nikowldrabbles  asked:

Top 5 SE ships and why ? :D

my friend, my bb nikowl, i’m so sorry for the late reply!!! but thank you for the lovely ask~ (these were so freaking fun to draw but as i drew soul i remembered why i wanted to use my own style for his hair every time)

here’s my extra humble list of ships (´∀`)♡ 


((casually tags @dollypopup cuz of the steinmarie))

also if you want to see my artworks + references, please click keep reading below!

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just-a-weirdo-named-amy  asked:


:DDD I decided to write another one! <3 <3 <3 <3 Thank you so much for the prompt!

Rating: Teen and up
Warnings: Smooches, wine, many storm metaphors (sorry not sorry), manga spoilers

“Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight. Lead me out on the moonlit floor. Lift your open hand, strike up the band, and make the fireflies dance, silvermoon’s sparkling.
So, kiss me.”

It had been too many hard weeks and as much as he’d had no care for a mattress, before, he found that draping himself over one, now, was a luxury he was happy to indulge in. Across from him, Marie was sitting cross legged on the bed, looking rosy from the shower she had taken, the sleeves of the hotel-provided robe slowly coming down her arms. Surely, she appreciated not having to sleep outside far more that he did. 

As much as Stein never thought Justin would have been the one to slip, he was. And he didn’t have the sympathy to care that a sixteen year old boy had turned into a murderer, only the sympathy to care that Marie had been hurt by it, nearly split at seams he didn’t think he’d ever see exposed. There was only so much space in his sparse emotions for a scant few people to care about, and Marie, certainly, occupied the majority of it. 

But now, finally, she looked calmer than the entire time they were roughing it, on the run, on the lamb from God and the law and the world. And she was- not tipsy, but looser. Neither of them were really tipsy, despite the wine. Just fizzy enough to have something of a game of twenty questions, and as curious as he was, she was even more so. 

Of course, he didn’t mind. If there was anything he was bad at, it was denying her. Marie was a tender spot for him, in more ways than one, and ways he wasn’t entirely certain he was ready to analyze. Instead, he simply watched her, watched as she took another sip from her wine goblet, watched as her lips, already pinked from her thorough scrub down in the shower, reddened further from the drink. Stein, as though in solitary, took a fast swill from the bottle itself.

They’d already dug too deep into one another, poked and prodded at the tender spots. “Do you still love Joe?” (No.) and “Were you really interested in Medusa?” (Not romantically.) and “What do you intend to do if marriage doesn’t work out for you?” (Try harder.) and “Did you ever miss me?” (Sometimes. –every day-)


Marie toyed with the hem of her robe, her other clothes drying in the tub. He, in contrast, had decided to forgo the small luxury and simply threw on his undershirt and boxers, his own clothes dripping in the bathroom.

They’d been too close to care much about propriety, before. But certainly now, as well.

“So,” she started, letting the material she was fiddling with fall onto her thick, soft thigh, “did you ever find my scar ugly?” she asked, and the sound of it was soft and vulnerable and scared in the hotel room. One bed, too, the two of them draped across the mattress, sure to spill something. Like their metaphorical hearts, perhaps.

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