuttered out as he began pumping, his palm grinding against your clit.

"What if they do?"

Your eyes got wide, "Gojo we can't-"

He tilted your head towards his, kissing you softly for a moment before pulling away. Grabbing your hand he pulled you out of the booth and taking you out the back exit while your students cluelessly waited patiently for the food.

When you exited the door you found yourselves in an empty alley, Satoru wasted no time in pushing you up against the brick wall. He kissed you slowly now that he had you to himself. His tongue invaded your mouth with ease as wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tugging lightly on his white hair. He let out a low moan, grinding into you lightly. His bulge pressed against you, the weight of it reminding you how badly you wanted to feel it in your hands.

Switching positions you pushed Gojo against the wall, never breaking eye contact as you sunk to your knees. You toyed with the button on his pants, the bulge straining the material. Slowly you leaned forward and nuzzled your nose against it, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. His hand came down, stroking your hair and cheek before his thumb brushed over your lip.

You didn't hesitate in opening your mouth for him as he slipped his finger in. You sucked it immediately. Gojo looked down at you, lust clouding his eyes as your tongue swirled around his digit. You began to unbutton his pants, his finger was fun but it wouldn't satisfy like other things could. You released his finger with a pop as you pulled down his pants, his cock springing out eagerly.

Taking your time you slowly stroked him, tracing his veins with your fingers. You felt his hand lace through your hair, holding it back for you. You tilted it up, look deeply into his eyes as you licked a stripe from base to tip, swirling around his light pink head.

He grinned down at you, "Just like that, baby. Just how I like it." You leisurely worked your mouth down around his cock, taking your time as you took him. Gojo was beginning to grow impatient, his hips bucking lightly into your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You choked for a second, breathing deeply through your nose as tears pricked at your eyes. "Dirty whore." He growled, "Look so pretty wrapped around my cock like that"

His words made your head feel light and the heat between your legs swell. His hand still holding your hair back began to guide you up and down on him, you hummed around his length the vibrations sending sparks through Gojo as he moaned your name quietly.

Such a powerful person falling apart just from the warmth of your mouth.

You reached a hand down to rub yourself, the palm of your hand giving you temporary release as the feeling grew and closing your eyes blissfully. Getting lost in the feeling your movements stalled, momentarily focusing on your own pleasure. Gojo used his hand to pull himself from your mouth, watching you get lost in your approaching high. Without warning he crouched down in front of you, long legs surrounding you on either side. Swiftly he grabbed your hand, halting your finish. Your eyes snapped open to be met with his.

"Gojo, please." You whined, trying to take your hand out of his grasp.

"Only I can make you cum right now. Even if it is in this disgusting alley and you're on your hands and knees on the fucking ground." You nodded dumbly at him, surprised by his words, and incredibly turned on. "That's my good girl." He said, leaning forward and kissing you softly on the lips, his own hand finding his way down to the bottom of your skirt. Effortlessly his fingers slipped into your panties and began thumbing at your clit. Sparks flew through your body as the previous flame was reignited.

"Gojo." You moaned loudly, your body happy to have his hands on it. You reacted in ways you couldn't even comprehend when he touched you. You said his name again, even louder than the last time.

"Oi." He whispered, leaning towards your ear, "Need to be quieter, only I get to see you like this. No one else can hear you like this-" He was cut off by laughter at the other end of the alley by the street. A group of three men walked by. They paused for a moment, peering through the darkness. You tensed in Gojo's arms.

His hand brushed over your hair, petting you softly. With a smirk, he whispered in your ear. "Domain expansion."

Suddenly the area around you turned pitch black wind whipping around you and just like that the two of you were surrounded by the void still sitting crouched in front of each other. "Peace and quiet." You smiled, leaning forward and kissing Gojo. Pushing him onto his back you climbed on top of him. His cock was trapped between your stomach and his. Gojo's slender fingers went to your thighs, slowly hiking your skirt up once again like he had in the diner only this time you let him. He slid you forward, your clothed core rubbing over his length.

Simultaneously you both moaned, "Fuck, (y/n). Need you so badly." You lifted yourself up for a second, pulling your panties off, careful not to lose your balance. "Skirt stays on." Gojo smirked, clearly happy with your choice of style this morning. The black tennis skirt was lifted up to your hips as you lowered yourself back on him. Slowly you rubbed your wet folds along his length, you were practically dripping at this point.

Gojo watched in awe as you moved along him. You looked so unbelievably hot in the short skirt, even more so with it bunched up at your hips as you tried to tease him. It was working, don't get him wrong, but it seemed to be working better on yourself. Soft pants and quiet moans leaving your lips as his tip brushed against your clit.

"Please, Satoru." You begged quietly, what you were doing felt fantastic but it wasn't going to push the growing feeling off the edge, and it wouldn't do it for him either. He lifted you once more effortlessly, a strong hand gripping your soft skin as his other grasped his cock. With the distance between the two of you, Gojo rubbed his tip along your soaked folds. Slowly he eased himself inside you. His thick length stretched you out as you pulsed and mewled around him.

Gojo let out a groan as you enveloped him, your heat ready and wanting. He watched as your eyes rolled back from the feeling of finally getting what you needed. Gojo began working his hips, fucking you hard and fast from below. "Fuck, Gojo. F-Feels so good." You stuttered, his cock bumping the deepest parts of you as you yelled out in euphoria. You raked your hands through his messy hair, pulling lightly as he fucked you.

His fast pace made your breasts bounce up and down, his eyes trained on your clothed chest. Your hardened nipples were visible from the thin material of the shirt you wore. Catching you off guard he pulled your shirt up with his hand, exposing your bare chest. Leaning forward he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. He sucked harshly on the supple flesh, marking it for days to come.

Between his hard cock buried inside you and his teeth and tongue lapping at your tits you quickly became a mess, moaning wantonly. You felt the waves of electricity begin to rise as his thrusts grew sloppier and his breathing got more erratic. His mouth never left your chest, latched onto you as you broke, shaking around him and pulling his head in between your breast, pulling at his hair. "Fuck, Gojo. So deep."

You heard him exhale deeply, sputtering as he chased his own release, cumming inside you. He kept thrusting, his cum mixing with your slick as it spilled out of you and onto his thighs. Sweat beaded at both of your foreheads, exhaustion soon approaching. His mouth continued to leave sloppy open mouthed kisses on your chest before dropping your shirt back down and giving you a soft peck on your lips.

You gave him a sleepy grin, "Do you think they noticed we left?" You asked as you slowly pulled yourself off him. Your legs shook slightly as you stood, straightening out your skirt.

Gojo zipped up his pants and smirked at the noticeably wet mark on his pants. "Probably." He said, standing up and walking towards you. Pulling you closer to him, giving you a kiss on your forehead. "I'll handle them later. I hope they took our food to go. Could really use it after that."

For a moment you both stayed in his domain, finding comfort in the void and in each other's arms.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo saturo x reader #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo saturo smut

[thechekhov]

Hi Chekhov! Really enjoying your white diamond au! I had a quick art question: How do you start comissions? I've been improving my drawing skills and thinking about drawing for others after having fun in artfight, but I don't know where to start? How much to charge, how to get paid, etc. Do you have any tips? Hope you're doing well! :)

Alright, since a few people have asked, I’ve decided to put together a few things about how to get started on commissions - what you need, what you should make, and how to keep things organized. 

This will get a little long, so I’ll divide it into 4 main sections:

1) Draw Art - Getting started

2) Get Commissioned - Making a commission sheet, Advertising

3) ??? - Communicating, Setting Limits, Running the Business

4) Profit - Pricing Yourself and Getting Paid

* Disclaimer: I’m an artist, so this How-To will be illustration-focused. I’m sure many of these tips can apply to ANY types of commissions, but I will be focusing on the type I know best. If you are proficient in other types of commissions for other types of art - music commissions, photography, etc - feel free to chime in and leave a comment or make your own tutorial!

1) Draw Art

I think this is probably the most obvious part, but it needs to be said:

Before you start making art for other people, you must first be comfortable making art in general.

I’m not saying your art has to be Disney-quality, or industry-level! Not at all. 

BUT! You must be comfortable creating what you sell. If you try to sell something you have little confidence in, you will stress yourself out and possibly end up losing time AND money.

Don’t shoot for the moon if you haven’t landed on it even once. Sell what you know you’re good at. Your commissions don’t HAVE to include full-body illustrations if you don’t know how to draw feet/solid stances. Limit yourself to what you can do.

Things you need to should probably have before starting commissions:

1. Access to art materials or a fully downloaded art program

DO NOT - Use a free tutorial version that will expire in a month and leave you without a way to draw! If you are having trouble finding a program, try free ones like MediBang Paint Pro. 

2. Free time to complete the amount of commissions you want to take.

DO NOT - Take on or offer commissions if you KNOW you’re going to be overwhelmed with school or personal life for the next 2+ months. Pace yourself, otherwise you’ll burn out, get stressed, and get discouraged.

3. A reliable way to communicate with your customers like a commissions-only email 

DO NOT - Use your friend/family/college email. It’s hard to keep track of things as it is, and creating new emails is easy and free. And keep it professional if you can! Not many people will reach out to dong-wiggles20434 to ask for a design. Ideally, your email should be close to your brand - however you want to brand yourself. Usernames are fine!)

DO NOT - Use Instagram/Twitter/Tumblr to collect commission info unless you are ready to do the organizing yourself. Some people make it work, but in my experience, if you use these SNS sites to communicate with friends and network... you’re going to be losing commission inquiries right and left and accidentally ignoring people. Email is much easier to organize and sort into folders.

4. A portfolio or at least 2-3 pieces of each type of art you’re planning to sell. 

DO NOT - Advertise commissions without having any examples of the art you plan to sell. People will find it difficult to trust you if you can’t even give them a vague idea of what sort of drawing they’ll be getting. 

Disclaimer: These are not hard ‘do not’s. If you have had a different experience, I respect that. I’m simplifying for the sake of streamlining this advice. 

.

2) Get Commissioned

So - you have your art, you have your art program, and you’ve got all the time in the world. That means.... that’s right! It’s time to let the world know you’re taking commissions.

One of the most common ways artists signal to their audience that they can do commissions is by creating a commissions sheet. There are MANY ways to make this - and they range from simple and doodly ones to VERY complex designs. For example, here’s mine! 

There are many ways to organize a commission sheet. At its core, a commission sheet should display the types of art you WANT to be commissioned to make. Let’s go over a few ways they can be done!

#1.... Body Portion Dividers!

This sheet is most common with those who want to capitalize on drawing people and characters. If you want to draw lots of characters, this is a great way to offer several tiers of pricing based on how much of their character your customers want to see. 

#2... Complexity Scale

If you’re open to drawing many things but want to base your pricing off of how complex something is, you can split your tiers into done-ness. This type of commission is popular with those that draw characters AND animals, furries, etc.

#3....  Style and Type

If you’re more on the design side of things, or if you have various niche art styles that you can’t quite lump together, display a variety of your skills alongside each other! It helps if all the ones you have can be organized under a common customer - like those looking to advance their own business and get logos, websites, or mascots made for them!

.

3) ???

You got your first commission... what happens now???

Well, ideally you have the time, tools and motivation to make things happen! Now all you have to do is... sit down and... draw.......

I’m going to say something that may be a little controversial: 

Commissions aren’t fun. 

No, no, hear me out: I have fun doing commissions! I genuinely enjoy drawing characters and coming up with designs. But even with all that said, commissions are, first and foremost: WORK

I’m not saying this to discourage you, I’m saying this to keep things realistic. When I first began commissions, I thought it would be just like any other type of drawing. I would sit down, imagine a thing, draw it... it would be fun! 

But then I realized that I couldn’t just draw what I wanted - another person had an idea in mind and had asked me to do it. I stressed over getting the design correct from descriptions. I stressed over not having the right reference for the pose the commissioner wanted. I stressed over not being able to draw the leg right in the way I had promised I would do. I stressed about billing. I stressed about digital money transfers. It was difficult, and time-consuming, and I did not enjoy it. At all. 

And a part of that is definitely on the commissioner - we, as artists, NEED to demand proper references or descriptions. We, as artists, NEED to limit the amount of changes we’re going to make at the flick of a finger. We NEED to demand clear instructions and set boundaries. That’s also super important. 

But also - don’t be discouraged if you find yourself exhausted drawing your first commission. MANY artists go through this. Adjust your rules, fix up your limits, practice putting your foot down on finicky commissioners who expect you to read their mind! It does get easier, but you have to communicate and put in the effort and act as your own manager AND your own customer service AND your own accountant. That’s what you’re looking at. 

Good limits and boundaries to set: 

Limit the amount of changes a person can ask to make. “I want blue hair.” Next email: “No wait, yeah, make it red.” Next email: “Actually I changed my mind, can I get the blue but like, lighter?” Next email: “No, not that light.” ... At some point, we have to stop. I personally allow 2-3 changes on the final stages of a commission before I start refusing or start asking for extra money.

Demand clear instructions and/or references. If something isn’t described, you have to take artistic liberty and design it, but that’s difficult! And if the customer is not happy with it but can’t tell you more? That’s not your problem - the burden of reference is on THEM. You cannot read their mind, and that’s not your fault.

Get at least half the payment up front! This is a good balance between the ‘pay before art’ and the ‘pay after art’ conundrum that will limit the amount of woes between artist and customer. (I’ll touch upon this a little more in the Profit section.)

Organization:

Where possible, create good habits! Tag your emails and organize your folders. I have a tag on my emails for active and finished commissions. I also keep my emails on Unread until I have time to sit down and properly look at/reply to them.

My Commissions in the folder are also organized chronologically and I mark down which ones are paid and which ones are not.

(I understand not everyone can do this, but if you want to give it a try, it does make things easier in the long run. Again, this advice is just what I have found personally helps.)

One last thing - I do not want to shame ANYONE for taking their time with commissions! Commissions are complex, and they take time and work. You can draw in 8 hours, but some things take research, materials, etc. Some illustrations realistically take up to half a year, or, depending on what’s involved, several years!!

THAT BEING SAID - it’s good manners to be upfront with your customers about how long you expect the commission to take. If you think you’re busy, just say that! Explain that you have a lot going on, and you will probably take (insert time period here).

And if your commissioners are worried, work out a system to keep them updated! I send my commissioners updates when I finish the lineart/flat colors/etc and I try to be clear about how long everything will take. I try to estimate with a +3-5 days buffer to give myself extra time... and recently I’ve been using it. Always say a bigger number than you think you’ll need. 

If someone wants a rushed commission... make them pay more. If ANYONE wants a commission done ‘by the end of the week’ - that’s an automatic rush-job for me because I’m juggling an irl job and several commissions at once. I WILL charge a rush fee and I won’t feel bad about it. 

If someone wants a commission within 24 hours...... Well, they better be paying you 3x your normal amount, or more. And remember - you CAN refuse! It’s perfectly reasonable to say ‘No, sorry, that sort of turnaround time is not realistic for me.’

Food For Thought - Invoicing

Many artists I’ve commissioned in the past have not used Invoicing, but I’ve recently begun to fill out invoices and file them in my Commissions folder just to keep track of things. It’s not necessary until you start getting into the Small Business side of Freelancing, but it’s not a bad idea to get into the habit early in case you might need to do it later for tax purposes. 

Here’s what my Invoice looks like, for example. 

I’ve optimized it to help me remember who, what, and how much is involved! It also contains important info for my customers like where to send the money.

Which brings us to...

.

4) Profit

One of the hardest things for artists is pricing themselves. I’m not going to tell you which way is BEST - there is no BEST way, only the best way for YOU. 

One of the options available to you is pricing by the hour. It includes averaging out how long it takes you to draw a specific type of art (whatever you’re offering as a commission) and multiplying that by an hourly wage you’ve decided on.

When you do this, I stress - do NOT price yourself below minimum wage if you can help it. When you first start out, aim for the $15/hour mark and adjust accordingly. 

Other ways to price your art:

- Per complexity: Portraits vs full body should be scaled based on how difficult you find one vs. the other. You can also easily decide on a price for a sketch and double it for lineart, triple it for full color, etc.

- Per type: Look up for industry prices for website design and logo design. They may surprise you! You don’t have to charge that much, but it helps to keep things in perspective. 

It’s okay to change your prices! Keep your commission sheet image handy so you can update the amounts as you grow. :)

Payment up front or after completion?

Some artist take full payment up front. Some only demand payment after they’ve finished and sent out the piece. I personally think these are both risky for everyone involved. 

I recommend doing at least HALF of the payment BEFORE you start the commission. Calculate your full price and ask for half before you start working on it in earnest, to make sure the person can actually pay you. Then, when they receive the full piece and are satisfied, they can complete the payment. 

I personally work in this structure:

> Someone emails me with their idea/reference

> I send back a rough draft sketch that shows the idea/pose (only takes me 10-20 minutes so not a huge loss if they ghost) and quote them a price

> They can pay the full thing upfront OR pay half

> I finish the commission and send updates when I do the lineart/colors to double check anything so they have multiple chances to spot any errors

> If the person paid only half on completion, I send them a low-res version of the finished thing, they finish up their payment and THEN I send them the full-res version plus any other filetypes/CYMK proofs, etc. 

Many of the people who commission me pay me up front even though I offer they pay half - and I’m really flattered that they trust me that much! Because of that, I feel encouraged to update them frequently and ask for their input as I work, so they have the peace of mind knowing I’m actually doing their commission. 

Great, but how do I get PAID????

There are NUMEROUS ways - these days money is relatively easy to transfer over digital means, and you have a few options. 

Paypal is perhaps one of the oldest digital wallets and is geared towards businesses. By setting up a PayPal and connecting it to your debit card of bank account, you can tunnel a pathway from your online business directly into your hands in a matter of days. 

Paypal also offers Invoicing - you make an invoice, price it and send it to the person’s email and they can pay whatever way they need! (It also allows partial payments.)

Pros: transfers from PayPal to bank account are free, and take a couple of business days. It also has no upper limit to the amount of money you can move in/out each month. It can force refunds due to the nature of its business-oriented payment system.

Cons: Because it’s used by businesses for larger transactions, PayPal may demand a more rigorous proof of your identity. It may also take longer to set up and be harder to get used to. I’ve also heard that they can be a hassle when it comes to closing your account. 

Venmo is another type of digital wallet that acts much like paypal, except for a few key differences - it is NOT made for businesses (so depending on whether you’re officially registered as a freelancer, you may not be able to use it). I personally don’t use venmo, so I cannot speak to its usefulness, but I know a few people that use it for casual transactions. It’s easy and quick! :) 

Keep in mind that you cannot force a refund over venmo! The transactions are final.

There’s also CashApp, GooglePay (which could load gift cards but also allows peer-to-peer transactions) and I’ve heard good things about Due, though I’ve never personally used it.

Other ways to pay: I’ve had people pay me over Patreon by upping their pledge, and I’ve had people pay me over Ko-Fi by donating a specific amount. 

Many people even use Etsy - the website specialized for independent small businesses selling art - by listing their commission sheet and offering up several ‘slots’ of commissions, which allows you to track taxes AND allows your clients to pay using whatever they feel comfortable with.

If you’re in Canada, you can even pay by emailing money directly from bank account to bank account - check whether your country offers this type of service! There’s no shortage of ways to move money in the digital world.

Just like everything else, there’s no singular ‘Best’ way. It just depends on what works for you.

I think that just about wraps it up! I can’t quite think of what else to put here - but I’m sure other artists will chime in with their own advice. :) I’m very sorry this became so long but I hope it was helpful! 

Obligatory Disclaimer: I’m not qualified to give legal or accounting counsel. Please double-check the laws in your own country/state in regards to taxation of freelancing work and do your own research. If you are underage, DEFINITELY get an adult’s permission before you start doing commissions, and have the adult help you through the process.   

. . . . . . . . . . . . 

OTHER POSTS YOU MAY FIND USEFUL:

An Extended Post on Pricing Yourself for Commissions

Dealing with Imposter Syndrome/Feeling ‘Not Good Enough’

Growing Your Audience

Advice for Starting Digital Art

#Anonymous #long post #commissions #how to #infograph #how to do commissions #arting #art tutorial

[uramichislefttiddie]

Blue lock random head cannons (:

||Contains: Meguru Bachira, Yoichi Isagi, Rensuke Kunigami||

||Warnings: fluff if anything||

Meguru Bachira

No matter if you have long or short hair, he will always want to style your hair for you wether that ranges from dying it to just simply tying it up or curling it etc. However most of the time he will want you to style his hair after he’s done yours, he especially loves the feeling of your fingers messing with his hair. If your sat down doing something always expect for Bachira to rest his head in your lap waiting for you to comb through his hair with your fingers and if you still haven’t done so he will start messing with your fingers hoping you get the message.

It was a late Saturday evening around the time dusk was settling into the day, the orange shade breaking through the pristine glass of the window that rested behind you and Bachira. You had been playing (choice of game) for the past few hours as Bachira was eating about the 3rd can of pineapple trying his hardest to not spill any of the juice anywhere as he fine well knew you’d make him clean it up and at that moment he’d like to avoid cleaning at all costs. You had started to slowly become bored, the silence now finally getting to you. As you turned your head to look at Bachira he was still stuffing his face full of pineapple. No matter what he always had that bright smile that had entranced you from the first day you both had set eyes upon one another.

“Bachira that’s the last can, you’ll make yourself sick soon!” He slightly turned his head in your direction, cheeks puffed with a small grin accompanying his face. You turned back to your game making a new goal of at least finishing this one level before doing anything else. After awhile still having not accomplished the goal you soon felt a slight weight on your lap, Bachira was staring up at you waiting for you to realise what he was wanting. You had known for awhile now that combing his hair was the easiest way to get him asleep. However you were very fixated on doing this one level and to your knowledge you had failed to realise Bachira was wanting attention.

Just as soon as you were about to compete the one level you had been struggling on a soft hand had grabbed at yours removing it off the controller and resulting in you dying once more.

“The hell Bachira! What was that for?” You hadn’t meant to shout at him but it was during the moment after all day you were so close to finishing what you had been wanting to finish.

“Ah, sorry y/n I forgot you were playing that, I’m really sorry!” You could tell he was sorry as he was looking at your with saddened eyes.

“Eh, it’s alright just please ask me next time that’s all you need to do.” You gave him a small smile as you laid his head back onto your lap and started to massage his head as he slowly closed his eyes soon falling to a soft slumber.

Yoichi isagi

Isagi is very skilled in art, at the beginning of your relationship he had a small sketch book he would carry about and inside that book unbeknownst to you was little doodling’s of you at different angles and at different locations you two would go together so he could remember these moments. After awhile being in the relationship he asked could he draw you to which you agreed and ever since than he loves drawing you when he has the spare time.

It had been about 5 month’s since you and isagi started dating, you was both sat down in the grass watching the sunset, both of you were occupying yourselves with things that interested you both, art being isagi’s. for awhile now you you felt as if someone kept looking at you, but you didn’t want to suspect that straight away.

“Hey…y/n can i- wait never mind it doesn’t matter.” Spoke a soft voice from next to you, you looked to the direction the voice came from and tilted your head in a confused state.

“What is it Isagi?” You gave him a soft, reassuring smile. He opened his mouth hesitantly and looked anywhere except from you. “Hey you can tell me you know?”

“It’s just I was gonna, well, ask if I could draw you?” You started to giggle slightly and looked at him. “Of course you can Isagi, you don’t need to ask me!” Isagi turned away shyly recounting all the times he’s done a quick sketch of you previously. He quickly smiled at you and turned around to grab ahold of his bigger sketch book and a few different pencils. He soon started to sketch you making sure to take into account all of the details on your face. About 20 minutes later he tucked the rest of the equipment into a small backpack and closed the sketch book, you turned a confused look to him wondering why he isn’t showing you, soon enough Isagi had caught onto your puzzled face. “Oh I’m going to give it to you on your birthday alongside with many more things!” He said with much enthusiasm and a big smile with puppy dog eyes. “But my birthday isn’t for a few more months!” You whined at him. He let out a laugh and shuffled to you and gave you a quick kiss. “Yeah exactly it gives me more time to make it the best for you!”

Rensuke kunigami

So in his trivia section is said the last time he cried was when watching E.T, so whenever you two end up watching movies he always hides the disc for E.T as he doesn’t want you to know he cries at the movie. To him he feels as if he has this certain image he needs to uphold. If you were to ever ask about if he has the disc for E.T he’d straight away make an excuse wether it’s believable or not like one time he made the excuse that “he dropped it in soup and it stained the disc” You had to just play along and believe him obviously.

As you walked back into the living room with hands full, consisting off a bowl of popcorn and two drinks of your choice, kunigami was across the room frantically searching for something within the pile of dvds he had in a glass shelf. “Hey kunigami, you alright over there?” You had questionably asked in his direction whilst placing down the products onto the oak table resting infront of the rather large couch. “Oh uh I was just trying to re arrange the dvds so it’s easier for you to choose one!” He quickly explained whilst scratching the back of his head and giving you a not so reassuring look. You decided to just ignore him and carry on setting up the movie night layout. Kunigami was starting to walk up the stairs making you even more confused with his behaviour. “Hey where you off to, your acting quite odd?” He halted in place and slowly turned around to face you with a surprised look plastered across his face. “Uh just going to the toilet quickly.” He carried on walking upstairs leaving you to pick out a film to watch. As you sauntered over to the shelf’s you started to scan looking for one specific you had been meaning to watch for awhile now, no matter how much you looked you could just not find it despite remembering seeing the dvd many of times.

Footsteps were heard behind you followed by two arms wrapping around your figure. “You found one to watch yet.” You soon started to piece things together and turned to him with a snark on your face. “Yeah where did you put E.T too kunigami? I know you have it so don’t pretend you don’t.” As soon as those words left your mouth his face dropped of colour and eyes went big. “Oh I…yeah I accidentally sat on it the other day and broke it in half, sorry y/n.” You started laughing and playfully pushed him making him look at you confused. “No need to hide the fact you’ve hid it, your sister already told me about the time you cried whilst watching it kunigami!” He stared at you for what seemed like hours but soon enough he let out a laugh and his cheeks accompanying a bright red tint. “Hey I told her to keep that a secret damn it!” He looked at you for a second than went running back upstairs and bringing down the dvd and waving it about in your direction. One second you had seen kunigami walking down the stairs than within a blink of an eye he had fell on the stairs laughing as he did so. “Well…here it is!” You ran over to him making sure he wasn’t hurt but not being able to hold in the laughter that was wanting to escape. “Hey if you cry, I’ll be right there!” You said almost mockingly. He whipped his head to you with an unamused look. “haha very funny but keep this between us! I don’t want no one else to know this.” You gave him one more look before walking over to slot in the disc for E.T to start playing, as you went to go lay down on the couch you turned to look at kunigami who was still situated at the bottom of the stairs where his fall had ended at. “Oh yeah thank you for the help!” He shouted whilst laughing, you soon laughing back.

#blue lock #anime #rensuke kunigami #yoichi isagi #bachira meguru #blue lock x reader #x reader #anime x reader #anime x y/n #anime x you #anime x gender neutral reader #manga x reader #anime / manga

[starlingflight]

@thisismegz as requested, the missing scenes from Everything I Wanted of Ginny dealing with her guilt over how things went between her and Dean. 

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The sun felt especially bright contrasted as it was by nearly a full day in the dungeons with no one but Snape for company. Harry savoured the way the light summer breeze tickled his uncovered arms and the way Ginny’s hand felt in his as they made their way out into the grounds. 

It seemed the majority of Hogwarts’ population had decided to take advantage of the good weather, for the lawn beside the lake was crowded with huddles of students. Their usual tree was already taken by a noisy group of fourth-year girls and so Ginny led him to a free patch of grass not far from the lake's stony shore. She sat cross-legged on the ground, pulling Harry with her. 

He went to position himself beside her but Ginny clearly had other ideas, she shuffled slightly, placing her hands on his shoulders and smoothly guided Harry’s head into her lap so that he was lying on the soft grass with Ginny above him, her fingers tracing lightly across his forehead. 

“If your brother sees this he’s going to lose his mind,” Harry warned, though in truth he was finding it difficult to care. The headache that had been building behind his eyes, caused by a long day in the dark, stuffy dungeon was receding with every stroke of Ginny’s fingers over his skin.

Unsurprisingly, Ginny seemed to care even less about Ron’s reaction than Harry did. Her only response to his warning was to gently slide his glasses off and place them carefully on the grass beside them, making it easier for her fingers to trace the features of his face without obstruction. 

Neither of them said anything for a while, Ginny was now little more than a blur of creamy skin and striking red hair above him. Eventually, Harry let his eyes slowly drift closed, revelling in the feel of her fingers on his face and the sweet, floral smell of her shampoo drifting to him on the summer breeze. 

Snape became nought but a distant memory under Ginny’s careful attention and Harry was vaguely considering that there was a strong chance he was going to fall asleep, warm and content as he was, when Ginny broke the silence between them. 

“I think I'm going to apologise to Dean," She declared. 

It took Harry a moment to register what she’d said, his brain felt fuzzy from the heat. When his wits finally caught up with him, Harry almost asked her why but he immediately realised he didn’t need to. 

He’d seen the guilt on Ginny’s face last night and he’d felt the same thing himself. They’d both admitted they’d been in denial about their feelings for each other for a while and maybe that was no one’s fault but it didn’t change the fact that Dean had been caught up in it. 

“If I tell you I think it’s a bad idea are you going to think it’s because I’m jealous or threatened or something?” 

Ginny's fingers were still stroking lightly across his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, across his forehead and Harry found that it was almost impossible to feel jealous given his current situation. 

“No,” She said mildly. “I’m going to ask you why you think that, though.” 

He’d rather she didn’t but if Harry was being honest with himself, he knew her better than to expect Ginny to blindly accept what he was saying. “I’ve been in his position. I watched you with him for months, and I didn’t expect you to break up or begrudge either of you your happiness or anything but…” 

Harry trailed off, still not used to telling anyone his deepest feelings and still not entirely comfortable with it. 

"But?" Ginny prompted, one of her hands working its way up into Harry's hair, massaging his scalp. He felt himself relax immediately. 

"But there isn't anything you could have said to me to make me feel better about the situation, to make me not want you." 

Ginny's hands didn't stop their slow exploration of his hair for even a second. "It's not the same thing," She said without missing a beat. 

"How isn't it?" 

"It was never like this with Dean," Ginny unwound one of her hands from his hair in order to gesture between the two of them before quickly returning it, much to Harry's delight. "I was never this happy, not even at the start. The thing that you were waiting for is so much better than what Dean lost." 

Secretly, Harry wholeheartedly disagreed with this. The thing that he'd been waiting for, the thing that Dean lost, was Ginny and there were no words on the planet that could ease the devastating blow that Harry already knew would come from ever losing her. 

"You really want to talk to him?" Harry asked, knowing it was pointless to argue with her when she'd already made her mind up. 

“I really do,” Ginny responded and Harry knew the matter was settled. 

“Okay,” He agreed. “Did you want to go now?” He added reluctantly, he could quite happily stay in this spot for the rest of his life. 

“No,” Ginny said quickly, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss to Harry’s lips. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to get out of detention, you’re staying right where you are.” 

**

Ginny and Dean did not cross paths for the rest of the weekend. Nor was he anywhere to be seen at breakfast or lunch on Monday. Ginny was beginning to strongly suspect that he was avoiding her when she quite literally walked into him on her way out of Ancient Runes on Monday afternoon. 

“Sorry - oh!” Dean’s apologetic smile faltered as he took Ginny in. 

“I’ve been looking for you!” Ginny said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, though Dean still didn’t look cheered at her pronouncement. 

“Er, have you?” 

“Yeah, do you mind if we go somewhere and talk?” 

Dean’s eyes narrowed suspiciously in a way that made Ginny’s heart sink. They’d been friends for years, they’d been close since the first D.A. meeting and now the two of them had reached a point where the prospect of holding a conversation was enough to set Dean on edge. 

“It’ll be really quick, I promise.” Ginny tried again, hoping her face held as much sincerity as she currently felt. 

“Alright,” Dean said reluctantly, gesturing for Ginny to lead the way. 

There was a low wooden bench halfway down the corridor, under a row of mullioned windows which revealed the sweeping vistas of the Hogwarts grounds and the lake. If nothing else, at least the view would be pleasant. 

Ginny took a seat on the bench and Dean followed her lead; she couldn’t help but note he was sitting as far away from her as physically possible. One good shove and he’d topple over onto the castle’s stone floor. 

“How have you been?” She began cautiously. 

“Fine,” Dean responded. Ginny raised a sceptical eyebrow. Dean had always been forthcoming with his feelings, one-word answers weren’t his style at all. “I’ve been good, Ginny. I’ve been working on my art - I’ve had a lot of emotion to channel into my drawings, I think I’ve got some really good ones for my portfolio.” 

Ginny nodded, trying not to think too hard about what emotions Dean may have been using to fuel his creative pursuits. “You were always very talented.” 

It was Dean’s turn to raise a dubious eyebrow at Ginny now. “Is that what you wanted to say to me? You like my drawings?”

“No, I wanted to apologise,” She said slowly, half-expecting Dean to shut her down before she’d explained herself. When he said nothing, but continued to look at her expectantly Ginny took a deep breath before continuing. “I should have ended things between us long before I did. I knew your feelings were stronger than mine and I shouldn’t have kept stringing you along.” 

Dean listened patiently as Ginny spoke, but he began to shake his head in disagreement as she finished. “That wasn’t what bothered me. It was that I could clearly see where things were going between the two of you, but you were so adamant that I was seeing things that weren’t there. It was frustrating.” 

Ginny began to fiddle nervously with the ends of her hair, slipping the long strands between the ends of her fingers. “You’re right,” She said quietly, looking not at Dean but out of the window where she could just make out the Giant Squid’s tentacles rising out of the water in the distance. “I know it probably doesn’t help, but I hope you know I wasn’t lying to you on purpose - I really believed our banter and joking was innocent, it was unbelievable to me that Harry might actually have liked me.” 

Dean made a noise halfway between a snort and a chuckle; Ginny looked back from the window to find that he was smiling at her. “Of course he liked you, have you seen you?” 

“Stop it!” Ginny exclaimed, reaching out and shoving Dean lightly enough that he didn’t fall off the bench as she’d been worried he might earlier. “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you!” 

“You stop it!” Dean argued through a laugh. “Serious conversations don’t suit you at all!” 

Ginny grinned, it had been so long since they’d joked with one another. Even in the weeks before they’d broken up all they’d done was argue. “Does that mean we can be friends?” 

“Honestly, I think friends will suit us better than a relationship ever did,” Dean said sincerely. “No offence, but I didn’t find the constant fighting particularly enjoyable and I don’t think you did either.” 

Ginny chose not to answer, there was no point in going over their old fights now. When she looked back on her time with Dean it was as though she was remembering something from a different lifetime. Instead, she pushed herself up from the bench and waited for Dean to join her. “Come on, let’s go and set the Hogwarts rumour mill alight by walking into dinner together.” 

Dean fell into step beside Ginny without protest, the cautious, guarded look that had been upon his face at the beginning of the conversation was no longer in sight. 

#hinny #harry x ginny #dean thomas #hp fanfic #hbp missing moment

[queenxxxsupreme]

A Helping Hand

A/N: I know someone suggested this, but I can’t remember if it was an anon or if it was someone else??? My brain is trash as we’ve all probably realized. Also also, this is my first time writing Sherlock!Henry so please be patient with me.

Warnings: none, just fluffy

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: Your dear husband helps you dress for a party.

***

“Sherlock!” You called out for him, your voice a little panicked. 

He left his study and quickly moved down the hall to the bedroom. 

The detective expected to find you in trouble, perhaps even hurt, but what he found was you sitting on the edge of the bed with nothing but your undergarments on, a chemise and drawers. Your feet and ankles were bare of any stockings. 

“What’s the matter, my dear?” He asked, stepping into the room hesitantly. 

“My head hurts. If I try to lean down to put my stockings on, it hurts even more.” You frowned, holding the stockings out to him. 

Without needing an explanation, Sherlock approached the bed and held his hand out for the stockings. He knelt down at your feet.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t go if your head is hurting.”

“No, no. It’s just a dull ache. I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you excited?” He looked up at you as he pulled the sock up your calf. 

“Very.” You nodded. A smile found its way to your lips. “The music they’re going to have there is fantastic, Sherlock! Oh, we could dance all night long!”

He chuckled, looking down to watch as he pulled the stocking up over your knee. Then he tied the ribbon to hold them up. 

“Unfortunately, my dear, I’m not sure how much dancing I’ll be doing.”

You drew your brows together, looking down at him. 

“What? Why? You love to dance, Sherlock.”

“With my wife alone in the solitude of our home.” He kissed your stocking covered knee and then started on the other foot. “Not in front of my peers.”

“Oh, but I’m sure your peers would be amazed to know the grand Sherlock Holmes is quite the dancer.” You sighed, leaning back on your hands. “Such a shame. Now I fear I’ll be bored to death with you and your peers, discussing cases and boring detective work.”

“My work isn’t boring.” Sherlock scoffed.

“Well, I think it is.” You couldn’t hide the grin that came to your lips. 

He tied up the stocking and then stood to his feet. 

“Can you help me with the rest of my clothes?” You stood up too, reaching out to put your hand on his shoulder. 

He answered you with a kiss to your forehead. 

“What’s next?” He asked, looking to the bed. There were numerous different articles of clothing and other items laying out on the bed. 

“The petticoat.” You reached for the skirt that rested on the bed closest to you. 

Sherlock took it from you and guided it down over your head. He moved it around a little, twisting it on your hips until it looked correct. 

“Now that monstrosity.” You sighed, looking to the hooped petticoat that rested on the bust across the room. 

Sherlock followed your gaze. 

“I don’t understand why these ever came to be considered fashionable.” He commented. “It looks horrendous.”

“Well it’s not meant to be seen.” You said. “But it is because men like a nicely rounded woman.”

He grinned slyly, piercing blue eyes finding yours. 

“I happen to think your natural curves are more appealing than that thing.”

“Oh, you're obliged to say that, dear husband.” You teased, passing him the hooped petticoat. 

“I am not obliged to say anything.” He was careful with pulling the hooped petticoat  over your head, not wanting to catch your neatly styled hair with the material. “I say what I believe. And I believe you are absolutely stunning.” 

As the petticoat was put in place at your hips, he leaned forward to kiss your head. 

“You’re a charmer, Mr. Holmes.” You grinned a little. 

“Only for you, Mrs. Holmes.”

Your corset was next to go on. With his fingers being so big, it was a little difficult for him to thread the ribbon through the eyelets. He cursed under his breath and even sat down on the edge of the bed to see if it would be easier that way. 

“Is that too tight?” He asked, pulling the ribbons. 

“No. It needs to be a little tighter.” 

“I don’t want to crush you.” 

“You aren’t going to crush me, Sherlock. Just tighten it. It has a purpose and if it’s loose, that purpose will not be served.”

He sighed but did as you requested. He tied the ribbons in place and then helped you finish getting on the rest of the outfit, the part of the dress that would be seen by everyone. 

The material was a luxurious dark blue that matched Sherlock’s suit and brought out the blue in his eyes. You adored the color on him. 

After you’d finished getting dressed, Sherlock turned you around to face him. You smiled up at him, your hands resting on his biceps. 

“Thank you, dear husband.”

“You are welcome, dear wife.” He leaned down to kiss you but just before your lips met, there was a knock at the door. 

“Sherlock? Y/N? Are you two almost ready?” Watson called from the other side. Sherlock sighed heavily. “We’re going to be late!”

“We’ll be down in a minute, John.” Sherlock called. 

“John will dance with me.” You patted your husband’s chest and moved so he could finish helping you dress.

Once you were dressed completely, you turned to go towards the door but Sherlock stopped you, his hand on your arm. 

“You look absolutely breathtaking.” He leaned down to kiss your lips. His arms slipped around you, drawing you closer to him. 

“Thank you.” You giggled against his lips, hands sliding up his massive biceps. “And thank you for helping me.”

“Anything for you, my dear.”

“Anything?” You quirked a brow. 

He nodded. 

“Dance with me.” A grin tugged at the corners of your lips. 

He sighed heavily through his nose as he looked down at you. How had he fallen so easily into your little trap? 

“Perhaps.” He planted one final kiss on your lips and then started for the door. 

“Perhaps?” You repeated, furrowing your brows together. You followed after him. “Perhaps you’ll dance with your wife?” You were messing with him, teasing him. 

“Mhm.” He nodded, hiding his grin almost perfectly. 

“Well then, perhaps I will die of boredom.”

A/N: I have yet to add Sherlock to my list thingy on my taglist form but I will shortly. If you’ve already filled out that short little taglist form by going to this link, then just let me know if you want to be added to the Sherlock taglist in the comments down below!

#sherlock!henry x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock!henry holmes #sherlock!henry fluff #henry cavill #enola holmes #queenxxxsupreme

[writtenonreceipts]

If you're taking prompts, maybe for feysand - Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see person B smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

<33

Oh my darling anon, I am always eager for prompts! Thank-you for sending this in! I altered just a few minor things, ie trains and not not busses and the diologue is just worded diff... and then over indulged in my own whims and fancies, just a touch.

2.7K words of fluff and awkwardness...all i know is awkwardness so ya know...

 #

Strangers and Favors

Exhausted.  Tired.  Sleepy.  There were far too many ways to describe what Feyre was feeling.  Not even the coffee in her hands was doing anything to give her the boost she needed.  

Amid the chill of morning and the slowly growing light of dawn, Feyre found herself hurrying from her car in the park-and-ride lot.  She practically flung herself up the small steps that led to the train platform and into the first train car she was near. 

She’d been running late that morning and nearly missed her alarm.  Alis had been a dear and poured her coffee in a thermos, but Feyre hated the feeling of being rushed.  Especially after a poor night's sleep.  And when it was five thirty in the morning.

Feyre slipped into a seat before she could finally tell herself to breathe.  She’d made it onto her train with only a few minutes to spare.  Thankfully there were other straggling passengers filtered into the train car and made their way to their various seats.

Feyre took a long sip of her coffee and tried to convince herself that she wasn’t really tired.  Even though it was far too early to be awake and she had an hour and a half train ride to sit through.  

Dawn had barely begun to rise over the horizon with not even the promise of pink and blue streaks through the sky.  She sighed and drew out her sketch pad.  

She was barely into starting the picture--of what she had no idea--when the train started moving and a form fell into the seat across from her.

Feyre blinked and glanced up.

There were plenty of other open seats lining the train.  Granted the place she’d found herself was the only one with a small table set up, but still.  

Sitting across from her was a man far too attractive for his own good.  He wore a black suit with a deep navy-blue button up beneath.  No tie, only the top few buttons of his shirt undone giving a peak at a series of tattoos on his chest.  His black hair was styled in a neat wave revealing a chiseled jaw and glorious eyes.

Feyre tore her gaze away before she could be accused of staring.  But honestly, who could blame her?

Over the course of the train ride, Feyre finished her coffee and scribbled out at least four pages worth of drawings.  Unfortunately, inspiration didn’t strike.  Not that it was surprising.  She’d not drawn anything new in months.  Oh, she’d tried.  She could sit for hours on this train, on her balcony, or out in the middle of the forest with a pencil in one hand and paper in the other--and nothing.  Nothing would come.

Alis always told her that she couldn’t force herself to draw.  She couldn’t force herself to be inspired if she didn’t make the conscious choice.  But Alis didn’t understand that sometimes, it was too damned hard.

The train ride passed without excitement.  Not even the man across from her did anything interesting.  Figured.  He was so attractive his life had to be mundane.  At least, that was what Feyre told herself while she was not covertly looking at him

She was glad to get off the train when it reached the city.  After making sure she had her things, she slipped out and onto the platform without trouble.

#

Chaos was not something she enjoyed.  

Especially not lately.  As long as everything was in its place of simplicity, life could continue on as normal.

Honestly, if Feyre could have chosen a simple life involving nothing more than eating donuts she would have chosen it.  Because living in a state of missed calls and impatient clients and looming deadlines was far from her state of happiness.

With a bag of donuts from Rita’s bakery in one hand, Feyre collapsed in her seat at the end of the day.  She’d managed to leave work five minutes early giving her enough time to swing into Rita’s and grab a few treats.  And she would not apologize for it.

“Long day?” 

Feyre glanced up to see the man from that morning taking a seat across from her.  He had an amused sort of expression on his face which made it even harder to look away.  Feyre snatched a frosted chocolate donut from her bag and glared at him.

“No.” She took a giant bite leaving sugar to lace around her mouth and narrowed her eyes at him.

He grinned and shook his head.

Feyre was able to finish her donut in peace and managed not to stare at the man the rest of the train ride home.

#

Life continued.  And much to Feyre’s dismay, nothing changed.

Her sketch book remained empty.  Her coffee remained dull.  Work did not improve.

Something needed to change.  But honestly, she couldn’t figure out what it was.  She’d left her ex months ago.  She’d gotten a new wardrobe, a new phone, moved in with her friend.  She’d started getting out more too.  Somewhat.  When Nesta called, which wasn’t often but at least her sister was trying.

It was five-thirty in the morning and she was seated on the train, again.  And the man who seemed to only own clothing that was black was seated across from her, again.  Since that first day of seeing him, he hadn’t tried talking to her again, which Feyre was semi grateful for.  She was certain she would just make herself look like a bigger idiot than before.

Had she really stuffed her face with that giant donut?

Not that she cared.  She could do whatever she wanted.

Except draw.

Feyre stared out the window of the train.  It was slowly starting to get lighter sooner and Feyre now had more scenery to watch instead of the reality of the empty sketchpad.

Inevitably, however, Feyre found her attention drawn to the man across from her.

There was something about him.  Feyre couldn’t place it, exactly, perhaps an energy of some kind.  Or it was his confidence.  Arrogance.  Something.  She found him mesmerizing.  How stupid was that?  A man she had said one word to and ignored for an entire month and she could help but watch him.

He did a cross word every morning.  Texting someone throughout--or else cheating and looking up the answers.  Other times she caught him reading a book about astrology or NASA’s recent magazine release.  She wanted to ask him about the astrology, it was such a fascinating topic, one that she liked learning about.  But she never knew how to strike up a conversation, so she remained silent.

She’d always been good at staying silent.  At least that was what she’d been told.

The thought came so suddenly that Feyre had to physically shake herself to make it disappear.  She sat up in her seat, hands clenching in her lap.

She snapped her attention away from the train window and forcibly removed her sketchpad from her bag.  In a fury, Feyre moved her pencil across the page.  It wasn’t the bed utensil to use, but it was better than bringing her entire art supply on the commute to work.  The pencil would suffice.

It wasn’t as though she liked being quiet.  It wasn’t as though she didn’t have anything to say.  Sometimes it was just easier.  Sometimes it was just better.  Sometimes the silence was how she communicated.  Sometimes people just didn’t understand that.

The scene came alive beneath her fingers.

Mountains and stars.  Storms and shadows.  All convalescing on a shape.  A person.  A…

Feyre frowned at the scene.  Someone was kneeling on a throne of night and she couldn’t see their face.

“Do you always glare at your art like that?”  The midnight voice broke Feyre out of her revere.  

Glance up, Feyre locked gazes with the violet eyes of the man across from her.  The crossword in his lap was complete.  Feyre realized for the first time that he was younger than she’d originally thought.  Maybe about five years older than she was.  And even though he oozed arrogance, there was almost a genuine sort of smile dancing across his lips.

“Only when it’s being difficult,” Feyre answered.  She offered a brief shrug and gestured to the crossword on his lap. “Do you always cheat at the crossword?”

He made an affronted sort of gasp. “I don’t cheat.”

“You’re always on your phone when you scribble answers in,” Feyre pointed out.  She smirked, unable to help it.

“I’m texting with a friend,” he said, “she’s always trying to finish the damned thing before me in the mornings.  All I do is offer a bit of...encouragement.”

“Right,” Feyre said doubtfully.  She shook her head, still smiling.

The man watched her, almost confused, before he leaned forward.  “And the art?  It’s the first time in over a month I’ve seen you actually draw something.”

“I was searching for the right inspiration,” she said.  And then as she found herself nearly drowning in the heat of his gaze--Feyre had what she’d been hunting for. “Sometimes it just takes a while to find.”

The train pulled to a stop where they usually got off.  Feyre collected her things and half expected the man to be right at her side when his phone went off.

He muttered something under his breath before answering it.

Feyre almost had half a mind to wait for him.  To linger on the platform and dredge up some excuse so that she could talk to him.  If only for a moment longer.  She still hadn’t asked him about the astrology book.

Instead she was swept up in the crowd of commuters.

#

For the next two weeks, Feyre was out of her mind with anxiety.

There really was no other way to describe it.  Because every morning and every evening when she would board the train there would be no sign of her mysterious companion.  Not even the sight of him running to try and catch a ride before the train completely left the station.  Not even a hint of him getting on a different compartment one day by accident.  Nothing.

So, naturally, her mind told her that it had something she’d done.  Something she’d said.  Hell.  She hadn’t even done anything that stupid.  Aside from stuffing a whole ass donut in her mouth.

She was an idiot.

Eventually she was able to push thoughts of her mysterious companion aside.  Not only was she drawing again, but her workload had increased.  And now she was getting up earlier and staying later and her schedule was entirely too chaotic.  

She really missed the simpler days of dashing into Rita’s or relaxing on the train bench not staring at the man across from her.

After two weeks of commuting alone and another two weeks of being run ragged at work, Feyre finally found herself being able to return to a normal timeline.  Somewhat.  At least she was going to be able catch her usual train home and get home before ten o’clock.

Feyre fell into her seat and leaned up against the window of the train.  She didn’t mean to fall asleep.  Not really.  But as soon as she was seated and relaxed her eyes drifted shut and she was gone.

The next thing Feyre knew there was a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry to wake you, but this is your stop,” said an all too familiar voice.

Feyre’s eyes snapped open and she nearly flung out a fist to the shape in front of her.

“I take it you slept well?” Her mysterious companion snatched out a hand and caught hers before it made contact.  He gave her a cheeky grin. “You didn’t even twitch between all the other stops.”

Feyre blinked up at him.  Sleep still addled her brain and he was making no sense whatsoever.

“What?” she finally managed to spit out.

“Your stop?” he said, jutting a thumb to the train doors. 

Feyre cursed, loudly, and jumped up. “I barely even closed my eyes,” she grumbled.

“Here, let me,” her companion grabbed her bag for her and helped her off the train before it took them all the way south to Hybern.

“Thanks,” Feyre said as they stepped out onto the platform.  She accepted her bag from him and gave him a smile. “It’s been a long couple of weeks I guess.”

In the still fading evening light, Feyre was able to see his easy smile and the way his eyes crinkled softly.  His black hair was tousled easily as if he’d been running his hands through it recently.

“It’s not a problem,” he said, “in fact I was surprised to even see you.  It’d been a few weeks.”

Feyre blinked.  He’d noticed she wasn’t on at her usual time?

“You were gone for a while too,” she said without thinking.  You idiot.

Her words seemed to catch him by surprise, but not for long.  A gleam flashed in his eyes.

“You noticed, did you?”

“You noticed me,” she shot back quickly.

They stood in silence as the train moved on with a loud whistle and the last few men and women passed them by hurrying to catch their connecting busses or get to their cars.

His smile stretched into a full grin. “I’m Rhysand.”

“Feyre,” she said, returning the smile.   She then noticed the small paper bag he held in one hand.  Immediately, Feyre recognized the logo on the outside.  “Rita’s?  That’s my favorite place to stop at after work.”

“Yeah, uh,” Rhysand said as he ran a hand through his hair, “I noticed and decided to give it a try.”

“And?” Feyre pressed.

“I have you to blame for my new addiction,” he said.

Feyre laughed, shaking her head.  “I take full responsibility, though I will not apologize.”

Rhysand paused only for a moment before he glanced at her and an almost sheepish smile crossed his features. “Have you been to Dreamer’s? It’s a late-night coffee shop on Main.”

“I haven’t, but I’ve been meaning to,” Feyre admitted.

“My treat,” he said almost immediately.  “I mean, if you want.  You can tell me about what helped you find the inspiration to start drawing again.”

Feyre blinked at him remembering that train ride over a month ago now where she’d finally been able to draw more than a few measly lines.  And she realized now as she watched a halo of light glimmer from the setting sun around his head that all this time she’d been trying to draw him in the outline of mountains and stars.

“Deal,” Feyre said. “But you should know, I don’t give up my secrets lightly.”

Rhysand quirked a brow. “Noted.”

They spent hours sharing secrets.  The small kinds, the simple kinds.

Feyre learned that Rhysand’s brother had broken his leg playing football and needed surgery which was why he’d disappeared for a few weeks.  She learned that it was his mother who taught him about astrology before she died not that long ago.  And now he spent most of his time trying to avoid his father.  

She’d told him about her love of painting, of art, of creating.  Anything that made her feel alive.  She’d told him about walking out on her old life and how here she was six months later and still desperate for change.

They were both trying, it turned out, to become something different.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--after sunset when the inky black sky gave way to the millions of stars overhead--that Feyre found herself home.  Rhysand, of course, made sure she’d arrived safe and she’d rewarded him with a brush of her lips to his cheek and a small smile over her shoulder.

It wouldn’t be until later that night--amid the cool mid-spring air that promised a new dawn--that Feyre would pull out her sketch pad.  She would draw sharp lines and angular features and a man kneeling amid the night.  She would draw power and beauty in something, someone, she didn’t know perfectly.  But one day.  One day, maybe she would.

#

thanks for reading my dears!  i am always eager and open from prompts so thanks for sendin gthem!  I really do enjoy them!

tags:

let me know if I put you on the wrong tag list/want to be removed.  it’s generally going to be easier for me to just have basic acotar/tog lists and not go into too much worry about that, so just and fyi...anywho

tottenhamboys20  @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @rapunzel1523 @emikadreams

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand fanfiction #feysand au #modern au #fanfiction #sjm #acotar #acomaf #just me writing #writing is better than self misery #thanks anon! #anon #anon answered

[dusksmote]

How do you ink and color? Any tips? I love your art! 💜🖤

oh shit i got this ask months ago and forgot to answer

inking: god i hate lineart so much. the trick is to not do it 😂 unfortunately, i still find myself spending hours on lineart all the time @_@ 

the biggest thing i’ve found is making your lines varied in thickness. it adds to the interest. i also try to make my outside line thicker than my inside ones to break up the figure from the background. don’t be afraid to skips some lines and imply them with shading instead. i will color over my lines at the end to make them not as strong, but i’ve learned to still keep some lines black for extra emphasis. 

^ here’s one of my older pieces that i’ve been considering redoing. it has very little line variation, ALL the lines are colored so there’s no solid black, and there’s very little hard contrast in shading values. overall, it looks flat and uninteresting and if i had the time i’d redraw this one.

this is a more recent example of lineart that i think works a lot better. the characters are really well defined with a strong outline, but the inside lines aren’t harsh and distracting. you can see i recolored the lineart in kyle’s hair to be a dark red, and in some places it blends with the shadows to imply areas with more highlights. stan’s pants don’t have and lines in them, just the outside shape and pockets. 

you can see in this wip what the lineart looks like before i do all the shading and fancy stuff. stan’s pants look totally flat and straight until i start shading.

a lot of the time though i won’t even do lineart, especially if it’s a big scenic piece. the more zoomed out less detail you can convey, and lineart takes up a lot of space. 

^ this piece is an example where i do both, lineart and no lineart. the mirror image of kyle isn’t the focus, and i honestly didn’t feel like going in and drawing exact lines because they’d probably look fucked up anyway. i typically don’t put hard lines in backgrounds because it would take FOREVER and just be distracting.

the one thing you do have to be careful of with lineless art is contrast. hard lines are good contrast that show you what you’re looking at, and without them your image can blend together. 

here’s part of a painting i did last august, when i was first experimenting with lineless styles (full image on my NSFW twitter). can you tell what’s going on here? i sure as fuck can’t. there’s no contrast, and it makes all the skin tones blend together in an unintelligible mush.

contrast has always been one of my biggest weaknesses as an artist, so i’ve been trying to improve over time. here’s a more recent lineless drawing:

this one works because it had high contrast. the highlights are really bright and the shadows are really deep. you can still make out the facial features too, but there’s no ‘lineart’ layer’. everything was painted on in the same layer.

-

-

coloring: oh my god i love coloring. it’s my favorite part of drawing and the reason why shit takes forever. a lot of the same stuff from before comes into play, like contrast. you can also portray some really interesting moods based on colors if you’re being stylistic, but also pay in mind to your environment.

i always color my background first. in fact, a lot of the time i’ll do the entire background before coloring a piece. the environment establishes your light levels and light source, and it’s typically easier for me to tweak colors on a figure than the ones in the background. in the above example with kenny, the background is a mostly solid black with a beam of light from the left. i picked kenny’s colors to fit in this environment. 

it’s also important to use references.  

you can see in this wip i’ve got a reference image for how light from a TV looks against figures and the way their shadows are cast across the wall. it also helped me figure out what colors to use in this situation.

a lot of coloring is just trial and error to see what works. i usually start with a flat base color and add value to it. if you put all your colors on different layers it’s really easy to change them quickly. 

here’s an example:

i got my base colors down and here i can see the skin tone is blending with the background, so i lightened it up for better contrast

i typically shade the skin first, then clothes. you can see here i did a dull skin tone with a bright colored shadow. this adds more contrast and interest. i always try to avoid doing dull shadows where you shift toward black. black shadows are really uninteresting and they can make your piece look muddy. i’ll typically shade with an orange, red, blue, or purple.

the final piece has a really bright highlight on it coming from behind. this just adds more visual interest and contrast. you can also see i’ve gone back into the pink shadows and added an even lighter, brighter peach value in places to show reflected light. this also gives the darker pink shadow an added outline effect, because it touches the base skin tone but looks lighter within. 

^ this one’s a good example of light and shadow (full image on my NSFW twitter lmao). there’s not a lot of color because it’s dark out, so everything had to be conveyed in values. there’s hard light across the stomach and then a shadow over the chest, but there’s still light being reflected up into stan’s face that lets us make him out. the rest is deep shadow and unimportant, so it’s all black.

that’s the other part, color and value determine where your eye is gonna look, so consider that when drawing. 

^ consider this piece i drew like a year ago. it has a lot of blues and reds, and originally i was going to make stan’s guitar blue. i don’t have the wips anymore, but it didn’t stand out and it didn’t look right with the image. after a lot of playing around i went with yellow because it’s bright, it breaks up the image, and it adds another color to the piece to balance it out.

the same thing happened when i was working on the cover image for What They Say About Us. 

you can see in this really early wip that i’d blocked in the colors and butters is totally naked. for one, i was like “damn that kid is WAY too naked in this image” and he also blended in with stan and cartman. additionally, there was a lot of warm colors on the left, a lack of color on the right, and an overall lack of blue.

first change i made was throwing a shirt on him and it made a huge improvement. the image looks much more balanced now and he’s not super distracting with his naked-ness.

other than that, coloring is just picking your base colors, blocking in shadows, adding highlight, and cleaning it up. if you wanna improve, look at photo references. look at other people’s art and examine how they use color and value. practice practice practice. have fun with it. the most fun i have coloring comes from figuring out interesting textures like the pharaoh headdress or kenny’s leather jacket. 

i find stock photos like this and study them to see how the light works

other than that, the rest is just playing around, seeing what works, and making things up as i go!

#ask #long post #lol