#me: discovers that my drawing skills are rusty

[balaenabooks]

Edwardian Gothic Monster Boyfriend

Expectation:

*bitterly* "Are you afraid? You should be."

Favorite book: Paradise Lost

Hunts and kills his prey in the forest with his bare hands

Bad Boytm

Compellingly ugly

Reality

*on the brink of tears* "Please don't be frightened. I'm not as scary as I look."

"OMG This is just like in my Jane Austen books!"

Has never killed anything in his life.

Actual sweetheart

Just plain ugly

Fan art of @theboarsbride 's best good dude Edgar Ignatius Cushing, from The Monster and the Butterfly, a Beauty and the Beast retelling that cleared my skin and watered my crops.

#me: has not drawn a picture in literal years #me: discovers that my drawing skills are rusty #me: *surprised pikachu face* #my art #blorbo'clock #the monster and the butterfly #beauty and the beast #fairy tale retelling #autism creature #tbh creature #ghosts plague these halls

[rinixo]

interval

Din Djarin/Reader | 2.8k | Rated M | afab reader, no y/n, modern setting, pining, neighbors to lovers, single parent Din Djarin, slight/vague age difference

Din’s new neighbor continues to draw his attention.

Modern Din/Scholar!Reader

Part 2/? to ephemeris

read on ao3

He avoids you for the next few days, uncomfortable with the knowledge of what he did, the knowledge of having heard something so intimate without you being aware.

It lasts only until he hears a crash from his balcony one late evening. He pauses from where he is washing the dishes from dinner, afraid for a brief moment that Grogu managed to unlock the door again. A babble makes him realize that his son was currently spread out on the rug watching something on his tablet, so whatever it was that made the noise was thankfully not from him.

Drying his hands and tossing the hand towel over his shoulder, Din goes to the sliding glass door and peers outside. It’s dark, but he can see movement from the direction of your patio. The sound of a muffled curse draws his interest, and he slides the door open and steps into the cool evening air.

He can see the top of your head over the partition and walks over to look over the concrete to where you are standing with your hands on your hips.

“You ok?” Din ventures, and you jump at the sound of his voice. Turning to face him, there’s a look of embarrassed frustration on your soft features.

“Oh! Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry, was I being too loud?”

Din shakes his head. “I heard a crash.”

You sigh. “I was trying to get some equipment up onto the roof but it’s higher than I thought.” He notices a jumble of metal at your feet, the source of the crashing noise.

He raises a brow. “Why are you trying to get onto the roof?”

“There’s a meteor shower tonight,” you explain. “I want to watch it through my telescope, and the roof is the best place.”

Din looks up at the edge of the roof above your heads. He had no idea what you had thought would work - he doubted even he could hoist himself up onto the roof from his balcony. Not to mention while holding a telescope - the thing was nearly as big as you were.

“Can’t you see it from your balcony?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“No. The angle’s not right.” He sees a glimmer of disappointment in your eyes as you look up at the sky. “Too bad. I was looking forward to this one.”

Din doesn’t like that look on your face. Residual shame gives way to care, and he has an idea.

“Meet me outside in a couple of minutes,” he tells you, inclining his head towards the front of his apartment. “Bring your stuff.”

He meets you outside his apartment a few moments later, having put on a jacket and bundling Grogu up in a hat and scarf. You eye the two of them curiously, telescope in hand.

“Cute hat,” you muse at the child with a smile, and Grogu pulls on his ear flaps shyly. Din locks his door, and motions for you to follow him down the quiet hallway.

“There’s a maintenance room with roof access,” he explains, watching as Grogu runs ahead. Din had scoped out all parts of the building before deciding to move in, and discovered said door that lead to the roof.

He hears you tsk at yourself. “Wow. That…is a way better idea than trying to climb onto the roof.”

Din kneels in front of the heavy door at the end of the hallway, fishing something out of his coat. You peer over his shoulder, amused interest at what he is doing.

“Lock picking?” You ask as he wiggles the lock, tools pushed into the rusty deadbolt. “Why didn’t you do that to my door when I got locked out?”

“Didn’t want to make you nervous,” Din mumbles, and you laugh.

“Good point.”

Fortunately for you, the building manager hadn’t yet realized how unsecured the door was, and after a few moments it unlocks with a satisfying ‘click’.

“What other skills are you hiding?” Din hears you tease from behind him. He clears his throat, adamantly telling himself that it was an innocent comment and not one laced with innuendo.

He stands with a grunt, opening the door. Bending down, he picks Grogu up and leads you into the dark room and up a short set of stairs. You let out a pleased hum as the three of you step out onto the roof of the complex - the city skyline glimmering in the distance.

“That was much easier,” you smile. “Thanks.”

“It’s a little bright up here,” Din mentions. The complex is on the outskirts of the city center but light pollution still has an impact. “You’ll be able to see the meteor shower still?”

“Yep,” you say cheerily, putting down your telescope. He watches you set up, Grogu squirming in his arms. “I mean, it won’t be as impressive as being outside city limits, but with the telescope it’ll be just fine.” You angle the telescope in the direction you want it, peering into the eyepiece and adjusting various cogs and levers. You’re mumbling to yourself while you do it, interlaced with the hum of a familiar song Din can’t quite place.

He swallows roughly and looks away. Not because he finds your focus attractive, and distracting.

“There we go,” you chirp triumphantly, looking up at the sky. Din follows your gaze, squinting up at the star-speckled darkness.

“I don’t see anything,” he says.

“You will,” you assure him. “Just keep looking.”

It’s several moments before he detects a flash of something. He lets out a small huff of amusement, pointing up at the sky for his son. “Did you see that?” He asks, and Grogu shakes his head.

“Does he want to look through here?” You ask from your bent position, looking up at him and Grogu. “It might be easier for him.”

Din kneels, sitting his son on his bent knee. You lower the telescope so Grogu can peer into the eyepiece, checking it once to make sure it’s still focused where you want it.

“Go ahead,” you encourage him gently. Grogu leans forward to look into the eyepiece, one eye closing into a squint. A moment of silence, and then the smallest gasp of surprise as he sees a magnified version of the meteors flashing above.

“Cool, huh?” You smile, pleased at the child’s reaction. “You know, I was only a little older than you when I got my first telescope. It was barely more than a magnifying glass, but it inspired me so much that I decided I wanted to study the stars when I grew up.”

Din tries to focus on Grogu, and not how you’re bent so close to him that he can smell the perfume you’re wearing. His kid babbles excitedly, eye glued to the telescope, and he can’t help the grin that softens his coarse features.

He hears you clear your throat, and glances at you. You tilt your head at Grogu. “Is he…?”

“He’s non-verbal,” Din explains. “He can’t really speak, but he understands just fine.”

“I see,” you nod. Turning back to Grogu, you move the telescope slightly to point out different astronomical bodies, explaining what he’s seeing in a gentle tone. It makes Din’s heart thrum, watching you interact with his child. He’s very protective of Grogu, and the child in turn does not open up to people easily, but something about you puts both of them at ease.

The sky grows darker, and the air chillier. Grogu presses his tiny body closer to Din’s and lets out a yawn.

“It’s past his bedtime,” Din murmurs, standing with a low grunt. “I should get him tucked in.”

“Ok,” you reply, adjusting your telescope back to your viewing height. “I think I’ll stay here a little while longer. I’ll lock the door behind me, don’t worry.”

With a short nod, Din turns to leave before you call out his name. He turns back to see a starry smile on your face, and he is grateful for the chill air that cools the flush of his body.

“Thank you again,” you say quietly. He clears his throat, nods, and then takes his dozing child back down the stairs to their apartment.

After putting Grogu to bed, he goes to his own bedroom and realizes again with a pang of guilt that his bed is still pushed against the shared wall. He told himself he would move it, but found every excuse not to - it’s more convenient here, it would make him have to rearrange everything else in the room, the outlets on the other wall don’t work as well.

Din thinks back to your jest at his lockpicking, and the smile on your face when you thanked him as he climbs under his covers. He lies there, imagining the star-speckled sky above the ceiling, and only falls asleep once he hears the soft sounds of you returning to your own apartment and sliding into your bed - just a few inches of wall between the two of you.

—

The sun shining through the curtain he forgot to close and the muffled sound of something dripping rouses him from sleep later in the morning than he usually wakes. Groggy, he peers at the clock and curses when he sees the time. He likes to get up early, before Grogu - but based on the sounds outside his shut bedroom door, his child had already risen.

Marching out to the living room, he glances around for his son, concern growing when he doesn’t see him. He looks at the front and balcony doors - both still locked, so Grogu is still here somewhere.

A giggle and a splash make him turn and head toward the bathroom. Opening the door, he gapes at the sight of his child stuffing socks, stuffed frogs, and who knows what else down the toilet, laughing gleefully as he flushes and the water drips up and out all over the place.

“No no no,” Din rushes forward, nearly slipping on the wet floor, and scoops Grogu up and sits him in the bathtub. “We don’t flush toys!” He chides, sticking his arm into the toilet bowl to try to fish what he can out. Grogu peers over the side of the tub, amused at the sight of his father elbow-deep in the plumbing.

After a couple of hours of cleaning up what he could and giving his soaked child a bath, Din sits at the dining room table tiredly and watches as Grogu eats his oatmeal. They’re going to be late to daycare drop-off this morning, but he’s already messaged the teacher to let them know. Din loves his kid, but does look forward to the few hours a day he is in someone else’s hands.

As he returns, he notices a truck belonging to a plumbing company parked outside the complex. He groans, and as he climbs the stairs hopes that they’re not there for what he thinks they’re there for.

He’s not so lucky. He rounds the corner towards his door and sees you outside your own, hands on your hips. You peer inside your open apartment, and as he approaches you turn to greet him.

“Hey…are you having any plumbing issues?” You ask.

Din shakes his head and hopes it’s believable.

“Mm,” you respond. “Lucky you, I guess. Something happened and when I went to get ready this morning there was water pouring out of every drain in my bathroom.”

Din winces, hoping you didn’t see.

“That’s…unfortunate,” he mumbles, and you sigh.

“Yeah.” He watches you bend down to grab your bag. “I was hoping to get some work done today, but with all the work going on in my apartment I don’t think I’ll be able to focus. Guess I’ll head to a cafe or something.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Din asks before he can stop himself, tilting his head towards his apartment. “So-so you don’t have to leave,” he clarifies.

You purse your lips. “You sure?” He nods. It’s the neighborly thing to do, he tells himself.

And technically it’s his fault your apartment is flooding…but you don’t need to know that.

“Ok,” you agree.

—

He tries not to hover, or watch you work, but you’re distracting.

Sat at his dining room table, laptop open, surrounded by papers. There’s a focused look in your eye. You chew on the end of your pen absently.

Din doesn’t let anyone in his apartment, but here you are, sitting cross-legged on his chair, elbow propped up on the table like this is a regular occurrence.

He can hear Fett laughing at him now.

He sits at his kitchen counter, trying to look busy with his own projects. You’re completely absorbed in your work, and he’s completely absorbed in you.

Din hears you sigh, and watches as you lean back and stretch your arms up, cracking your neck with a satisfied groan. His mouth goes dry at the sight of your neck, stretched and bared.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Bad posture.”

He nods towards his couch. “You could sit there. It’s more comfortable.” You shrug and smile.

“I won’t get anything done if I’m comfortable,” you joke. “But I guess I could use a break.” You get up, stretching your back, and sit softly on the end of the sofa. He watches you look around his apartment curiously.

“So,” you ask. “Is it just you and Grogu?”

Din’s brow raises. “Yes. Who else would there be?”

You shrug again, scratching the side of your nose. “I don’t know,” you say. “Do you have a partner?”

He clears his throat. “No. Not for a long time,” he replies.

“Mmm.” You lean your head back into the couch, closing your eyes. Din wonders what that noise means. He wonders why you’d ask that question.

“Do…you?” He ventures, trying to sound casual. He sees you smile without opening your eyes.

“Nope,” is your simple answer.

Well. Now what?

He stands, going over to the sliding glass door, peering out. The day is halfway over. There’s a while to go before he has to pick up Grogu, before the work in your apartment is done.

You shift on the couch, catching his attention. You’re leaning up against the arm, looking at him with a small smile. He swallows roughly.

Padding over to the couch, he sits a respectable distance from you. Not too close. He wants this to be in your hands.

You scoot a little closer, a mischievous glimmer in your eyes. He doesn’t slide away, even as his heart thrums faster and faster.

As you lean in, he can see the way your eyelashes flutter.

“I’m gonna do something,” you mumble lowly, and Din sees your eyes flicker to his lips. “If you don’t want me to, it’s ok. Just…say so.”

Your lips are soft against his. He doesn’t reciprocate for the first few seconds, but as he feels you pull away he chases your mouth with his, opening his lips to deepen the kiss.

He can feel you smile against him. One of your hands comes up to settle softly on his collarbone. His head is tilted, taller form bent down to meet your probing mouth.

Maker, you’re a good kisser. You’re unhurried, savoring the feeling of his plush lips, the slight scruff of his facial hair. He hopes he’s not disappointing in comparison. It’s been a while.

The hand not on his collarbone goes up to his cheek, and you dart your tongue out to swipe over his bottom lip. Din lets out a groan at that, and he can feel you shiver against him.

Your motions become a little sloppier, with a sense of restrained tension in the little pants you’re giving off. They sound like the ones he heard when you were touching yourself through the wall - and he swallows them like he told himself he would.

A shrill noise startles the two of you apart. It’s his phone, ringing from his pocket. Cursing, he pulls it out and apologizes before answering. You clear your throat and scoot backward away from him.

It’s Grogu’s daycare. They’ve had a staff member call out sick, so they’re closing early and are calling to have the kids picked up early. Din agrees, and hangs up, not looking at you.

“They’re probably nearly done in my apartment,” you say softly. “I’ll…let you go.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles in response. He stays seated as you rise and gather your things. He regains use of his limbs as you walk towards his door and slip your shoes back on. Standing, he watches you from the center of his living room.

“Thanks again,” you maintain, and cast him a shy smile. Din nods and watches as you leave. At the sound of the lock engaging he groans and rubs his hands over his eyes.

What has he gotten himself in to?

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian #reader insert

[arlathanxchange]

✨ Meet the Mods ✨

Introducing the final new mod rounding out the Arlathan eXhange team!

☆ Mod Intro

▸ Name: DirThenera, or Thenera. Dir is ok too ▸ Pronouns: she/her

I discovered Dragon Age in 2018 during a difficult time of my life, and quickly became obsessed, especially with all things Elvhen. Soon just the game wasn't enough for me and I dusted off my rusty drawing skills and rustier writing skills.

Mostly obsessed with Solas, I've written a couple hundred thousand words of fic, mostly bittersweet with some snark. I love deep lore dives and angst and character explorations.

As a painter, I love complex colors and unusual lighting, and seeing if I can capture the essence of the character. I hate doing backgrounds, but it's a skill I've been working on. Portraits are my favorite.

I can't wait for Dreadwolf, and I'm excited to celebrate elves with all of you in the meantime!

rules & info | faq | mod team & philosophy

#admin: announcement #mod intro

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Work In Progress

The main reason I started working on redoing the art for my tea tins was...well. First off, there was a significant shift in colouring skills from this:

...to this:

Much as I don't like Sarah O'Brien as a person, I'd rather not having her stalk me through the multiverse intent on driving a steak through my heart for sub par artwork!

The other reason was because my original artwork for Sybbie not only didn't look much like her, it looked straight up possessed.

BEWARE THE SPOOKY DEMON CHILD!

Now, admittedly, I'm not drawing these freehand - I'm tracing them and then showing off my ability at inking and colouring, but. Um. Based on that picture my ability in both kinda sucks. As does my tracing ability, all told. Or it did suck until I hit Roseamund and discovered a few things (at least when it comes to women. As Mr. Carson's art shows, men still mock me).

Of course THEN I went about two years without any ability to use my art programs! So now that I'm back at the programs, I'm also wicked rusty and having to relearn the things it took me....*counts*...seven tea tins to figure out! GO ME!

...needless to say, I decided not to start by redoing O'Brien.

...or doing the art for Mrs. Patmore, despite the fact the tea's been ready for aaaaaages.

No, we're starting simple by trying to undemonify Sybbie. Normally I start with the eyes and move to the skin, but with this one I was so absolutely terrified concerned with relearning skills I left the skin for last. It's currently looking...

... ... ... not as good as I'd hoped, honestly, but at least she doesn't look flippin' possessed! And I'm not done! I swear, I will keep at it until it looks decent! At least my blending ability has not degraded as much as I'd feared...

Also, I discovered a handy trick: Spoonflower sells yards of fabric with 'colour maps' so I can get a better idea of what the colours are going to look like in print. So far my skin tones haven't been aweful, but now they should be a bit better. (And yes, Sybbie's collar in that picture was a lot yellower than I made it in the first one. It should still print lighter than...that. If not, I can tweak things. It's not an exact science since fabric is not paper is not done on my printer is not...)

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanart #wip #sybbie branson #rusty skills are rusty #knocking the rust off a bit at least #slowly but surely

[rpg-weather-cycle]

Hey Crimson! What did you think of my poop rain?

I did like it. But why poo?

Well you see, I thought long and hard about what would make for a good weather type. And after searching deep into my soul I discovered a simple truth that I had missed. Poop = funny!!!

I still think that acid or maybe spikes would have been better, but everyone's reactions were great. I loved how you made it give an actual status effect. It was nice to get a break from all of this.

Oh that reminds me! You never really got a chance to do stuff last time we were here, because of the whole chains situation, so I thought we could brainstorm some ideas together! I've also made a map of where all the npcs and interesting locations are, for reference!

That's really nice of you. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to remain focused for though.

That's ok! I made plans for that too! Us blurring prevents you from spiraling, and I brought a bunch of knives!! We can start by getting some rabbits, or maybe lizards? Yeah lizards seem better! Or we could try and find a player, but that will draw attention. Actually, I found a dead cow that I was planning to turn into jam, but we could use it for practice! Our bone cracking skills are rusty, we should start there, and let's focus on what would cause pain rather than damage. I've always been curious about what the inside of a cows liver is like, so we can do that next! There should still be enough blood left to make some drawings after. This is going to be so much fun!

#gore tw

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH53

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 53: Witchcraft Sacrifice (XXII)

Looking at Ning Zhou walking briskly, Qi Leren felt that the world was dark. Goddess, his goddess really liked him, but she was a lesbian! Lesbian! It's worse than the goddess having a boyfriend!

No, don't think too much, maybe the conditions of being selected are not what he thinks, and even if it is related to love, maybe the goddess loves her boyfriend, bah, I don't know, don't think blindly, how can the goddess have a boyfriend! Goddess is still waiting for him to pursue her! Let's concentrate on this dream world first. As for the goddess ... Make a good relationship with the goddess first. As for the pursuit of something, let's wait for him to get out of the instance world to change his body back and then slowly figure it out.

Ning Zhou's consciousness was also attached to a strange NPC. Although it was a completely different face, when she looked at him, the silence in her eyes was exactly the same.

Qi Leren was convinced that even if the goddess changed her body, he would still be attracted to her. This attraction came not from her appearance, but from her own irresistible attraction.

"Ning Zhou, are you all right?" Qi Leren asked with concern.

"Nothing." Ning Zhou shook her head and looked at Ye Xia.

Suddenly hearing Ning Zhou’s voice, Qi Leren still became somewhat speechless. Thinking that now that they’re not in their own bodies, without any skill cards or whatnot, Ning Zhou could naturally speak.

"She’s Ye Xia, we met just now." Qi Leren didn't admit that he had just been scared half to death by Ye Xia. He probably felt a little embarrassed in his heart, so he simply changed the subject and talked about this dreamworld’s witch.

Ning Zhou listened to him quietly. This time, there was no big black bird making noises around her, and Qi Leren wasn’t used to it.

"So Ye Xia and I are going to find some oil and find a way to burn this witch. Ye Xia said that she’d seen the warehouse where oil is stored before. Let's go together." Qi Leren said.

So the three acted together.

The ubiquitous ghosts in the underground palace had disappeared. From another angle, it showed that the world they were in wasn’t a real underground palace, but a dreamworld constructed by a dead witch. As long as the witch was completely killed, they could get out of the dreamworld.

The next thing was simple, Qi Leren didn't find the opportunity to step in. Ye Xia took the two people to the warehouse where the oil was stored, and three people found flint again. Ye Xia and Ning Zhou discussed how to attract witches. Even without the limitation of skill cards, Ning Zhou still cherished words like gold. Qi Leren gawked at the tacit understanding between them, feeling that he was excluded.

"Can I help you?" Qi Leren interposed.

"Ning Zhou and I can do it." Ye Xia smiled politely, and then continued to use a stone to draw a simple map on the ground to explain the route to lead the witches.

"Want me to lure the monster? I’m still very experienced in this respect." As someone with E-ranked luck who was chased by a killer to run all over the hospital in the Novice Village, Qi Leren has accumulated sufficient experience in this respect.

“You can't use skill cards and props now. I'd rather be on the safe side." Ye Xia declined Qi Leren's proposal.

Qi Leren wanted to say more. Ning Zhou's blue eyes had already looked up. Although she was still silent, the eyes clearly told Qi Leren that she didn't need his help.

Qi Leren gave up somewhat sullenly, and sat on the oil drum to watch them continue to discuss. Finally, the plan was finalized and implemented.

Ye Xia set up the trap, and Ning Zhou went to attract the witches. While waiting, Qi Leren couldn't help thinking deeply about Ning Zhou's attitude towards him. He also discovered that although Ning Zhou was a girl, she was very protective of him. She always watched over and took care of him completely as a weak person. When encountering dangerous things, she would rather discuss with the strange Ye Xia than put him in danger.

It's a bit bad, Qi Leren thought, is it better for him to confess to Ning Zhou earlier? It feels strange to be taken care of as a girl. But if he says it now, what will Ning Zhou think?

Qi Leren was a little unsure of Ning Zhou's character. He only knew that she was a cold-looking but shy person. Will she become angry from embarrassment if she suddenly learned the truth? If she got angry and misunderstood, how would it end then? Most importantly, Ning Zhou's sexual orientation…

Oh, forget it. I'd better explain it to Ning Zhou slowly after leaving the instance world and returning to the Village of Dusk.

"Are you thinking about Ning Zhou?" Ye Xia's voice suddenly sounded in his ear, and Qi Leren discovered that he was distracted in such a dangerous place.

"I, I guess..." Qi Leren answered honestly.

Ye Xia wiped the ordinary long knife in her hand with the corner of her clothes, and her smile was a bit inscrutable: "I can understand it a bit."

"Ah? Understand what?" Now it's Qi Leren's turn to fail to understand.

"Nothing, I just want to say that when people look at the person they like, that look is different. No matter how hesitant, concealed or embarrassed, your eyes are bright when you see her." Ye Xia stopped the wiping action, spoke softly and slowly, and smiled quite deeply. "She is the same."

Qi Leren, who was still embarrassed, was scared silly when he heard Ye Xia's last half sentence: "Are you ... are you sure?"

"Be careful, someone’s coming!" Ye Xia who was originally going to continue suddenly turned serious.

Qi Leren also immediately kept his thoughts, and watched Ning Zhou running towards this area. Three strange girls chased after her, and ran all the way into the room with the pre-set trap. The fire rose, and Qi Leren hiding outside the room was carrying a heart for Ning Zhou. Although he knew she wouldn't have a problem, he couldn't help worrying when she was in danger.

The witches’ piercing shrieks came from the firelight, and finally gradually disappeared in the fire.

The surrounding scene has become blurred and distorted, and Qi Leren’s vision blurred, and there is an ethereal voice in their ears.

"I love you so much, I tried so hard to protect you... Why... Why..."

"Because, it’s very interesting. It's so interesting to watch you deceive and kill each other because of despair, fear, and jealousy. "

The voice disappeared, and the scene before him was restored again. Qi Leren found himself standing in a strange corridor, surrounded by silence.

Whose were those voices? One was very similar to the witch who chased him in the dream world just now, while the other was a completely strange female voice, with full pleasure flowing in her beautiful voice. It seemed that playing and torturing others like this was her greatest pleasure.

It's terrible. It's terrible for people to treat such terrible things as fun.

Qi Leren couldn't help becoming cold. He didn't know who was the owner of this voice. No matter how he recalled it, he couldn't remember where he had heard this voice, but it was subtle and he felt that the tone was a little familiar.

Who exactly was it?

No matter how hard he ransacked his mind, he couldn't remember it. Qi Leren had to put this problem aside and check his own body. With all the skill cards in the card slot, he finally reassured and felt that his life was guaranteed.

He didn’t know where Ning Zhou was, and Ye Xia too.

Qi Leren searched around, but they were not found. Fortunately, the terrain became familiar, and he successfully found his way back to the temple.

Back at the temple, Ellie and Aisha were still inside, but Isabel hadn’t come back, and Ning Zhou hadn’t either. Qi Leren was a little worried, and asked the two sisters if they had seen them. After getting a negative answer, he became more and more uneasy.

After killing the witch, new information appeared again, which was still a clue and a hint.

[The Lord of Fraud likes to see human betrayal, depravity, and despair.]

Qi Leren's mind suddenly flashed a flash of light. The voice he heard when he was leaving the dreamworld seemed to be like this. What was the connection between the owner of the voice and the Devil of Fraud? That's right, this group of witches serve the Devil of Fraud.

He looked at the clue to the next witch.

[I tore open my companion's chest and ate her heart, but I was still unbearably hungry. Is your heart just as delicious?]

Before Qi Leren thought deeply, footsteps came from outside the temple. He turned around excitedly and looked forward to Ning Zhou's return, but saw Lu Youxin come in with an indifferent face as she saw Qi Leren standing in front of the stone wall. She frowned and said, "Did you pass the corridor on the right when you came?"

"No, I came from the left. Why?" Qi Leren asked doubtfully.

Lu Youxin looked at him deeply and seemed to confirm whether he was telling the truth. After a long time, she said, "Ye Xia is dead."

"Ah?" Qi Leren gawked at her, thinking he had heard wrong.

Lu Youxin snorted and repeated impatiently: "Ye Xia is dead."

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The author has something to say:

PS: 【 The living witches gather together, and the dead witches are ready to go. 】 1. Those who sleep in rusty iron, burn my body with fire, nourish the vegetation of hell with blood, and wake me up will be hanged. ——Tips after killing witches: Kill us all and the altar will appear. 2. I've been awakened and wandering around, and those who kill me will get my wealth. ——We used to serve the Old Devil, but now we serve the devil who is in charge of deception. 3. Are you willing to sacrifice, have you ever been betrayed, and have you seen the distortion and beauty of love when it has sprouted into despair? The fire of love, which I wanted but couldn’t have, burned to the end of my life. ——The Lord of Fraud likes to see human betrayal, depravity and despair. 4. I tore open my companion's chest and ate her heart, but I was still unbearably hungry. Is your heart just as delicious? ——？ ? ?

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Editor’s Notes: Qi Leren, keep in mind what you said about loving Ning Zhou! QAQ Chapter co-edited by Miko 

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Everything Joan Didion Promised

PART TWENTY-TWO OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: a lil angsty, plentiful pop culture references, mentions of divorce/family issues

Word Count: 5.1K

Summary: When Jess returns to Stars Hollow to retrieve his car, Ella tries to keep him from getting hypothermia. Later, they cross paths at the annual firelight festival.

Refilling the shakers, Ella nodded at Sheriff Cooper as he waltzed into the diner. The local law enforcement came in at all hours of the day for coffee and free donuts, though it wasn’t like they had boatloads to do in a town as sleepy as Stars Hollow. She didn’t bother to eavesdrop on the conversation until she was behind the counter again, putting the salt and pepper back where it belonged. Coop was sliding a slip of paper across to Luke, who stood by the register. Glancing over, she recognized the handwriting immediately. After all, it was all over her books.

“Is that Jess’s registration?” she asked, leaning in near Luke.

Luke sighed, casting a wary glance in her direction. “Yes.”

“They found his car? Jeez, it took them long enough,” she said off-handedly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Hey! It only took us a day, young lady,” Coop chimed in, face sullen below the bill of his leather hat. “Not too hard with a hunk of junk like that.”

Brows furrowed, Ella turned back to Luke and tilted her head at him in askance.

Groaning and rolling his eyes, Luke looked over at her again. “It was in my dad’s old garage. I went to check on it this morning and the lock was busted off.”

“You stole his car?” Ella crossed her arms over her chest, taking a step back and straightening up. When Luke didn’t respond, Ella scoffed and shook her head to herself.

“Look, Ella, if he didn’t have a car, maybe he wouldn’t keep going to Walmart,” Luke explained, his voice a grumble under his breath.

“Hm,” Ella hummed, nodding doubtfully.

He was about to continue when strong yellow lights began flashing through the window to the right. A sheriff’s car preceded a tow truck with Jess’s rusty Ambassador hooked onto the back. Coop said the car had broken down on the Expressway a couple hours earlier, and Jess had immediately been picked up. Luke instructed Ella to hold down the fort while he went out to deal with the situation, the precession parking right out in front of the diner.

And as she began closing up, cashing out the final customers and wiping down the counters, she couldn’t keep her distracted gaze off of the scene through the window. She couldn’t hear what Jess and Luke were shouting at each other, but she could gather it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. A knot of nerves sat in her stomach, watching from the corner of her eye. Luke eventually stomped back into the diner, and Ella saw Jess collapse into the back seat of his rust bucket across the street. She tried to ask Luke what had happened, but he shut her down instantly. The rest of the shift was spent in tense, anxious silence.

.   .   .

A bright half moon shone in the late February sky as Ella left the dark diner and locked up. She could see her breath in whitish clouds as she stalled in her path at the bottom of the concrete steps. Flexing her hands in the pockets of her peacoat, she bit the inside of her cheek and furrowed her brows. Either she could leave Jess where he was, curled up in the backseat of his death trap on wheels, and turn down the street to the little blue house, or go up and to him and face the music. Turning on the heel of her boot, she almost ignored him. Almost. Though she spoke to him every now and again over the phone, seeing him in person was a whole different matter. Just the sight of him made her heart twist in her chest. But then a huge gust of wind came, blowing her hair back and making frosty roses form on her freckled cheeks. Emitting an audible growl in the empty street, she shook her head to herself and marched to the car which held so many memories.

She knocked twice, hard, on the back window with frozen knuckles.

Jess’s figure shifted only slightly in the seat. “Go away,” he groaned.

Ella rolled her eyes. “It’s me, jackass!”

Huffing out a frustrated breath, Jess finally sat up and cranked down his window. “What?”

“I almost forgot how much more charming you are in-person,” she quipped.

“G’night,” Jess shot back ruefully, making to roll his window back up.

Ella put her hand on the glass to stop him, sighing out another cloud of condensation. “Look, Luke is back with Nicole again-”

Jess scoffed.

“Yeah, I don’t know, either,” she muttered. “But he’s spending the night at their place in Litchfield, so I doubt you’ll be able to get up to the apartment without breaking in, and that’ll likely cause more problems than it solves-”

“Like I need Luke’s help,” he interjected petulantly.

“Just let me finish,” she snapped. “It’s gonna drop to like eight degrees out here, and neither of us wants you getting hypothermia, so just come stay with me for the night.”

Brows furrowing, Jess couldn’t hide the utter surprise which appeared on his face. The ice between them was slowly melting, sure, but he never figured she would be forgiving enough to offer something like that. “Very funny, Stevens. I’m tired, alright?”

“Jesus, Jess, I’m not joking!”

“What about your dad?” Jess asked, his voice flat, though his eyes were calculating.

She only shrugged. “Well, from what I remember, you have a talent for sneaking around my house. Your skills might be a little rusty, but I’m not gonna sweat it.”

Slowly, very slowly, Jess nodded and got out of the backseat, sheepish. His joints cracked as he straightened up again, stiff from two hours lying motionless in the cold. Appraising him, Ella couldn’t help but grimace. He had dark circles under his eyes, skin paler than usual. And the black beanie he wore certainly didn’t suit him.

“The prodigal son, indeed,” she said, eyebrows raised.

His mouth was set in a thin line, unamused. “Are we going, or not?”

.   .   .

Humming. Jess had almost forgotten about the humming. Most of the time, Ella didn’t even realize she was doing it. At the diner, over homework. Anytime she wasn’t acutely focused on something, her mind wandered back to whatever music was striking her fancy at the moment. Standing awkwardly, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, Jess had yet to even unzip the leather jacket he was wearing or shed any layers. He’d never felt so uncomfortable in her room before, not even the first time he’d come, before they were dating, when he’d discovered how good she was at cards. He watched her rifling through the drawers of her old dresser, humming some Elliot Smith song he couldn’t quite place the title of.

She turned back to him with clothes in her hands, tossing them onto the mattress by which Jess stood before she started making for the door. “You get to wear the famous KISS t-shirt tonight, my friend.”

“C’mon, Elle-” he began, his voice a sigh.

“You should be honored, Jess. Besides, it’s the biggest t-shirt I have. And those sweatpants were Noah’s. Should fit you. I’m gonna go brush my teeth and change and stuff. Make yourself at home,” she said casually, as though there weren’t so many unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

He shook his head, looking down at his beat-up shoes. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Believe me, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not freezing to death in your back seat,” she replied.

Turning and shutting the door softly behind her, Ella left before Jess could say anything else. Looking around, things were much the same, save for the walls. He remembered painting the white color on them, right before everything had gone to hell. He remembered waking up in the room so many times, rushing out before Luke would notice he was gone, planting a final kiss on her sleepy face before he went. He’d always woken up before her. Nervous that she may come back before he was finished, Jess stripped off his dirty clothes as quickly as he could, leaving them in a small pile near the window through which he had just climbed. He pulled on the sweatpants and hesitated a moment before tugging the shirt over his head. He’d seen her wearing it in the early light of the morning, or late at night when they sat up together, him reading and her drawing.

The corkboard over her desk was covered in new sketches, and he saw some in charcoal. He turned away, eyes meeting the purple mural behind the mattress. The sight of it made him smile. She was even more talented than when he had left, if it was possible. A soft creak sounded in the room, and he turned expecting to find Ella. Instead, a large, black cat with one eye missing and a curmudgeonly expression on its face came in, hopping up onto the bare surface of the desk and curling up into a ball. Quirking a brow, Jess stared at the cat, who Ella had told him was named Fleetwood. Shocking.

Ella snorted a laugh when she came back in, now dressed in a flannel shirt and some leggings, makeup washed off and hair loose down her back. “Hm. You’ve finally met the ghost which haunts the Stevens house. He got pissed because I opened the dryer.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, he’s great.”

“Sounds like it.”

Blowing out a long breath, she switched off her overhead light and approached the bed. The clock read almost midnight, and her eyes were achy with fatigue. Collapsing onto the mattress and burrowing under her blankets, she went to turn out the bedside lamp but hesitated when she saw Jess still standing rigidly at the end of the bed, debating whether to sleep on her old carpet.

“Jess, you can lay down if you want. Not like we haven’t slept in the same bed before,” she said, voice calm though her heart was beating against her ribs. “I mean, if you wanna sleep in the same bed...Woah, that was presumptuous of me. I’m sorry, I-”

Jess cut her off with a chuckle. “It’s fine, Stevens. I just...wanted to make sure.”

Nodding, she shut the lamp off and felt the mattress dip next to her as Jess got under the covers and laid on his side, facing the wall. She didn’t know how long they spent, backs to each other, in stale silence. It was strange, how similar it felt to so many other nights together. But so utterly different, too. His hair was longer, with less gel than ever. She wondered how else California had changed him, in ways she couldn’t see. Taking in a long breath, Ella squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before turning over to face his back and hoping she didn’t regret speaking.

“Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you know about your car? I mean...I didn’t even know about that. And Luke rants to me pretty much every day.”

There was another long silence before Jess heaved a huge sigh. Ella could see the outline of his shoulders move beneath the white fabric of the worn shirt in the dim light. As he flipped over on his side, they looked each other in the eyes for the first time in what felt like years.

“My mom told me about it.”

“Your mom?” Ella’s brow crinkled.

Jess breathed another sigh. “Yeah, I’ve been keepin’ in touch with her since I got back to New York. She came to see Luke at the diner this morning. Weren’t you there?”

“I don’t live there. I was in class.”

He scoffed. “Geek.”

“Whatever, jackass. You and your back pocket books,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So...you and your mom are…?”

“Well, we’re not gonna be doing any mother-son talent shows together any time soon, but at least she told me where my property was.”

Nodding, she hummed quietly in acknowledgement. “I really didn’t know he had the car, Jess. I would’ve said something.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Then, after a moment: “I don’t know. She and I...at least I don’t have to live with her and her endless string of suitors. She’s got a new one, y’know.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah, I don’t even remember what his name is. She might’ve told me, but, at this point, it’s a waste of time thinking they’ll stick around longer than a week,” Jess said. He chewed on his bottom lip.

“What about your dad?” she asked quietly, noticing how his gaze darted away from hers at the question. There was still some distance between them, but she could almost feel his breath on her face.

Jess took a moment before answering. “Well, he’s still out there in California and I’m here. That’s that.”

“Okay,” she said shortly, nodding again in understanding. Her eyes searched his face for anything more, but his expression was unreadable. “Did you like it out there, at least? Was it everything Joan Didion promised?”

He shifted slightly, hand going under the pillow on which his head rested, getting more comfortable. A hint of a smirk touched his lips. “Sort of. But, I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’d hate it there,” he told her, a smug expression growing.

She chuckled breathily. “Why?”

“It’s hot as hell, first off. There’s sand everywhere. And I know how you feel about oceans,” he said, shooting a pointed glance her way. “And it’s just full of these hippies, babbling about astrology and fate and all that bullshit. I don’t think you’d be able to stomach it for a day.”

“Oh, and you were able to weather it so much better?” she teased.

He shrugged. “Well, I worked at the bookstore on the boardwalk for a few months. Only a few crazies to deal with every shift.”

“Hm. I could see it. You sulking behind the counter, reading, while some flower child begs you for some help.”

“Hey, I did a great job,” he argued.

“Yeah, using those famous Jess Mariano customer service skills,” she said doubtfully, then stifled a yawn against the back of her hand.

“Tired?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Not really,” she lied. “I just had an eight o’clock this morning. Should be against the law.”

“Ah, yes. The joys of higher education,” Jess said with a quiet laugh, watching as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

She snickered, her speech growing more raspy with fatigue by the word. “It’s okay. Kind of interesting. Pretty boring here without Rory, though.”

“She’s at Yale, right?”

Ella nodded. “Living her dreams. Winning everyone over with those baby blues...Sorry. I sound fucking pathetic.”

Biting down on his lip again, Jess looked at her for a long moment. He didn’t realize how much he had missed her until he got a glimpse of her. He got her voice every once in a while, but not her face. Not her mind.

A blush spread over her cheeks at his gaze, and she suddenly regretted her words. She wanted to roll her eyes at herself. It was so childish to be jealous of Rory, but sometimes she couldn’t help it. And when Jess was around, she always found herself forgetting to keep it all locked up, letting things slip out. It certainly didn’t help that she was totally exhausted.

“Eleanor,” Jess said earnestly. “You’re not pathetic, alright? You’re a badass artist. Lily Briscoe. And, for the record, you’ve got Bette Davis eyes.”

“Bette Davis’s eyes were blue, Jess,” she said doubtfully.

“I don’t mean the color. Just the look,” he said, shrugging at her correction.

Ella snorted a suspicious laugh. “How the hell do you know that song anyway?”

“Not important. And you’re not gonna distract me. Don’t doubt yourself, Stevens,” Jess said, and for a minute Ella found herself enclosed in a memory. In a New York port authority, preparing to board a bus, Jess with a new drawing of the Hudson in his pocket. “Own your narrative.”

She swallowed down the pleasant swell of her heart. “Well, if I’m owning mine, you’ve gotta own yours. Have you started that book yet, Kerouac?”

He gave a thin, mocking smile. “The travelling kinda got in the way.”

“Well, I’m sure it gave you lots of material,” she murmured, eyes finally fluttering shut.

It only took a few minutes for her breathing to even out, slow and steady. Jess turned over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, the water spot Ella always said was shaped like a Zeppelin. Raking a hand through his hair anxiously, he shut his eyes and tried to fall asleep. But the lavender smell was too familiar, almost too comforting, as was the woman next to him.

.   .   .

Standing by the register, Ella tried to bite back a smirk as Luke argued with his sister. Liz was rounding up ingredients from down in the diner to bring upstairs. Her new boyfriend, TJ, he was called, was up in the apartment attempting some sort of lunch. Ella would have called the cops on him trying to get up in the apartment had Liz not been there to identify him. She had heard stories about Liz over the years, from both Luke and Jess. And though she had gleaned enough information to assume the woman was bizarre, she hadn’t expected the new age, peace-loving, crystal earring-making vibe she had. Especially considering some of the things Ella knew she had done to Jess, not the least of which was shipping him off because her boyfriend got into a fist fight with him. And TJ? Ella could only imagine the angry shade of red Luke’s face would turn when TJ asked him to guess what his initials stood for.

Checking her watch, she sighed softly when she saw it was only two in the afternoon. There was a lull after the lunch rush, and she’d cleaned up as well as she could for the time being. So, she would be left stagnant behind the counter while Stars Hollow lives rushed around her. And, though Caesar was in the back, he rarely came out to speak with her. He was busy with prep, and the new headphones he’d just gotten, to listen to his music on full volume during slow times.

A scowling Luke turned back to Ella as Liz marched up the stairs, arms full of food, and broke her out of her pitiful reverie. Her eyes widened slightly at his furious look.

“You let him up there?” Luke demanded.

“She’s your sister! What was I supposed to do? Get Coop out here to arrest her fiancé?” she asked, gesturing with her hands in exasperation.

“I don’t know! Just...you could’ve waited until I got back!”

Ella shook her head. “How was I supposed to know when you’d be back? You didn’t say anything! Y’know, if you’d just get a cell phone for these kinds of things like I’ve been telling you-”

“You don’t have a cellphone!”

“I don’t own a diner.”

Luke put his hand up and let out a weary sigh. ��Enough. Fine. Just...is there any chance you could stage a horrible accident in the next two minutes? We’d have to take a long drive to the hospital.”

“I don’t think that would solve the core problem, boss,” she said.

Nodding, Luke went to ascend the stairs to a certain doom. “You’re right, kid. You’re right,” he admitted gruffly. “You okay down here for a while? Sure you don’t need any help?”

She smirked. “Think I can manage for the time being.”

He shot her a final glance, narrowing his eyes. “This would all be so much easier if you were a bad employee.”

“Can’t always get what you want,” she quipped, then turned as a customer approached. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t take the earrings she tried to bribe me with.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better in the slightest.”

Scoffing, she shook her head again as Luke disappeared behind the curtain. A smile formed on her face as she rang up the tourist family, and she even shot them a wave as they made their way out the door. Her breath caught in her throat, however, when she saw Jess’s head nearing the diner entrance through the front window. Immediately, she clutched at her necklace and bit the inside of her cheek. She’d awoken in the morning to find Jess gone, borrowed clothes folded and left on her desk. She’d taken pity on him. Swept up in the moment, in seeing him again, in seeing him shivering in the backseat of his car. But his side of the bed empty, without a word, brought a bad taste to her mouth. It was becoming familiar. She didn’t want it to become familiar. She didn’t want to admit how much his leaving had affected her, and maybe she didn’t truly feel it until she saw his face again. For just a moment, it felt easy and right. Like it had. Like home. But the morning was cruel and brought reality. She’d seen him pushing his car through town in the direction of Gypsy’s while she was on her way to work. His car would be fixed and he would be gone again. And she would be left behind.

Hoping to look busy, she took her notepad out of her apron, doodling mindlessly. The bell over the door jingled, and her heart sped up. Chewing on the eraser of her pencil, she made a pointed effort not to notice him right away.

Jess came up in front of her and tapped slightly on the counter. “Hey, Stevens.”

“Hi,” she replied, eyebrows raised. “You get your car to Gypsy’s? I saw the little parade this morning.”

Jess nodded and sighed softly. “Yeah. Not gonna be fixed until tonight.”

“Tragic,” she quipped flatly. “Are you gonna to go to the firelight festival to pass time, Mr. Model Citizen?”

“Is that what’s going on out there?” he asked with a frown, groaning dramatically.

“Same time every year, Mariano.”

“Just another Hallmark holiday,” he said.

Ella turned away, masking the twist of memory in her heart, to make a fresh pot of coffee. “Do you need something?”

Clearing his throat, Jess looked away from her and over to the checkered curtain. “Is Luke upstairs? I left a notebook I need up there.”

“A notebook?” she asked quizzically.

Jess ran a hand over his mouth. “Just got some things in it that I need.”

“Specific.”

“Aren’t I?”

She scoffed, then faced him again. “Well, Luke’s up there. Along with your mom and Prince Charming.”

“Fuck. You met him?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And?” he asked expectantly.

She snorted a laugh. “I really think you have to see it to believe it.”

Blowing out a long, tired breath, Jess walked towards the stairs. He stopped short when he made it to the curtain, tilting his head back to her with a questioning look. Messy hair, hands on her hips, pencil behind her ear. A vision from his past, making his stomach fill with butterflies every time he saw her. But her hazel gaze didn’t quite meet his own, off somewhere he couldn’t reach. Biting down on his lip hard, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Are you okay, Eleanor?”

Nodding, she attempted a weak smile his way. “Always, Jess. Are you okay?”

“Yeah...yeah. I’m okay. Thank you...for last night.”

“You’re welcome.”

And then she heard his footfalls trudging up the creaky wooden stairs. Fiddling with her necklace, she swallowed down her thoughts and plastered on another grin as Lane bounced in, announcing she’d found the perfect house to rent with her band.

.   .   .

Other than old books and lavender, bonfire was one of Ella’s favorite smells. She had her ratty black peacoat draped around her small frame. Rory and Lane had convinced her to go to the festival, both of them with the night free. And she figured maybe some time away from her bedroom and the diner would clear her mind. Spaces which were so crowded with her memories. She would just have to wait until Jess was gone, and she would be connected with him only through the phone line again. She wouldn’t have to feel the way her heartbeat picked up every time she got near him, touched him. And the worst part was, the feeling wasn’t bad. She remembered it. She missed it. How relaxed he made her feel.

But, as soon as she’d spotted her father and Fiona walking hand-in-hand through the square, she’d retreated to the bench near the bookstore to draw. Rory and Lane tried to get her to join them for candied apples and popcorn, but she wasn’t hungry. And, besides, there were plans to meet up at the Gilmore house later for some movies anyway. She just needed a moment of quiet, to herself. Without being pulled in so many directions. Though her hands were shaking from the cold, she managed a sketch of Jess’s car, two ghosts in the front seat, all tires flat.

She saw his jacket before she saw his face, spotting the familiar black leather out of the corner of her eye as he sat down next to her. Neither of them said a word for a moment, the continuous buzz of town activity and the crackling of the bonfire filling their ears.

“I like it,” Jess said, looking over her shoulder at the drawing.

Ella blew a breath out her nose and stopped shading. Leaning back against the bench, she shot him a momentary glance before shifting her eyes out to town square. “You always say that.”

“And it’s always true.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she scoffed, shaking her head a little.

“I’m serious. Who wouldn’t love a drawing of their car which could inspire nightmares?” he asked, a smirk on his face.

Pursing her lips, Ella tore the page out of her sketchbook. She signed and dated it in the bottom corner and handed it over to him. “It’ll bring you more joy than it brings me, then.”

Taking the drawing, his teasing expression faded as he noticed the wistful quality to her eyes. The one he had seen earlier. “Thanks,” he muttered quietly.

“Though you weren’t coming to this?” she said, gesturing to the roaring fire in the middle of town.

“Me neither. Gypsy said she still needs about a half hour.” He glanced down at his watch for what felt like the millionth time in a day, then shoved his hands in his pockets.

“So, you’re actually gonna say goodbye this time?” she asked, finally looking over at him with earnest, eyebrows raised.

His gaze dropped to his shoes and he struggled for a moment to find words. But her eyes, looking at him in the light of the fire. They made him feel ways he couldn’t even articulate. “Look, Elle, I’m sorry. Luke freaked out on me when I told him about graduation-”

“Oh, yeah, and speaking of Luke,” she interrupted. “Did you get into a fight with him or something earlier? You stormed out and then he left like twenty minutes later. He was totally wasted. We had to close early for the festival and he still wasn’t back.”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth. “He was trying to make me say something to Liz about TJ. Get her to come to her senses. I tried to tell him it was useless, but he just wouldn’t hear me.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “And you met TJ?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You think he’ll turn out like the others?” she asked, but there was less fire in her tone. There were so many words on the tip of her tongue, but she was tired. And her heart dropped into her stomach when she even thought of saying them.

Jess chuckled bitterly. “I know he will. He’ll take all her money, or drink all her booze, or...worse. And then it’ll be mine and Luke’s job to fix it. But, hey, where would we be without family?”

Ella smirked humorlessly at the thick sarcasm which laced his tone. “Yeah. Where?” Then, after a moment: “I think my dad and Fiona are gonna get a divorce.”

“Really?” he asked, but didn’t look surprised.

Though it wasn’t as if she felt shocked, either. “The whole new baby thing isn’t working out. I don’t know. I don’t think my dad cares either way, but that only makes her more angry. They scream and throw things at each other. The way he and my mom used to fight. And then Fiona apologizes and she tries to make him happy again. But it never makes any difference. He hasn’t been happy in years. Maybe never. But it’s not her fault. And I feel bad for her. But, right now, it just is.”

Jess nodded, listening. He noticed how she ran the key across the chain of her necklace, and a pang of nostalgia hit him.

“At least Adam likes high school. He’s already making waves in the science club, from what he tells me. Figures. And at least he gets along with my dad and Fiona way better than I ever have,” she said, shrugging her shoulders dismissively.

“At least,” Jess murmured sadly.

Ella managed a thin smile. “Makes sense. He doesn’t look exactly like her.”

Before Jess knew what he was doing, he took her free hand from where it clutched the metal of the bench and gave it a squeeze. For a moment, her cold hand was rigid and unmoving in his grasp. But, clearing her throat and looking down in surprise between them, she finally reciprocated. Gave his hand a squeeze back. Then, she flashed him another tiny smile, and disentangled her fingers. The moment had gone, and Ella hoped the chilly air would be able to cool the flush which rose on her cheeks at his touch. An awkward tension passed between the two of them, both at a loss for words. The town troubadour, strumming his old guitar near the entrance to the high school, suddenly caught Jess’s searching eye.

“This whole thing is meaningless and expensive,” he began, looking out over the many blue concession tents and the people with solo cups full of Founder’s Day punch, which tasted as close to gasoline as punch could. “But the music’s not completely terrible.”

Scoffing, Ella shook her head. “Too happy.”

A fond smile crossed over Jess’s face, the most genuine one she’d seen from him in quite a while. “Anyone ever tell you how unpredictable you are?”

“Shut up,” she replied, cracking a smile of her own.

#jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano au #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano x original character #original character stories #original character #jess #mariano #jess mariano #gilmore girls #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls imagines #luke danes

[itwasalwaysjustred]

prompt #011 - ultracrepidarian

no pairing; Alisaie discovers that Nhagi’li used to be a RDM; 993 words

content warnings: spoilers for post ARR

It’s a lovely day for training: not too warm, not too cold, a nice breeze to wick away the sweat, and a distinctive lack of patrolling Sin Eaters that require their attention. Not too far from where Nhagi’li is lying, Alisaie unleashes a proper red mage storm upon the training dummy, magic and rapier working in tandem to bring down the pretende enemy. He should probably join her, to ensure that his skills with his various weapons don’t get rusty, but honestly? The sun is blissfully warm and he hasn’t had the time to take a proper catnap in months. 

With a book over his face, sprawled out near an actually-reading Alphinaud, he is content to laze about for as long as the twins will allow it. Alisaie will be done with her practice soon. Even without seeing her move, he can hear her, the familiar steps of the red mage’s rapier strikes almost soothing, despite the fact that he can hear her fumble at the same place every time in the rotation. It’s something she’ll only learn through practice, though, and he’s content to let her be, even when he can make out the sound of what must be her third explosive sigh. 

Her brother must be feeling her frustration rather keenly, as, from beside him, Alphinaud tentatively says, “You know, if you’re struggling with something you can ask our friend for help.” Nhagi’li can practically hear him flinch, no doubt from the glare that his sister has levelled him by way of reply. 

“Nhagi’li knows a great many things, but if you’re telling me he—” 

In an effort to stop the argument before it gets off the ground — because he’s napping here and he’d like some peace, thank you very much — Nhagi’li calls, “If you’re trying to do a stronger Zwerchhau, then it needs to come from a strong base. Weight on your back foot, and all that.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause after his statement, and the Keeper very carefully lifts the book off his face to look at the twins. Alphinaud has his best neutral diplomat expression on — which will be of help to no one but him, thanks Alphinaud — while Alisaie’s expression is slowly darkening into something fierce. Nhagi’li waves what he hopes looks like a casually dismissive hand, already regretting opening his mouth. 

“It’s just something I heard once, you don’t have to take my advice—”

“Something you heard once from X’rhun Tia, the only current red mage instructor in Eorzea? You know him?”

Ah, yes. He had forgotten just how unusual this particular brand of magic was. Trying not to curse X’rhun and his tiny school of red mages, Nhagi’li shrugs his shoulders. “Our paths may have crossed before. I don’t remember.” That’s a bold faced lie if he ever told one. How could he possibly forget X’rhun’s bright eyes, his easy laugh, the way he threw himself into danger to protect others, his bold and flashy duelist style, the way his cheeks had gone almost as red as his clothes when Nhagi’li had propositioned him, the sweet noises he’d made when Nhagi’li had—

He gives himself an inward shake to get off that particular train of thought, which is fortunate given that Alisaie is making her way over to him, determination in her every step. Nhagi’li has a feeling that his nap is about to be over. Sure enough, the moment she gets close enough, she demands,

“Spar with me. Right now.” 

Alphinaud’s scandalized “Alisaie!” doesn’t seem to deter her, and with a sigh Nhagi’li obligingly gets to his feet. He reaches for his rapier, casting about in the aetherspace for it, but as his mind grasps it by the handle he feels as though his stomach is made of lead, heavy and uncomfortable. In that moment he cannot help but remember standing there, alone, in the desert beyond Ul’dah, having left all of his companions behind, abandoned them to death or to a fate worse than it. The Crystal Braves had turned on Alphinaud, and there was no telling what they might do to their once-commander, what cruelties Ilberd would inflict on the Elezen who wanted nothing more than to make Eorzea a better place.  

Nhagi’li swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, and curls the end of his tail around his thigh to keep it from giving him away. It doesn’t seem to matter how much he’s done since then — how many lives he’s saved or wars he’s averted or countries he’s liberated. When he thinks of drawing that weapon once more, of looking in X’rhun’s face and having to admit that he’d run away when he should have stayed and fought, he can’t bear it. 

Turns out he’s still not ready, and that thought makes his guts twist in shame. 

Alisaie is staring at him expectantly and all he can think of is that he needs to leave, now. He tilts his head as if he hears something, feigning surprise and then squinting up at the sky. “Well well, I didn’t realize it was that late! Sorry to criticise and run but I have a very, very important date I absolutely cannot miss. See you later!” Nhagi’li doesn’t wait for their responses, trotting off back towards the Crystarium and leaving his book behind in his hurry to get away. If he’s fast enough, he may be able to get to the Ocular before Alisaie does, and then the Exarch can buy him a little time. He feels guilty, even more so when he hears her shout his name, but he’s not sure he’s ready to deal with his red mage demons just yet. There’s too much baggage there, baggage that she doesn’t need to know about or deal with the consequences of. 

He’ll make it up to her with something nice later. Until then, there’s only room for one red mage in their little Scion party. Nhagi’li certainly doesn’t have anything worthwhile to teach her. 

#ffxivwrite2020

[irageneve]

I know that sometimes it is better to let your praise stand alone but I can't help but respond again. Because it is not just that piece I mentioned. You always produce such detailed artworks (even for free which is mind-blowing and making me wish I had enough money to pay you.). You invest so much time and love and it shows, each piece seeming to have a soul of it's own. May I ask how long you already draw? I would love to know about the road you've taken so far while pursuing your passion :)

you will literally make me cry you’re so so kind i don’t know how to thank you enough T__T feel free to come around and ask me anything, my heart is yours

story time, Ira’s art journey (it got way longer than I expected and I also got sappy lol, I’m sorry)

like any other kid I started to draw when I was little. I used to spend a lot of time in hospitals as a child so coloring books where how I was spending my time. after that I continued to draw just for myself, ugly drawings that back then were full of thoughts that I was proud of haha. besides that I was always drawing on something, notebooks, napkins, my hands, tables. even now I draw floating eyes and random hair shapes on my notebooks lol

I continued to draw by pausing different anime scenes on TV and drawing them on paper, trying to reproduce it as accurate as I could only by studying the paused episode. looking back I realize I was doing art exercises without even knowing what I was actually doing, back then I was just drawing what I was admiring (I remember even now the anime Slayers, I drew Lina one night and then I wrote down every one of her spells that I was remembering)

I was never the best at traditional art, I’m pretty clumsy, smudging everything or painting everywhere that shouldn’t have paint on it. watercolors hated me (literally, once I had a watercolor tube explode in my face when I tried to open it)

I started digital…12 years ago I think? I started in paint and for good years I mastered that. my first ever digital art was an anime schoolgirl I reproduced from the cover of one of my notebooks. I drew that in paint and I remember it took me several days to finish. and then after a while I discovered Paint Tool Sai

I kept drawing for myself and for my friends for the longest time, mostly my OCs and my own stories. after a while, with school getting stressful and losing motivation because I had the mindset that art is just a hobby and it won’t get me anywhere, because society and family and etc told me that, I stopped. for 3-4 years I haven’t touched anything art related (I used to draw with a mouse back then)

then, I got into mystic messenger where I met people outside of my group of friends. I started to want to draw again for that fandom and even if my skills were really rusty I was enjoying it. I started to post art online two years ago under the name of Cheebs. for a while everything went fine. I was drawing and a friend that I considered very close to me was doing the backgrounds, we called them collaboARTs. but when I started to feel art was more like a chore than a passion plus some other details that I won’t go into now (regarding the friendship between me and this person) I realized it was toxic for me. things went south, we “broke up” and that was the moment I decided to never leave my arts with a white background anymore. even the simplest backgrounds are fine, but no more lazy

around…August/September I think, 2018, I got my first tablet. man the difference between a mouse and a tablet is HUGE. I felt like I was rediscovering drawing all together

wanting more of my art I started to watch speedpaintings on youtube, to search for different ways to do backgrounds, how to make the composition in order to enhance your art and not to make it heavy, color theories, etc. I started working on my technical side, I always drew just how I felt like it looked good (I never got art classes, only in elementary school which were more to play around than to learn art)

my art improved in the last year while I realized I was drawing for myself and that it never should become a chore, more than the entire time before that. I worked on my fears of “what if” (what if won’t come out good, what if they won’t like it, what if someone will find this trash) and that helped me more than anything. I improved in anatomy, perspective, colors, backgrounds because I wasn’t afraid of failure anymore and I pushed myself to go out of the comfort zone. it really helped

now my next step is to make my art a bit more…lively. I love when I hear people saying that they are feeling things when seeing my art or my writing, cause that’s what I’m aiming for. but I feel like I don’t have the dynamic I want, I feel some of my pieces are…stiff. I want more fluidity in my art so lately I’m trying to draw in a different way, to use more lines of actions

and now because you mentioned the free art part, I’m going to be a bit honest: giving free stuff (art, writing, edits, readings, any free content) it’s always going to be tricky. there are going to be people who demand, who are pushy, who want things their way. I opened requests a while back because I wanted to get better and to draw more, and I don’t regret that, but it was hella stressful and it burned me out in half a year because I didn’t know when to tell them to stop. I was making full illustrations daily. then after I stepped up for myself and changed the rules I felt much more better and now I can do up to 6 requests per day. of course, not top quality, but that doesn’t mean I don’t put love in them. love, and time and thoughts

there are wonderful people coming into my inbox almost daily and I love to draw for all of them for free, but there are always people making you question your choice of doing it in your free time. this is why I always fire up when I see people being mean towards learning artists. no one just knows how to draw, not even pro artists. who says “do it” never ever tried to do it themselves

I like to say that creativity is a muscle, if you don’t train it and challenge it it won’t evolve. but the pace of doing that it’s different from an artist to another. who cares if a young artist doesn’t know how to draw latino characters but still wants to draw that certain person cause they like them? let them try, let them fail, let them learn

ahh this got off track but I got a bit sad and angry today because of this topic and some discourse, I guess I just had to let it out. I saw people bloom when they got a bit of support to start drawing, after years of putting it off because teachers or family told them they have no talent. they only needed a bit of push and while they aren’t Picasso they are drawing, it looks great and they are using their creativity. they are enjoying it. that’s all that matters

it’s late and idk why I’m sappy but I really hope people would start appreciating creativity more and would let people enjoy and discover the world without any labels or judgements or unnecessary drama. I’m so sorry if I bore you, thank you for your kind words and I’ll stop here before I’ll write a goddamn novel hahaha

much love to you anony, you’re truly an angel 🧡

#ira talks #art journey #positivity for artists #long post #my thoughts #my journey #i guess lol

[tomhollanduniverse]

Game Night [Part 2: NSFW - Tony Stark Oneshot]

Pairing: Tony Stark x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,053

Warnings: Language, very smutty: Oral (both female and male receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink, rough sex

A/N: This is the second part of my writing submission to @noshitstark‘s 1.4k writing challenge! Here’s some steamy, smutty smut for your viewing pleasure! Hope this part is better than the first part. I haven’t written smut in a while. I might be a little rusty. Anyways, hope you guys like it! Check it out, under the cut!

Prompt Used: “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, babe.”

“Friday, lock down the compound. Alert me if anyone arrives on the grounds.” Tony commands, never taking his eyes off of Y/N. He starts walking toward her side of the table.

 “Yes, sir. Total Privacy lockdown is now activated.” Friday’s voice echos through the room. As he draws near, she grins, looking over him still in his jeans. He finally reaches her, admiring every inch of her perfect body up close.

 “Your lucky streak continues, Tony.” she gulps hard, anticipating what was coming. “Fortunately for me, of course.”

 “Well, since I’m in charge for the night, you will address me as Sir, Mr. Stark or…Daddy.”

 “Oh, really?” she bites her lip, fighting back a giggle. “Daddy kink, huh? This is gonna be fun.” her whole body shaking from nervousness. He nods, seeing how shaky she was.

 “There’s no reason to be nervous, sweetheart.” his warm fingertips run up her sides, tracing her hips. He left a wave of goosebumps on her porcelain skin, in the wake of his big fingers. Y/N watches him discover her, running her hands up his tan arms, her breathing becoming irregular. “I’ll take care of you. Get up on the table for me baby.” he whispers, smiling. She does as she’s told and slides up onto the game table, spreading her legs for him.

 “I’m never gonna be able to look at this table the same way, ever again.” Y/N jokes, licking her bottom lip.

 “Me either.” he says looking amused. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, placing himself between her legs.

 “Of course.” she gives him a gentle smile, planting soft kisses on his chest.

 “Just make sure to tell me if it gets to be too much for you, honey.” he threads his fingers through her soft hair, cradling the back of her head. She nods, getting lost in his dark doe eyes. His other hand snakes down between them, his fingers teasing her inner thighs. She gasps into the kiss, her skin feeling as if it were on fire. His fingers found her folds, spreading her wetness around. “Already so wet for me, huh baby?” All she could do was sigh and lean her head back. His middle finger grazed her clit, making her whimper. He began planting sloppy kisses on her neck as his skilled fingers trace tight circles on her sensitive nub. He trails kisses down her chest, taking her erect nipple into his mouth.

 “Jesus Christ, Mr. Stark.” she runs her nails through his hair, curling her toes. His hand gently pushes against her chest, signaling her to lay back on the table. He bites and sucks his way down to her stomach, enjoying tasting every bit of her body.

 “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to taste you.” he says, looking up at her through his eyelashes. He bites the insides of her thighs, thoroughly enjoying the sounds she was making.

 “Please stop teasing me, Tony.” He leans up, a switch flipping in his head.

 “The last time I checked, I was in charge. And you will call me only by the names I told you to call me. Am I clear?”

 “Yes, sir.” she shudders.

 “Good girl.” he hums. With that, his lips make contact with her clit, causing her to suck in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. His tongue danced over her, as he slid two fingers inside her. He curls his fingers, pumping in and out. She bucks against his hand as he speeds up his movements. Tony puts her legs over his shoulders and she struggles to hold back her cries of pleasure. He could tell she had never been ate out before, at least not by a guy like Tony. He sucks on her swollen nub, lunging his fingers in and out mercilessly. His tongue snakes down to her core, lapping her wetness up. “You are so delicious, honey.” He licks a long stripe up back to her clit, sucking and twirling his tongue. He can tell she’s getting close as she’s writhing beneath his lips. He pulls his fingers out, and releases her throbbing nub with a dramatic popping sound. Y/N whines at the loss of contact. Tony can no longer hold out, unbuckling his belt. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.” Y/N leans up, wrapping her legs around Tony. He carries her to his room, as she sucks on his adams apple dying to feel him inside her. His legs nearly buckle as his cock strains against the confinement of his jeans. As he reaches his king-sized bed, he falls on top of her with a soft bounce.

 “Please, daddy. I need you. I--I can’t wait anymore.”

 “Shhh, baby. You have to take care of daddy’s needs first.” he puts his finger over her lips, the corner of his lips turning up into a smile. She knew what he meant and she was happy to oblige. She turns him over, crawling down his body. She was still a little uneasy with direct eye-contact with him, but she was slowly becoming okay with it. He sits up on his elbows and watches her kiss his stomach, running her nails down his torso.

 “As sexy as you look doing that, you are not allowed to tease me. You’ll look even sexier going down on me. Get to it, baby.” he growls. Y/N lets out a giggle, proud of herself for bringing this side of Tony out. She obeys, unbuttoning his jeans and starts pulling them down. He arches his back to make it easier for her to pull them all the way off. Her mouth waters at the sight of his dick straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. She grabs the waistband and pulls them off finally freeing his erection. Y/N eyes grew wide, seeing just how big he was. He smiles at her satisfaction. She shyly looks up at him, and licks her lips. She softly wraps her fingers around him, eliciting a hiss from him. She runs her tongue up the sensitive underside of his cock, making him twitch slightly. She takes him into her mouth,wrapping her lips around him, running her tongue up and down his shaft. Tony groans, his head falling back. Y/N bobs her head up and down sucking lightly. “Yeah just like that baby. Just--like that.” Tony coos, looking down at her. She swirls her tongue around, deepthroating him nearly all the way down to his balls. He gasps, threading his fingers through her hair again. He pushes her head down the rest of the way, nearly gagging her. She didn’t care. Y/N sucks as hard as she can, Tony mutters curse words under his breath. She works him up and down, showing him just how much she wants him. He responds by pulling her hair, making her wince slightly. She doesn’t let up, closing her eyes, taking in the tastes and the sounds coming from him. He can feel himself getting close so he stops her. “Come up here, honey. Come on.”

 “Anything for you, daddy.”she whimpers. Y/N climbs up his perfect body, placing a knee on either side of him, resting her hands on his chest. He takes his cock and rubs it all over her soaking wet pussy, making sure she’s ready for him. He places his head at her entrance, grabbing for her hips. She lowers herself down, adjusting to his size, inch by gruelling inch. Suddenly, he thrusts up, pushing himself the rest of the way inside her. She lets out an involuntary squeal as he stretches her slightly. He lets his lust take over, gripping her waist, most likely leaving bruises behind. “By the way, I can’t get over seeing this side of you also, Mr. Stark.” she grins.

 “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet babe.” he hums, smiling. She grinds down on him, taking him as deep as she possibly could. “Mmm, you feel so good around me, sweetie. So--so fucking tight.” he growls. She clenches around him, already getting that warm, tingly feeling in her lower stomach. Y/N begins riding his dick, using his chest as leverage. Tony was in awe as he watches her tits bounce up and down as he slams up into her with more force. She moans his name over and over again, a symphony of lust filling the air around them. His bed creaks, looking up at his beautiful lady.

 “You’re sooo--good daddy.” she manages to get out.

 “You are so fucking gorgeous, Y/N. You are doing so perfectly.” he encourages her, admiring her body. “But it’s my turn.” With that, he flips her over, still managing to stay deep inside her. He was closer than he wanted to admit. A woman had never turned him on as much as she did. He was losing it. He began pounding into her mercilessly, moans slowly fading out into just low grunts and hips colliding into each other. His teeth sank into her shoulder, holding out as long as he could.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum.” she whispered into his ear.

 “Not yet, baby. You’ll wait until I say so--that’s an order.” his voice strained. Y/N didn’t know how much longer she could stand it: the skin on skin contact, the way his teeth were scraping against her neck, the squeeze of his big hand on her hip. It was about to send her way over the edge. She was curious to know what would happen if she didn’t listen. She wondered what the punishment would be. She was about to find out because she was dancing on the razors edge.

 “I can’t hold on any longer, sir.” she pants. She clenches her muscles and her toes curl as her release washes over her. Tony leans up to watch her lose it, slack-jawed. She opens her eyes to see him scowling.

 “You’ll pay for that, baby. You’re in trouble.” he hisses. He follows soon after, giving one final thrust as he releases inside her. He collapses on top of her, heart beating wildly against Y/N’s skin. She strokes his hair, running her nails up and down his back softly. As he came down, he plants chaste kisses against Y/N’s collarbone, his hair tickling her cheek. He leans up looking at her lovingly, kissing her lips. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you babe?” Her mouth gapes open dramatically.

 “What?! I have NO idea what you’re talking about Daddy!” she pokes his chest. Suddenly, Friday’s voice comes over the intercom. They both gasp.

 “Sir, someone is approaching the compound.”

 “Shit! Our clothes are out in the game room!” Y/N laughs. “I need to go get--”

 “Well, it’s actually your clothes. It’s only my shirt. And you’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” his eyes narrow. “This is your punishment for disobeying me.” he pins her hands above her head.

 “Tony, come on! That’s not fair!” she giggles.

 “That’s too damn bad, sweetheart.” he snarls. Her jaw drops.

 “You dickhead. I’m never gonna hear the end of this one, from the others!” she struggles against his strength. They hear footsteps out in the dining room.

 “Good.” he laughs.

#tony stark #tony stark x female reader #tony stark fanfiction #iron man #robert downey jr #rdj #mcu #marvel fanfiction #nikkiswritingchallenge

[blargh-chicka-honk-honk]

I still consider myself an artist, but if I'm ever forced to say so aloud (or in writing that anybody will read, like I did just now) I feel so wrong about it. Why? Because I barely draw. I'm an amateur at best, and haven't practiced in any seriousness since I dropped out of college 2-3 years ago. So I'm not really, am I. I can draw sure, but not as good as I should be able to. I'd made my peace with that... I thought. See, I'll often admire other people's art (without jealously or anything, just admire it because it's good) but I never watch speedpaints, or timelapses of their progress, because last time I did (in college) it made me feel bad about myself, and I'm not one to go looking for that.

But I just watched one.

And I realized.... Yeah, I mean I haven't practiced really, but I do still draw, the reason I can't get anything looking "professional grade" is because when I do draw, it's on a crappy free app on a laggy phone with a cracked screen and no stylus. Like, I still have the skills I learned.., they're a bit rusty but they're there.

Here's some of the pieces I'm fond of that I've made recently.

And like.... I'm proud of these. The lines are wobbly and the edges are too sharp and the backgrounds need work and what even is shading and I can't just not outline things, but!!! They're good! They're actually pretty damn good! I'm proud of them! Especially when,

my screen is a spiderweb and makes my lines wiggle,

if i press too hard my cursor slides across the screen and gets stuck in the lower right hand corner until I restart it,

I don't have a stylus,

my phone will freeze up and if I click on something while it's like that it will sometimes delete what I'm working on in it's entirety (only happened 3 times but I have a grudge),

And the program I'm using doesn't allow for certain tricks I see other people doing in their digital pieces (like resizing bits that you drew the wrong proportion and changing canvas sizes after starting and working multiple layers at once)

Oh yeah and the reason"I can't just not outline things" is that my app will use any guides i draw as if they were outlines and if I try to delete the layer that has the outline on it, the other layers all get random splotches of outline that didn't QUITE delete all the way, and they are all only a few pixels big and it's impossible to find all of them, until, of course, I think I'm done and I go to upload it, only to discover i uploaded absolute shit that looks like if visual snow fucked a rainbow and made a filter on Snapchat.

I've been judging myself by a weighted scale for years, and I don't think I'm going to be able to stop, but I'm thinking maybe I should save up for a tablet or something. Maybe even a computer. Something that can run a proper drawing program, with a touch screen or touch screen compatible with a cheap tablet or. Idk. I don't know what this means from here on out, but it feels good to not be bad at what I love...

It feels good to be an artist.

#personal #rant #sorry for the rant #personal rant #another side effects of the phone is that it will put random l's in instead of backspacing and it is a major nuisance #especially a long ass post like this

[cyberflows-art]

Shoulder Devil

Oof! This sure took me a while! Not really because it’s long (although it kind of is, whoops!), but because I have terrible time management skills XD

I always plan what I’m going to say for this little introductions and then completely forget what I was supposed to say...

Well, this is my fic for the Joey Drew Studios AU at @ask-joeydrewstudios! I knew for quite some time that I wanted to do something for this AU because the characters are very well developed and consistent, the art is fantastic and it’s always a good time whenever I receive a notification telling me there’s a new post! I could spend a looong time telling you why I love this AU so much, but instead I’m just going to recommend checking it out! I wan’t sure whether to draw something, or write something, soooo I did both! Oh! I’m also going to put it over on AO3 and ffnet if that’s more your thing!

I really hope you like it!

Cough Don’t use or repost my drawing without my permission, please! Cough

It had been a very productive Friday in the studio. Most of the animators had managed to get ahead on their work, the voice actors had very smooth recording sessions and Joey found himself praising a lot of people when he checked on them. The ink spills where almost null, the projectors all in outstanding condition, the pipes hadn’t emitted any creaking noises or given any signs of damage. The toy department had just finished some new concepts for a limited edition line of toys that could boost their income quiet a bit. The studio was reveling in a contented mood, and the employees certainly appreciated the relaxed work environment, so different to the usual stress of having to meet an approaching deadline. But that productivity came at a price. 

A price called Sammy Lawrence.

Due to the presence of a certain prank loving toon, people who worked at Joey Drew Studios knew to have spare clothing at hand, even more so if you worked in the Music Department. But that usually meant just an extra shirt for the week. This day? Sammy had already had to change his shirt twice before lunch break. The first time was due to a bucket of ink being dumped on his head; the second because Henry just so happened to be passing through the same hallway as him with a bowl of (thankfully not boiling) soup, and Bendy just so happened to run by them and “accidentally” push Henry. The entirety of the contents of the bowl, of course, ended covering Sammy. From that point on, the positivity in the air was slain by Sammy’s irate aura and the employees instinctively stepped aside whenever he walked by. And now that he had finally been able to eat something and calm himself a little, he sat at his desk and grabbed a pen only to discover half of his stuff was coated in honey. He groaned in exasperation and cursed the substance while trying to detach the pen from his fingers.

Sammy didn’t know why the little brat suddenly decided to focus all of his attention on him, (this considering the music director was a favorite target), but he knew it needed to stop that instant. In fact, it should have stopped days ago. Since wednesday, Bendy had been making his working hours a living hell. It ranged from hiding random ingredients in his food, to messing with the lyrics in his incomplete songs, to hiding every single one his goddamn cigarettes in a different location each. The only reason he had managed to not fall behind was that he locked all of his important documents and work in the upper right drawer of his desk. He bet that the little devil would have turned them all into paper airplanes if he didn’t.

Grumbling, he stood up once again and started walking towards the nearest bathroom to wash his hands. Of course, it would be his luck that said bathroom was the one in the worst condition in the whole studio. The door, specifically, was a bother to open since there wasn’t enough space between it and the floor, making it drag noisily; not to mention the rusty hinges and knob people had tired of reminding Wally to oil. Maybe the fact that it was the bathroom closest to the music department had something to do with that. Sammy wouldn’t put it past the janitor to be petty like that. He would normally go the extra mile to go to a decent bathroom, but he had wasted enough time as it was, so he resigned himself and stepped in, careful not to close the damaged door all the way.

He got as far as rubbing the soap on his hands before the water stopped flowing from the tap. Frowning, Sammy tried opening and closing it, but quickly lost his patience and tried the other two. Nothing. Anger rapidly increasing, Sammy took a moment to count to ten, planning to calmly go to the bathroom in the floor above. But while he focused on counting, he failed to notice the rattling of the pipes in front of him. 5… 6… 7… 8… 9…  The sudden loud creaking finally caught his attention and alarms rang in his head when he saw all three sinks slightly shaking. He managed but one hasty step towards the door before the three taps were sent flying and three forceful water streams drenched him from head to toe. Sammy instinctively covered his face, desperately trying to maintain enough visibility to walk the short distance to the door. Unfortunately, with all the chaos he wasn’t able to notice the bar of soap that had landed on the floor, and thus couldn’t prevent stepping on it. He yelped when he felt himself tripping forward, barely being able to slam against the door with his shoulder rather than with his face.

A dull pain spread through his upper arm but nothing too serious. Sammy rubbed at it and stood up, his mind trying to process what had just happened. If he had had a moment to collect himself, rage and annoyance would have probably consumed him, but he heard something above the sound of the flowing water. Laughter. Really loud laughter. The door of the stall closest to the wall slowly swung open and hanging from the inside was the little devil himself. He obviously couldn’t hang there for much longer, shaking with laughter as he was, so he jumped to the only corner of the floor untouched by the water to continue from there.

“WOW, Sammy! I thought I had something great by breaking the sinks, but you made it even better with that soap bit!!!” he managed to say through his giggles. “You sure you don’t wanna be a toon? You’d make a great target for gags!”.

Sammy remained silent. He remained silent and looked at the mess around him, one of his eyes twitching. He remained silent because even if he was normally able to yell at Bendy for his pranks, he couldn’t believe the absolute stupidity of the whole situation. He remained silent because even if he would usually call the demon a little shit, he still had to remember he was a kid and at the moment he didn’t trust himself to not say something he could regret later. And the absolute least he needed that day was for Joey to visit him to berate him on his conduct. So he bit back the venom that threatened to escape from his mouth and limited himself to glaring at the demon as harshly as he could. Bendy’s laughter did wither under the look that Sammy was giving him (and the lack of an explosive reaction), but he kept a defiant attitude by crossing his arms and returning the stare with a smile. This only further irritated the music director, so he turned around to open the door, not wanting to see the smug brat’s little face anymore. He wasn’t used to repressing his anger, and since he was absolutely furious, he needed an outlet fast. Except… the doorknob wasn’t working. In fact, it felt pretty loose, probably detached from whatever internal mechanism was inside the door. He struggled with it, as if he could force it to work just by violently moving it, but he ended loosening it it to the point it came off. Sammy glared at it for a second before flinging it against the wall. He heard snorting behind him.

“What?” came Bendy’s voice. “Can’t even open a dooooor, Sammy?”

He then started blabbering about how Sammy needed to start lifting weights and eating more vitamins. Sammy sighed in frustration and turned towards Bendy to yell at him to undo whatever he did to the door so he could go tell Joey to ground the demon for the rest of eternity. He froze, however, when he saw the floor of the room. The flow of the water had considerably diminished, but it was still consistently adding more liquid to the floorboards. The growing puddle was silently creeping in Bendy’s direction, but the demon couldn’t be bothered to notice. For a split second, he toyed with the idea of just watching him notice and freak out about his crucial mistake. But a pang of guilt immediately hit him, knowing well that it would be the equivalent of letting a fire get close to a human. He was furious, but not even he was that cruel. Sighing, he sacrificed the one spot on his clothes that had been spared from the water attack to dry his hands. He crossed the distance between them, tuning out Bendy’s incessant rambling, and lift him up before the puddle could reach his shoes. Three seconds later, there wasn’t a dry spot on the floor.

“Hey!” Bendy exclaimed. “Put me down!! I don’t like bein’ carried around, ya hear me?! Let go!”

He then proceeded to poke Sammy’s head with his tail and trying to wiggle out of his hold. Sammy tightened his grip, afraid he might actually drop him and then held the demon to arms length in a way that wouldn’t allow Bendy enough movement to bite him (which he was known for).

“Okay, you little brat. You are going to look down for a single second and then I dare you to say that again to my face,” Sammy deadpanned.

“What, you think I wouldn’t?” Bendy crossed his arms. “Fine! I’ll look down and then I’ll tell you to your face to put me- Oh...”

“‘Oh’ is right.” Sammy glared at him as he stopped struggling to fall to his demise. “Now, if you could stop throwing a tantrum and fix the freaking door so we both can get the hell out of here, that would be great, wouldn’t it?”

“What?! I didn’t do anything to the door!!!”

“Oh, yeah? Then why won’t it open? Can you really not stop playing dumb even when you turned the floor into something you can’t so much as touch without melting?!” Sammy made him face the door, hoping that he would pull out a tool or something that would let them get out,

“Ugh! I told ya, I didn’t break the door! You’re the one that slammed his ugly face against it! Maybe that’s why it broke, huh?”

Bendy stuck his tounge at him and looked away with a huff.

“So what? We’re just trapped here now?!” Sammy looked at the demon incredulously. “Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? Well, congratulations! I bet Joey will give you a trophy!”

Bendy scowled at him, but quickly looked away under Sammy’s scolding stare and resigned himself to pout in silence. This was doing nothing for Sammy’s mood. Now there was no way he wasn’t going to fall behind in his work. Besides, the water was already up to his ankles and the cold from being soaked was starting to get to him. His arms were also getting tired.

“Why am I even carrying you still?” he said more to himself. The little guy didn’t really deserved the effort after landing them in the situation they were in. He walked towards the stalls, hoping that he could set him down.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Bendy asked once he felt they were moving.

“I’m getting tired so I decided you are going to stand on one of the toilets,” he said matter of factly.

“WHAT? But… but toilets are filled with water!”

If Sammy didn’t fear he would drop him he would have smacked his own forehead with his hand.

“I’m not putting you inside the toilet, you moron! You’re gonna stand on top of the lid.”

“Ew! No way! Joey told me what goes in there and I’m NOT touching those things.” Bendy scrunched his face up in disgust and clung to Sammy’s hands, refusing to be put down. “And the water is rising so fast! What if it reached me if I was standing there? Oh no! What if it goes all the way up to the roof? What if nobody saves us?!”

Sammy rolled his eyes at the toon’s exaggeration. This wasn’t a worrying predicament, only an infuriatingly annoying one. At this point, he would even accept if Joey offered to teleport them out of there.

“Calm down, we are not going to drown,” Sammy told him. “The door isn’t fused to the floor. There’s gotta be some water leaking, and the moment somebody notices they’re going to-”

“WHAT THE HELL?”

Wally’s voice reached them right on cue. Bendy’s face lit up in an instant.

“Wally! Wally, we’re trapped! You gotta save us!” He yelled.

“Bendy? What-? How-? Oh, shoot! Are you ok? You aren’t like… half melted or something right?” Wally’s voice became a bit panicked with the possible implications of what he could find on the other side of the door. They could hear him frantically turning the useless knob.

“Thanks for the mental image, Franks…”

“Wait… Sammy?! How many people are in there?!”

“Oh no, just the two of us!” Bendy exclaimed happily, as if he hadn’t been freaking out just a few moments prior. “I’m using him as my personal island!”

“Uh, yeah, you keep doing that buddy…” Wally said. “How did this even happen?”

“Sammy broke the door!” Bendy immediately answered.

“Excuse me?! You’re the genius that thought exploding the sinks was a good idea!”

“He WHAT?” Sammy could tell by the distress in Wally’s voice that he knew who would have to deal with the mess. He would have found it amusing if his shoes weren’t completely submerged.

“Franks, my clothes are soaked and I am locked in here with a three foot tall nightmare incarnated. How about you get us out, and then you play detective?”

Sammy didn’t doubt the silence that followed was Wally trying to come up with a good comeback to not just accept an order from the music director, but in the end he had to acept this wasn’t a good time for that.

“Fine, fine,” he finally said. “You might want to step away from the door! I’ll get you out in a second!”

The door creaked when Wally pushed forcefully against it, but with no results, A groan of frustration was heard before repeated pounding against the wood, which the trapped pair could only guess was Wally either tackling the door or trying to kick it down. Bendy started cheering him on. After the fifth hit, one of the rusty screws of the upper hinge was sent flying while the other hinge got crooked and Sammy swore one of its sides got lodged into the wood frame. From that point on, nothing else even budged.

“... Maybe I won’t get you out in a second…”

“Wow, it’s almost like it’s important to do your job maintaining the building, huh?” Sammy said bitterly.

“Agh, shut up. Look, there’s an axe somewhere in the studio. Joey told me where it was, but I uh, kinda forgot where it is… I gotta go ask him.” Silence. ”Dammit. He’s not going to like this…”

“I would prefer it if you cut the water first. It’s almost up to my knees already.”

“Uh, right, right. First things first, and all that.”

“Hurry up, Wally! I don’t think Sammy has the strength to carry me for much longer!” Bendy called.

“Wha-? You little-!”

“Try not to shove Bendy into the water while I’m gone Sammy!”

Wally’s voice faded along with his hurried steps. Sammy’s shoulders sagged. Great. More waiting. He guessed he could try doing something productive. Maybe see if he could loosen the hinges. Oh wait! He couldn’t. He was carrying some dead weight. And as much as he hated to admit it, said dead weight was indeed putting a strain on his arms. He let himself lower them just a bit to get his blood circulating better, hoping that the demon wouldn’t notice. With his luck that week, of course he did.

“Uh, you did hear what Wally just told ya, right?” Bendy said glancing down and lifting his feet.

“Oh, sorry! It must be that I’m not strong enough to carry you. I could just drop you any minute now.”

Bendy pouted up at him. Sammy retaliated with a glare, but found that just looking at the demon reminded him of the terrible week he had had. He decided that he had enough of the staring contest soon after and looked around for, well, literally anything else he could do. He spotted the towel that was placed for people to dry their hands, which had miraculously been spared of the shower, and he got an idea for a solution for the tiredness of his arms. He crossed the room towards it and held Bendy in front of it.

“Grab it.”

“Huh?” Bendy gave him a confused look.

“Grab the towel.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Sammy lifted Bendy up so that they were looking eye to eye. “I despise carrying you as much as you despise being carried. So you are gonna take that towel, put it on my shoulder and sit there until we get out of here.”

“Why don’t you grab the towel if it’s your idea?” Bendy’s cocky demeanor started chipping away at Sammy’s last bit of patience, and he was desperately trying to remind himself he was supposed to be the adult. “Why do I gotta do all the work here, huh? How lazy of you! Are you sure you’re fit to be the director of anything?”

“Ok, that’s ENOUGH! Why are you being such a prick?! This whole situation was YOUR fault! Least you could do is cooperate with something as easy as this!”

Bendy flinched at the louder tone of voice, but he wasn’t deterred.

“‘Why are you being such a prick?’” he imitated in a high pitched voice, using his hand to simulate a mouth. However, he did grab the towel and threw it on Sammy’s shoulder, hitting him on the face (not so accidentally) during the fact. Making sure it was placed well enough that his wet shirt wouldn’t come in contact with the little toon, Sammy let him climb on his shoulder and he finally could put his darned arms down. His relief was short lived, though. Now he had a whining demon right besides his ear.

“That’s it,” he said not even paying attention to whatever Bendy was saying. “I’m quitting the moment we get out of this stupid bathroom…”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should,” Bendy suddenly muttered with a scowl. If he hadn’t been so close, Sammy may not have heard it. “That way you wouldn’t break Boris’ stuff.”

Sammy startled so forcefully he had to quickly hold Bendy in place so he wouldn’t fall.

“Break Boris’- What are you even talking about?” he asked frowning.

“Oh, just admit it!” Bendy turned so he was sitting sideways and could look at Sammy better, He poked his face in an accusing manner. “You broke Boris’ favorite banjo! You know how long he had been practicing a new song to show Joey? Like a month! You even know how long a month is? He had even prepared a mini stage in our apartment, and I was gonna do an opening act and Alice was going to be there too!” Bendy threw his arms in the air as if he could convey the grandiosity of their planned little show by waving them around. “It was going to be great, but then you went and ruined our good time! Boris has been so bummed out since Tuesday he won’t even play with me!”

Sammy was taken aback. Not only could he already feel the headache coming from all the yelling in his ear, but he also realized a very important thing. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is that really why you have been insufferable all week? Because you think I’m the one who did that?”

“I know you did it! Joey said you are the one responsible of all music stuff, so obviously it had to be your fault! If you are innocent, why don’t ya prove it, huh? Oh right, because you can’t! You’re guilty!”

Sammy gave a big sigh, wondering if he was about to waste his breath.

“Tuesday? You mean this tuesday? The same tuesday I had to leave early?” He narrowed his eyes at Bendy and saw the devil’s confidence falter. “You know what happens on tuesdays? There’s a weekly maintenance of all the instruments. You know what else happens on tuesdays? The imbeciles that conduct those checkups often stay and organize a mini ‘act like an idiot’ party after the oh so hard work that task represents for them, even when repeatedly told not to. So more than likely, it was one of them that broke that banjo, and more than likely, if I find out who did it and made these days hell for me because of it, I’m gonna move heaven and earth to make Joey fire them! So there! I hope you are proud, because not only did you waste my time making me clean after your little ‘revenge pranks’ for hours and then make me lose hours of sleep to catch up on work, you also wasted your own time doing something completely worthless. I don’t think you even wanted to put the effort to find out who it was. I bet you just wanted it to be me, because for some goddamn reason you just want to make me quit. So congratulations! You might have just succeeded this time!”

Sammy took a deep breath once his rant was over and noticed at last how Bendy had gone really quite. He wasn’t looking at him and had his head hung low.

“So you really didn’t do it?” came Bendy’s meager question.

Sammy didn’t even dignify that with the obvious response. Instead, he focused on how the water flow from the sinks weakened until stopping altogether, Took Franks long enough. The silence that followed was tense, but Sammy greatly preferred it to having to deal with more tantrums from the toon on his shoulder. Sighing, he moved to the center of the room and settled for impatiently staring impatiently at the door. A chill went up Sammy’s spine, and he cursed his body’s inability to maintain a decent temperature. He would normally find it annoying, but with all that had happened and his head starting to pound, he had ran out of steam. He shifted his weight uncomfortably in place, his feet already feeling numb in his shoes. If he got sick and Joey didn’t give him some kind of compensation, he would make sure he never heard the end of it. Fortunately, he wasn’t needed the next day. Well, he was always needed since his department was filled with idiots, but they could usually handle by themselves whatever there was to do on the weekends, so he’d be able to rest until monday.

“Soooo,” Bendy’s voice broke the silence. It had been nice while it lasted. “Whatcha, uh, whatcha thinking about, Sammy?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering whether it’s worth it to write a formal resignation letter or just use the honey on my desk to paste a piece of paper that says ‘I quit’ to Joey’s office door.”

“O-oh…”

Bendy fidgeted in his place, refusing to look at him.

“W-well. You can’t do none of those!”

Sammy raised an eyebrow.

“Really now? And whose stopping me? Because it’s certainly not you.

“Because, uh, because…” Bendy frowned in concentration, before he snapped his fingers. “Because Boris would miss ya! Yeah! You wouldn’t make Boris sad on purpose, would ya?

Wait. Did Bendy actually think he was going to quit? Sammy threatened to quit almost daily. One would think that Bendy would know better. Nonetheless, Sammy decided to play along.

“Boris would miss anyone that worked here even if they had never talked with him. Maybe if I quit the experience will help him to get over it if it happens again, huh?”

Sammy was aware that sounded harsher than he meant it. Boris was one of the few people in the studio that he didn’t feel like yelling at all the time. But he couldn’t help but smirk when his answer had the desired effect. Bendy was trying to come up with another reason of why he shouldn’t quit. Was it immature of him? Absolutely! But he was standing in a flooded bathroom, clothes soaked, a literal little demon on his shoulder and no cigarettes at all. He figured he deserved to have some petty revenge.

“Uh, A-alice, then! Don’t you think it would be bad luck to upset an angel?”

“I already have to deal with a demon on a daily basis. I don’t think I have the luck of any angels on my side. Besides, I think it would only actually affect her if it was Susie who quit instead of me.”

“Wait, that’s it!” Bendy’s tail briefly formed the outline of a lightbulb. “Susie! You can’t leave her here all alone! That would make you the worst boyfriend in the world!”

Sammy huffed.

“We only spend time together on our break time, which we can still do even if I worked elsewhere.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Actually, she also does some extra work in some other places. Maybe she can recommend me to a boss that doesn’t practice black magic as a hobby.”

“Shoot,” Bendy said under his breath. “But- But you can’t leave because you are already Joey’s favorite director! What if you are not the favorite of your new boss, huh? Maybe he’ll hate you!”

“Oh? So I’m Joey’s favorite now?” Sammy asked in an intentionally bored but fake tone, crossing his arms.

“Yeah! He said that, ah, that you were the best music director in the history of forever! That you were better than Boteevan!”

“Beethoven.”

“That guy! And he said that, um, that he was considering giving you a raise! It’ll be such a raise that you will be on the top floor of the studio!”

Sammy… wasn’t sure Bendy understood what a raise was. But he shook it off.

“So, those were Joey’s exact words?”

Bendy nodded enthusiastically, his usual smile a bit strained and his cartoony eyes unable to hide the alarm he was feeling.

“So, if I were to go to Joey and ask him about it, he would tell me the exact same thing?”

Silence.

“...Yes… Maybe…”

Ok, Sammy had had his fun. Now Bendy’s nervousness and guilt about ‘causing’ him to quit was starting to become too obvious and the hand that he was using to keep himself stable was latching a bit too hard to Sammy’s shoulder. He didn’t want to cause the kid a meltdown (which got a very literal meaning with the toons when they were stressed). He was about to give in and tell him the truth when a loud cracking noise caught their attention. They both slowly looked at the door.

“What was that?” Bendy asked warily.

“I don’t know, but it sure didn’t sound like an axe to me.”

Sammy backed away slowly from the door until his back touched the wall opposite to it. They flinched when they heard the sound again, and a crack cut right through the middle of the door. Then again, and splinters were sent flying everywhere. Once more, and the door was split in two. Sammy instinctively grabbed Bendy to shield him from the raining debris that exploded as a result. All the remaining water gushed out into the hallway, but Sammy didn’t take notice, nor did Bendy. There was something far more important that had just appeared. Right in front of the destroyed door was an enormous mass of ink, so tall and wide that it wouldn’t have been able to fit through the doorway if it tried. It vaguely resembled the top half of a human, it’s hunched torso being its support on the floor. Hollowed eyes looked at them with a dead stare. Sammy didn’t even dare to breathe.

“What are you doing standing there? Move aside!” Joey’s order returned them to reality.

The ink monster immediately obeyed, granting the space needed for a very panicked looking Joey to run into the bathroom. His glasses were crooked on his face, he was breathing hard and he was clutching a book with such force that his hands were shaking. The instant he spotted Bendy in Sammy’s hands, his face flooded with relief. On Sammy’s part, he couldn’t take his eyes off the monstruosity that had just appeared before him, so still petrified in his place, he could only ask:

“What the hell is that?!”

“Oh, well Wally said the door was stuck, so I figured we would need a little help.” Joey answered, waving his hand dismisively. “More importantly, Bendy are you ok?!”

Sammy, realizing he was still holding Bendy as far away from the door as possible, cleared his throat and shoved him into Joey’s arms. He didn’t stay to see Joey smothering Bendy in a hug and checking him for any damage. Instead he headed towards his sweet freedom, giant monster outside or not. He still practically hugged the wall to not come close to that thing, though. He got out just in time to see Wally Franks arrive running and lean against the wall to catch his breath, muttering something about Joey being fast for his age. Sammy didn’t spare him a second before pointing to the ink creature and giving him an incredulous look.

“What about that looks like an axe to you, Franks?!” His voice was just a tad more high pitched than he would have liked, but he ignored it for the time being. Wally looked at him to respond, but couldn’t stop himself from snorting.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were drenched!”

Sammy’s death glare shut him up.

“R-right, uh, so I told Joey what happened and I thought he was going to yell at me and then tell me where the axe was, but he just got all pale and then he grabbed that book and started running while yelling some weird crap on another language. Next thing you know, big guy over there is growing out of the ground and following him down the stairs! It was crazy!” Wally scratched his head. “Umm, I also think someone fainted when it passed in front of them…”

Sammy let out a sigh and rubbed at his head. The pain that had been receding was now returning tenfold.

“Sammy!” Joey called out to him while he, too, exited the bathroom. “I’m glad everyone’s ok, of course, but I would like to know… how did that happen?” He pointed at the destroyed sinks.

Nope. He was NOT dealing with that right now.

“Oh, I’m sure little prankster there will tell you what he did with plenty of detail. I’m going home early.”

He glared at Joey, daring him to protest. But just looking at the state he was in, his boss nodded.

“Of course, you need to go get some dry clothes. And I’m guessing I won’t see you tomorrow?”

“You guess correctly,” Sammy said as he walked past his boss, not taking his eyes off the ink beast, just in case.

“See you on monday?”

At that Sammy stopped. That had been Bendy asking. He turned around to look at the demon in Joey’s arms, who was looking up at him with pleading eyes. Sammy remained silent for a moment. He guessed he could just ignore him, but he had punished him enough already.

“Yeah, yeah. See you on monday. Unfortunately.”

At that, Bendy visibly relaxed. Sammy rolled his eyes and kept walking.

Monday arrived way faster than Sammy would have liked, but then again, that was nothing new. What was new, however, was that he found his office exceptionally clean. He hadn’t bothered tidying things up before he left on friday, but now the honey was gone from his desk, and there didn’t seem to be a paper out of place or a speck of dust on any surface. A report of what had been done on saturday and a list of future tasks was already waiting for him, too.

But what caught his attention the most was a colorful piece of paper sitting on the middle of his desk. It was a drawing. It depicted him conducting a band, with random musical notes (some of which weren’t even real notes) forming an arch above his head. He stared at it for a long while,slowly processing the fact that this was most likely some sort of apology. He shook his head. He couldn’t waste more time on this. He had work to do. Sammy was going to just put it away into a random drawer, but looking at it again, he changed his mind. He put it in the upper right drawer instead.

#ask-joeydrewstudios #my art #my bendy art #my fanfics #my bendy fanfics #bendy and the ink machine #batim #sammy lawrence

[writeremblemfics]

The Angry Tactician is Not Impressed pt. 1/4

A/n: So my friend who ships Innes x Ephraim requested that I write her a little something involving Ephraim, his Christmas cav comrades, and our grumpy boi. In this story, Ephraim and friends must distract Innes so Tana can plan his surprise birthday party. However, things get a bit out of hand...

Pairing: Innes x Ephraim, light Amelia x Franz Fandom: FE8, The Sacred Stones Rating: PG ish

Chapter 1

Ephraim pushed his reading glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, squinting at lines upon lines of text that, through his bleary eyes, looked more and more like meaningless squiggles. The new King of Renais was swamped with more work than he knew what to do with; determined to be a responsible ruler, but work-weary. He would have given anything to trade his cramping hands for sore muscles, his foreign policy briefings for an invigorating spar.

For their part, Kyle and Forde, the king’s right-hand knights and closest friends, stayed by Ephraim’s side, wading in a veritable mountain of paperwork each.

It was around noon when a messenger slipped in soundlessly, dropping among Ephraim’s nest of papers a pastel-pink envelope bearing Tana’s personal seal. The sight of his friend’s correspondence elicited Ephraim’s first smile of the day; and that little grin was enough to cause a commotion in his previously-silent office.

“Ephraim,” Forde whined, smacking his palm against his forehead. “Why did you move? I was on a roll.”

“Did you really just ask me why I moved?” The young king rolled his eyes at his typically lackadaisical retainer. “I’m not a statue.”

“Forde, I know we’ve all been working hard, but there’s no need to take out your stress on His Majesty.” Kyle tapped a thick stack of trade records against his desk, checking once again to make sure they were in order.

“Working? Who said anything about that?” Forde smirked and held up the page he’d been dutifully scrawling on all morning--not a report from the scouting knights, but a portrait of a grumpy-looking Ephraim hunched over his documents. “I was just about to perfect that little wrinkle ‘His Majesty’ gets between the eyebrows when he’d readily impale himself with his own lance over his current task.”

“Needs work, that wrinkle looks like a third eyebrow,” Ephraim said.

“It wouldn’t if you stayed still--”

“Forde,” Kyle’s stack of files smacked the mahogany with a sharp crack. “You mean to tell me you wasted the whole morning on this… this drivel?”

“Hey, it’s a royal portrait for ‘His Majesty’--”

“Were you appointed court painter when I wasn’t looking? Your inaction is a blight on His Majesty’s reputation--”

“Hey. Let’s hold off on the ‘His Majesty’s, you two.” Ephraim rubbed the bridge of his nose and reached for his letter opener. “Such formality is unnecessary when we’re alone.”

“Oooh, alone. How indecent,” Forde mock-swooned, fanning himself with his Ephraim-portrait.

“A message from Princess Tana?” Kyle asked, pointedly ignoring Forde and taking a peek at the contents of the letter.

“Yes. It seems she’s at it again this year.”

Forde hummed. “Does she really think she can pull it off? The guy’s a tactician.”

“To be clear, we are talking about King Innes’ birthday party, correct?” Kyle rubbed his chin.

“Yes.” Ephraim nodded. “The Princess has enlisted our help to ensure the element of surprise. But with such a crafty foe, our tactics will need to be impeccable.”

“What do you suggest, Your Majesty?” Kyle prompted.

Ephraim beamed, eyes sparking with mischief. “A distraction.”

72 Hours Until Celebration

Pulling one over on the King of Frelia would be no easy task. Innes had discovered the plans for his own surprise birthday party for the last three years in a row; for Tana, a fourth would be downright humiliating. So the plan had to be fool-proof--or, better yet, foolhardy. Tana’s letter specified that she and the other Magvel royals had been preparing for weeks, but in the final three days before his birthday, Innes’ suspicions would be at an all-time high.

The solution? For all his strengths, Innes had a reliably exploitable weakness in his rivalry with the newly-crowned Restoration King. He was at his most childish and vulnerable whenever Ephraim was involved, and Tana hoped it would be enough to divert his attention from the final, more conspicuous stages of her party-planning.

“Kyle, status report.” Ephraim crouched low in the bushes, peering through his binoculars to focus on Castle Renais’ state-of the art archery range, where Innes was stringing his bow.

“This morning, the Frelian entourage was greeted by Princess Eirika. After the initial formalities, the Target was invited to ‘make himself at home’.” Kyle whispered. “Naturally, he came straight here.”

“Level of suspicion?”

“Marginal. But Eirika is currently finalizing the venue decor with Princesses Tana and L’Arachel, we must keep him busy ”

“Attitude?”

“Curt as usual.”

“I would have gone with ‘constipated’.” Forde quipped.

“Noted. Move out.”

The three men, practice-swords in hand, set upon the archery range, their objective set and their determination matched.

“Well met, Innes,” Ephraim called out to the lone figure, who seemed characteristically unfazed by the intrusion.

“Ephraim,” The young king extended his hand. “I was under the impression you were wasting away behind a desk, nowadays.”

“I have become rather adept at speed-reading,” Ephraim chuckled. “But I’m afraid my skills on the battlefield are growing rusty.”

Innes took the bait. “Is that so? Shall we put that theory to the test?”

“You sure? It’s been months since you’ve seen battle yourself, my friend.”

Innes raised his bow, drew back his arm and fired off a perfect bullseye in seconds. “I make it a point to keep up my training, unlike some monarchs.”

“What a show-off,” Forde muttered into Kyle’s ear. The latter rolled his eyes.

“You’re fine if we use melee weapons, though?” There was a challenging glint in Ephraim’s eye.

“Certainly. Forde, your sword.” Innes swiped the wooden blade from the air. “Who’ll call the match?”

“Eh, not a fan of sword-measuring,” Forde scratched his head.

“It would be my honor,” Kyle said. The combattants took their positions, squaring off as the tension in the air spiked. Who would make the first move?

Naturally, it was Ephraim. He charged Innes like an enraged bull, his usual lance-reliant fighting style translating into jab after forceful jab with his sword. It was all Innes could do to dodge, one blocked attack sent such a strong vibration up his arm that the Frelian king stifled a grunt.

“This is fun!” Ephraim laughed, “It’s like I never left the battlefield.”

Noticeably pissed by that little quip, Innes mounted his counter-offensive. “So slow,” he hissed, pressing his opponent back with a flurry of precise blows. In contrast to Ephraim’s raw power and messy fighting-style, Innes’ attacks were poised and flowing, a deadly dance.

As the fighting wore on, both combatants managed to land hit after hit, the number of slip-ups increasing with their exhaustion. Finally, Kyle stepped in. “It’s a draw,” he declared. “Take a breather.”

“You’ve improved,” Ephraim chuckled, swiping a towel across his sweaty forehead.

“Maybe you’re regressing,” Innes shot back. But Ephraim could have sworn he noticed the tiniest of smirks playing on the other man’s lips. “Care for another round?”

#fire emblem #fire emblem heroes #fe8 #the sacred stones #sacred stones #innes fire emblem #fe innes #fe ephraim #ephraim #innes x ephraim #ephraim x innes #fire emblem fluff #comedy fluff #fe forde #fe kyle #fe eirika #fe tana #fe l'arachel #fe amelia #fe franz

[geminimoonbeamx]

I'm Not Your Toy

A/N: So I’m finally getting through my asks! This one was a request for an insecure reader and an over zealous flirty Bucky. I love writing him like this! So I got carried away and suddenly this was almost five thousand words so I’m going to have to split it into a two parter! Ugh, charming Bucky. You do things to my heart

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: A disgusting amount of pining, sailor like cursing, maybe triggering self doubt and insecurity, pretty SFW…for now.

Summary: You’d supported Steve and his decision to not kill Bucky. Fuck, you even supported Steve when he’d literally started a war over Bucky. Done jail time for him. But you what you couldn’t manage to do for the life of you, for the love of Steve, was get along with Bucky. Especially when he managed to make you blush every time you were in the same room as the man

💛💛💛💛

James Barnes drove you absolutely crazy.

And not in the way that he drove most to madness. You knew that both he and Steve( And Sam, Tony, Thor and the rest of the guys on the team) had their fan clubs. You’d nearly coughed up a lung when you’d found that Tumblr page dedicated to “Daddy Clint: A daddy and a father”. You could still clearly recall Wada choking on her cup of soda when you’d shoved your phone in her face. Women loved celebrities, fuck it was in human nature to admire what you saw on TV’s and movie screens. And who didn’t love a superhero? Pst, everyone did.

At first, when Bucky had first come to live in the Tower with Steve after the reconciliation of “the time period that shall not be named” (the Sokovian Accords), he’d been stoic. Keeping mostly to himself, coming and going from therapy to the gym. Building himself up from the ground, with Steve as his foundation. Because Steve was the only thing he really knew.

And where there was Steve, there was you. The two of you had become more then close over the years of Avenging together. It had happened so…naturally. You couldn’t even remember when your friendship had even really begun. He just seemed so…lonely. And you couldn’t understand why no one else honed in on it the way you did. It gnawed you so much, you couldn’t help but butt in. Talk to him, be there for him. You’d helped him master the internet. You’d made a decent dent in that list of that he kept in his little journal; when you’d seen that Star Wars was on it you’d squealed and the two of you had spend an entire day curled up watching all seven of them. You’d been the one to encourage him to go the VA when he’d first met Sam, helped him decorate that apartment he’d had for a while. Followed him into battle over and over.

Steve had become your best friend. And you his. He wasn’t the Captain to you. He was Steve, you could lay on and watch draw for hours and who was way more sassy then anyone gave him credit for.

But- you weren’t his only best friend. You’d been there, when he’d discovered that Bucky was alive. You’d gotten your fair share of the Winter Soldier during that whole take down of S.H.I.E.L.D. You had the crook in your neck to this day as a reminder. Even though you agreed with Sam, that some people you just couldn’t save, you’d supported Steve and his decision to not kill Bucky. Fuck, you even supported Steve when he’d literally started a war over Bucky. Spent jail time for him.

But you what you couldn’t manage to do for the life of you, for the love of Steve, was get along with Bucky.

You tried, by god you know you did. First, you’d attempted to be warm to him, to get him to warm up to you. He would only acknowledge you with nods and gruffs. With one word answers and side ways looks. You didn’t take it too personally(that’s what you told yourself), you knew that he had been through seventy plus years of torture. He wasn’t going to turn into chatty Cathy over night. So you got used to him being push pop like frigid to you.

Until one day, after months of therapy, he wasn’t anymore.

He’d started to find himself again, surrounded by Tony’s top shrinks, the spark in his azure eyes came back…it happened to come back in his personality too. It started slow, him actually joining in on your and Steve’s teasing conversations. Putting his opinions, sharp ones. Funny ones. Looking at you straight in the eye with a confident quirk of his lips that you’d never seen.

And then it came all at once. Anoyone who spent a prolonged amount of time with the group had to be at least a little bit of a smart ass but the mouth on Bucky Barnes shocked you. Crude and dripping with 40’s charm. It was shocking, at first.

Now it just annoyed you.

Because some fucking how, you’d become the focal point of his affection.

You roll your eyes at the thought. It wasn’t affection. It was…attention. It was flirtation that made you squirm and blush. The blunt, outrageous kind. Where he’d compliment you(sometimes very raunchily) infront of everyone. It was mortifying. Not only because it got a rise out of the rest of the team but because you knew he didn’t mean it.

How could he?

When he’d regained a few puzzle pieces of himself, one of them happened to be his way with the ladies. And there was an abundance of them that would do just about anything to be seen with an Avenger. Even if he had been labeled an international terrorist only years before, you kept the bitter afterthought to yourself.

He never really dated any one, no he just flirted. With. Fucking. Everyone. He did it as easily as he breathed.

It was annoying and honestly a little insulting.

Especially when he did things like lean against the island in the kitchen, his biceps, both flesh and vibranium, flexing under the thin gym t-shirt as he complimented Natasha on her crazy fight skills.

“I like the way you move, Romanoff”

You literally couldn’t have scrunched your face harder at that moment as you grabbed a nectarine and tried to hurry away from the scene.

“Thanks Barnes. I’d return the compliment but your getting rusty, soldat” The redhead taunts and Bucky grins. It’s gross. Watching them flirt. Because they’re so perfect for each other. Beautiful and modelesque. You ignored the sinking in your stomach.

“Baby Doll, tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about” Bucky reached out and caught your waist as you tried to leave. He looked down at you with waggling eyebrows “You don’t think I’m getting rusty, do you?”

You frown and squirm away from his hand on your chubby waist “I don’t think about you at all, actually” You tell him before walking out of the large space.

Natasha full out, heartily laughs at the gob smacked expression on Bucky’s face.

Or what about when you walked around in your pajama shorts? You could never get by without a “You’ve got a gorgeous set of gams, doll. Anyone ever told you that?” You could literally feel his eyes burn holes into your thighs and it made you want to put on pants.

He could see the dimples from the cellulite. That’s what he had to be looking at. When Steve noticed that you were wearing pants a lot more he’d slapped Bucky on the back of the head and warned him to stop.

“Are you the sun? Cause your so beautiful it’s blinding me” that had earned him a little scowl.

“Your so cute it’s distracting, you know that, Sugar” You’d flat out walked away from him at that one.

“You look cold. You need me to warm you up?” He’d offered, genuinely but in that flirtatious voice as you stood in the frigid New York air. It was during one of Stark Industries many Fundraising Gala’s and you’d escaped out onto a balcony to get away from the politicians and socialites. You didn’t even care that the gown you wore was off the shoulder and it was twenty degrees outside.

“Thanks but no thanks” You grimace as you folded your arms over your chest, fighting shivers.

“C'mere, your shaking” He reaches out to you but you manage to shrug out of his grip and give him a warning look.

“Bucky”

“Y/N” He teases back in the same tone and you cant help but crack a smile. You let him give you his suit jacket, allowed him to drape it over your shoulders. Happy that his broad ones were much larger then yours. You’d never really been the small one in a relationship, always the big girl. The smart girl and defiantly the funny girl. But the big girl none the less. The fact that the fabric of his jacket was oversized and loose on you made your heart flutter.

“Holy fuck it’s clear out, the stars are you gorgeous tonight” You distract yourself, change the conversation as you stare up at the unusually clear starry night sky. Your breath coming out in little puffs of steam that clashed with the cool night air. Your eyes wide and trained above you.

Bucky feels his chest ache as he looks at you. His mouth feels dry and he licks his lips before he responds “They’ve got nothing on you”

You don’t react the way he wants you to. You don’t giggle and blush. You frown and look over at him, your eyes shrouded and almost hurt looking. It feels like he’s making fun of you, honestly.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” He’s confused. He really truly is.

“That. Flirt like that. It’s- It makes me uncomfortable” You huff, your bottom lip jutting out in a way that made him want to reach over and nip at it.

“Why? You like it?” He’s using a hellu'va lot of self control. He wants to kiss that pretty pout of yours so badly

“No. It makes me feel pretty shitty actually, because I know it’s bull, Bucky” It comes out in a white hot run on sentence “You don’t have to…do that with me. I mean there’s plenty of women here who would die to hear this shit coming out of your mouth. So stop…lying to me-”

“Lying to you? Y/N I’m-” You interrupt him by shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to him, almost robotically.

“It’s fine, Bucky. I’m going back inside”

“Hey, I think you’ve got the wrong-” But you, for what feels like the thousandth time, leave him standing there wondering what the hell he could have possibly said to make you react that way. He knows going after you would just make it worse. So instead he goes to find Steve, and ask him what the holy hell your problem with him was.

You kept your distance from him for the following weeks after that. Discreetly…or so you thought.

Bucky could feel you running every time he came close. You barley looked at him. You laughed, and pretended like everything was normal but he could feel the distance from you and it felt like a bullet hole. He would know, he’d endured plenty. But you icing him out…he thinks it feels more awful then anything he’s ever felt. An icepick like pain that had him reeling because even though Steve had explained to him that you had, had issues in past relationships, that you had one hell of a body dysmorphic complex, he couldn’t get how you didn’t believe he was sincere. In everything he had ever said to you.

It’s almost to a breaking point when most of the team is assigned to a mission. You and Bucky just so happen to be two of the people assigned, along with Steve, Sam, Nat, Tony and Bruce. It was supposed to be an in and out. If anyone could have guessed just how wrong everything would go, just how outnumbered you all would be-

You sigh.

But there were no rewinds in life. Not even with all of the technology- Alien and Human alike. Time didn’t do take backs.

Your limping, dragging yourself like dead weight into the Tower. Your honestly a little delirious, but isn’t everyone? The mission had been extremely taxing, and everyone that had been on it had taken a hell of a beating. Even Steve and Bucky- the genetically modified super soldiers looked like they had walked straight through hell. Tony collapses into a heap onto the couch once you reach one of the many common areas. Natasha and Steve were both on the med floor with Sam who had taken it the worst. The fall he’d taken after a Hydra agent had launched a missile at him had been gnarly. Luckily Bruce had been able to stabilize him back in the Quinjet.

You blanch at the thought, at the memory of Sam falling from the sky. At your legs working hard, burning from the strain, as you ran to him and found him so still- so…dead.

You cant think that. You wont. You lift your chin high, in an attempt to steady yourself and make a beeline for the elevator, wanting to get to your floor and wash off the grime. Wash off the fear and the gunpowder. Your so wrapped up in your self yourself you don’t notice Bucky’s hawk like gaze, his pale eyes that follow you all the way out of the room.

He winces when your out of sight. It physically hurts, for him to not be able to see you. After everything, after that mission, he just wanted to grab you. Hold you tight against him, never let you go. His heart had almost fallen out of his chest so many times during the duration of the assignment. He didn’t know if he could ever be paired with you again for work. He couldn’t focus, on anything else but you out in the field.

Where the fuck had all those years of learning to compartmentalize go? Right out of the fucking window when he saw you get shot at.

“Oh Elsa” Tony gives a little exaggerated sympathetic sigh from his place on the couch “You’ve got it so bad”

Bucky cant even deny it, there’s no use. So he just mumbles about going to check on Sam. Tony chuckles at him, at the way he looks like a kicked puppy but grips his ribs as the cackle agitates what he knows must be a fracture.

After what feels like hours in the scalding hot waterfall shower you pull on a pair of barley there stretchy black shorts and an oversized heather T-shirt that your pretty sure you’d stolen from Steve at one time. It’s always like this after a particularly hard mission, you feel…drained. Like there’s noting under the skin and bone. Hollow- and yet still in pain.

Because you’d gotten a nasty side graze by someone’s knife at one point during the fight. You couldn’t even remember getting it- but it stung like a bitch. You assessed it in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t too bad, it was big. Long and jagged. But not too deep. Plus it was on a meaty area of your body- your chubby love handles saving you from any major damage. You let out a humorless laugh and drop the shirt, grabbing a random bottle of pain pills that you’d acquired from another mission.

Battle wounds were nothing new.

Just another scar. Not like your body had ever, or would ever be perfect.

Whatever.

You’d swallowed the Percocet dry when you hear a knock on your door.

You figure it must be Steve. Or Nat. Or even Wanda. Coming to check on you. When you type into the key pad, opening it you cant fight the surprise.

Because it’s Bucky.

You can tell he’s just recently showered as well, his still wet hair is pulled into a little knot on the back of his neck and he’s dressed in a dark sweat suit, his feet bare.

“Hey?” Your voice wavers. You hadn’t really spoken to him much lately. He was the last person you’d expect to find on your door step.

“Hey” Bucky starts. It’s the first time you’ve heard him sound truly unsure in a long time “I thought I’d uh, swing by and make sure your doin’ alright”

You hadn’t even noticed he was holding a granola bar and a bottle of water in his hands until he holds it up, as kind of a white flag. You smile, sadly. Gratefully, as you take it.

“Thanks Buck, I really appreciate it”

“No problem at all. I figured ya’ might be hungry” He’s figuratively twiddling his thumbs as he speaks “I ate seven of those just a minute ago”

You laugh, even though your exhausted and hollow, he makes you laugh.

Bucky has never seen you look so…frail. Usually your bold and bright and now your pale and he doesn’t even know how your standing. His eyes trail down your body- and he only lets himself look because he’s trying to tally up all of your injuries. Every scrape and bruise- it just so happens that there’s a large blooming bruise on your right thigh. The plush flesh looks so- fuck he wants to grab it. He wants to grab you in his arms so bad.

The look in his eyes…scares you? Thrills you? God, it sets your nerves on fire because he’s never looked at you like this before. He looked at you a lot of ways, no doubt. But the way his steely eyes drink you in now is new.

“Have you been to the med bay yet?” Bucky knows you haven’t, so his brow is raised high.

“No, I’m fine” You wave him off, shaking your head. Your dripping hair swaying against your back.

“That bruise is nasty, Y/N. You should get it looked at” Bucky insists. You don’t know why he cares so much.

“I think they’ve got their hands busy, I’ll be fine. I’ve got my handy dandy pain killers” You try to not be affected by him or the pain in your side as he leans against the doorway. You can tell he’s not going away anytime soon. You don’t think you want him to. “Do you want to come in?”

Bucky answers embarrassingly quick.

“Yes! Uh- yeah. If that’s okay?”

Oh, the thrills this boy gives you. You hate them as much as you love them.

You just nod reassuringly and usher him in, the door electronically sliding shut behind him. You go over and take a careful seat on the edge of your bed, and he sits across from you on one of the accent chairs.

“Have you seen Sam, is he okay?” You toss out questions as you peel at the granola bar.

“He’s stable, they think he’s goin’ to be okay. Bunch'a broken bones, but his internal organs weren’t too shaken up. Bird brain got lucky…” Bucky trails off, giving one gruff laugh. For as much as he and Sam gave each other heaps of shit, they were close. He’d been worried- when the bird had been shot from the sky.

“I’m happy” You chew slowly, trying to absorb his words. “I really thought for a moment there-”

“I know. Me too”

That feels so good, hearing him say that. Me too. You weren’t alone. Bucky knows exactly how you feel, and at that moment in time, that’s all you needed.

Your phone chirps and your too fast as you go to grab it. The pained gasp that leaves your lips has Bucky’s head perking up. Of course him, with his enhanced hearing, had picked up on it.

Your hand flies to your side, because you know it’s reopened the scab. That more then likely your bleeding again.

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine” You hiss through the sharp pain as you stand.

Oh shit that hurts. Bucky jumps to his feet and goes to you, his metal arm going to your shoulder, and his flesh to the small of your back. “Obviously not. Where are you hurt, show me”

“No!” You protest at his demand, half because who did he think he was? And half because it would be a cold day in hell before you lifted your shirt and let Bucky look at all your jiggly bits.

“Your bleeding through your shirt. Did you even dress it, Jesus” Bucky tries to angle you so that he can get a better look at where crimson has begin to poke through the gray Tee. “Just let me clean it up and bandage it”

“No, it’s fine. I can do it”

“Y/N!”

“What?”

“Why are you so difficult? Fuck, just let me help you, okay? Your bleeding” He’s almost yelling this at you…though at the end of the sentence he’s begging. Because he knew he shouldn’t have let you out of his sight.

“I-I” You stutter. Your terrified. Of him. Of this. Of your body, and of him seeing your body.

“Please” Bucky’s voice is low and his eyes hold you captive.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say no, or yes. So you just nod, and let him lead you to the bathroom.

You’ve never felt so exposed, as you hold up your shirt, it fisting right under your breast as Bucky bends don so that he’s eye level with your wound and tends to it. He’s gentle, but nimble. His fingers working fast as he cleans and bandages. You can feel your heart thundering against your chest. Is he looking at your tummy? At the stretch marks?

“I can hear your heart beat, doll. Calm down” Bucky sooths with a small chuckle, not looking up from his work. He’s not looking at your tummy or your stretch marks…he’s looking at how smooth for skin appears. At how soft it feels under his finger tips… “I’m almost done”

He never wants to finish.

“Your actually really good at this”

“Yeah, I had a little trainin’ back durin’ the war” He tells you as he finishes up, securing the bandage “Nothin’ too extensive, but I know the basics”

“Good for you” He looks up at your wit and shakes his head. “That sounded ungrateful. I’m sorry”

“No, it’s okay” Bucky reassures, his fingers trailing over the edge of the bandage…he knows he shouldn’t…but he cant resist leaning his head in and pressing a soft kiss atop the bandage. Quick, just a peck really but your head spins. He looks up to make sure your not about to slap him.

You don’t look angry in the least. You look…awed. He wants to kiss up your stomach. Wants to kiss every inch of exposed skin…but instead he reaches up and grabs the hem of your shirt from your grip, and pulls it down before patting you hip and grinning at you. Your in a haze, at his touch. At the intimacy of it all. Even when your back seated on your bed, your still…not all the way there. Your in your head, your thoughts going wild.

You decide you want him. Lord, do you want him. No one had ever been so…tender with you. None of your ex’s had ever shown that level of gentleness with you. You lay back against your pillows and he shifts unsurely at his place, standing at the end of the bed.

“I could go?”

“Please stay” You plead. The thought of being alone makes your teeth clench “I don’t really want to be alone…do you?”

“Nah, Sugar. I don’t” Bucky could scream. He’d wanted nothing but this for months. He goes to sit back in the chair but you sit up and reach for him.

“Lay back, you mook!” Bucky urges, coming to your side of the bed to place a hand on your chest “You’ll reopen that cut”

“Can you…lay with me?” It’s a big bed, it wasn’t like you two would even really even have to touch. Even though all you wanted was for him to touch you.

Bucky must be dreaming. He must have gotten shot during that mission. Maybe he’s dead?

He doesn’t ask twice though, after searching your desperate eyes for any sign of doubt, he climbs onto the bed next to you.

Part Two

————————————– @geekyweed hope you like this first part baby girl!

DUN DUN DUNNNN. Part two will be nothing but totally NSFW smut. Desperate and needy yummy smut. If you want to be tagged you know the drill, let me know! Leave me some feedback babies!✨

#bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnesxreader #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #mcu smut #steve rogers x plus size reader #james barnes #plus size reader #reader insert #request

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

Lessons in Healing -  A Reylo Fic - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary: After an attack on the Resistance, Kylo finds Rey in dire straits. Tags/Warnings: hurt/comfort; Force healing; blood; wounds Note: Thanks to the lovely @sosanguine for the beta!

AO3 - 1 - 2 - 3 - | FF - 1 - 2 - 3 -

Another blistering spasm wracked the left side of her body as Rey stumbled into an old instructional room. Covered in dust, the space contained metal desks and chairs rusted at the joints—skeletons of another era. Cracks in the tile where vegetation had pushed through to reclaim its domain made the floor uneven and dangerous to navigate on shaky legs.

Gritting her teeth and moving as quickly as she dared, Rey picked her way to the cabinets behind the lectern. Despite the aging facility, she hoped the room still housed some rudimentary aid supplies. Without them, her chances of seeing the dawn were next to nothing.

The blast to her shoulder caused shooting pain to radiate down her arm, spreading to her upper back and chest. Distracted by her wound and occupied by her search, she never felt the tug against her little finger that signaled their connection. Only after he spoke in the strange silence did Rey realize he had fully breached the mental barrier she'd slammed shut after their last encounter.

She'd felt Kylo seeking her out during the midst of the battle. As her stamina had depleted, her ability to brush off his advances had faltered. Unable to focus on fighting the stormtroopers circling around her while also keeping him at bay in her mind, Rey hadn't been quick enough to deflect the shot that had nearly cost her an arm.

Forced to retreat from the battlefield for aid in whatever form she could find it, Kylo's intrusion didn't pose much of a threat to her friends or their cause.

"Something's wrong." Ill-concealed panic shaded his voice. "Everything is blurred. I can only see your outline."

Rage flared within her over his concerned tone. The flash of emotion sent a fresh stab to the partially cauterized injury she'd torn open again. How dare he show up now? Here? Acting as if he cared? If she weren't so preoccupied replacing her makeshift tourniquet with something more stabilizing, she'd throw all of her anger and hatred in his face, force him to retreat from their connection with her ire alone.

But that would be a waste of energy in her current condition, she reasoned.

"Where are you?" he asked when she didn't speak.

"Go—away!" The command came out shrill, broken. Her left hand started shaking. Was it induced by shock and blood loss? Or did it reflect her desire to destroy the creature who insisted on chasing her down like a hunter tracking injured prey through the woods?

He'd betrayed her for the last time. After all their shared moments and intimate connections, he had still sanctioned the slaughter of the Resistance supporters who had fled to the old Rebellion outpost.

"Rey. . ."

Her name on his lips sent her whirling around, an agonized shout ripping from somewhere deep within her—torment on a level she had never known. It went deeper than the blaster wound, bruised her more than the memories of being abandoned, seeing Han murdered, or watching Finn slashed down on Starkiller Base. It was akin to losing General Organa, a mother figure she'd become wholeheartedly attached to in the short month they'd had together.

Heartbreak swelled: absolute and eclipsing.

The spin cost Rey her balance. On her way toward the floor, her right arm clipped a freestanding cabinet next to the lectern, taking it down with her. The doors opened and relinquished a cascade of tools and supplies in a haphazard pile. Darkness rushed in at the corners of her vision—a sure sign the simple bandages and compression pads she'd come to find would be of no real use.

"Kriff," he swore, eyes dancing over her shaking form. "Look at you."

Her eyes scanned upward, landing upon the cloaked figure for the first time. Against his usual dark ensemble, only his pale face stood out—a face, she noticed, which was even more stark than what she had become accustomed to during their interactions. Rey couldn't decipher his surroundings from the shadows that all but swallowed him. Deep brown eyes reflected his concern; the intensity they harbored caused her gaze to shift away, unable to meet such emotion knowing her sorry appearance had evoked it.

Redirecting her attention to her environment, Rey discovered a metallic toolbox stamped with a medical symbol. She reached for the lifeline, heaving it toward her with her good arm while admonishing his presence.

"Come to gloat?" The bite in her tone was unmistakable.

He peered over his shoulder before responding in an equally unamused voice: "Contrary to what you believe, I take no pleasure in seeing you bleed."

Rey fumbled with the latches on the medkit, her dexterity slipping; the nimble-fingered scavenger within her scolded the clumsy attempt.

"Then you've really tapped in at the wrong time," she huffed, finally popping open the rusty latches. Without ceremony, Rey dumped the contents on the tile, rooting through them to find something useful. Gauze, bacta swabs, and some pre-filled syringes made up most of the supplies.

Rey picked up the nearest syringe and examined it; the label had faded and peeled with time, obscuring its purpose. The others were equal mysteries. Standard medkits came equipped with pain medication, adrenaline boosters, and antibiotics. Special cases included a fourth type of syringe: one which brought a swift death should a pilot or soldier fall into the hands of the enemy.

There was no way to know which type she held in her hand. Rey vented her frustration with a litany of Jakku curses.

He shook his head, pleading with her. "Expired training supplies are useless. They'll do more harm than good. You need serious aid."

A harsh sound crawled up the back of her throat. "Our support frigate is gone. The station's medbay is past capacity. There is no help."

He looked over his shoulder again—why did he keep doing that?—then turned back to her. A gloved hand smoothed the agitation creeping across his forehead. "What about the worthless friends you fight for? Where are they when you need them?"

The empty metal kit flew in his direction, crashing just in front of his feet. If she'd possessed an iota of spare strength, it would have been a direct hit. "My friends are still out there fighting—dying," she spat at him, "because of you."

As soon as the spark of anger subsided, Rey regretted the needless drain from her already waning energy. Her head felt woozy. The pain in her arm had started to fade, replaced by a chill that did not bode well.

"I gave no order of attack."

Maybe her hearing was failing too, because what she'd heard didn't make any sense. "You. . .what?"

He stepped closer; Rey responded by inching back until she bumped into the wall. Crouching next to her, his hooded cape spilled around him in a black pool of thick wool.

"I didn't order the attack," he reiterated, his voice quiet yet urgent.

"How can I trust you?"

It wasn't a question of if she believed him: she did. Even if her mind wanted to blame him, to curse him for his allegiance to the First Order, her heart accepted the sincerity he exuded in his statement. The part of his soul fused with hers through their bond revealed the truth.

His voice dropped to a murmur. "Have I ever lied to you?"

Her head lolled away from him, once again unable to meet the earnestness behind his expression, raw and unprotected—vulnerable. His eyes were her undoing: they exposed the light within him, separated Ben Solo from the title he had worn as a shroud against perceived weakness.

"Then who…?" she whispered.

"That usurping bastard: Hux."

When he said the name, she connected the signs. His panic, the frantic glances over his shoulder, the sense of alert that thrummed through him and into her consciousness. The implication became achinginly clear: "He's hunting you."

Ben grimaced, nodded, and immediately tried to reassure her. "I'm safe for now."

"You should go," she told him. "Escape while there's still a chance."

His jaw went slack with shock. Shaking his head in disbelief and denial, he calmly said, "Delaying my fate isn't worth your life."

If his worry over her survival cost him his own, Rey would never forgive herself. She had to make it out of this situation alive. All her life, she'd been a survivor; there was no way she would give up now.

Maybe the aged medical supplies scattered around her would do her no good, but she still had one option. She could try to heal herself using the Force. Granted, it would be a big undertaking; the blaster's plasma had sliced through layers of tissue and muscle. The most she'd ever healed had been the superficial cut on Ben's chest—a task which had exhausted her.

She imagined a wound of this nature would require even more skill and power than she had previously utilized. Rey's confidence in herself and her abilities wavered, though she supposed even a novice attempt at employing the regenerative power would be better than no attempt at all. Right?

Gingerly, she began untying the impromptu cloth bandage she'd fashioned from one of her arm wraps. The soaked fabric dripped red; the color stained her tunic and smeared down the exposed skin of her arm. While Rey had garnered her unfortunate share of injuries on Jakku, she'd never lost this much blood in one incident.

Ben watched, brows drawing together and eyes growing wider. "What are you doing?"

With a muffled grunt, she stripped the bandage away completely. Her breath came in short, shallow pants as fresh blood trickled from the blaster wound. "The Resistance can't lend me the aid I require," she acknowledged, "so I'm going to fix this myself."

Recalling her training from Ben, Rey's right hand hovered over the injury, barely an inch from the surface of her skin. You can do this, she thought as she centered herself, trying to push beyond the pain.

"Don't," Ben cautioned. "You're too weak. You're training is incomplete."

Both observations were true; she ignored him nonetheless. Focusing on the Force, she tried to connect the shredded muscle and tissue beneath her fingers while talking herself through the action. "I just—have to—control—"

"Stop it!"

"—the bleeding," Rey finished on a loud groan.

Her right arm went limp, landing in her lap. The exertion had wiped her out, but had done little to stem the bleeding or mend her wound; if anything, her efforts had left her worse off than when she'd started. As Ben had said, she was just too weak. She'd used too much energy fighting the First Order to use the Force to heal herself.

While death didn't scare her, she feared what would become of the man she'd given everything to save from the darkness if she succumbed to its fatal embrace. Ben Solo crouched beside her, though the current circumstances were nothing like the vision she'd had what seemed like a lifetime ago.

A sob rattled through her chest, tears following afterward. Their intertwined fates would amount to nothing if it ended now; she couldn't accept that.

Determined, the hand in her lap twitched and lifted slightly for a second attempt, knowing it would be her last if she failed.

A warm hand—large and uncalloused in comparison—encompassed hers. Skin-to-skin, the comforting touch begged her to open her eyes. They blinked apart just as his head bent forward, face curtained by dark tendrils of hair. His lips brushed against her knuckles.

When he spoke, his voice resonated with reverence, awe. "Idiot." He whispered it like a term of endearment. "You'll kill yourself like this."

"Wouldn't it have come to this eventually?" she asked, voice hollow. "My destruction? Yours?"

Her words knocked him to his knees. "How can you say that?" A clenched fist rapt against his chest over his heart. "I wanted you to be my queen. I wanted to worship you."

Rey could feel tears on her cheeks. Was she still angry with him for supporting the brutality of the First Order? Still hurt that he couldn't see the difference between worshiping her and loving her? Or did her sorrow stem from finally having Ben Solo kneeling in front of her and knowing her death would erase him from existence?

She couldn't let that happen. "Ben. . ."

Squeezing her hand to quiet her, he continued. "My vision was wrong. What I need isn't the First Order or to rule the galaxy. What I need is you. Only you, Rey."

With her good hand still enveloped within his, Rey raised her left hand to lay against the side of his face. Thumbing the scar against his cheek, she caressed him. He'd come into her life through violence; she resolved to leave him with love.

Leaning forward, she brought her lips to his. They felt warm against her own. Ben didn't move at first, frozen until her tenderness could thaw him. When he did slant his lips along her mouth, it was controlled and unhurried, light and giving—much different than the kiss they'd shared in his quarters. The surprise of his easy approach took her breath away.

When she could no longer support herself, Rey fell back against the wall and looked up at him through her lashes. A small smile curled the corners of her mouth. "A good note to leave on."

His gloved hand joined the ungloved one still holding onto hers, enfolding her in a contrasting grip. "You aren't going anywhere."

As soon as he'd uttered the declaration, he released his grasp and reached for a syringe filled with yellow liquid.

"What are you doing?" she asked, echoing his earlier words as he popped the cap from the needle. He worked quickly, almost mechanically, as composed and coolheaded as she had ever seen him.

"My father used to keep one of these kits on the Falcon," he explained, pushing on the plunger to discharge a small amount of the medicine and potential air bubbles. "I can't have you pass out on me now. I'll disappear."

She barely felt the prick in her thigh. As he rubbed the injection site to spread the medicine, Rey's body revved to life. Every nerve stood on alert, sending shockwaves of rippling pain to her injury. Her heart rate increased, pulse fluttering at her neck. Ben sensed the change, ducking his head to place a kiss against her throat in apology.

"I don't know if this will work. . .or if I have enough strength," he admitted grimly.

"You said that once before," she replied, remembering their experiment on Ahch-To.

He made one last comment, blunt and honest: "It's going to hurt."

She nodded once to show she understood. It couldn't hurt much worse than being shot, could it?

His ungloved hand hovered over the blaster wound, just as hers had. He closed his eyes, concentrating all his energy on the challenge. His breathing steadied and the muscles in his face relaxed as he reached for the Force. He appeared calm, and she marveled at how easily he could push aside his worry and desperation; his years of studying and training with the Force became strikingly apparent.

She realized, belatedly, how her foolhardy arrogance had almost ended her life in trying to heal herself without much experience.

Familiar white light emanated from his palm. At first, she felt a brush of heat at the site of her injury which brought back memories of the time he'd administered the Force on her bruise; nothing unpleasant. As he continued his ministrations, however, the fiery sensation grew and grew until it became almost unbearable.

"It burns!" she cried as tears tracked down her cheeks.

"Regenerating the tissue gives off heat, remember?" he reminded her, once again mentoring her through the process in a patient voice. "A wound this deep requires a great deal of repair."

The lesson fell on deaf ears: she was on fire. Her body arched, trying to tear itself away from the source of its distress. In response, his gloved hand came between them, palm placed in the center of her chest to steady her, to keep her from floating away from him, to tether her to a corporeal realm. The pressure holding her in place felt firm and weighty, but not crushing or restrictive.

"Breathe," he instructed, voice so soothing it sounded like it came from another entity altogether.

She did the opposite, gnashing her teeth together and huffing through the pain.

The briefest flash of a smile caught her attention. "You're stubbornness will get you killed one of these days," he chided with affection. "But that day remains on the distant horizon."

It was over.

He pulled away just far enough to look at his efforts. Rey glanced down at her shoulder as well. Where there had been a ragged hole, there was now a thick, pink scar. Rolling her shoulder experimentally, Rey winced at the lingering ache, but the tears on her face were from another feeling entirely.

Raising her right hand, she swept the sweat from his brow before carding her fingers through his hair and bringing his forehead down to rest against hers. She sensed the exhaustion within him, could only imagine how taxing it had been for him to heal her. Her worried mind brought the memory of Luke Skywalker to the forefront; after intensive use of the Force on Crait, he'd disappeared.

Would Ben disappear too?

"You're trembling," he observed.

"I thought that was you."

She noticed, now, that her body shivered uncontrollably. Her shoulders and arms shook despite her attempts to stop them. The adrenaline had nearly worn off, leaving her feeling sluggish and drowsy, chilled to the core.

With a fluid movement, Ben stood and removed his cloak. Careful that he didn't disturb her sensitive shoulder, he draped the cozy material over her. Then he glanced back again, as if he'd heard something her ears couldn't.

A stroke of panic ran up her spine, sensing his alarm as well. She dreaded the answer to the question she had to ask. "What is it?"

"Footsteps."

"Get out of there." Her warning became a demand. "Come to me."

He bent down, adjusting the cloak and brushing away a sweaty strand of hair glued against her forehead. "Don't do anything foolish for my sake."

She wanted to reach out to him, to hold on and keep him safe, but her body wouldn't cooperate. Her eyes filled with tears she refused to shed because she wouldn't acknowledge this was the end. "This isn't goodbye, Ben."

He closed his eyes as though savoring the sound of his name on her cracked lips, then grimaced as he whispered, "They've found me."

#reylo #reylo fanfic #rey and ben solo #rey and kylo ren #force bond #rffa writers #hurt/comfort #blood cw #fic update #capaldiwrites #pretty sure this is my favorite chapter of the fic #i have been bad at promo-ing this fic

[words-thing]

This is my bow.  I constructed it from tamarisk and cordage.  I trekked hundreds of miles through the wilds of Utah with this thing strapped to my back, started dozens if not hundreds of fires with it, and carried it back and forth across the country.  

I first learned the bow-drill method as a young punk serving time in a wilderness program.      

I taught fire-making to at-risk youth. The purpose of this was not to equip them with wilderness survival skills, per se, but to use it as a metaphor to develop anger management techniques and to gain a sense of accomplishment.  It is an incredible feeling to bust an ember and blow it into flames with materials sourced from the terrain on which one stands, sculpted by one's hands.      

This is the best bow I ever made and I did very little to alter the branch from its original form.  I determined the length, carved a groove at the base of the “handle” for the cordage and snapped off the termini. The grip is incredibly comfortable considering I made no efforts towards improvement.  

I struggled with this drawing.  I took on a lot.  I was previously drawing machined objects, which I discovered are much easier to draw as their lines are machined and predictable, orderly.  Also, in a drawing of a machined object, much of the detail can be inferred rather than explicitly rendered.  I think this has nothing to do with a dichotomy between the man-made and the natural or the organic and inorganic and much to do with the objects with which we are accustomed.  I will venture a guess that you spend more time looking at screens than you do at the branches of trees.  

I don't have my confidence with the pencil and it shows.  The lines are labored, hesitant, and indecisive.  I didn't commit to the drawing from the start.  I found my groove later, but it was too late.  The marks were made.  I worked with what I had.  Drawing was never difficult for me, but getting good was rigorous.  I'm out of practice.  Rusty.  Like the manner in which I write this essay.  Unsteady and unfocused.  I want it to burst into flames but I'm unsure of the words needed to achieve a warm conclusion.  

The bow-drill method of fire-making did not come easy to me.  I eventually discovered that I needed to approach fire-making on my own terms.  My instructors were teaching me their technique.  I didn't have the weight or the upper body strength they did.  For most of the men I worked with, starting a fire was a show of force.  It wasn't until I taught bow-drill to a team of girls that I understood finesse.  Each fire-starting kit had to be fine-tuned to the individual's body and execution required focus rather than force.

This is the paradox of  drawing, writing and fire-making, they are struggles that require complete commitment and confidence.  This could be so for much of life:  to be successful, one must approach all activities in this manner, regardless of level of knowledge and skill.  At first reading, this statement may smack of masculine corporatism.  What I am advocating is an attunement to the moment and to details.  We generally equate confidence with quickness, like in the movies when the hero speedily dispatches a wrong-doer.  I think a more profound display of self-possession occurs when one proceeds according to the pace at which an activity unfolds.    

I also wonder if I struggled with this drawing because I have a deep attachment to this object.  I haven't started a fire with this bow in years, yet I lovingly carry it from place to place.  It's awkward.  It doesn't fit comfortably in your average box or storage container.  Through it's very nature it demands to be on display.  I imagine I am so attached to this bow because of the intimate relationship I developed with it over the course of the months and years I used it in the wild.  This is how I started fires.  Without a fire I would sit in the dark in my wet clothes eating my dinner cold.    

I wish I felt the same about my other skill sets.  

#bow #fire #drawing #journal #still life #sketch #art #writing