Tumgik
#Watch as none of these are in the same art style
roakkaliha · 1 year
Text
while i dont think that any artists (especially like. the 13 yr olds) should be forcing themselves to create art that is more impressive or unique either visually or technically in order to impress strangers on the internet (who will likely find reasons to hate ur art regardless), it is still a bit strange to see how many animation meme makers work closely resembles not only each others stuff, but also like everything else they have made. not even just the animation memes, but also their personal vent animations.
12 notes · View notes
stealingpotatoes · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
i tried that “put your art in a head turn” trend and i’m actually obsessed w watching this gif
53 notes · View notes
seuonji · 6 months
Text
彡 things they left with you before leaving for tour.
notes ๑ gift giving! headcanons. reader and svt member does not live together!
genre ๑ fluff
warnings ๑ none
word count ๑ 1k
from aya: please reblog if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated<3
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
seungcheol left you the key to his home.
you’re free to go there whenever you want but he mainly gave it so that you have access to his closet!! it’s also to allow you to see kkuma.
whenever you’re there you always send him a selfie to show how the house is doing. he especially loves the photos that contains you and kkuma on his bed.
yn: [photo attachment]
yn: i changed kkuma’s hairpin today, doesn’t she look cute?
cheol: you both look adorable♡
+
jeonghan left you tons of his oversized shirts.
tons as in it could probably last you until he comes back. but he leaves the ones that hold some type of meaning.
he’d totally give you a whole presentation while unpacking the clothes on why he’s giving it to you.
he left you the shirt that he wore on your first date. he left you another shirt that you complimented. another one he left was one that you described as, ‘looks very comfortable.’ another was in your favourite colour while another was in your least favourite colour,, he asked you to send him photos of you specifically in that one.
he gave them with the intention that though he’s not there, you won’t feel alone at night.
he loves it when he calls and sees you wearing them!
+
joshua left you countless of letters he wrote.
just in case he’s not on his phone enough, to keep his presence with you, he wrote different letters. one for you to read when you’re sad, one for when you felt doubtful, another for when you felt scared.
he wrote letters for any feeling you may feel while he’s gone whether it was sorrow, anger or joy.
one day you were missing him, a lot. so you opened the letter that had ‘read when you feel alone.’ written on it.
‘yn, you’re feeling alone? cause im not there, right( ˊ̱uˋ̱ )?‘ he joked with you even through writing. ‘i know it’s a long wait but i’ll be back soon and we’ll be in bed watching movies together. i’m always thinking about you. i may not be one call away because…what if i’m on stage? but you’re still my number one priority, i hope you know that.’
it’s just long texts of reassurance that he loves you and suggestions of things you can do while you wait for him and honestly, as you read the letters, the more it felt like he was actually there.
+
jun left you a polaroid.
he aswell provided the films but the films were the same amount as the number of days he’d be gone.
he asked you take a picture of something everyday whether it was the scenery or something you were doing. you could either label them or keep it in a photo card binder. he wants you to talk about it with him when he comes back.
total plus if you like journaling/photography!!
+
soonyoung left you a heart locket necklace.
it had funny pictures of you and him on one side and the other side had a picture of you two cuddling.
he has a matching one of course! his one has so many scratches because of how much he kept opening it.
notably, he left you a cute tiger plush that was almost your size.
“think of him as if he’s me.”
“that’s weird youngie…”
idk why but initially i imagined he’d leave you a body pillow with him printed on it.
+
wonwoo left you his console so that you can help him keep up with his games. just kidding.
if you like reading, he definitely leaves you some books he’s collected over the years. he’d even buy books that are of your taste if his isn’t your style. he gave it so that you’d have something to preoccupy your time.
if you aren’t too into reading, he left you things that supports the hobbies you do. if you like art, he buys you paint, if you like knitting he’d buy you yarn. he finds joy in your passion.
+
jihoon left you a usb filled with movies and shows on it. he even provided snacks!
he loved hearing your opinions about shows/movies he liked. since you two were going to be apart, he thought you’d have more time to watch them.
when you did watch the said movie/show, he’d instantly call and listen to your opinions intently. he might end up falling for you all over again! but also it could end up in an endless banter—
“what did you think of that character?“ he asked excitedly but there was a touch of tiredness in his voice.
“they were okay,” you casually answered.
“just okay!?” suddenly the tiredness was gone.
“i said what i said!”
+
seokmin left you a jar filled with origami hearts, cranes, airplanes, stars and even some of your favourite animals.
as you unfold them, there’s small messages written in them. it had messages of affirmations to song/food/movie recommendations.
he looks forward to your response to the letter you opened that day.
“the one i opened today was a good one,” you said smiling.
“really, what’s wrong with the other ones? why aren’t they as good?” he asked in a whining tone.
“the one i opened yesterday said ‘listen to aju nice by seventeen.’” you recalled monotonously.
“what’s wrong with that?”
“anyways the one i opened today said to ‘eat pizza while thinking about me.’” you brushed off the previous topic.
“ah, that’s a good one, even i’m jealous.”
“you wrote it?”
“still, why would you have pizza without me…”
also, he made tons of it lasted even until he came back.
+
mingyu left you a cookbook of things he usually cooks for you.
the first few pages were your favourite meals hes cooked for you. they’re key parts are highlighted in your favourite colours and he even places in affirmations in free spaces. the middle pages are random meals you don’t necessarily like but,, he needed to fill in the pages. the last few pages are your favourite deserts!
+
minghao left you the experience of having permanent bracelets with someone.
he brought you to the store and you got a bracelet in his in his favourite colour as he got one with yours. you both spent hours just admiring the way it shined and he couldn’t stop taking pictures of it.
“now, no matter the distance, you’ll still have a piece of me that’s always with you,” he said.
+
seungkwan left you a self care pack.
there was skincare products, your favourite snacks and cds of your favourite films. they were each labelled with tags of why he gave those specific items.
‘you’ve always liked these, enjoy them.’ labelled on the snacks.
‘please use this, take care of your skin okay?’ labelled on the skincare.
‘don’t get too bored just cause im not there.” labelled on the cds
it’s as if he was taking care of you without because there.
+
vernon left you a pet fish (?)
questionable but at least you’re not completely alone. also he got consent before he bought it so, it was okay. but he also left you some of his jackets and beanies but if it was summer he’d leave you baseball caps. yknow, the sensible gifts.
it’s the thought that counts!
whenever he gets the time he’d call you to check on the fish.
and you as well, of course.
+
chan left you a box full of snacks.
he’s bringing the same snacks with him in his bag. he plans to call you every night so you two can talk about your day while eating the same snacks so that it seems like you two are together.
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
byunpum · 1 year
Text
Aunt Y/N sully being the 'cool one' in the family.
Tumblr media
Pair: Nephews sully x Aunt human reader x Ao'nung and tsireya and rotxo baby.
Warning: None, cute moments with sully and metkayina kids. Aunt Y/N being cool.
Note: I received these two request "click here".i I wanted to put them together since I had no ideas on a scenario. But I still hope you like it a lot. Thanks for leaving these requests, I love the aunt Y/N series.
AVATAR MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
Jake had to beg Ronal to let you stay with them at the Metkayina clan. He was worried that you were in danger. You were his younger sister, and he was very sure that Quaritch would come looking for you. So he went to great lengths to get them to let you move in with them. To his good luck they agreed.
On the other hand your nephews were so excited to have you with them in their new home. You made the adjustment more comfortable and fun.
It didn't take long for them to introduce you to the Metkayina children. They were so curious, they had heard so many stories about how amazing you are and all that. "Hello…I am" you start to speak, when you feel Rotxo take your hand and greet you. Trying to make you feel comfortable with a human greeting. Lo'ak had taught you several things. "hello my name is rotxo!!!" the boy shouts, you think he is very adorable.
From that moment on, no matter where you went or what you were doing all 6 boys were after you. Watching and asking everything you did, everything you did was new and cool to them. Like riding waves, human style.
"This is called a surfboard" you say, while presenting the new work of art you had created. You got an old wood, and you were working on it to make it perfect for the waves. "And you climb on it?" asks ao'nung, the boy's tail wagging from side to side. While neteyam and lo'ak was already getting on the board.
"Yes, you get on it and let you ride the waves" you make a motion with your hands. You watch as tsireya copies you and imitates your movements. You take the board and walk out into the ocean. The day was perfect for surfing. You watch as all the guys sit on the sand to watch you demonstrate.
You are sitting on the board, moving your hands in the water. You had a beautiful metkayina outfit. You weren't ashamed to wear navi clothes, they looked great on you. You were waiting for the perfect wave, but you look back and see your new admirers looking at you with excitement.
A very big wave is coming and this is your chance. You swim towards it and with ease you can ride the wave. The guys are fascinated, watching how you glide with ease, how you have a perfect balance. And how you get lost in the tunnel and the wave drops.
"Oye…. your aunt is gone" says ao'nung while looking at neteyam. The boy gets up from the ground, trying to see if you are on the surface. Out of nowhere you swim out with your board. You see that all the guys are clapping. "That was awesome…it's my turn" says lo'ak running into the water.
Later that week, after a day of practice. All the kids are sitting around talking, and you walk up to them with something in your hands. "Hello my loves" you say tenderly. " Helloooo" sings tuk, coming up to you, to hug you.
You start handing her some kind of knitting ponchos. You had made one for each of your nephews. Since they were little, but you realized that they had already grown up a lot. They barely fit him and tuk ended up wearing them all.
You give one to kiri, neteyam and lo'ak. And a smaller one to tuk. You notice how the other kids look at you curiously. You laugh a little. "I also made some for my new kids" you say. You give tsireya, ao'nung and rotxo their knitting ponchos. The kids are so excited. They watch as the sullys kids try them on and they do the same.
"They look great!!!" you arrange the garment a bit on rotxo's shoulders. "Can we call you auntie Y/N?" asks tsireya, you adjust her hair a little bit. "Of course!!!" you smile. Saying goodbye to the guys.
"Your aunt is so cool… and pretty" says rotxo while blushing. Everyone looks at him in silence and then laughs all together.
2K notes · View notes
atimeofyourlife · 7 months
Text
Old face, new place
Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up: High school or College AU
rated: t | cw: none | tags: disabled Steve Harrington, pre-Steddie | wc:1000
Steve and Eddie meet again in college. The Upside Down still happened, but Eddie was never involved.
Honestly, Steve never thought he would go to college. Between his average grades, lack of ambition, and just not knowing what he wanted to do, it just didn’t seem to be on the cards for him. But it all changed after the Upside Down turned his life upside down.
After it was all over, and he’d been disowned by his parents, he and Robin moved to Chicago together. It was there she encouraged him to start taking classes at the same community college as her, to try and get a degree.
And that was how he got here, facing down the door of an art room, trying to build up the courage to go in. He’d signed up to be a nude model for a figure drawing class. At $20 a session, it would really help stretch his and Robin’s lousy paychecks that bit further. As he opened the door, he could hear the teacher reminding the class to be mindful about the model's bodies. That made him feel a little more uneasy, because it reminded him that it was the first time anyone other than doctors or Robin had seen him uncovered since everything with Vecna, and then losing his leg in the final showdown. He stripped down in the cubicle at the side of the room, changing into just a bathrobe.
As he came into the main space, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on his prosthetic. He reached the stool set up for him, and slipped off the robe. A collective gasp rang through the room, and he knew it was because of the scarring from the demo-bat attacks. 
He got into a pose, and tried to forget where he was. Whenever he took a minute to move because of getting too stiff, he glanced over the class, seeing if there was anyone he recognized. There was one guy who felt vaguely familiar, who would not stop staring at his scars, his gaze more intense than anyone else’s.
Eddie had always known that college wasn’t in the cards for him. Hell, it took him three attempts to graduate high school. And he was only successful the last time because everyone in the class of ‘86 was allowed to graduate without sitting their finals because of the freak earthquake, and the murders, that happened during spring break that year. Wayne had all but forced him into volunteering in the relief efforts, but as soon as he had his diploma in hand, he was hightailing it out of town, looking for something better.
He ended up in Chicago, working evenings in a bar, and getting an apprenticeship to become a tattoo artist. He was a few months into the apprenticeship when his mentor recommended that he take a couple of semesters of art classes at the local community college to help him with technique and to refine his style. He tried to deny it on grounds of cost, but it was covered under the apprenticeship program.
Which is how he found himself a few months in, sitting in a figure drawing class. He zoned out a little as the teacher brought up the rules that had been laid out on the first day of the figure drawing unit, about making the models comfortable and not saying anything about their bodies. That hadn’t happened before any of the other models came in, so it did make Eddie wonder. Maybe it would be a guy with a really interesting dick.
Instead, it was Steve Harrington, of all people, that limped into the room. Eddie couldn’t help but watch as he went into the corner blocked off for the models to change in. What had brought King Steve to be a model for an art class? Looking for more validation on how pretty he was? Trying to pick up girls?
He brought himself out of his thoughts as Steve came out in a robe and. A prosthetic leg. That explained the limp, but brought so many more questions about what had happened. Because Eddie clearly remembered Steve in those tiny gym shorts and he definitely wasn’t missing a leg at that point. 
Then Steve dropped the robe. Eddie, alongside the rest of the class, gasped. And not for the reason he’d thought he would be gasping when seeing Steve Harrington naked. He had horrific scarring on his chest and sides. Just opening even more questions to what the hell had happened to him.
He did his best to complete the assigned drawing, but his eyes kept getting drawn to Steve’s scars. The curiosity kept building as the time went on, and he was unsure if he’d be able to keep it in. 
He packed up slowly at the end, wanting to try and catch Steve. They’d never been friends, but he needed to know if he was okay. He waited until they were both out of the room, before he called after him. “Hey, Harrington.”
Steve turned around, and looked at Eddie for a moment before recognition flashed in his eyes. “Munson.”
“Are- are you okay?” He asked, feeling a bit lost, unsure if what he wanted to ask was inappropriate.
“You mean my-” Steve rested his hand on his side where the worst of the scarring was. “Animal attack during the earthquake. It’s fine now.”
“And your-” Eddie’s gaze dropped to Steve’s legs.
“An accident a few months later.”
“Damn. You’ve really been through it, Harrington.”
Steve gave a bitter laugh that Eddie couldn’t quite read. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Maybe you could tell me some of it? Over coffee if you’re free?” Eddie suggested.
Steve looked at his watch. “I’ve got class in like twenty minutes. But I’ll be free after eleven tomorrow?”
Eddie ran through his scheduling in his mind, he was in the shop in the morning. “I’m working in the morning, but I’ll be off about two. We could do a late lunch or something?”
“It’s a date.” Steve agreed.
663 notes · View notes
anima-writer · 5 months
Note
heyyyyyy, can you do a headcanons with pomni, caine and gangle with a artist reader
also, have a good day my folk
:)
Pomni, Gangle & Caine w/ an Artist!Reader
Tumblr media
Summary: The title
Warning[s]: NONE!! ALL FLUFF AND FRIENDLY!!!! I'M SORRY I DIDN'T SAW THIS ONE I'M SORRY
Pairing[s]: Pomni x Reader, Gangle x Reader, Caine x Reader; all platonic.
Word Count: 1.591
A/N: HHHHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIII, THANKS SO MUCH FOR REQUETING!! YOU ARE THE FIRST PERSON TO REQUEST TADC HIHIHI
Tumblr media Tumblr media
POMNI-
With an artistic reader like you, Pomni wouldn't make it at first glance. She would still be worried about looking for a way out of that place, so her attitude would be understanding; We should also highlight that she hasn't gotten along so well with anyone yet. Little by little time passes, and even though Pomni is still looking for a way out, she begins to have to socialize more with the rest of the characters to maintain what little sanity she still has left. And one of the other people she socialized with the most if we remove Ragatha, was you.
Time flew by and fled and without noticing, Pomni ended up making a friend during her journey through the place. With your friendship growing, it would be obvious for Pomni to notice your hobbies. Art.
Observing you, you usually draw/scribble some drawings in your free time; free time where Caine wouldn't be around to introduce them to a new adventure that would result in more mental discomfort. Seeing you just in your square without thinking about anything other than finishing your drawing makes herself stop for a minute from her own turmoil to analyze you while drawing. She's sitting next to you just watching, not in a scary way, just a Pomni tired of discord and wanting to do nothing but nothing.
You and your drawings are a good escape from reality when it comes to this subject. But even though she wasn't a total stranger, as her expression of tiredness at your side would be surprising, she gathered her strength to give you small compliments about your work:
"Humm, your art is cool..? No- hum is great! Yeah! So great that I can eat it!.......forget it please."
She's not good at giving compliments. But try. Believe.
One more idea I would like to share about a Pomni with an artist reader would be that she wouldn't mind you using her as paper. I mean, she would care, but wouldn't notice you using her as a paper. Come on, we have a Pomni babbling about her worries and conspiracies about this place with you by her side and we have you, bored because you forgot your sketchpad and just brought your pen.
With boredom slowly consuming you, you make some doodles on your palm only for it to become boring as well. However, the moment Pomni throws her arm towards you, you have a mischievous idea to start doodling on her arm. You start to make simple, small symbols so that Pomni doesn't catch you by surprise, but she ends up catching you by surprise… by not noticing anything.
Just disappointed, you just continue to scribble on her arm until it is completely filled with your drawings; when finished, she still hadn't noticed it.
Later, she only noticed her arm completely covered in scribble by someone else pointing it out. She would be totally tormented that she didn't remember you doing that. It seems like she was too busy talking.
In the end, she would think it was cool that you were an artist and would think it was fun…a little.
Tumblr media
GANGLE— 
What a coincidence we have here, it seems like you ended up finding a drawing companion in this place. Gangle even enjoys the same interests as you, drawings! But, specifically, she likes to draw in a more anime-style way.
Like the others, she just watched you doodling, but tried to be as discreet as possible so you wouldn't think of her as a stranger. However, after you got to know each other better and started to socialize more over time, she had the courage to bring up her hobbies during one of her conversations, after a lot of courage required of herself.
For Gangle to be able to show you her work, it will take a lot of time because she is not used to exposing her interests. But after losing his fear, Gangle finally manages to show him his art and after that the two of you are talking for hours! And Gangle would be the one communicating the most.
Your conversations can be anything but make sure Gangle is the one directing the conversation. She's just happy to find someone who doesn't make her feel pressured.
“Hey, remember when you were asking about my drawings? So, um, I kinda drew you. Hope you don’t mind the art style...” –And soon the little masked woman in front of you would be handing you a piece of paper with a drawing for you.
I believe that Gangle would love to do some drawing challenges with you, and several of them would be: Drawing a character that was requested by another, drawing while running against time, drawing and having to swap each other drawings and continue, testing new drawing styles (In this specific case, I believe that Gangle wouldn't be able to escape her anime style; even if she wanted to). and etc…
Arriving next to you, you, once again, notice a masquerade made of ribbons coming towards you:
“[YOU]! Look! I did the art challenge that you made up for me! What do you think?”
One last thing I want to point out would be about compliments. Unlike Pomni who, at least, tries to praise; Gangle can't do it. She may be thinking of thirty-five different types of languages just to mention how amazing your drawing is, but when she opens her mouth, all that comes out is one: “Oh, cool.” 
During the night, Gangle squirms, cries, and starts having a meltdown in her bed all because she feels guilty for not saying what she really wanted to say. Please don't blame her, she really likes your art, she just can't express herself properly...
Tumblr media
CAINE—
Unlike the others I wrote, he would be the only one who would notice your artistic side at first, however, he wouldn't point it out. Just make a mental note of this fact without you realizing it. However, he loves recognizing artists so if he saw you doing any kind of project, he wouldn't hesitate to praise you; Even though that moment isn’t one of the best…
“Wow, my dear!—” —Caine exaggeratedly expressed himself through the air– “—I can say for sure your work is fabulous!... But you should keep your eyes on the bull.”
And before you can even ask him what he was talking about, you're hit by a bull in a fancy beach hat.
Even though these small interactions are not always cool, given that Caine appearing right in front of you never means anything good, he has a genuine feeling for your art.
He likes to see you drawing at the same time he tries to do his speech, but doing two things at the same time can be a challenge. So, if you are just doodling in your notepad and don't listen to his voice, it’s because Caine is right behind you watching you draw. No one catches Flying Tooth's attention, because the longer you keep him busy, the longer everyone in that circus doesn't have an adventure; in which they are too tired to sustain mentally.
Bringing the theme of adventure to the surface, there are times when Caine asks you, in private, for your permission to use one of your arts for future adventures. It's not that he has few ideas for his adventures; His process of creating adventures would be in daydream, so imagine while he produced his work mentally, your work ends up infiltrating his mind, but unintentionally, the idea ends up becoming better than he imagined. And that's how we get our host's first sentence asking for permission. But don't worry, only if you want to of course...only if you want to be dropped in the void if you don’t allow it.
Just kidding, Caine would understand and move on.
With Caine being an art connoisseur, he has to prove it, and there's nothing better than showing it off to everyone. Caine, for sure, would be those types of parents who, if their child showed a common project for a child, they would display it as a trophy, that is, if you do something, be sure that if Mr. Tooth likes it, he will show it to everyone. . Whether you want it or not.
“Oh gosh, little star! I… I LOVED IT!”
About to respond, Caine continues his speech, taking your work from your hands: “LOOK EVERYONE!—” –Caine called the attention of the circus cast— “[YOU] MADE THIS!” —Caine floats above everyone with your project still in hand, not wanting anyone to miss it.
“Caine, you really don’t need to do it.” —You announce watching him while it flies moving from one place to another.
“Yeah. Those drawings aren’t gold, you know?” —Jax said, standing right next to you. Hearing this, Caine turned his “head” as quickly as possible towards the rabbit and then snapped his fingers, making him instantly disappear from your side. After this event, the silence soon prolonged until Ragatha broke it:“...Wow [YOU]! I love the way you used those colors in your art. It seems you took a long time to choose them.”
“Yeah! But I liked the lineart for sure!” –Continues Kinger
Some followed Ragatha's example just so they wouldn't end up with the same fate as their purple companion. Others, such as: Kinger and Zooble, didn't get the message or just didn't care that much about speaking verbally.
Caine really likes that one of his characters is an artist for sure.
278 notes · View notes
11 Things He Hates About You
Tumblr media
✨Synopsis: Rin Itoshi x Reader fluff Drabble
✨ Warnings: None
✨WC:876 words
✨Author’s Note: Hey there Wanderers! Enjoy this Drabble of thoughts that came to me around 01:00 for no apparent reason other than I couldn’t sleep. Safe travels to and through the alternate universes! ~Starry✨
✨11 Things He Hates About You Series Masterlist.
Tumblr media
Rin Itoshi hates your laugh.
You always laugh at the most silly little things. It’s almost as if you can’t go an hour without laughing, even if it’s a small giggle.
He hates your smile.
You always smile after greeting everyone. You even smile at him as he scowls at you. He goes as far as ignoring your greeting every morning, yet you continue. That stupidly perfect smile of yours with those stupidly pretty dimples can’t break him.
He hates how effortlessly kind you are.
People always take advantage of how willing you are to help them, even when they’re lost causes. They won’t do anything, but waste your time yet you’re there helping them.
He hates how your hair falls perfectly in front of your eyes as you do your work.
You’re never prepared with something to pull your hair out of your eyes. He doesn’t even think you bother to style your hair other than brushing it. How it irks him to his core knowing he just wants to reach over and move the hair from your eyes.
He hates how effortless you make being creative look.
The art teacher had paired the two of you to work together. He had told you straight forward that he ‘doesn’t have time for an art project because he has soccer practice’. He also stated how lousy of an artist he was and that you’d be better doing it on your own without his help. The way your eyes look down and then back to his with the most clear view of the colors in your irises. The way he could see you pout as he held out from helping out with the project. The desperation in your eyes was unnecessary and pitiful.
He hates the way you get tons of love letters and confessions from people at school.
He hates the way that his chest tightens and his focus shifts from collecting his outdoor shoes to you. How he can’t seem to unclench his jaw as you receive yet another confession this week. The other boy is bowing to you as he hands you the third confession you’ve received this week. Not that he’s keeping count.
He hates the exhale of relief he lets out as you reject yet another confession.
He hadn’t realized how long he had been holding his breath for. Or how you had noticed his stiff posture and sharp glare towards the boy confessing to you. He glanced back at you as you two held each other’s gaze for a moment longer than normal classmates would have.
He hates the stupid blush that crawls up your face; that makes his own blush worse.
Your cheeks must’ve been burning scarlet as you turned around and put your school shoes back in your locker. How your hands covered your cheeks when you left the area to head outside. His own blush wasn’t much better as it flared back up when he noticed you. You were there watching him at his soccer practice that same afternoon.
He hates how he doesn’t hate you at all.
The way his heart skips a beat faster every time he sees you. That every time he hears your laugh or sees your smile he wants to be the reason why you’re doing so. He wants to say good morning back to you every time you say it to him. He wants you to study with him so that he can hear you explain something to him as he pretends not to understand. How desperately he never wants to be the reason you’re sad again. He wants to be the one to fend away any scrubs who decide to confess to you because you deserve better. He wants to know if your heart beats as fast as his every time you see him. He wants to know why you were watching his practice.
He hates how that art project you two were supposed to do together did end up being collaborative.
He’s standing there his mouth agape in shock as you had captured him taking an amazing shot on goal with a camera. Then from that photo you drew it frame by frame until the ball went into the net. It was mesmerizing the way you captured his technique from a third person view. The way his body and his face was portrayed so meticulously. The awe began to wear off as he looked at you to see the same crimson blush creeping onto your face like before.
He most especially hates the effect you have on him.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” he blurts out. He said it in front of his classmates and the art teacher. What effect did you have on him to where he lost control over his thoughts like that? Your blush which was already there had intensified. All eyes had turned on you and the room was quiet except for whispers. He still held the drawing you made of himself in his hands as he became embarrassed by this slip. He was about to storm out when you put your hand over top of his and said “yes”.
Maybe he doesn’t actually hate you, rather he’s fallen in love for the first time.
194 notes · View notes
ohforfluffssake · 2 years
Text
Jacob's No Pressure Guide to Learning How to Enjoy Art Practice
DISCLAIMER: I own none of this. All of it is just an abridged version of the Drawclass (link: Drawclass 04/29/2022: Jacob's No Pressure Guide to Learning How to Enjoy Art Practice - YouTube). Please watch the video for the full experience, context, and nuance.
So, recently Jacob Andrews from Drawfee taught a class on how to practice art without putting too much pressure on yourself, and honestly, it was excellent. Do give it a watch if you're also facing a wall in getting started on art practice (also subscribe to their channels and support them on Patreon for more excellent content :D). Since I don't really have a good memory for basically anything, I did what I usually do to memorize stuff: I made notes. This blog post is basically just for me, but I'll be glad if it helps other people too. (again, all credit to Jacob and Nathan for the excellent Drawclass).
The Rules
Rule #1: Pick any 5 days during the week to practice. Take your break days whenever you want.
Rule #2: Set a minimum time for each day that is easily achievable. Continue drawing after that only if you feel like it. 
Rule #3: If you miss a day, it doesn’t matter. Just try again the next day. (Avoid thinking of it as maintaining your “streaks”)
Rule #4: Do NOT try to do a good job (Practice is INPUT). The only judgment you get to make is if you drew or not.
Rule #5: Focus on something you want to improve on each week. It can be as general or specific as you want it to be.
The Schedule
Day 1: Draw from imagination to the best of your ability
the aim is to get warmed up and also to get a baseline for the week
Jacob’s Example: Jumping poses, 15 minutes
Tumblr media
Day 2: Speed sketching 
numerous and fast drawings from reference
Fast is subjective, whatever feels comfortable for you (the upper limit is 3 minutes, Jacob does 30 seconds to 1 minute)  
Not going for detail, just capture the structure and vibe, as fast as you can
No need to even save it
Jacob’s Example: 10 minutes, ~1 minute for each reference photo (reference photos from Pinterest)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
● Nathan’s sketches from the same reference photos:
Tumblr media
Day 3: Reference drawing
Pick references (the number is up to you) and spend a little more time with each one
Capture details and complexities this time (like if day 2 was poses, then in day 3, try to capture musculature or folding of clothes etc.)
Doesn’t have to be a one to one copy, you can stylize
Another thing you can do is lower the opacity of the reference image and place your sketch over it to see which areas need improvement. In case of Jacob’s example, he mentions that the torso and legs are too short (areas of improvement which he was already aware of, so in general he tries to keep those in mind while drawing).
Tumblr media
Nathan’s sketches from the same reference photos: 
Tumblr media
Day 4: Style study
Take a look at how professional artists portray the topic you’re studying
It helps you to develop shorthands and your own style
Pull up references and try to imitate to the best of your ability
Can also draw over the reference pics to understand the shape language and flow (but don’t simply trace the drawing)
Also try to notice shapes made by the negative space
Basically don’t mindlessly copy, this is “active copying”
Tumblr media
● Nathan’s:
Tumblr media
Day 5: Draw from imagination again
Put together what you learned throughout the week
Compare with day 1 (hopefully, you will notice improvements)
Changes will be incremental, don’t be discouraged!
Jacob’s example: 10 minutes of free drawing:
Tumblr media
● Nathan’s:
Tumblr media
I hope this was helpful. Good luck with your art practice!
4K notes · View notes
strawberryfairi · 3 months
Text
TR Guys + Their Types | HCS
Ran, Baji, Rindou, Hanma 💖 pt 1
⚜️Content: Black Girl Edition🤎 What I could see the guys' types being
RAN
~ I feel like he loves a fashionable girl, specifically that like rich girl style (loves to wear heels, dresses, sun hats, etc). ~ Loves a confident, self-assured woman (I could see him loving a woman that gives off Jessica Rabbit vibes, both style and attitude).
~Definitely loves the hard to get type (not PLAYING hard to get but she just literally is hard to get).
~She'll love luxurious things (vacations, restaurants, etc) and will never say no when he offers her one of those types of experiences. ~She'd also be very kind, maybe even mellow personality wise. Like she's very poised, calm, and well-spoken for sure.
~He'd love a talented woman too! I feel like he'd be shook at a vocalist! That speakeasy, jazz standard vocalist type vibe. A smooth, sultry voice (I imagine her singing Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered by Ella Fitzgerald and Ran's just watching like omg...I'm sat🧎🏻).
~Likes a girl that really likes to nap, and do homey activities! Spending quality time together being inside the house is a must or him! For example: Going out to dinner together somewhere beautiful and expensive then come home and just chill and cuddle together with a movie on until y'all fall asleep!
~I could see him absolutely LOVING and OBSESSING over a big afro! Like imagine this look: A gorgeous yellow sundress, white heels, and that gorgeous afro she created out of a braid out, picked out to perfection and framing her face elegantly. Again...he's sat🧎🏻
BAJI
~I could kind of see two different types of girls for Baji so Imma split this one:
TYPE 1:
~ PATIENT...as a mf! Like, she is not out here getting pissed about every little thing. It takes her a lot of pushing before she'd ever get as mad as Baji does about certain things.
~ She's soft spoken (not necessarily like a meek voice but just calm) yet confident, and has no problem correcting or telling anyone off, she's just not going about it like Baji.
~Very compassionate and values family (this goes for type 2 as well). Baji cares DEEPLY for his mom so naturally I feel like he'd gravitate towards a family girl.
~Definitely loves animals for sure. Like just any animal she's cool with, and they're cool with her. (Them adventurous type girls that'll ride elephants and like...idk touch a shark lol. That ain't me chile)
~I could lowkey see that like chill sense of style for her too. Like not nothing fancy with Ran but more everyday/cute casual wear.
~I think Baji would like (in either type) a locs goddess type of girl. Like something about a girl with locs for my boy Keisuke....he's sat 🧎🏻.
TYPE 2:
~ ZERO PATIENCE....like none. If she's set off all hell is breakin' lose chile. It's every natural disaster happening at the same time if someone makes them BOTH mad (just run...).
~Values family for sure.
~Loud, animated personality! The type of girl where you hear her before you see her coming.
~Does not like animals like that, but is willing to let him show her and maybe warm her up to different kinds of animals.
~I think he'd like the streetwear kinda style. The kind where she can dress it up or down depending on the day or outing, like maybe she'll add in some heels to jazz up the fit, you feel me?
RINDOU
~Like Ran, I think he'd love a talented woman! Art, music, etc, he'd really like that kind of thing!
~I could see Rin liking a cutesy girl for him! Like pink, skirts, just the stereotypical girly things.
~I think he'd love natural hair so much! Like he'd love to just sit and learn how she does it. She'd be the type to do her hair herself.
~He'd like a girl he can share memes and music playlists with!
~Will love a girl that likes to go out, and be taken out to dinners, clubs, etc. Just texts/calls her outta nowhere like "Get dressed nice babe, I'm taking you out"
~Likes a girl with a warm, velvety, low voice. That deep tone that comes across naturally sensual for no reason.
~I think he'd also like the kind of girl that acts a bit bratty just so he can put her in her place (if you know what I'm sayin' sksksksk)
~Since he's all flexible and whatnot, on his elastigirl type beat, he'd definitely like a girl that would be open to learning about stretches and workouts and things! Would for sure like a lil workout buddy.
~He'd like a girl that's good at communicating and being perceptive of other people.
HANMA
~I feel like Shuji likes a girl that acts like she doesn't like his corny jokes, slight chaos, and flirting but really does
~He'll like a funny girl for sure! Not necessarily cracking jokes 24/7, but she has a sense of humor!
~I think he'd like a girl that' loves adventures too. Hanma likes spontaneity so he'd probably gravitate towards a girl that loves doing random things out of the blue!
~Likes an "angelic" kind of girl. Super sweet, kind of innocent, super kind, and just not violent and crazy like him. Definitely can see him with a girl that'll reign that craziness on in (Like, "We can have fun but we ain't bouta be on all dat...")
~I feel like he'd like though, a bad biddie type of girl too. Like she intimidates guys that see her because she looks so beautiful. Comes across scary gorgeous but she's really not like that at all if they get the chance to know her.
~When it comes to her hair, I could see her being a versatile baddie. She'll be natural, wear wigs, get braids/locs, you just never know! She gon' eat whatever style she feels like at any given time!
~I feel like this will also play into her style too. Like she's the kinda girl that will be giving classy baddy one time, casual one day and streetwear another but she absolutely slays each and every aesthetic like it's her main one!
156 notes · View notes
Text
Being Their Friend
Basically, a summary of what it's like to be each Welcome Home character's best friend!
Words: 1311
Type: Headcanons, platonic
Tw: None! Just fluffiness.
Tumblr media
Home
Being Home's best friend means you're probably Wally's best friend too! Or at least you get along pretty well. Either way, you spend a lot of time talking to his house, Home. Though Home can't speak, it does listen pretty well!
A lot of your time with Home is spent rambling about yourself and trying to decipher the noises it makes in return. You two have made up a small system where different noises mean different things. In return for listening to your rambles, you paint pretty pictures on Home's walls and patch it up when it needs a repair.
Wally
Being Wally's friend is really relaxing. Wally's not as energetic as some of his other neighbours, so it's a nice change of pace from the constant hijinks. He's always there to lend an ear and give the best advice he can, or to just listen, if that's what you want.
You two do a lot of art together. It doesn't matter how 'good' you are to Wally - art is art! Stick figures count just as much as the Mona Lisa. If you're not into painting you and Wally will try using crayons, or pencils, or pens, or charcoal! Wally likes to paint you sometimes and you paint him. In the end you both swap paintings and hang them in your houses.
Julie
Julie loves to play games. She's always making up some new rules just to reuse the same premise over and over. These rules can be complicated and can change mid-game, but to Julie that's just the fun of it! She's always making up something new for you guys to do together.
You two also style hair a lot. Julie's hair is incredible in all the different ways it can be styled, so you two like to make it into funny shapes! Julie will also style your hair (if you're not bald), or you two will go and style the hairs of the neighbours!
Julie's also very positive. She's always bringing an optimistic outlook to situations, so she's a good person to go to if you're having trouble with something and need some encouragement. She's always there to help a best friend!
Sally
Being Sally's friend is quite the adventure. You're always up to something fun - or dangerous. Visits to Poppy for check-ups and clean-ups are often. Whether you tripped and fell in the forest or rolled your ankle running down a hill, there's always something going on between you two.
Sally loves to drag you into her plays. You always get the best role by her standards, so apologies if you have stage fright. She always makes you the deuteragonist whenever she can. She'll even cast you as the villain if she has to! Anything to get her bestest best friend a chance to shine!
You often have to be the one to slow Sally down when she's going too far. Just taking a moment to grab her shoulder and have a think for a second; weigh up the consequences of her actions a bit. She's thankful for your help, and pays you back by always being the one ready to help in any situation, no matter how difficult.
Frank
Frank's very intelligent. He knows what he means when he calls you a good friend. When he gives anyone such a title, he means it. Frank's a bit of a grump, so getting to be his friend is much more of an accomplishment compared to his neighbours.
You can come to Frank with any question you have and he will answer it. Even if it takes him time, or if he's doing something when you ask, he will find the time to grab out a book and look up the answer for you. He takes a lot of pride in his knowledge and the knowledge of others, so he always relays it to you in a way that you understand (eventually).
In return, you help Frank with his bug watching explorations. The two of you go out into the forest and look at all the critters making their way around. Frank's not the most athletic person, so you help him with things like climbing trees and whatnot.
Eddie
You'll see Eddie pretty much every day, whether you're his friend or not. He's always there every morning to deliver the mail right to your doorstep. If you see him, he always gives you a smile and a wave before heading off to the next house.
Eddie's a forgetful fellow. You act like his personal reminder, always there to tell him when something is due or what he's got to do that day. It's very helpful for him, as without you he might forget entirely! He's also a bit clumsy, so you patch up any scrapes he has when he falls.
In return, he makes you lots of little gifts. Cards, stuffed toys, origami, anything you can think of. He's even tried his hand at cross-stitching just to make something for you! And he sends you cute letters in the mail telling you how glad he is to have you as a friend.
Howdy
Howdy's a busy fellow, being a shopkeeper and all, so it's hard to get any one-on-one time with him outside of his store. But, being friends, you two try to make arrangements in your schedules anyways. Days off together are rare, but they're always fun.
You spend a lot of him in his store, so much so Howdy bought a special chair just for you to sit and chat in. Sometimes Howdy's too busy to talk, so you just sit there and admire the store or look out the window. But when he is ready for you to talk, he'll always listen to you rant about anything.
In return, Howdy's always ready to offer a bit of pay if you want to help him out while talking. Doing simple things like restocking the shelves or sweeping the floors way not seem like much, but Howdy usually just doesn't have the time. He also gives you special discounts that need a super-secret code to unlock (he told you the code).
Barnaby
Barnaby's a humorous fellow; always looking for a laugh or a smile from his friends - and that includes you! He's always telling you jokes to see that silly smile spread across your face. You two have a 'joke a day' system in which you each see who can make the other smile more. There's no reward or anything, it's just nice to make each other laugh.
Barnaby's also a bit lazy. He doesn't like doing basic chores, so you motivate him to get off the couch and get the dishes done. You've managed to convince him to do the laundry by combining entertainment with it. For each task done he gets to tell you his best joke, and you give him one in return (more 'joke a day' segments, basically).
Poppy
Poppy always worries for her friends. She worries about a lot, actually. But that still includes you! She constantly frets over your condition when you show any signs of illness or injury. It's a constant stream of 'are you alright?' and other similar phrases. She just wants to make sure you're okay!
In compensation for her constant questions, she makes you a lot of baked goods. And by that I mean you use the utensils for her. But the intention still counts! Poppy struggles with a lot of anxiety, and sometimes that's just the best she can do.
Poppy's also always there to patch you up when you get hut. She doesn't ask all those questions for nothing, after all! She's always got a band-aid on hand whenever you need it. Or if you're sick, she bring you some cough medicine. She makes sure to keep stock of your favourite flavour!
Tumblr media
410 notes · View notes
starlostastronaut · 6 months
Text
━ TEN THINGS | HYUNJIN
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
PAIRING: hwang hyunjin x reader
GENRE: fluff
CW: none
part 4 of ten things. we made it! barely, but it's hereee! can you tell i listened to love songs while writing this?
general masterlist here
series masterlist
Tumblr media
boyfriend hyunjin who takes you to art galleries to look at paintings and sculptures and tells you random details about them or about the artist
boyfriend hyunjin who lets you braid and style his hair
boyfriend hyunjin who takes sneaky pictures of you that he cherishes, because it captures your true self as he says
boyfriend hyunjin who has his eyes only on you whenever you're in the same room
boyfriend hyunjin who falls asleep with you in his arms on the couch after watching a movie together
boyfriend hyunjin who gets jealous because kkami likes you more than him
boyfriend hyunjin who takes you to paris for you anniversary
boyfriend hyunjin who calls you his prince/princess
boyfriend hyunjin who paints a portrait of you for your birthday
boyfriend hyunjin who stops to kiss you under the stars on the walk back home
Tumblr media
©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission
180 notes · View notes
genericpuff · 6 months
Note
I’ve seen some people try and defend Lore Olympus by saying that movies like Hercules and such aren’t accurate to Greek myth, yet they’re still loved. And I somewhat get where they’re coming from, i really do.
BUT- I feel like part of the problem with LO is the fact that if you replace the names, you’d almost be right to assume it takes place in a completely different setting. Meanwhile, if you take away the names from the Hercules movie, you can still tell where it’s supposed to take place. (And who’s who, if you know your myths). Plus the writing of Hercules is 100% better than LO.
The difference between LO and Hercules is that Hercules clearly has respect for the source material put into it. It might not be accurate to the source material - because it's being retooled as a Disney movie for children - but you can tell there's still a lot of thought, love, and effort put into it. The team behind that movie did research on the art and culture of Greece, and adapted it into a movie that was entertaining and recognizable as a Greek myth adaption.
They put our home boy Heracles/Hercules in a tunic! Do you know how shocking that must have looked to American viewers who didn't know a shred of Greek myth and wondered why the big buff hero was being drawn in a skirt? Still accurate though!
Tumblr media
LO, meanwhile, writes Greek myth as if it hates Greek myth for existing. It comes across more as a white woman using these stories purely for profit and colonizing it with American-esque culture. The outfits have become noticeably less Greek since the beginning, the characters never eat Greek food anymore, and the locations are left as vague as solid color backdrops to indicate "The Underworld" and "Olympus" without actually showing any set pieces or understanding of how these locations would look and feel in a modern setting.
All of these examples I gave are things we saw a decent amount of in S1. But since then it's just become talking heads on top of flat color backgrounds, eating Chinese food and dressing in American-style clothing. When was the last time we saw a mortal? There's just nothing Greek about the comic anymore because either Rachel has gotten so complacent that she just defaults to what she knows without any research (so what she watches on TV and in movies) or she only bothered with her research in the beginning to get people hooked and convinced that she's a "folklorist" so that they'd keep reading the series and giving her money on good will alone.
Using Hercules as an example of "well it's not accurate to Greek myth either!" completely misses the point of what people are getting at when they say that LO is a bad Greek myth retelling. Guess what else isn't completely accurate to Greek myth? Hadestown. Hades (the game). God of War. Stray Gods. They all take creative liberties with the source material in order to adjust it to the medium and audience they're creating it for, but none of those adaptions are quite as disrespectful as LO's. And God of War literally has little angry man going around and brutally murdering the gods. It still respects the setting of Greek myth more than LO, but unlike LO, it doesn't try to constantly sound smart with its inaccuracies, it knows fully well that it's a video game first and foremost.
And that's the beauty of myths. They can be adapted across generations and used to tell new versions of the same stories. So it begs the question, why bother writing a Greek myth retelling if you're going to make it so non-Greek that you could have just as well just written a normal soap drama and have it still be virtually the same?
Compared to all of the other examples, LO is the definition of confidently incorrect. It should have stuck to just being Greek myth inspired, not a retelling.
168 notes · View notes
starlvenus · 2 months
Text
Old friends
Tumblr media Tumblr media
warnings! none :p sam winchester x gn!reader summary: Sam winchester's hunt wasn't going well.. leading him to a diner where he would reunite with an old friend from Stanford. __
Sam wasn't having a good day so far.. Everything he and Dean were doing for this hunt was all thrown out the window, all of their research was wrong, only because someone gave them a fake tip, leading them to think it was a whole different monster.
The most mundane diner was ahead; the red sign on the roof shined brightly.
Sam sighed pushing the door open, the overhead bell chiming loudly as he entered. The smell of coffee fills his nostrils, only momentarily distracting him from his chaotic day. 
His eyes scanned the menu, picking out what he would order, Burgers, Fries, and of course, pie for dean. His eyes narrow slightly as he tries to find a healthier option for himself.
He orders pretty quickly, shooting the waitress a small smile after he finishes. He shuffles in the seat trying to find a comfortable position.
His eyes observe the patrons in the diner. An elderly couple chatting over some coffee, a group of young teenagers, that's when he sees a familiar set of headphones, the sides adorned with those "nerdy" stickers, a nostalgic reminder to his time back at Stanford. Sam couldn't help but watch discreetly, taking in their new look, shorter hair, different style, yet his eyes were drawn onto that same bag.. His eyes scanned its pins and keychains seeing the small cat pin he had gifted was still there. Sitting in the spot he chose, nudged between a video game pin, and a movie pin.
Sam sat there contemplating whether to approach, doubt lingered in Sam's mind. Slightly remembering the times he and Dean were thrown onto tv screens..
readers pov I guess it was a pretty nice day.. I have a day off from work and nothing has gone wrong yet. The diner was pretty small and it had decent food, plus everything I've been drawing hasn't turned to shit! 
I got my pencil case out, taking out a few colours, a light blue, pink, yellow, green and a teal. I almost instantly start to colour in the little sketch, layering the colours randomly. My head bobs along to the beat of the song playing in my ears, the headphones slightly getting rid of the noises in the diner. The corners of my lips lift gently, creating a content smile.
  It wouldn't take long until I sensed someone looking at me.I tore my eyes away from my book and scanned the diner. My eyes would momentarily pass a familiar figure; this made me do a double take. His eyes widened slightly as I caught him, his eyes quickly darted away focusing on the table in front of him. I look away as well.. A little bit embarrassed. After a few minutes passed I looked back at the man.. Is that Sam? Sam winchester? My mind wanders back to my time in Stanford, Sam and I were pretty much best friends.. Well that's how it felt to me.  We met in an Art history class and pretty much became class buddies until one day we decided to meet outside of class. Then one day he pretty much disappeared.. Leaving me disappointed, and without my friend. I sat there for a bit debating if I should go over to him, just to say hi or maybe engage in small talk about how his life was going.
  I sat here contemplating whenever to approach him. I decided to pack up my pencils and books, hastily shoving them back into my bag. I removed the headphones from my ears, letting them hang around my neck. Before leaving the table, I put the small mug on top of the plate, making it easier for the waitress to get the dishes. I take a small deep breath and get up. Grabbing my bag and walking over to where Sam sat. whatever pov :p Their boots make heavy footsteps, prompting Sam to look up. Their eyes lock, and they offer a small wave accompanied by a slight smile.
Before they speak, they shuffle into the booth, taking the slightly uncomfortable seat in front of him.
"Hey, um, you're Sam Winchester, right?" Despite already knowing the answer, they feel compelled to confirm, just in case. Sam smiles slightly, his eyes narrowing, trying to place you. "Yeah, It's me.” he pauses “It's Y/N right?" They smile at him recognizing them, "yeah! it's me" they pauses for a bit unsure of what to say to one of their past friends "i- this might be insensitive of me but- what happened? why'd you.. Leave?" Sam looks down, remembering the incident. The memory still burned into his mind. "Family business.” He pauses before speaking again. “I had no say in it, really. It's a long.. complicated story.” His eyes shifted around the diner as his thoughts drifted back to that night. He sighs and continues “But you know that's not important, what have you been up to? You look good”
they swallow and nod, a small reassuring smile on their face. "Oh well thank you! decided to change up a few things.." they mumble slightly. "You look good too! your hairs grown pretty long" Sam grins slightly and looks down, a little embarrassed by the compliment"Yeah, the hair has certainly grown longer"  He looks back at you, his eyes searching for something. A question crosses his mind. He remembers the last time you two spoke, he asked about your plans for the future. "How about that degree? Still pursuing it?" They shrug a little “nah.. A few months after you left I realised that it was really for me and I left to do other things..” they fidget with their fingers “But… I still have student loans which is unfortunate” they give Sam an awkward smile, their feet swaying back and forth under the table. 
Sam chuckles slightly at your feet swinging, it brought back old memories of you tapping your feet together.
 "So, what have you been up to these days? I'm sure your talents were put somewhere else."
Sam and Y/N sit there for ages, just talking about how everything is going, what they have been doing since they last saw each other.. Despite Sam already getting all his food, they continue to sit there just chatting away. It wasn't until Dean called Sam, whining and grumbling about where he was and why he was taking so long.. Sam came up with a quick lie about how the diner was filled with a bunch of people. Sam hangs up and looks at you “look.. im sorry but I've got to get back to my brother” Y/n smiles “oh- yeah that's okay!” They pause and watch him pack up the now lukewarm food. Y/N hesitated before speaking, but went for it “I- do you want my number? Maybe we can chat sometime?” Sam paused, contemplating the offer, and then nodded with a smile, "Yeah, sure."
83 notes · View notes
bapple117 · 4 days
Text
Memory Reboot - A One-Sided Radiostatic One-Shot (Vox x Alastor)
Tumblr media
Third person - Fluff, Pining, Angst - mild adult references
~ A03 Link ~ text is also included below after the break ~ excuse the crappy art ~
Summary: Every now and then, Vox allows himself a trip down memory lane; back to when he and Alastor were good friends. This night, Vox rediscovers an old bit of memorabilia that has him reminiscing, all about one night when he and the Radio Demon shared a drink or two. The memory is a bittersweet reminder of what could have been, and what almost happened; lips meeting for the sweetest of stolen moments.
---------------------------------
Vox stumbles into his room, clumsy and heavy with drink. He bashes his head into the door as it rebounds; groaning, he rubs at his screen with a grimace. 
Drinking alone is always a bad idea. With the other two Vees both out for the night, Vox had allowed himself a little more stalking than he usually does; drinking in his surveillance room, watching and rewatching clips of the Radio Demon going about his day. It’s obsessive; Vox knows it is. He still can’t help himself. 
He teeters wildly on his legs now, looking through his belongings for some painkillers for the inevitable screen-ache he’ll have in the morning; where the fuck are they?!
Not a single drawer he searches yields any results. Vox tosses items left and right, searching through masses of cables and piles of clothes. He rifles through his bathroom cabinet, knocking down an assortment of pill bottles in the process; none of them what he needs right now.
“Fuck my life,” the Television Demon mutters to himself. 
On his hands and knees, he pulls out a bottom drawer from a huge dresser. Vox moves sloppily with inebriation as he pilfers through all the junk and bric-a-brac. And then - his hand is on something that feels familiar yet forgotten all at once. Vox pulls it out; and there it is.
His electric heart shudders within his chest. 
The tiny die-cast CRT TV model that Alastor had gifted to him years ago. So many years ago. So long ago, in-fact, that when Alastor had presented Vox with this small model, it had been exactly what Vox’s own head had looked like. A chunky, heavy, 70s television. Long outdated technology, these days, of course; Vox has upgraded several times over the years since then. 
Vox can hardly believe his tired eyes; it’s been years since he thought about this. He remembers the night Alastor gave it to him all too well - too painfully well. Vox sighs; his sadness threatening to leak into the forefront of his drink-weakened mind. 
The search for the painkillers now given up on and forgotten, Vox crawls to his bed and lays on it in the dark, the small metal totem still in his hand. Neon lights from the city outside dance and skitter on the walls. Vox stares at the ceiling. 
He can’t help himself; the memory begins to play in his mind, like an old VHS recording, discovered and dusty. Vox usually represses these memories, but for some reason, he allows this one to consume his thoughts this night. He drifts off into it; a broken heart indulging itself despite the pain. 
---------------------------------
It’s the past. Long, long ago; some time in the 1970s. Vox is drinking with Alastor - the Radio Demon, his friend. They are drinking together in Alastor’s old apartment, sharing each other’s company in the easy way that they used to. The apartment is full of antique furniture and vintage radio paraphernalia; Vox has been here many times, and yet he always eyes Alastor’s decor with the same dry observations. 
“You really need to get with the times, Al,” Vox says. “Get some more modern stuff.”
The Television Demon gawks at himself in an ornate mirror on the wall; his on-screen features blink back at him, set in his wide CRT TV head. 
“Nonsense,” Alastor calls from the kitchen. “There’s nothing wrong with my decor choices. Some things never go out of style.”
Vox huffs in amusement to himself. Secretly, he adores Alastor’s presentation. Vox looks up to the Radio Demon; he admires him. Vox wants to be just like Alastor, really. Powerful, respected, smart, classy. Alastor is everything Vox wants to be. At this point in time, Vox is a much weaker Overlord than Alastor, having only been in Hell for less than twenty years. It’s never an issue between them, of course, but Vox knows he is inferior. One day, he’ll be better. 
The Television Demon joins his friend in the kitchen then; Alastor is pouring new glasses of drink for them. Something expensive. 
“Woah,” Vox says, laughing. “What are we celebrating?”
“Well, I was wondering when you’d ask,” Alastor says sassily. “I took down another one of my rivals today.”
Vox blinks. His screen buzzes. 
“Another Overlord?” He asks, both impressed and appalled. 
Alastor nods, pleased. 
“Don’t look so surprised,” Alastor says, grinning. “It was no effort at all, really. Hardly worth you looking so gormless over. What fun it was though!”
Vox laughs nervously. 
“Well, uh, that’s great, Al!” He says, accepting the drink. “You gotta promise not to ever try and take me down like that though, huh?”
It’s a weak joke; both demons know that it stinks of a true fear. Alastor scoffs. 
“Don’t be ridiculous, Vox,” the Radio Demon says. “How long have we known each other now, hmm?”
Vox scans his memories to try and answer accurately.
“Uhhh… Well years,” he says. “Almost two decades.”
“Exactly. And have I ever once betrayed you?” Alastor asks, gesturing for them to sit at the table. 
Vox follows Alastor’s lead and sits. 
“I guess not,” Vox says. 
The two demons sit in silence for a while; which is odd, given how prone to idle conversation they both usually are. Alastor hums along to a jazz tune playing in the background; Vox fiddles with his glass.
Alastor is deep in contented thought; eyes closed, a red claw tapping at the table to the rhythm of the song. Vox takes a gulp of his drink, still not knowing what it is; his question is answered as soon as it hits his throat. Some kind of very strong spiced rum, neat on ice. The Television Demon coughs a little, white noise filling the silence. Alastor grins. 
Vox looks up at his friend then; sees his smile. His own grin creeps up on to his screen. How simple it is between them; how easy it’s always been. Just the two of them. Alastor doesn’t have many friends; Vox is honoured to be one of them. Friends. Vox wishes they were so much more. 
“You know,” Vox says then, staring at his drink. “We could be something. Together, I mean.”
Alastor’s neck snaps a little as his head twitches to the side in confusion. 
“Something?” 
Vox hastens to clarify. 
“You know. A team. Take down Overlords together,” he says. 
Alastor seems to genuinely consider this for a moment; he drifts away into the thought of it. Vox lets himself hope for a second; his hopes are dashed just as quickly. 
“Hmm,” Alastor says. “You know me, though! I prefer to work solo.”
Vox slumps a little. His work shirt sleeves are rolled up messily; one begins to loosen from its turn-up, so he focuses on re-rolling it. 
“I know,” he says. “Doesn’t it ever get lonely, though?”
“I don’t think so,” Alastor says, amused. 
“Oh.”
The Radio Demon ponders this for a beat longer; he senses he has insulted his friend somehow. This is meant to be a nice evening celebrating his latest victory; Alastor supposes he should show a little courtesy to keep things jovial. 
“I suppose it does, sometimes,” Alastor says. 
Vox feels his inner wiring twisting in his abdomen. 
“Oh?”
Alastor rolls his eyes; must he elaborate?
“Well, I suppose having more allies couldn’t hurt,” he says. 
“Oh, well,” Vox says. “I could… I could be that for you?”
Alastor grins. 
“In your current state, I feel you may not be of any use to me, Vox old pal,” Alastor teases. “Come back to me when you’re stronger, hmm?”
The Radio Demon knocks playfully on the side of Vox’s clunky CRT head; it echoes within him. Vox knows that Alastor only means this as a cheeky gibe between friends; it wounds him all the same. 
Vox lets out a nervous laugh as response and tries to conceal the hurt.
The night is salvaged somewhat; the two demons continue to drink into the early hours. They chat, they listen to music, they share stories about various occurrences in Hell. Despite the fact they are undying souls in burning eternity, they are also both something else; two beings who both died as young men, now frozen in time. 
Alastor isn’t who he’ll truly be just yet; neither is Vox. In this memory, they are their younger, slightly sweeter selves. It’s enough to make present-day Vox cry with how much he’d give anything to have those days back. 
Towards the end of the night, the two demons sit side by side together, wasted. They use the sofa as a backrest as they sit sloppily on the floor. Vox hiccups and it sounds like a channel being changed; Alastor laughs.
“You know,” the Radio Demon starts. “I do enjoy these little chats of ours, despite our conflicting technology.”
Vox is giddy; he nods, eager. 
“One day I’m gonna be great, Al,” Vox says, suddenly. “I’m gonna build an empire. It’s gonna be huge.”
Alastor smiles; it’s the soft, fond smile of a friend humouring someone. 
“Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Vox says, slurring slightly. “And I’ll be as strong as you - no! - even stronger.” 
Alastor is laughing; genuine and warm. Vox grins wide at the sound of it. 
“I’ll take over all of Hell!” Vox says, clenching a fist. 
Alastor chuckles. 
“Hm. That sounds nice,” he says, drunk and feeling it. 
“Well,” Vox starts. “You’ll be there with me, right?”
Alastor quirks his head. 
“Will I?”
“Sure! We’ll do it together,” Vox says, wicked intent on his screened features. “We’ll rule Hell together. No fucker will cross us with our combined skills.”
Alastor is giggling; Vox wants to climb into the sound of it and live there. 
“Well, that is a lofty concept, to be sure,” Alastor says. “But it is pleasing, I have to admit. You truly do get some devious ideas don’t you?”
“Fuck yeah I do!” Vox says, delighted. 
Alastor smiles to himself, looking away. 
“Well, if that ever comes to fruition, you can count on me being there,” he says.
“Yeah?!” Vox is beaming. “I can’t wait for what the future brings, Al. This old thing will be the first to get an upgrade, that’s for sure.”
Vox taps his own head; even now in the late 70s, his TV set head is looking a bit vintage. Vox just needs to wait for Earth technology to advance and filter down; he can’t wait to be better. Stronger. Faster. Alastor tenses as a thought seems to come to him.
“That reminds me!” The Radio Demon says. “I have something for you.”
Alastor retrieves something from his pocket and hands it to a captivated Vox; it's a tiny metal die-cast model of a Sony Triniton KV-1820UB television set. It looks just like Vox’s current head. 
“Here you are,” Alastor says, pleased with himself. 
Vox is enamoured; the Radio Demon doesn’t do gifts. This is special; it means Vox is special. 
“Al, I don’t know what to say,” Vox says, his nerves alive and crackling. “I can’t believe you got this for me… I love it.”
Alastor grins wide. 
“I got one for me, too,” he says, holding up a tiny model of an old radio. “I found a charming boutique selling all kinds of little novelties. Aren’t they fun?”
Vox is astonished; not only did Alastor get him a gift, he got one for himself to match. This surely is symbolic? Vox’s receivers are scrabbling to interpret the signals Alastor is giving off. 
“Wow, yeah, that’s uh… That’s cute, Al,” Vox says, shakily. “It’s not like you to give gifts.”
Alastor laughs. 
“Well. My conquest today put me in an especially good mood, I suppose,” he says. 
Vox nods. 
“Thank you, Al,” he says, screen blinking. “I will treasure this. I mean it.”
Alastor’s quota for sincerity has reached its limit; eager to return the conversation to playful jibes and gossip, the Radio Demon scoffs. Vox grins; he knows Alastor hates to be perceived as kind, despite the fact he can be. Vox shoves himself into Alastor’s shoulder in a playful bump.
“You’re goin’ soft on me, old man,” Vox jokes; Alastor pretends to be aghast. 
“Old man?” He scorns. “How dare you, Vox. I only died two decades before you and we were both more or less the same age at death. Watch your tongue.”
Vox chuckles to himself. The two demons sit together for a little while longer in peaceful quiet; Vox’s mind is full of static. He’s processing, thinking. Vox has tried to broach this topic before, but he can’t help himself; he needs to push it again. 
“Hey, uh, Al?” He says. 
Alastor looks at him and hums an acknowledgement. Vox’s gaze shifts around nervously. 
“Do you remember that… conversation, we had a while ago?” Vox says. 
Alastor does remember; he pretends for now that he doesn’t. He shakes his head. Vox exhales shakily. 
“Look, I, uh… I know you don’t like talking about… feelings, and stuff, but…”
Alastor wants this nipped in the bud as soon as possible. 
“Is this about your infatuation, hmm?” The Radio Demon says, trying to sound casual about it. “I’ve told you Vox. It will pass, it’s just a-“
“No,” Vox says, urgent. “It won’t, Al, and you know it.”
Vox grabs Alastor’s hand; the Radio Demon doesn’t recoil. He lets his claws sit limply within Vox’s; a tiny concession for this display of vulnerability. And anyway; they’ve linked hands before, when dancing or fleeing a crime scene, or such. No big deal. Alastor sighs. 
“You know I can’t give you want you want,” he says, radio filter slipping away. “This is all I can give you. My time. My friendship, my consort to you as a fellow Overlord.”
Vox is exasperated. 
“Can’t you give me just a little bit more?” He asks.
Alastor avoids the Television Demon’s gaze. 
“I don’t think so,” he says. 
Vox grabs Alastor’s chin in his, then; pulling it in his direction to make Alastor look at him. 
“How do you know you won’t like it?” Vox says. “You’ve never even tried it.”
Alastor blushes at the sudden contact, the intrusiveness of it. He’s flustered simply because Vox is being so forward; any sign of aggressive intent is entertaining to Alastor, of course. 
“Why don’t you let me just try?” Vox says, his voice a thin whine.
“Vox, old friend, come on now-“
“Why won’t you let me just kiss you?” Vox whispers. “Please, Al.”
Alastor hesitates; if he relents, will it be enough to just shut Vox up about this once and for all? This topic cropping up every couple of years is getting tiresome. And... he does care about Vox. Alastor loves him, in his own way; platonic but true.
“Please, Al,” Vox murmurs, his eyes fixed on Alastor’s lips. “I’m begging you. I know it’ll feel right when it happens.”
Vox’s hand tightens around Alastor’s chin; he’s trying to pull him inwards. Alastor’s heart rate quickens; annoyingly. He’s a deer in headlights; drunk and unsure how to retaliate. Vox is closing the distance between their faces; Alastor can feel their hot breath exchanging in the small gap between their mouths. 
Alastor’s ears are flat against his head; Vox is staring at his lips.
“Please,” he whispers again. 
“I don’t… I don’t know,” Alastor whispers back. 
“Please,” Vox begs, desperate. 
Alastor huffs in defeat, and Vox knows he has won. Vox leans in and presses his screen to Alastor’s mouth; for a moment, the Radio Demon is rigid. But then… his mouth is moving; Vox is elated. Alastor is relenting. Vox cannot believe it. Alastor is kissing him back; his hand at the edge of Vox’s screen. Their mouths move together quickly, the taste of rum amongst it all. Vox's mind is awash with joy.
Yes, YES. Fucking YES! This is it, this is IT! 
Vox moans into Alastor’s mouth; he risks letting his tongue breech Alastor’s lips, tries sticking it down Alastor’s throat - 
Alastor pulls away; Vox is devastated. Too far. 
“Hmm!” Alastor says, recovering, trying to sound light-hearted. “No, still not for me, I don’t think.”
Vox is panting, red in the screen. He’s hard; of course he is. Vox’s eyes dart all over Alastor, looking for signs - proof that he did like it. 
“No, Al, come on,” Vox says. “Please, you know it works, WE work, c'maaan!”
Alastor is sad; a part of him does wish he could give Vox what he wants. It would make things so much easier; it would ensure keeping his loyalty, for one. And… well. It would make things a bit less lonely. But Alastor just can’t let himself go there.
“I’m sorry, Vox,” he says, genuinely melancholy. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want from me. I really am.”
“No,” Vox is angry. “It cannot be like this, please, we were so close-“
“I think it’s high time we went to bed, hmm?” Alastor says. “You’re in no state to get yourself home. You can sleep on the sofa.”
“Al, stop, just, can we talk about this? Can we try again, I’ll go slower, I promise,” Vox says, grasping at straws.
Alastor smiles weakly. He reaches up and turns one of Vox’s dials fondly; Vox’s erection twitches in his jeans. 
“You’ve just had too much to drink, hmm?” Alastor says. “We’ll sleep this off and tomorrow it’ll all be forgotten about.”
Alastor stands then; Vox groans, his screen in his hands. 
“We’ll be back to normal tomorrow, eh, old pal?” Alastor says with forced jollity.
Vox sighs; it’s guttural. He looks up at the Radio Demon, agonised. 
“I’m never going to be back to normal,” Vox says. “I’m always going to want this. I’m always going to want you.”
Alastor hesitates; he looks forlorn. Only in the eyes, of course; but his smile is a tight, thin line on his face. 
“I know," he says.
Vox's heart shatters in his chest; not for the first time. 
"Do try to get over it, though, won’t you?” Alastor says, and he turns to leave for his bedroom. “Get some sleep.”
Vox is left alone in the living room; ruined. 
---------------------------------
The memory of that night, so many decades ago, drifts away from present-day Vox, just as cruelly as Alastor had slipped from his grasp.
The pain of it - and indeed, remembering what came later - is unbearable; Vox can only cope with these memories now by wanting Alastor dead. Just so he’d be gone for good; just to rid himself of the pain of knowing Vox never got to keep him. He came close, of course; some years later, in the 80s. For a while, Vox had had Alastor; it had been so sweet. Vox doesn’t let himself think on this, for now. It’s too brutal. He’d be a mess; for now, he needs to compose himself. Vox places the die-cast vintage TV model on his bedside table and looks at it for a few beats. 
I wonder if Alastor still has his radio model. 
I wonder if he still thinks of me.
Vox curls into a ball in his bed; the truth hums around him, thick and heavy, like electricity in the air before a thunderstorm. 
He’ll never love me like I love him.
He never did.
---------------------------------
This story continues in:
Bluest Monday
Read all my stuff on AO3 🍎
62 notes · View notes
halfofmysoulsblog · 9 months
Text
Addicted-NSFW Alphabet
Boss!Bucky/Reader
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
-Bucky’s way of aftercare is cleaning you up, gently wiping away any evidence of his passion. Since finally getting you in your bed, he found content in holding you close to him and burying his face in your neck, smelling your skin. 
B = Body part (their favorite body part of their partner’s)
-Your breasts. It was the first thing that he was drawn to when he met you. He loved the way they fit in his hands. He loved wrapping his lips around your nipples and nibbling along your soft skin. He could press his face in your chest and be content. 
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
-Anytime inside you Bucky got off on watching you coat his cock. The way he pulled out every time to see your cum all over, just milking him was everything. The two of you played it as safe as possible but when condoms weren’t in sight, the warm, thick streams of cum on your backside or stomach was always welcomed. 
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
-Despite being a few floors up, there’s been quite the few times where Bucky has had you pressed face into the glass window that oversaw the city below while he brought you to orgasm.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
-You don’t have much experience with men in general, and definitely none quite like Bucky. It took some time to learn his body and gather what he liked. Bucky was very experienced in the art of touching alone, and adding to his raspy, deep voice, he knew how to get you hot and bothered. He knew what to say to you. He knew what to do to you to keep the pleasure rolling. He knew how and where to touch you in order to get you to do anything he pleased. 
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
-Doggy Style. Any time he could get you bent over was the best. It gave him all the accessibility that he needed. He could reach around and squeeze your breasts. From the back, he had the ability to press himself straight into you and take control. He loved the feeling of having control over you, to know that you were helpless under his assaults. 
You preferred him anywhere and in any way. No matter the position, you were going to feel him for days and end up feeling good. You did have to admit that outside of doggy style, spread eagle was your favorite. 
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
-Every moment is a serious moment. The secrecy of your relationship and the intimacy the two of you share when together calls for serious moments of pleasure. Bucky was a serious man, as far as he’s shown you, so it would be no different that his sexual endeavors with you would be the same. 
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
-You prefer the smoothness of silk, enjoying the occasional, sometimes painful waxes that leave you hairless. 
-While his salt and pepper beard was thick and neatly trimmed, his lower body was low, barely visible as it was. He preferred it that way since getting older. 
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
-Occasional fucking or not, Bucky took his time with you. His goal was to make you cum as much as you could and as hard as you could. You’ve only had one time to go off of where your usual meetups weren’t just quick and to the point.  Even then, his tendencies were gentle yet dominating, leaving you to be as close to him as possible. 
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
-If you think he hasn’t once sat in that overly large chair of his late at night and gripped himself to orgasm, you’re wrong. Even while away from you for those few months, he thought about nothing but you and laid in empty beds just thinking about getting you in his grasps again. 
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
-You couldn’t say for sure if you had a kink that expressly turned you on and as far as you knew, if your boss had one, he didn’t outwardly show it. You did gather the feeling that he liked knowing he towered over you. You could see it in his eyes sometimes when he’d lean over you and stand in front or behind you. The few times you get to see his face while he’s plundering inside you, his eyes are glued to where he’s poking in and out of your wet heat, enamored. 
He also had this thing for your underwear. There were still a few pairs missing that he’s kept. 
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
-Anywhere. Public places weren’t exactly a no, though they were usually bathrooms, his or your office, the elevator. There still had to be some privacy. His office of course was your favorite. The way he’d have no problem clearing his desk of any sharp objects and papers before having you bent over or on top of it as he worked your body to his liking. 
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
-For you, it’s that damn voice of his. Deep, rough, raspy. He makes your body feel like it’s on fire. 
-Anything that has your legs out. Those pencil skirts? They drove him crazy. Or those shirts that just hinted at your cleavage which had him internally drooling over you. 
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
-Bucky doesn’t share. Your going out with Steve didn’t count as he purposely pushed you away for good reason. No matter what he did to you behind closed doors, wherever, nobody could see you the way he saw you. He always made a habit of locking both your office and his office doors whenever you two were having sex.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
-Out of the many women he’s been with, you give the best head. You left him groaning out whenever you were on your knees under his desk. He loved giving as much as he loved receiving. He could feast on you for hours. All you had to do was put it in his face and he didn’t have to be told twice before removing his favorite under garments and going in. 
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
-It comes with the territory, so fast and rough is usually the go-to. Quick and sharp thrusts with his hand over your mouth. 
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
-They’re a given. Unless it’s late and you’re both alone or in the back of one of his cars. It was convenient, and it was just as good as really getting you alone. You enjoyed them because when there was time involved, Bucky had no boundaries in how fast he went, chasing your pleasure down first before reaching his own. 
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
-If he wanted you, he didn’t give a damn about what could happen. Precautions in place to protect not only his but your privacy was a given, but if it was one of those days and he really needed you, everything else could get thrown out the window. He’s willing to do anything to get you alone. 
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
-One would think that with age Bucky wouldn’t be able to go as long as he could ten to fifteen years ago, but the man was like a stallion. He could keep going and not make a sweat. The first night he stayed at your house, he made you cum so many times you lost count in just an hour, and he’d already cum once, just as hard and stiff. 
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
-You didn’t see the need for them, but highly considered them after he left. It wouldn’t be something Bucky would be against, knowing he could do a lot with something like that at his fingertips. His hand and your mouth does well enough for him, so he doesn’t see the need for one himself. 
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
-You loved to tease him in the form of clothing and alluding to what’s to come. Wearing his favorite color or those low tops. Sometimes sitting with your legs open at your desk so he can see exactly what you had on when he walks into his office. 
-Teasing was his specialty. He could work you up and down with just his hips. He likes pushing you to the edge and making you beg for it. He loved kissing your thighs and nosing your clit before actually touching your pussy. 
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
-You’re quiet. You try to be anyway. Alone with no one around and you could really scream if you wanted. You were always incapable of talking, only able to mumble out words and moan. 
-Bucky’s a coaxer. Telling you what to do. How to do it. How good you feel. How he wants you to feel. He’s also a groaner, his chest deeply rumbling with every moan of his own. 
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
-The one time the two of you had elevator sex was when it stopped working. That was one of the few times where you were screaming for him. You never knew that he arranged for it to stop between two floors that were under renovation, leaving no one around to hear you. 
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
-Nine times out of ten, you have on no underwear. He either takes them from you or you’ll come to work with nothing knowing how he gets. He finds it easier to go commando so that he could just undo his pants and drill himself inside you whenever he wanted. 
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
-It was hard to escape him. It was hard to escape you. A quickie wasn’t long enough. He needed to be inside you every day. No matter the time or place. He will literally move up meetings in order to get 30 minutes to an hour alone with you. You thought about him more than you should the closer you became to him. You wanted his heart just as much as you wanted his body. 
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
-Neither you have time for sleep, but you were the one that would look tired in the day quicker. On the rare occasion that he gets to hold you or watch you, he’s usually left staring at you, feeling deeply content. 
Tag List - Add yourself 🥰
Tumblr media
@adoreyouusugar @blackhawkfanatic @usertragedys @ellethespaceunicorn @thabiddie23 @winters-doll @princess76179 @darkserenity24 @sebastians-love @louderfortheback @darkbreezybri @1andonlytashae - Don’t know if you’re a Bucky kinda girl
199 notes · View notes
welcomingdisaster · 1 month
Note
need to keep quiet ft. maedhros rescuing maglor?
Tumblr media
@grey-gazania here is my best attempt to fulfill both prompts! pardon the length; it got a little out of hand. <3 ao3
This could have been over quickly, if not for Maglor’s pride. 
He is among the least conspicuous of his brothers; dark-haired and grey-eyed, as so many of the Noldor, tall but not excessively so, not particularly fair of face. In his wanderings he had not worn finery—there is none left to wear—and had not held himself particularly apart from the tattered few remaining servants yet by his side. 
But one thing he had left. 
His silver circlet with the carved orchid, which had been on his brow during his journey aboard the stolen ships. He had set it aside only during his brief reign as regent, forced to take on a heavier, grander crown. As crown prince of the Noldor he returned to it; as the lord of the Gap he had worn it. 
For it is among the few pieces of jewelry made by his mother’s hand, and not his father’s; a slightly-awkward foray into art not her own, and yet beautiful for it, the petals of the orchid rendered with the sensibilities of a sculptor. Inside she pressed the name she had given him in beautiful, looping Tengwar. 
And even with all lost he had not been able to force himself to discard it. 
It had been pressed to his scalp under layers of grime, tangled in locks too heavy with mud and blood to curl. There had been no time to stop and to wash, for they had ridden through conquered land, fleeing from the forces of the Enemy, and thought any stop could be deadly. 
Such hurry had not saved them. 
Maglor could have put on a better fight. If he had seen the Enemy’s soldiers quicker—if his sword-arm had not been shattered in the battle two months ago and only half-healed— if he had not been choking on the black smoke of the burning lands, his throat too rough for war-songs—if—if—if— 
His captors are not orcs. Instead some species of goblin, so short the tops of their heads barely reach his waist but no less vicious for it, victorious through the force of their numbers and their cruelty. There are two elven thralls with them, empty eyed, their blank doll-faces covered in gouge-scars, unreachable through word and mind-touch alike. One of them is chained; the other is not, and Maglor wonders why, because he can see no difference between them. 
This time, though, they had not been looking to take prisoners. Maglor’s company, ambushed, had had nine elves; of them two were killed in the skirmish and the rest wrestled to the ground, their throats bitten out, life-force spilling onto the burned soil.
Maglor would have suffered the same fate, if not for his pride. If not for his crown. If not for the keen eyed goblin that had held him, gasping for breath and half out of his mind with the pain of his ribs and his arm, and seen the glimmer of silver on his brow. 
“Style yourself as a lord, do you?” The goblin has asked him, twisting his broken arm further behind him, and Maglor had been beyond words; could barely understand the question being posed to him. Then the goblin had let him go, just briefly. He made to roll away, gasping, shattered, but one sharp foot kicked at him, and suddenly two of them, not so light as they seemed, were standing on his back, and there was no moving. 
From the conversation behind him, snatches of the orcish tongue mixed with rough-hewn Sindarin, he had been able to tell the circlet was being passed around. None of them had been able to read it; none of them read Tengwar, or perhaps none of them read at all. Maglor had strained to turn, to sit up, to see—had been able to push himself up on his elbow just in time to see the gleam of silver pass to one of the unchained elven thralls. 
The thrall had looked down at the crown in his hands. Maglor had watched with bated breath as his dark empty eyes followed the lines of the writing. Finally some splash of emotion on that blank face, an automatic flick of the eyes to Maglor. 
Lie, Maglor had mouthed, lie. Let them kill me. Spare me your own fate. 
The elf’s thin chained hand, so pale if it was not moving Maglor would have thought it wax, or else dead, had shaken. One deep breath, two. 
Then he had shut his eyes and read, the perfect pronunciation making it quite clear he had once been Noldor, “Kánafinwë Makalaurë, captain. In the old lands it was the name of the second prince.” 
And that had sealed Maglor’s fate. 
That assault had been two weeks ago. By now Maglor has grown used to the erratic movements of the camp, the sudden jerks this way and that as the ill-established goblin leadership seems to change at random the course of their journey, the taste of black ash in the water, the infrequent meals of bird-meat, the constant, unyielding pain. 
In the battle proper his arm had been broken in three places; it had started to heal, before his capture. When he was taken they had wrenched off the sling, had kicked and pulled at the broken bone, sensing weakness, as they had wrestled him into chains. After looking him over the then-head goblin had smashed the toes of his left foot, a terrible pain that left him able to hobble short distances, off-balance and leaning on his heel, but not walk for long, and certainly not run. 
His other injuries ought to be easier to bear; cuts and bruises and claw marks decorate his ribs and his neck, and in places his good arm has gone numb from being bound too tightly, and does not listen to him well when unbound, so that he must rely on the questionable mercy of the thralls when he is allowed to eat or drink or relieve himself. Some of the gritty black ash has wormed its way into the cuts on his skin, and they burn to even brush against; he feels puffy and swollen from all sides and wonders if the goblins would have done better to bring back only his severed head and his silver crown. He might have been more recognizable that way. 
He had tried singing, in the early days of his captivity. And though even then his voice had come out twisted and choked, a shadow of its former power, it had almost been enough. He had sung a sleeping-tune, a lulling tune, and birds, the last stragglers from the once-living forests, had gathered all about him to listen, and the camp had slept, caught in the melody.
He had managed even to get down from the back of the donkey he had been thrown over, to crawl, still singing, to the edges of the camp. But when he had tried to rise his vision had gone black with pain, and his song ceased, if only for a moment. 
It had been enough. Now he is muzzled, gagged, dirty dusty cloth pressing against his lips and scratching at throat with each breath. He tries nothing else. 
The purposes of the thralls have become somewhat more clear to him, though he feels himself missing pieces. The one who is not chained never speaks—Maglor is not sure she is able to—but walks freely about the camp. The goblins do not see well during daylight, and she functions as their eyes, guiding them and keeping vigil while they sleep through the brightest hours of the sun. She looks at Maglor often, though she will not answer the tentative brushes of his mind; sometimes there is life in her big brown eyes, some glimmer of apology.  
Often she stands next to him, a sort of guard. He thinks she is not allowed to touch him. Once when his hands had shaken and he had nearly dropped his water skin she had reached on impulse to catch it, had given it back to him in a quick, guilty motion. When once, during one of their day-stops, he had cried out from the pain of his shattered arm she had caught his shoulder, her grip gentle but pointed, and shushed him, looking meaningfully to the sleeping goblin-leader. Maglor did not need to be told twice; the face she had made in response to his silence might even have been a smile. 
The chained thrall, on the other hand, speaks frequently, and his purpose is ill. Clearly he had once known well the land, and now he instructs the goblin crew what they might expect at each turn in the landscape, where elven fortresses and strongholds have been abandoned, what had once been farmland and horse-pasture. It is that thrall that helps Maglor eat and drink most often, all without meeting his eye, and will not look at him otherwise. 
Today they have stopped on the shores of a river. Once it had overflowed the deep river-band, but now it is almost dry, making a sort of ravine, and Maglor looks down at the bared rocks far below him, and then at the chained thrall, who looks away as ever, wistful, and knows they both think the same thing. 
Almost certainly they would die, if they jumped into the ravine. Almost certainly they could not get away quickly enough to make the distance.
No one is coming for him. That Maglor had accepted on the first few nights of his captivity. No one knows where he had been when he was taken; no one knows he yet lives. All that could have told of his survival in the battle are dead, now. 
It hurts worse to think of, because he knows that Maedhros—if Maedhros lives, Elbereth let Maedhros live—would come, if he knew. He has no doubt of that. No part of Maedhros would pay back Maglor’s failure in kind; no part of Maedhros would hesitate, at risk of Doom, to chase him through the burned land. For despite it all Maedhros is nobler than he, more faithful, better. 
Maglor breathes in deeply, suppressing a cough at the dust that tickles his lungs, and prays to the lady of the stars. Let Maedhros think I died quickly, in the battle. Let Maedhros know not of this, and hold not my guilt. 
Above them the sun is scorching hot. The earth despoiled as it is, burned and torn up, carcasses of trees piled in ugly funeral-mounds, there is nowhere to shelter from the heat. Maglor wishes someone had thought to let him down from the back of the ass—which he is now bound to—for both he and the poor beast clearly suffer for their proximity. The chained thrall, allowed to sleep during the day, sighs and curls up in the shade found underneath one of the great fallen trees. He draws dark earth over his feet; it looks damp, cool. Maglor envies him. 
The unchained thrall, who must be awake, ambles back and forth around the little camp, less the regimented paces of a watch-guard and more the random movements of a sleepwalker. There are goblins awake too, Maglor knows, on the edges of the camp; he can hear their faint conversation. 
When the thrall passes by him Maglor catches her eye; if he were not gagged he would smile. 
She inclines her head a little to him. Motioning for him to sleep, Maglor thinks, and winces. Nods down at the donkey. Too hot. 
She repeats the head motion, a little more insistent. Maglor blinks. Something behind him? 
It pains him to turn and look, his shoulder muscles and rib-wounds aching at the pull of the motion. But nonetheless he does turn, and sees that birds have gathered on the fallen trees, a rather heterogeneous assortment; ravens and magpies, songbirds and sparrows, one great hawk sitting discordantly among the prey-birds. 
The goblins are not there to shoo them, and they do not make noise enough to wake them or to draw the attention of the distant guards. Maglor looks at the thrall-woman and shrugs, though even that little motion hurts. He is tired of the power pain has over him; it should certainly grow dull and pointless by now, should wane, and yet its bite controls him just as much as it had two weeks ago. He goes limp, because that hurts the least, and watches what unfolds. 
Certainly the thrall-woman might be expected to scare away their unexpected guests;  both of them know she shall not. She hesitates for a moment, clearly caught between fear and some desperate, painful hope; when one of the sparrows hops towards her she holds out her hand by impulse to catch it. 
Her hands shake as she unwinds the little piece of parchment fastened around its leg. There is one word written on it in clear, bright Tengwar, so large Maglor can effortlessly read it even with the distance between them. Sharp hand. 
Quiet. 
He watches the elf-thrall’s throat bob as she swallows. Remembers the betrayal, before, from the other thrall. Her hand rises to her throat; he wonders if she is thinking of the irony of the request. Of the hurt she had been dealt. 
Finally she turns to him. Holds out the note, to be sure he has seen. Raps against the parchment once with her nail, waits for his nod. Slips it back to the sparrow. 
The birds take off all at once, leaving behind only one of the magpies. Maglor feels his heart beat hard against his ears, pressure building in his chest. He is grateful to be able to bite down on the gag. 
What can he do, he wonders? His arm is broken, his toes. His hands are chained together and bound to the saddle of the donkey. He is useless. 
Worse than useless. He is a liability. 
One beat passes, two. Maglor tries not to imagine that he knows the sharp hand of the writer. Tries not to read into the single pragmatic word, the dark ink, the worn parchment.
Tries to tell himself that he is dreaming; that he is mad. Certainly it is easier than dashed hope. Certainly it is easier than the horrible, choking fear. 
He will come, and I will doom him. 
The elf-maid resumes her paces. There is a different energy to her now, a different tension underneath the set of her shoulders. Maglor listens to the sighing of the donkey and the sleeping rumbles of the goblins. The chained thrall whimpers in his sleep. 
Do not wake, Maglor begs in his mind. Do not wake. 
He marks the time not by counting but by reciting verses in his mind, prayer hymns. Eight verses; half an hour, give or take, given the speed of recitation. 
Then finally he hears it; the drawing of a bowstring, the sound of an arrow in the air. Maglor strains himself to sit up in the saddle, and succeeds only in hurting his ribs; walls back against the back of the donkey, suppressing coughs into the spit-soaked cloth gag. The pain is so overwhelming that for a moment all thoughts of rescue are lost; all he can focus on is the sensation of his diaphragm hitching, the pain that leaves his chest as an over-inflated water skin and yet still somehow robs him of air. 
He can feel the skin of the donkey jump, its dark itchy fur pressing into the skin of his forearms. It too is bound. It too cannot run. 
Somewhere there is a faint thud. He can hear the quick gasping breath of the unchained thrall, and then she is half-running to his side, her face terrified. She has seen something. 
And finally, finally, a familiar mind brushes against his, huge and solid and warm, and he weeps with it. A sob threatens him, and he holds his breath, unwilling to both make noise and to let it rock through him. 
Maedhros’ thoughts are regimented; structured very purposefully to let no feeling through. Do you hear me, brother? 
Yes, Maglor thinks, Yes, Elbereth—yes. 
I will be there soon, Maedhros says, I know you are bound; I will cut you down. We must be silent, and we must be swift. We are badly outnumbered, and we cannot risk pursuit. 
You ought not have risked this at all, Maglor thinks, stupidly, desperately grateful. There is nothing he would not do, now, to have Maedhros’ arms around him; to have his brother take him down and hold him tight. 
Maedhros does not answer. The elf maid turns to him and begins to undo the ropes that bind him to the ass’s back; in his mind Maglor begs the animal not to bray with relief. She is half-done when the huge shadow of Maedhros looms over her shoulder; the rest he cuts through swiftly with his sword. The chains will have to wait; Maedhros reaches for the gag and Maglor draws back, speaking in their minds. 
Leave it. If I have nothing to bite I will cry out. 
Maedhros pales, but does as he is bid. He draws Maglor slowly into his arms, looping his chained hands over his neck—that pulls at Maglor’s arm, and his eyes water—and steps back, gesturing for the elf-maid to follow him.  
As they turn Maglor sees the other thrall, the chained man, curled still sleeping in the cold dark soil. His dreams are ill, as they ever are. If they woke him, perhaps he would shout. If they woke him, perhaps he would leave with them. He had once been Noldor, Maglor remembers. He had once known this land. 
Maglor thinks of all the people who would stop to help him, betrayal or none, risk or none. Finrod, bright-eyed and noble despite the horrible doom upon him; Fingon, stubbornly, fiercely hopeful even though his grief, stubbornly, fiercely kind. Elves better than him; elves more noble, less bloodstained. Dead lords. 
I want to live, Maglor thinks, and says nothing. Leaves the chained thrall behind. 
Maedhros bears him away, over the burned ground and the bodies of the goblin-guards, and just then Maglor is grateful for the blinding pain of his ribs and his arm, for the ache in his toes, for the ashy smell of the air, for the 
Dreams do not feel so.
* * * 
 There is a little company of elves waiting for them on the edges of the forest. Bow-men. Warriors. The last, likely, of Himring’s men, her guards. That Maedhros has brought into enemy territory—that they had followed him, knowing full well the risk—bears not thinking about. 
Even the few swift horses spared for the journey seem like a waste, a desperate measure. Maglor watches, distant and glassy-eyed, as the elf-maid that aided him is helped onto the horse of one of Maedhros’ archers. Then Maedhros murmurs brace yourself low in his ear and pulls him onto his own horse with him, still using his chained hands to hold them together. 
Maglor falls against him, shaking and dizzy with pain, each part of his a different disconnected, heavy thing, and loses time. There is some period where he is vaguely aware of the movement of the horse, of bone striking bone in his broken arm, of the heat of Maedhros’ body next to him, the air brushing against his skin. 
There are fingers—fingers on his jaw and his face, and he recoils. The low rumble of Maedhros’ voice stops him, soothes him, though it takes him a moment to grasp the meaning of his words. Maedhros, he realizes, is working free the gag shoved into Maglor’s mouth. 
It comes out spit-soaked and oddly crunchy around the edges, tasting of dust and of blood. Maedhros rubs at the junction of his jaw, chasing away the little ache left behind. Maglor, so full of aches he feels more ache than elf, could weep at the care of it. 
They are riding still when Maedhros presses a water skin between his lips and coaxes him to swallow. The water is warm with the heat of Maedhros’ body but clean, pleasant. It lends Maglor the strength to settle against Maedhros’ chest, to listen to the steady beating of his heart and watch the burned landscape go by. 
“How?” he whispers. How did you know I was taken? How did you know where? 
“The birds,” Maedhros says, “thirty years I spent upon the cliffside, and for thirty years I heard only their tongue; and their tongue I still speak now. Usually it is not in their nature to listen well to me, but their land has been despoiled as much as ours had, and their desire to spite the enemy is great.” 
Maglor hums. The birds. Of course the birds. 
“Try to rest,” Maedhros tells him, “we will not be able to stop during the night, for in the darkness the enemy’s forces are at their strongest. If we ride through the night we might be able to come to contested land, and then to elven strongholds, buried deep into the sides of the hills.” 
Maglor means to tell him that he cannot rest; that he is far too hurt and it is far too hot, that certainly the shock of the capture and then the escape has been too great. But the words seem far away, barely worth saying. The dark landscape begins to blur together around him, and he does not notice at all when night falls. 
* * * 
When he wakes they are no longer horseback. Above him a pale-pink dawn rises, and the razed lands have given way to a sparse sprinkling of forest, pine tree branches swaying in the breeze. Someone yanks at the chain on his wrists, and Maglor cries out in pain, curses them automatically—thrice-damned ditch-dogs—and at that someone laughs, not the biting fire of goblin laughter but warm and elvish. 
“Easy,” Maedhros says, “easy, little ferret. We are only trying to free you.”   
His hand finds Maglor’s good hand. Squeezes. 
Maglor looks down, and sees that one of the archers is working open the locking mechanism of the chains, pressing a thin metal wire inside it. It jingles, stubborn. 
He would not mind it, he thinks, if they cut off the bad arm, so horribly swollen and twisted, barely a part of him at all. And how horribly it hurts now. 
But the lock yields, and the chain is off, his shoulders protesting the change in positions. Maedhros sits behind Maglor, and pulls him to sit up, leaning against him. Maglor watches, feeling slow and stupid, as he shakes out a flask. 
“For the pain,” he says, and presses it against Maglor’s lips. The liquor, mixed thickly with herbs and with honey, bites at throat, the sweetness coating his tongue. Still Maglor drinks as much of it as Maedhros lets him. He feels the effects almost immediately; his body is further from him, his mind fuzzier around the edges and warm. 
Maedhros wraps an arm around him from behind, bracing him. “He will set your arm, now,” he says, “as much as he might.” 
The archer moves forward, offering him a little smile. Promises to be quick with it. 
Then even the liquor cannot save his dignity. Maglor shudders at the first touch of cold fingers against the swollen flesh of his arm; howls as the horrible scrape of bone against bone, of something within him being pulled and straightened, and through it Maedhros holds him tightly and kisses his hair from behind him. Talks of crisp clean sheets and tea with milk and walking barefoot through the mountain rivers. 
It is only later, his arm and his toes bound, his ribs and neck covered in sticky roadside poultice, that Maglor finds it in himself to speak. Leans his head against Maedhros’ shoulder and murmurs, “You ought not have come. You have heard tales, I am sure, of how the battle started.” 
Both of them think of it at once. The younger brother pulled to pieces in front of the elder; the horrible grief-stricken charge. Maedhros shudders. Bends, again, to kiss Maglor’s hair. 
“I would have come then too,” he says, “if I were him.” 
The words ought not settle to warm and secure in Maglor’s chest. And yet they do, they do. 
66 notes · View notes