i really need to learn how to colour black and white

Star spangled brushwork

Summary: You need help painting your apartment, and the weather and Bucky Barnes are both hot. Sniping and sexy times ensue.

Characters: Bucky x Reader
Word count: 3,220
Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Seriously. If you’re not of legal age, go away, this is not for you.

A/N: It’s my first attempt at smut and smut is hard (no pun intended). Any advice and/ or feedback is always more than welcome. 

Originally posted by maddiekittenlover

After years of saving pennies, working multiple jobs, and one too many nights of boxed wine and Ramen noodles, you had finally, finally, saved enough money for a down payment to buy your own apartment. Sure it was small and on the top floor of an elevator-less building, but it was yours, and that’s what mattered.

In a bid to save money like a responsible homeowner, you also decided to paint the place yourself, and with a little cajoling and a little blackmail concerning that time you filmed him singing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ while he made a PB&J, Bucky grudgingly agreed to help as well.

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the-fire-master  asked:

Could you possibly do a Nalu photographer shoot AU? Natsu being the Model and Lucy being the photographer. Thank you!!

He’s A Natural

Pairing: Nalu

Word count: 1397

A/N: Have some Scottish Natsu! And Canadian Lucy, but that’s more from me using my own euphemisms lmao. This could get so much longer, and maybe ‘ll continue it when I’m not swamped! So model Natsu is always a fun thing, and tbh hot damn. 

“It won’t be hard, they said.

“You seem so much more comfortable behind the camera, they said.

“Just one photo shoot, they said.”

Lucy grumbled to herself, pacing in the space set aside for breaks. The white tent was partially open, but it still managed to hide her from the source of her spiking anxiety. The very attractive, very pink, and very naked source.

“Do a natural outdoor scene, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”

“Are you done talking to yourself or do you need another five?” Lucy sighed loudly, glaring at Loke’s head where he peeked around the corner of her sanctuary. “Seriously, the poor guy’s gonna freeze his dick off.”

“Then maybe he should put on some pants.” Lucy snapped, slumping into a chair and burying her face in her hands. She didn’t know why he was affecting her like this. Not only had Lucy worked with gorgeous models before, but she had also seen them naked! In her bed! Genitals did not faze her normally, so why was she losing her shit?

“You ready, Drama Queen?” Loke asked. Lucy pouted, accepting his hand and looking up at him. 

“Fine, but if anyone’s going to be taking him home it’s me, got it?” Lucy said sharply. Loke cackled, throwing his head back. He raked his hand through his wild, ginger hair as he grinned down at her fondly. Lucy liked to tell him it looked like a lion’s mane after she had had one too many drinks.   

“Whatever you say princess,” Loke purred, hooking his arm through Lucy’s and leading her back out to the meadow they were shooting in. “But first you have to talk to him. Maybe learn his name.”

“Shut up,” Lucy grumbled, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

“Thought I scared ya off,” the model joked as they approached, scratching the back of his head bashfully, towel wrapped around his waist. A very, very small towel, fluffy and white, which only made his deep tan stand out more. Who knew pink hair and brown skin went together so well. Or that Lucy had a thing for Scottish accents. 

“What’s your name?” Lucy asked, loudly and suddenly. She felt her face flush hot when the model cocked his head at her, confused smile pulling his lips at her outburst. God, please let a random tree just crush her now.

“It’s Natsu,” he said, holding out his hand. Lucy took it, swallowing around her dry mouth at how big his was compared to hers. And she knew what they said about big hands and big feet…

Lucy yelped when something sharp dug into her side, pouting up at Loke before realizing why he had to shove his bony joint into her ribs in the first place. Her eyes snapped to Natsu’s, deep green almost black and sparkling with impish joy. He knew. And he knew she knew. And she knew he knew she knew. And Lucy was really praying for that stray tree right about now. 

“Lucy. My name- uh, my name is Lucy.” She managed out, blushing deeper at his amused and teasing smile. Oh, he had freckles. Wonderful.

“You can let go of his hand now,” Loke said, grinning down at Lucy smugly. 

“Maybe I like holding his hand,” Lucy retorted, glaring up at her friend. 

“He likes holdin’ your hand too,” Natsu said. He winked at Lucy’s squeak, deep laugh shaking his chest as she dropped his hand. 

“Alright! Either we start now or you’re all walking home!” Gajeel boomed. Lucy rolled her eyes at their equipment manager, ignoring his threat. He’d only followed through with it a couple times. Everyone wandered off to their positions, Lucy fetching her camera and fiddling with it as she kept her back to Natsu. She could do this. Be professional. Don’t take a picture of his dick. All things that Lucy could do. 

Lucy turned around, and marched herself to stand in front of Natsu. Who had lost the towel, and was standing legs spread and unashamed, basking in all his Scottish glory. 

“Do you dye your pubes?” Lucy squeaked, hand slapping over her mouth in horror. She was fired. This was it, her first time as the photographer  and she had blow it oh God Jason was going to kill her and then fire her-

“Ain’t ya a spit fire?” Natsu cackled, easy as he smiled at Lucy. “And I do no’ dye anything. All natural ‘ere.” 

“Oh,” Lucy breathed, some of the awkwardness melting off her at Natsu’s openess. 

“And before ye ask, I’m a grower, not a shower.”

Ahh, there was the mortification. 

“You don’t have to be crude!” Lucy gasped, smiling as she tried turn her face away from him. 

“Ain’t I ‘posed to be the shy one?” Natsu called. Lucy laughed, rolling her eyes before sticking her tongue out at Natsu. They continued to bicker as Lucy directed him this way and that, trying to find the best angle before snapping a photo. Honestly, all of his angles were good, what with his strong cheek bones and slightly pointed chin giving him a playful and boyish handsomeness, slanted eyes bright and framed with thick lashes, nose a little crooked at the bridge but still broad at the tip. And then there were the freckles scattered across his face, like little deep brown constellations. 

“Close your eyes and tilt your chin up. No, not that much. Okay more. Less. Natsu now you’re just doing this on purpose!” Lucy laughed, slightly exasperated by his exaggerated movements. She snapped a picture of his profile, eyes closed and tilted towards the sun, grin pulling the corner of his mouth up, the image on the camera looking as if he was a woodland imp who knew a secret and you didn’t. 

“So bossy,” Natsu teased, opening his eye and looking at Lucy from the corner of it. Lucy snapped another photo, breath catching as she looked down at the screen. 

There sat a picture of Natsu, seductive as he looked at the camera, gaze sharp like a wolf and just as hypnotic. Lucy’s mind shot down to dirty, dirty, places the longer she looked at it. 

“Oh, that’s a good one, ain’t it,” Natsu said, leaning over her shoulder. Lucy squealed, clutching the camera to her chest protectively. Lucy flushed when his eyes followed her motion, lingering a few seconds too long on her cleavage to be innocent. He coughed, eyes flicking away as pink coloured his ears. 

“You two can fuck later, let’s just get a move on to the body shots!” Gajeel called, ripping Lucy from her stupor. She threw her middle finger up at him, glaring when he waved her off and walked away, probably to harass the interns. 

“Ignore him,” Lucy smiled at Natsu apologetically. “His girlfriend’s away for a month and he gets a bit crabby when he doesn’t get laid.”

Natsu’s nose twisted in a grimace even as a low chuckle fell from his lips. “He’s me cousin, I don’ think I need’a know ‘bout his sex life.” he chuckled. His grin grew warmer at Lucy’s shocked expression, arms lifting and crossing behind his head as he continued to talk. “He’s the reason I got the job. It’s me first time modelin’, but I needed the pay, so ‘ere I am.”

“Well you’re a natural at it,” Lucy assured. She could hardly believe this was the first time he had modeled, the camera adored him. 

“Thank ya,” Natsu grinned. Lucy returned it, having to tilt her head up a bit to look at him, standing as close as they were to one another. 

“Seriously, make yer bedroom eyes at each other when we’re not on the job!”

“Piss off ya walkin’ pin cushion!”

Lucy laughed, half hiding her face as she shook her head. Natsu beamed down at her, sharp canine revealed by the curl of his lips. She shooed him further back, taking in a deep breath. Looking at Natsu fully, standing buck-ass naked in the middle of a spring meadow just starting to bloom, Lucy couldn’t help but bite her lip. God, she had no idea what he did for a job, but Lucy was leaning towards boxer if the grooves of his muscles on his chest and abs were any indication. Not to mention his thighs… or his forearms…

She was definitely going to take Natsu home. Or at least out for drinks. 

She needed to know the dirt Natsu had on Gajeel from when they were kids. And just how much of a grower the pink haired model really was. 

||❥ artistic (nsfw)

j u n ! s c e n a r i o

Originally posted by minyoangi


word count: 2,143

genre: ohohoho it’s more nsfw filth.

click below the cut to find out what is included. just a lil heads up sub!junhui is comin ur way u’ve been warned i’m already packing my things n heading into the ozark mountains.

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Unknown Jamael’s star role in Hamilton: 25-year-old cast in West End version of hit musical (Daily Mail):

Jamael Westman — a 25-year-old actor from Brixton, South London, fresh out of drama school — has won the coveted title role in the eagerly awaited London version of smash-hit musical Hamilton.

Westman, a Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts graduate (and fully trained football coach) won the role in President Obama’s favourite show after five auditions, including one in front of Hamilton’s creator Lin-Manuel Miranda, the show’s director Thomas Kail, music director Alex Lacamoire and producers Jeffrey Seller and Cameron Mackintosh.

The part of Alexander Hamilton is one of the landmark theatrical roles of the 21st century — and a towering achievement for the 6ft 4in actor who graduated from RADA only last year.

But Westman is an impressive character. He has deep feelings about what it means to be a black man in the UK. He’s confident. He told me that if he doesn’t know something, he’ll work at it until he masters it — whether it be playing a musical instrument, learning a role or sussing out how to play every position on a football team (even goalkeeper, which he hates).


He sang at the local Roman Catholic Church and Miles Davis, Marshall Mathers and Bob Marley were all part of the eclectic mix of music playing at home in South London, where he was raised by his Irish-born mother — a lecturer in sociology at Goldsmiths College — and his Jamaican-born football coach father.

Rapping, he declared, ‘is in my bones’. Which is one of the reasons he won the role.

Miranda told me that he was lucky enough to catch Jamael at a ‘call back’ in London at Cameron Mackintosh’s office, and he was bowled over by the countertenor. ‘He was just fantastic, and versatile, and all those things Hamilton needs to be,’ he said. ‘You know: “Young, scrappy and hungry.”’ (That’s a line, in case you’re wondering, from one of Hamilton’s best-known songs, My Shot.)

In fact, during my interview with Jamael, he used the very same line to describe himself.

Both Miranda and Mackintosh, in separate conversations in London and New York, observed that Jamael had the skills to make it seem as though each performance was being given for the first time.

‘Well, that’s the whole ball game, isn’t it?’ Lin-Manuel said. ‘To make it feel as though it’s happening for the first time on stage at night.’ He added that he’s seen a lot of people audition, both in the U.S. and UK, for the role that he created.

‘So when you know you’ve got it, you’ve got it — and I know we’ve really got it here, with Jamael.’

Miranda told me that when he was writing the concept album for Hamilton, he had hip-hop and R&B voices in mind.

‘I wasn’t thinking about what colour the people were. I was thinking: “Who’s the best rapper to embody Thomas Jefferson? Or Alexander Hamilton?”

‘I was having fun with the idea of matching rappers with these people,’ he said, adding that when the director, Thomas Kail, was developing the stage show, he decided to elevate that idea of diversity to a principle for the casting of the show.

‘When you take the people out of the stuff of legend, and destroy the statue version, it actually makes them more accessible,’ he said.

The Latin-American, Asian and Afro-Caribbean faces in his show mirror society.

That colour-blind idea resonates with Jamael, too. He said that the opportunity to work and play with a company ‘made up of people of colour, without the subject matter having anything to do with race’ would have a positive impact not only on him, but the whole ensemble — and the audience, too.

‘A story that traditionally would have been told by an all-white cast is being given a new lease of life, superseding the deluded expectations of prejudice.’

Jamael said he gets his confidence and strength from his mother. ‘Her people — my grandmother — are from Coose in County Galway; and I heard her stories, and the stories of my other grandparents.

‘Some came here from Ireland and Jamaica in the Fifties, and having heard their stories gave me an appreciation of their struggles. It’s what’s bought me to this place … to this very room where it happens,’ he said, a reference to another famous line in Hamilton.

okay, hi. it’s me—the annoyance in this fandom. and i’d like to talk about something, so bear with me.

there’s a problem in this fandom that doesn’t need to be discussed. why not? it’s not up for discussion, basically. it’s up to you all to sit back and learn that this shit you all are pulling needs to be stopped. period.

i’m breaking it up to a couple of core parts so you all know what i’m talking about.

first of all, let’s talk about the islamophobia and racism in this fandom.

here’s the deal: shut up and listen. is that too hard? then just shut up and close your browser. delete your blog. take a walk. go on with your shitty life.

i don’t know why this needs to be explained—seriously. i don’t understand it. it’s not physics or the study of runes. it’s the basic thing called logic thinking and common decency at the least.

you’re all doing something incredibly harmful and it’s not okay. when you started calling a brown character a rat i—i thought it was a joke. and when it was pointed out it’s racist, by people of colour in this fandom, you kept doing it. why? do you take enjoyment in calling brown people rats? do you think you can get away with it? guess you can, but you can stop doing it to people of colour. it’s disgusting.

next. the idea of this season is: please don’t let me be misunderstood. the reverse of this? please don’t let me be understood. just so we’re clear. there’s no reverse. the song was in reverse, the message was clear. so you can shut up about that.

so when the fight broke up, and sana was hiding in the bathroom stall, what did we hear? the two white random, irrelevant white girls talking about how they thought (assumed, didn’t know but talked anyway) it was about homosexuality, and how muslims are homophobic. was it there for the lols? no. it was there for us. to know. that it wasn’t about that.

my point: shut the fuck up about it. it’s tiresome, getting old, it’s toxic. if you keep talking about this, you’re spreading harmful messages to others. what messages? that muslims are homophobic. which they can be, i’m not saying some aren’t. i’m saying that that’s not the point of this season and that non-muslims are equally likely to be homophobic. don’t believe me? wow, i guess it’s something that has been fed to you by media representation and… dare i say it? people talking shit of shit they don’t know on social platforms. precisely what you’re doing right now.

second thing we need to talk about: the series. yes! let’s talk about what content we have right now and why us people of colour and why muslims are upset, shall we? (note: we have all the right to be upset.)

let’s first get this out of the way: we know it’s written this way to prove some point later on in the season. probably something along the lines of muslim and brown boys not all being homophobic and shit. you know. that thing you keep shutting your eyes from. we understand that, we know that.

we’re just. not. happy. about how it’s written. it’s kind of doing a lot of damage right now. look at some of the messages some people (people of colour, muslims, muslim people of colour) receive. and what we should be getting is much more healthy scenes between muslims, muslims and people of non-faith, people of colour and white people, to weigh up to the damage its doing. we don’t get that much of that. and it’s frustrating, because we understand why (sana’s lonely) but there are so many ways to portray loneliness than completely erase healthy interactions between people on the fucking screen.

don’t bring up the hei briskeby videos, because they don’t count. i’m talking about the real episodes here. the real clips. the clips that the casual viewer will watch.

so yes. the series itself is… partially at fault here. the writing, i would say. especially filming only the people of colour in a fight and—wow. that chokehold they had on the only black guy? yikes.

what’s worse is that they surely know—or at least have a slight idea—of what outbreak their clips will give. and they keep doing it. keep feeding this shit to us, and leave us to either deal with it, or completely shut down our inboxes. which results into people thinking we’re selfish, because we don’t answer their wish to learn more about culture and islam and the experiences people of colour have.

third thing we need to talk about: vilde and noora. yup. i’m putting them on the agenda.

i, as a lesbian of colour, wholeheartedly believe that vilde’s character is poorly written this season. she’s obviously not too different from earlier seasons, but she’s definitely had more emphasis on her ignorance, and how that ignorance is dealt with is—less acceptable. i do believe, on top of that, that she will be “redeemed” (i’m just not sure i’ll buy into it) and that she will learn, apologise and maybe grow the last episode or something, since we won’t be getting any more.

but what bugs me the most about the way they’re writing her this season is that, she’s coded as possibly lesbian (or bi, if you prefer, but i’m gonna talk about her being lesbian, and you can make your own post about her being bisexual). and she’s literally the only character fully coded this way. if you’re interested in why, just… google it. believe it or not, we aren’t google. but the key point is that she is doing a lot of what us lesbians perceive as compulsory heterosexuality. and they completely villainised a potential lesbian this season which is just falling into the same shit people have done over and over again. lesbians are bad, lesbians are racist, lesbians are this and fucking that and that pisses me off. if, by the off chance, she eventually is canonically declared as lesbian, i’m not sure i will rejoice or throw my phone through my computer screen. they ruined her character to me, they ruined a (coded) lesbian to me, a lesbian, simply because they wanted to put her to be the ignorant girl who keeps shitting all over sana.

and noora. man. i’m not too mad about noora as a character herself. she’s flawed, she has her good moments and shit. but she takes up so much of her own storyline from sana’s. it’s a mess. she’s talking about herself, her problems with dickhelm, and sure, that’s what friends do—talk about what bothers you. but we’re so frustrated that she’s once again on the screen, talking about the same old thing, and rip the minutes that could’ve been spent on sana from our hands.

don’t get me wrong. we all know that sana is a listener. but there’s a line. and they jump over it, time and time again.

and then there’s the misogyny in this fandom that needs to be addressed. and this is a harder one, because it’s hard to spot.

during the course of season three—up to this day, i see this shit—people keep shitting on sonja and emma for no other reason than them being girls who got hurt in the process. sonja? remember her? she got cheated on. and while even kept saying he felt controlled by her you somehow got the idea that she’s toxic. she isn’t. a toxic relationship would not end with isak thanking sonja for the help she’s given. she knows even and—well, at the most, she might have been a bit controlling because she doesn’t understand that even is his own person with or without his bipolar disorder.

and emma? she outed isak, which is fucked up and there’s no excuse. but stop thinking she’s the absolute villain to isak’s life because she’s a girl, who got hurt, in the process. accept that, move on, because isak sure did.

you thought i’d end there? really? nope. ain’t gonna happen. i’m gonna bring up vilde specifically again.

you think she’s just a dumb ignorant islamophobe? partially true. she’s islamophobic and is not a good friend to sana. she’s ignorant, yes. but you’re reducing her character to something she isn’t. you’re reducing her to the blonde dumb girl, which is just as shitty as people defending her islamophobic behaviour. her islamophobia does not correlate to her dealing with whatever she’s dealing with (compulsory heterosexuality, if you will), but if you reduce her to a two-dimensional character it’s quite misogynistic itself. if you’re woman and doing that—check yourself in the mirror.

same goes for noora, basically, but i don’t think anyone is genuinely despising her for anything else than the shitty line here and there and the serious screentime she’s clocking.

we also had a run in with the lovely subjects of biphobia and ableism too. you all can’t stop anywhere, can you?

since we aren’t discussing, let me just point out these things:

bisexuality does not equate to cheater. a cheater can be of any sexuality. the stereotype is that bisexual people are cheaters is harmful and it ends here. whether a bisexual person/character has cheated can be discussed without bringing in their bisexuality to the conversation.

and mental illness… it seems it’s harder for you to grasp this part. so let me put it this way: think of the most embarrassing shit you’ve done. called your teacher mum and everyone laughed? peed yourself in public? pretended to talk on the phone and your phone ended up ringing? whatever. the most embarrassing shit you’ve done. think of that. feel what you felt at that point. oh my god, what did people think of you?

do you want your crush or your partner of a few months know… that? say it involved a second person. say you… shat yourself on your best friend’s expensive, newly bought couch, felt so embarrassed you left the house and deleted all your social media and never answered their calls.

say your partner brings them up.

would you… tell them that?

i don’t mean to trivialise mental illness here (i’m struggling with my own). it’s much more complex (guilt, self-blaming, embarrassment, sadness) than what i’m saying here. i’m just breaking it down to a point where hopefully even the most abled person can understand.

you’re expecting someone who deals with this every day to just tell their partner. it’s not that easy. it’s a lot of compartmentalising that needs to be done, so you can tell that story without breaking down completely. what happened to even broke him enough to switch to a new school. that’s not something you just tell someone, regardless if you’re together with them, without having thought it through for weeks—even months—and analysed each possible turnout and reaction. that’s not something you tell someone unless you really, really, really need to.

that’s not to say that it’s… bad. that even and sana weren’t honest with isak from the start. but it’s what it is. even isn’t perfect. sana isn’t perfect. isak isn’t perfect. none of these characters are completely perfect. why not? because they’re supposed to be realistic, human and resound to us. we’re supposed to be able to relate to them, in a way.

lastly, but most importantly: stop thinking you’re so bloody entitled to send shitty asks to people, especially the muslims, people of colour and disabled people of this fandom.

now that i’ve said my piece, kindly don’t find your way into my inbox and think it’s time to discuss. as i said, it’s not up for discussion.

don’t understand what i’m talking about? congratulations, you just won the prize: read this post again until you get it.

peace the fuck out.

wednesdaysandwhich  asked:

Nico and will getting to know each other through regular camp activities(They've both been through so much, I just need them whole and healing)

Here you go! But seriously, how do you end things?

How hate turned to love

Nico wasn’t lying when he said that he had hated the three-day stay in the infirmary. Sure, he had been allowed to go outside on the third day of his stay to ‘get some sun so that he could get his Italian tan back’ or something along those lines, but he still didn’t like being holed up in a room with white and yellow walls along with a bed with white bedsheets and a cupboard full of medical equipment. It made him unhappy to be in the light. He had complained about it to Will the morning of the second day, and when he thought back on it, he didn’t really know what to make of the conversation.

“I really hate being in this room. It’s too bright,” Nico grumbled as Will took his blood pressure. “And it’s even worse that you forced me to sleep with the lights on. That’s just straight-out embarrassing. The Son of Hades sleeping with the lights on?”

“It’s for your own good,” Will said, whistling as he stitched up Nico’s arm – the werewolf poison had dissolved the first set of mortal stitches, so now they were trying again, this time with enchanted thread. “I don’t want you to fade, so I don’t want you to be exposed to more darkness than there is in your body. It’s a lethal amount, you know. It’s eating you up from the inside.”

“I don’t care. How would feel if you were trapped in darkness the whole time? It’s the same thing with me and the light.”

Will stopped halfway in doing a stitch, the needle still deep in Nico’s arm. “Well, I guess you make a point, but I still have to keep you in the light. Just until the three days are up. After that, you can sleep without a light on again. Will that make you happy?”

It had made Nico happy to be able to be able to move back to his cabin and sleep in the darkness, but of course he hadn’t told Will that. In fact, he hadn’t talked to Will the last two weeks, apart from answering a couple questions about his health during the check-up one week ago.

He had done pretty well with avoiding Will outside of the check-ups, but a Thursday a month after his stay in the infirmary, he came to the sword-fighting class he taught with Percy to find the last person he expected to see there. Will Solace. Being taught by Percy how to disarm someone.

The tip of Nico’s sword hit the ground and the two demigods looked up, Will wiping the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his free hand.

“What the Hades are you doing here, Solace?” Nico asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the infirmary or with the rest of your cabin in archery?”

“Will here wanted to be able to handle a sword better,” Percy explained, taking a sip of his water bottle. “He’s not too bad. His moves are pretty rusty, but he has good reflexes and is a fast learner. Can you go through the basics with him while I teach the rest of the kids?”

Nico was about to say that he didn’t want anything to do with Will when he heard himself say, “Sure, why not?”

“Great!” Percy said before walking over to the rest of the group, which consisted of about a dozen demigods from different cabins.

Will smiled at Nico, his sky-blue eyes twinkling in the sunshine. Nico silently groaned, but picked up his sword and walked towards Will, wanting nothing more than to dive into the nearest shadow. How had he gotten himself into this mess?

A month later, it was Will’s time to be confused when Nico appeared in the archery class taught by his sister Kayla.

“I’m not here because I want to,” Nico muttered when Will asked him about it. “I lost a bet, okay? I have to take archery for a month.”

Over the next few archery classes, Will got to learn more about Nico, for example that his favourite colour was blue (not black like Will had originally thought), his birthday was the 28th of January and that he could speak Ancient Greek, Latin and Italian fluently.

“Really? Your favourite colour is purple?” Nico asked incredulously. “I would have thought it would have been like, green or red.

“Nope, it’s purple,” Will said, pointing to a part of the bandage. “If you cut it there, it should be long enough to wrap a small wound.”

Nico didn’t even say anything as he cut the bandage. So what if he was learning how to wrap wounds and stuff in the infirmary by Will? They were just friends. Whoa, that felt weird. Had he just called Will his friend? He had, and it had felt natural too, not wrong or forced at all.

“Nico? Are you okay? You totally zoned out for a minute there,” Will’s worried voice broke through his thoughts and he looked up at Will’s concerned face.

“I got lost in some thoughts.” Nico was silent for a bit. “We’re friends, right?”

“Of course we are.” Will pointed to a patient. “She just came in with a twisted ankle. Think you can fix it?”

Nico nodded with a determined expression. He could do this. He had learned and practised this for weeks now.

“Will? Why is Nico sitting with us?” Ella, Will’s seven-year-old sister asked one day at dinner. It was quite a cold day, and Nico was sitting closer to Will than usual in an attempt to steal the Son of Apollo’s body heat.

“Because he’s lonely at his own table. Therefore he’s sitting with me because we’re friends. That’s what friends do. We make sure that the other friend is not lonely. Right?”

Ella nodded. “Yeah! You’re my friend too, Nico. Because I don’t want you to be alone. That’s okay, right?”

Nico let a small smile tug at his lips. “Yes. That’s okay.”

“Five minutes, everybody!” Leo called out. All the campers were on the beach, counting down the minutes until New Years. Will was standing with Nico, the rest of the Seven as well as Rachel, Reyna and Calypso.

Everyone was holding their hands with their respective other – Percy with Annabeth, Piper with Jason, Hazel with Frank, Leo with Calypso and Reyna with Rachel. The only two not holding hands were Nico and Will, who were both sneaking glances at each other when they thought the other one didn’t see. The rest of their small crowd smirked at each other, knowing that both boys had massive crushes on the other.

Will swallowed. “Hey, Nico? Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Nico nodded as Leo called out, “Three minutes!”

They walked a bit away from the rest of the campers and Will took a deep breath. “There’s something I gotta tell you.”

Nico looked up at Will’s face illuminated by the lights hanging from the trees surrounding the beach. “Go ahead.”

Two minutes.

“You see Nico, I, um.” Will  silently cursed himself. He had never been good with words, but now was really not the time for his tongue to completely tie itself into knots.”

90 seconds.

“You what?” Nico asked confused. He had no idea what Will’s was going to say. Of course, he had his hopes, but they were firmly sealed away in his brain.

“I, um, I…”

One minute.

“Will? Are you okay? You look really nervous.” Nico had no idea why Will as acting like this, but he was assuming that something was wrong.

“I…” Will took a deep breath.

30 seconds.

“Damn it,” Will swore, running a hand through his hair. “I really like you, okay? Like, like you.”


Nico’s mind was going 90 miles an hour. Will… Will liked him?

10 seconds.

Nico could feel his eyes fill with tears of happiness and relief. “Really?”

5 seconds.

“I understand if you don’t like me back,” Will continued. “But I just wanted to tell you.”

“No! I really like you too!” Nico said quickly.

3 seconds.

Several emotions flashed across Will’s face before he stepped closer to Nico.

2 seconds.

“Can I kiss you?” Will breathed, wanting to kiss Nico before the New Year officially started.

1 second.

“Please do,” Nico whispered before pressing his lips against Will’s. It was his first kiss and he knew that it was Will’s first kiss too. He had learned that a month ago when it randomly came up in a conversation. But that didn’t matter now. Kiss Will now, think later, his brain reminded him and he closed his eyes, happily listening to his brain for once.

0 seconds.

Coffee taste (m)

Characters: Min Yoongi & You

Genre: fluff, smut (just a prolonged foreplay though)

Summary:  As in what happens when you disturb your boyfriend late at night in his studio uninvited and try to lure him home.

Warnings: mild dirty talk and light sexual content

Words: 2963

I blame my late night conversation with @taetaeby about sweets, coffee and Yoongi.

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madegeeky replied to your photoThe @docholligay “I Am Willing To Bribe My Way…

Don’t forget to tell us how yet again some salesperson thinks you and Doc are married!


About a week ago, Doc asked me if I’d pick her up something at Sephora, which as I learned from her last visit is NOT in fact a furniture store as I originally thought. She needed me to get it because Montana has an Albertsons and that guy who made the hats in Tombstone, and that’s about it.

“Sure, but be REALLY FUCKING SPECIFIC about what you want, because I am useless in that place,” I told her.

“It’s a certificate for some free shit. It’s marked on the certificate even so you can walk into Sephora like a child and go ‘My lesbian says I have to get this’.”


She sent me the certificate, and off I go, like the dutiful and wonderful friend I am. I’m doing great! Up until the point that I walk into the store.

INSTANTLY I AM LOST. I don’t even know what the certificate is FOR. I don’t know who works there and who are customers. Am I a customer? Am I doomed to wander this brightly lit hall of colour and confusion for the remainder of my days? What am I looking at? What is it for? WHO WILL HELP THIS POOR TORTURED SOUL

The two women right by the door, as it turns out. Oh, that was easy.

“May we help you?” the first asks. She is holding a hairdryer. I have a dozen questions, but stay focused.

“This.” As I thrust the card at them, the word hangs in the air, and I realize I sound every bit as out of place as I am. No, I can do better. I can fix this.

“My lesbian told me to get her this.”

Much better.

“Oh! you want [WORDS WENT HERE WORDS I DO NOT UNDERSTAND I ASSUME THEY WERE ENGLISH BUT AM I CERTAIN IS ANYTHING CERTAIN].” Taking pity on me, the second woman adds “Just go up a bit and to the right. I’ll tell them you’re coming.”

I assume the little headset walkie-talkies are entirely for the benefit of my ilk, and I am grateful for them.

Following the directions, I arrive in “fragrances”, which looks like a sprawling, expensive subdivision where sit rows upon rows of houses I will never buy. I’m met by a tall woman whose black outfit is accented in red, I presume stained with the blood of the lesser Sephorians she felled in her rise to power. I do not understand her world, but immediately, I respect her.

The transaction seems to me to take far longer than is necessary for a simple “Give me this free shit”, but I stand as patiently as I do awkwardly, and soon I’m given a fancy little pink box in a fancy little black and white bag, and social convention assures me we’re now done.

Only, the ladies who greeted me are waiting.

“Ooo, what did you get?!” the one with the hairdryer asks with intense and oddly sincere enthusiasm.

My time in this land has changed me. I can feel the confidence only familiarity brings coasting through my veins.

“Uhhh?” I reply, and I thrust the bag at her.

They both crowd around the bag, eager to revel in its contents. I want to ask why they’re so excited to see the shit they see every day, but I don’t. The customs are strange here. I am merely a visitor.

“Oh, this is a fantastic fragrance!” the second woman assures me.

“You’ll love it!” the first agrees.

“It’s not for me.” I don’t know why that’s important just now, but I feel like it relieves me of the burden of opinion.

The one with the hairdryer gives me a knowing wink. “You’ll love the way it smells on HER, then.” She drags “HER” out, like a purr. My brain is trying to make things make sense. It is failing. The woman, well locked in her own vision by now, is pulled toward the Holligay of her mind’s eye and inhales deeply. “You’ll smell it when you lean in to her. Mmmmm.”

I don’t try to explain further. At some point, the bag has found its way back into my hands, and with a “Oh yeah? Cool! Thanks!” I take my leave.

Sephora is a strange and bewildering land.

Destruction Of A Muse [Part 2]

Originally posted by bangtannoonas

Part [1]

Warning: Blood mention

“Just tell me.” Namjoon groaned, clearly fed up with you withholding information from him. Not to mention the killer hangover that was drilling at his skull from the inside out.

“No.” You murmured around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie, chomping on it before stuffing another into your mouth.

He had his arm draped over his eyes to shield them from the light, but he removed it just to give you a pointed glare. “I didn’t even see you talk to anyone last night, how are you meeting someone?”

You brushed some stray crumbs off of your shirt, snorting when Namjoon spluttered and rolled away from you from his position on the floor when a few sprinkled onto him. “You didn’t see me talk to anyone because you had your head all the way inside that girls mouth.”

“Hey,” He grumbled, pointing a long finger at you. “She is a lovely woman.”

“What’s her name?” You blinked down at him, another cookie poised between your thumb and forefinger, ready for you to take a bite.

Namjoon squinted up at you, not saying anything as he once again draped his arm across his eyes. “At least I’m not telling you because I don’t know, not because I’m some hoarder of secrets.”

You rolled your eyes back in your head, inhaling half the cookie in one bite before nudging the other half against Namjoon’s lips, smiling to yourself when he gobbled it up in seconds. “Okay,” You started, “It’s Suga.”

He shot up into a sitting position so quickly that you jerked back, the packet of cookies crunching as you skidded into them. “What?” He stared at you with wide eyes, cringing for a second with the way his voice had the dull thudding in his head turning into a painful banging.

“What?” You asked, brows furrowed together in confusion.

“Y/N…” Namjoon began, cutting himself off to shake his head in disbelief. “No.”

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onceuponaprincessworld  asked:

I really love your rec list they are awesome! Could you make a captain swan list with tatoo artist au? Thanks!

Tattoo AU 

(tattoo artist + soulmate tattoo)

  • He is a Flower in her Untamed Garden by @littlebabeswan  She is a Tattered Canvas he Would Love to Mend… Killian’s job as a tattoo artist is all about handling sharp objects, various types of needles that work in tandem with his hand to create beautiful things on delicate skin. Does his profession provide him with enough experience to be able to handle Emma Swan’s thorns?
  • Stains of Ink by @terreisa  Emma Swan is a tattoo artist who believes her life is perfect the way it is and there’s no need for anything more. Killian Jones is a florist whose been dealt several blows in life but is slowly salvaging his life from the wreckage. All it takes is meeting each other to find that, sometimes, it takes another person to complete a happy ending. A modern Captain Swan AU.
  • Sound & Colour by @didiwritethis  Emma Swan passes a particular tattoo studio every day, and is entranced by the artwork in the window. Gathering her courage, she steps in and meets the owner, Killian Jones, who transforms her life.
  • Tattoo AU by @loving-cs-fanfiction  AU where you get a tattoo representing your TL when you meet them. One-Shot.
  • Skin Deep by @captainodonewithyou  There is a soulmate tattoo headcanon popping around on tumblr about soulmates having tattoos of the last words their love will say to them. My friend told me to write it, and I did. Captain Swan angst ahead. (pirate)
  • Across the street (but just out of reach) by MiriRainbowitz 
  • The Time Tattoo by @onceuponabadass  What would you do if you knew when the most important moment in your life was going to happen? For Emma Swan that moment was 23 years 22 days 8 minutes and 15 seconds away… and it was only getting closer. 
  • i’m quite allright with that, love by @tnlph “You can’t tell me what I can and can’t get tattooed,” she yelled at him. one shot
  • Chasing Thursdays by @nowforruin  Elsa has no desire to follow in her politician mother’s footsteps and Emma wants to quit working at Granny’s. They decide to open Frozen and take advantage of the summer tourist season, but Emma doesn’t count on their neighbor, tattoo artist Killian Jones, showing up every single Thursday for more than just ice cream. 
  • Another Tattoo by searchingwardrobes  As Emma traces the tattoo on Killian’s wrist with her thumb, she’s more sure than ever that she can’t tell him her secret. Killian does something unique to assure Emma she doesn’t need to fear the future. Set after 6x02. 
  • taste you by @swallowedsong  pwp. it’s that one tattoo of his. the one that sits low on his hips. the one that peeks out from under his shirt as he lies there all bed-rumpled and sleepy. it makes her want to lick it. 
  • Marked by @i-know-how-you-kiss  They call it a ‘gift,’ but Emma Swan has only ever seen it as a burden and a trap. She’s never been a big fan of having an assigned soulmate, especially one predetermined by a silly little mark, so she’s spent her whole life avoiding finding him, throwing herself into work and dating at whim. It’s worked for her well enough, until the one day it doesn’t, and Emma is forced to come to terms with the fact that try as she might to run away from her destiny, it always finds a way to catch up. 
  • Branded On My Heart by @ardentaislinn  During the year that they were away from Storybrooke, Hook kept his promise to think of Emma everyday. And in those thoughts, he began to realize that he probably had lost his second true love. One drunken evening, he decides to give Emma a tribute like he did for Milah — with a tattoo. Now back in Storybrooke and Emma still not falling for him, he has to hide this ill timed mistake. But one day she sees it… And he has to explain…
  • Dare Over Truth by @sotheylived  Prompt via tumblr from startswithhope who asked for a tattoo artist au with truth or dare. In which Killian never says no to a dare until the one time he does.
  • Forget-me-nots on my Skin (Forevermore) by alphardhy Soulmate!AU in which you see the world in black and white until your soulmate comes into your life, a burst of colour among the dull crowds. And once you touch your soulmate, the whole world comes alive.Killian Jones is an English tattoo artist who moves to New York after his brother’s death. Emma Swan is helping Mary Margaret with her flower shop in The Big City. (She has never been a flower person, but she needs to pay the rent.)
  • True Love Leaves a Mark by @sotheylived  Emma learns that the tattoo she’s had written directly above her heart for more than ten years may have come from something other than a long night of drinking.
  • The Importance of Words by @terreisa The words written on Emma’s arm are supposed to be the last thing her soul mate would ever say to her.  She just didn’t know what would happen to her, or them, that could cause those words to fall from their mouth. Part 2
To Fly (fReyder)


I can’t write anything for these two without it turning into a sappy mess. Eurgh!

“How about lake swimming?” Sara leaned back in her seat and folded her arms behind her head. She would have crossed her ankles up on the flight console too, but she had a feeling that might give Reyes a heart attack.

“No. Never.” Reyes glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, though Sara suspected he didn’t really need to watch the console readouts half so closely as he pretended. “But perhaps you could talk me into trying it.”

Sara knew exactly where that particular avenue of conversation would lead - and she would be more than happy to follow it later. “But you have been hiking, right?”

Reyes shrugged. “That depends on your definition. Does it count if I didn’t wear all the fancy gear?”


“What about if it was on business?”

“Then no.”

Reyes shrugged. “Well then. I haven’t been hiking, either.”

Sara shook her head in wonder. “If my dad knew I was with a man that had never been hiking before -”

“Do you really think it’s the hiking that would bother him?”

She flashed him a grin. “Well I’m not saying he’d be thrilled about the crime boss thing…”

Reyes scoffed, but he was smiling. That question flashed through Sara’s mind again - what about your parents, Reyes? - but she’d seen the answering shadows in his eyes one too many times.

So she let the silence stretch.

Kadara’s jagged ranges were miles below them. They looked like patterns on a tablecloth; green and amber zigzags stretched over winding blues and greys. The shuttle’s display dimmers kept the sun’s brightness down to a pleasant glow. It was all psychological, because the hull was double-layered with thermal insulation, but Sara swore she could feel the sunlight warming her skin. The sky was blue. The clouds were fluffy.

It was a perfect day for exploring, and Sara intended to make the most of it.

She’d blacked out twenty-four hours on her schedule. Reyes had promised to turn his omnitool off. Sara figured that last part was a little white lie - because there was no way in hell the Charlatan would take that kind of chance - but she’d be happy if he just kept up the pretence. SAM had filled Sara’s omnitool with lovely navpoints; mountaintop crater lakes and sheer, sweeping canyons, and Sara had borrowed an extra jump jet from the Tempest’s armoury. They were flying out beyond the northern reaches of Haarfel.

Just Sara and Reyes - and Kadara’s wild beauty.

She was hard-pressed to think of anything better.

Suddenly, though, she didn’t want to sit in the co-pilot’s chair. She wanted to touch him.

Reyes watched her out of the corner of his eye as she moved to stand behind him, a quizzical little frown furrowing his brow. “What are you doing?”


She leaned up against the back of his seat, smoothing her hands down over his shoulders. Reyes chuckled when she rested her chin on his head, her fingertips marking narrow paths along his sternum.

“That’s a little distracting,” he breathed.

“Only a little?” Sara leaned down to brush her lips over the shell of his ear. Her voice dropped to a purr. “Then I’m clearly not trying hard enough.”

“Are you trying to distract your pilot?” There was a smile in his voice. “Am I just that handsome, or do you just enjoy the danger?”

Sara kissed his pounding pulse point, smirking as she dragged her lips down the curve of his neck. “You can blame me if we wind up splattered all over a mountain somewhere.”

That hit a nerve. He tensed beneath her, and Sara could see his indignation reflected by the flight console. “Who do you think you’re talking to? No one is distracting enough to make me crash a shuttle.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Reyes didn’t respond. He shifted in his chair instead, muttering some good-natured curse that Sara’s translator didn’t quite pick up.

Sara sighed contently. She didn’t really want to challenge him right now. She wanted to enjoy him; to relish every moment of closeness for every minute that they had it - so she just stood there, mouthing gentle kisses into the soft skin of Reyes’ neck as the Kadaran wilderness rolled away beneath them. He was monitoring the flight computer, making quick adjustments every now and then, but Sara still suspected there wasn’t much he had to do.

She smoothed a gentle palm up over his throat, turning him by the chin to meet her lips - and caught him in a kiss that made his breath hitch. She was gentle and insistent; yielding and demanding. He gave a contented little moan, his eyelids fluttering closed - and Sara figured her hypothesis was more or less confirmed.

She drew back with a smile. “Do you think you can teach me?”

“What?” He blinked at her a little dazedly, amber eyes unfocused.

“To fly.”

Reyes hesitated - then frowned, nose wrinkling up like a puppy. “Piloting isn’t something that’s learned in a single afternoon, Sara.”

“I know that. But over time?”

He shrugged, turning back to the display as if he’d suddenly remembered he was meant to be flying - and paused, one hand hovering over the console. “Perhaps. When would you like to start?”


She settled on his lap like she didn’t notice his sudden interest. Her knees wouldn’t fit under the flight console, so she sat with her legs canted to the side. Reyes braced her against his chest and slid his palms down over her arms. He guided her hands to the controls with a firm but gentle grip.

His breath was hot on the back of her neck. “How does it feel?”

Despite herself, Sara shivered. Part of it was his closeness. Reyes made her feel like a glacier touched by a star; melting, collapsing and combusting all at once - but part of it was the danger. She was treading a line between excitement and actual fear, because Kadara’s surface was an awfully long way down. One screw up - one mistake -

But Reyes’ hands were steady, and the kiss he pressed to the base of her neck sent trails of warmth spiralling down her back. He wouldn’t let disaster strike.

“Sara?” His voice was coloured with concern. “Are you okay?”

“It feels amazing,” she whispered. Right now, she was lighter than air; buoyed by sudden freedom, and outside the pull of gravity. “What do I do?”

Reyes smiled against her ear. “This input controls forward thrust,” he murmured. He guided her hand down until her fingertips grazed the console. “Do you want to go faster?”

Sara nodded.

“Press that button.”

Sara felt the inertial dampeners kick in as the shuttle began to accelerate. She shivered again, and Reyes chuckled.

“Can we go higher?”

He pointed her to another input area; pressed her fingers against another set of controls. The hairs on Sara’s arms were standing on end. The impromptu lesson took on an impromptu rhythm as Sara peppered him with questions, his tactile responses swift and unhesitating. Up and down; left and right - he helped her swing the shuttle’s nose around until they were looking back at Kadara Port. Altitude had shrunk the city to the size of a model display, its shadow lying flat along the badlands’ spine.

Sara could feel the empty space below them like the distance had a grip on her waist. Her skin was crystallized fire. Her chest was full of ice.

But Reyes’ body was warm against her back. His right hand left hers, and Sara felt a moment of panic - but he only placed his palm atop her thigh, fingertips tracing lazy patterns against the seam of her pants. He whispered in her ear, and the sound sent sparking chills down her spine.

“You do like the danger.”

He kissed her neck again, open-mouthed and lingering. Sara tried to hold back a moan - and failed miserably. Reyes hummed in satisfaction, fingers digging deeper into her flesh.

“Distracting, isn’t it?”

“That is not what I was doing to you.”

“But you’re doing well,” Reyes murmured. She could hear the laughter in his voice. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

Sara knew a white lie when she heard one - and was preparing to tell him so when he copied the move she’d used before. His hand left her thigh to smooth its way up over her throat; to cup her cheek and turn her towards him, her skin aflame and her eyes unseeing -

He kissed her hard enough to make the world shake - and so deeply as to stir the stars in their cradles.

Sara’s composure shattered. “Damn it, Reyes.”

He chuckled quietly, warm breath tickling her skin. “Do you want me to take over?”

“Not. A. Chance.” Reaching up to tug his hand away from her cheek, she turned back to the flight controls. She was sturdy. She was resolute. “You just point the way, baby. I’ll get us there.”

But she didn’t complain when his hand went straight back to her thigh.

Not so quick, but still dirty nebula painting based on @kaijuslayer‘s q&d nebula tutorial. (Which you should read before reading this).

In essence, this is the same process, except that it is a mix of my three attempts at learning Jake’s technique. Which brought a few tweaks

All three attempts were slightly different.

  • The first was a “I’ll follow the manual” thing :
  • The second was a variation with another colour than black as a background, or more accurately, making a nebula without any background colour. This used a drybrush technique :
  • The third came back to the text book, albeit with a desire to have colours blend more. To that end it used a wetting-the-paint-on-the-model method.

Flyers are great, they have a lot of surface to play with to really give this wet technique the room to shine. On smaller models though, the results do not achieve the impression of deepness of this Voidraven, but it is still worth the effort, at least if you look at the model from a playing distance.


The models I’m painting at the moment do not leave any black deep-space areas. They were undercoated with Mephiston Red spray paint, which I still deeply regret.

I would like to emphasis the fact that these techniques will crush your spirit until the last phase, where everything comes together and no matter how shitty it looked during the process, it will in fact, turn out great. I remember almost crying out of frustration on my first attempt.

STEP 1 : Getting started and doubting

Like with Jake’s tutorial, haphazardly paint your models with two base colours. Deposit the paint on a palette, take a lot of water on the brush, drop it on the palette, mix a little, put the blob of paint on the model. Really wet it, but not as much as it would immediately run. Aim for that “round drop of water on a surface” as a limit, running is desired, but not just yet.

Switch to colour 2, do the same, you might not need as much water this time, you’ll have to be the judge of that. Here your bubbles will connect and the paint from blob one will move around, dilute, blend a little but never really mix into another colour.

You don’t want them to become another colour, at least not too much, here a little bit of purple-ish blue or red in a very limited area can be acceptable, but if it turns outright purple, just wipe it away from the brush/model.

Play with the water : go take some with your brush and drop it on the model if it doesn’t feel like fun/risky to do. Let it go where it wants, or not, try turning the model around or up/down to achieve desired effects.

Let dry thoroughly before next step.

STEP 2 : feels like you did nothing of importance

Same than step one, but with layer colours, be a bit more precise with what you do, but you still have room for happy mistakes. As explained in Jake’s tutorial, you do not want to just paint over the deep blue, you want it to overlap a bit, be a bit smaller as to give the paint the idea of gradient, definitely use less water, but still, have a really wet brush.

You should totally have a nebula image from nasa or w/e as a model while doing this when you first try it out, it helps a lot. At least until you become familiar with nebula techniques.

STEP 3 : feels like improvement, or ruining the model?

Keep at it, go for even more lighter colours. In my case I didn’t use more than two red colours (Khorne and Evil Suns) but did use 3 or 4 colours for the blue (Kantor, Caledor, Lothern, and White if you want to count that in)

Keep going smaller (or not actually, in some places it can achieve nice effects) if you are perfectionist to the point of painting a replica of a nebula picture to the letter, these aren’t considerations that will bother you.

(sorry no picture)

STEP 4 : feels like it might come together eventually.

Fun part, take a bit of one of your base colours in a small recipient (I use icecube-making moulds) with the brush add a lot of water. Mix and apply all over the area. See Jake’s tutorial for an image and explanation it’s the exact same step.

STEP 5 : stars and shit

I’ve gotten lazy (that’s my trait in painting because I really don’t enjoy painting, if I could get to my end result without having to pick up a brush, I’d be so happy).

On the voidraven, I did every star one by one. It was okay, its a big model it needs to look good. On my bikes and this batch, I’ve used a destroyed brush to do like ten little spots at once, but they of course don’t look as good if your aim is to have nice round and small stars. What I did looks different, but not necessarily bad.

I added little parts where I almost dried-brush the lighter blue, other parts I used a wet brush, you have to test it out to see what works best for you. Most of the time I don’t know what I am doing and hope it’ll come out okay.


By now the model looks okay, but it can look even better if you just use a big brush containing a lot of ink (shade) in it. It will give the whole thing deepness and brilliance, as well as a certain fading, as if it was a real paintjob made by the space elves, rather than feeling like it’s a paintjob from a hobbyist nerdzor. 

I used an ink coulour that is not of the same hue as the earlier wash. In this case, I had washed with Khorne Red, so I opted for Drakenhof Nightshade as a finishing touch.

A lot of variations of these techniques will work. It is fun to try different things everytime or to have to find ways to adapt what you did on a 10cm x 5cm flyer hull to a 1,5cm x 1cm cape.

Just go for it :D get dirty!

Dim Rooms & Daddy Kinks

Genre: Smut

A/N: Thank you so much, sweet anon!! I genuinely adored this prompt so much and loved writing this!! Thank you for reading my first proper fic on this blog!

Word Count: 2420

Warnings: Daddy Kink, Age Gaps (Dan’s 17 and Phil’s 21) that’s really it

You can read this and my other older fics on AO3 here

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Painted Constellations

Summary: Dan is a painting major at uni who needs someone to paint on for his art project, and Phil is a photography major who needs Dan to model for him.
Word Count: 8613
Warnings: alcohol, mentions of suicide, a lot of Van Gogh talk, smoking, mentions of sex, homophobic comments, depression


There is a certain relaxation in allowing images to unfurl themselves from the bristles of a brush onto the white emptiness of a new canvas. The paint is smooth and fragile, breaking into nothingness if smeared or smudged, now an entirely new picture. The colours would then blossom into a new galaxy of flowery fields, the starry night sky, or even a dog waiting by a picket fence for it’s owner.

The possibilities were endless and alive; a painter does not have to live in a dull world when they can create their own.

But there is also with great certainty that artists have something missing from their lives - whilst they can create so many beautiful universes, they deal with having to be trapped in the cruel world that is the Earth and all of it’s humanity. It was no wonder that Vincent Van Gogh would eat yellow paint to be happy, claiming that “the sadness will last forever” after attempting suicide and lying on his deathbed.

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Blue Sharpie - (chapter 1, might continue?)

I saw a thing that @misteriawoon posted, and it actually helped with my inspiration slump, so….so here. Minicat coffee shop AU. Because I have no originality.

“Medium Matcha Latte for Catherine!”

The din of the Starbucks didn’t fluctuate in the slightest. It was a bright Tuesday morning, the kind of bright that made you squint without realizing, and the light poured in from the glass windows blindingly. It wreathed every customer’s hair in stunning gold shades and made the cafe tables shine pristinely. The smell of burnt coffee beans and faint toilet cleaner permeated the atmosphere, completed by the sound of tapping laptops, small talk, and slurped frappecinos.

Despite such a perfect coffee shop aura, no mystery customer approached the counter.

“Matcha Latte for Catherine!” Craig called again, raising the strange green drink slightly higher as if it would attract its buyer.

It didn’t.

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The Clumsy Guardian

Originally posted by performanceunit

What happened to all the memories?

He couldn’t remember them.

What happened to all the promises?

We couldn’t keep them.

It hurts, doesn’t it?

I can’t keep a one sided promise, but you, I’ll never forget.

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Like Father Like Daughter, Pt 2 to Parental Advice (Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader)

Characters: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Fighting, racism, bullying, violence


Request:Hi again! I have pretty much a sequel idea to the one I just requested(I’m sorry that it’s 2 in the morning where you are and you’re asleep, but I didn’t want to forget it). My request is that reader finally finds a real and legit friend who is at her maturity level and is black, and her name is whatever you like it to be. She’s an orphan, and is new to the school. The two become 2 peas in a pod. But reader sees friend being bullied by the most infamous racist in the grade. And because reader is such a protective and aggressive in this type of  case, she gets in a fight with the racist kid. By the end of that, reader is suspended for two days. Tony finds out and he is-uh-hehe-quite un-phased about the racist. Reader and friend at end have sleepover at the Avengers tower, and friend ends up explaining her bully situation they all have fun with the Avengers and friend finally feels like  there’s some people who care about her. Reader’s happy, Tony’s happy. I know, my requests are so long. Hehe, guilty. Hope I didn’t disturb your sleep(or at least too badly

Originally posted by avengers-of-mirkwood

After your talk with your dad, Tony, he watched as you came home excited to tell him about your day, and your grades rose to what they used to be. Your school finally knew you were a Stark, and stayed out your way, knowing you weren’t interested in making friends.

A few weeks had passed and then there was a new girl at the school. “Everyone, this is Frances, she’s new here, is anyone willing to give her a tour of our school?” The Principal. You saw how she was clearly nervous, and reminded you of yourself. You put your hand up and stood up.

Keep reading

Text Me Not

A/N: So this is my first time writing for Nalu Love Fest! Or anything that was organized lol. This is for Day 7: Sexting, and was super fun to write! This is fairly smutty, though more low-key than usual. But still, smut. College AU!

When the picture loaded, Lucy was glad she was at the back as her face turned into a tomato and she let out a tiny squeak. There on her screen was a picture of Natsu, shirtless and laying on her bed. One arm was tucked behind his head of wild pink hair, a lazy and devilish smirk playing on his lips. The same hooded eyes Lucy had daydreamed about earlier were present, seeming to somehow look at her soul through the screen. He was wearing sweatpants, which were pulling dangerously low and drawing her eyes to muscular and toned chest and stomach. Lucy’s fingers twitched slightly as she remembered how his tan skin moved beneath her fingers, the muscles shifting and flexing in response to her exploring hands. When Lucy finally tore her eyes away from his little display, she saw he had sent a text as well.

N- Still don’t want to play with me?

Pairing: Nalu, Fairy tail

Words: 4841

Rating: M

Part: Oneshot

Lucy sat in her desk, one hand propping up her chin and the other absentmindedly tapping a pencil on her small, university desk. You’d think with how much they charge for tuition they could afford bigger personal desks. Lucy sighed, looking to the people on either side of her. A boy to her right with black hair spiked into a messy look was leaned back in his seat, earbuds in and seemingly trying to count the number of tiles on the ceiling. Either that or he was muttering to himself, which wasn’t entirely impossible. The girl to her left was trying to focus on the dull lecture the professor had broken into, but there just seemed to be a random pattern of scribbles on the side of her lined paper. More than Lucy had written down anyway. Lucy looked down to the front of the room, grateful she had found a desk in the back. The room was full of students like herself, trying unsuccessfully to pay attention to his speech, the monotone lesson on feminism in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein already claiming a number of students as victims to it’s sleep inducing drone. As least at the back she wouldn’t disturb anyone with her snoring.

Lucy’s phone gave a soft buzz, startling her from nearly dozing off. She really needed to be paying attention, regardless of the fact that she had already chosen the book as her main report subject, and had already read, re-read, and analyzed every line in the damn book. Releasing a loud sigh, Lucy hit the home button and her lock screen lit up, showing a text message with the name Natsu Dragneel above it. Quickly unlocking her phone, Lucy read the short text and rolled her eyes at her boyfriend’s whining.

N- Luuccyyyyy I’m bored

Quickly tapping a reply Lucy relocked her phone, barely setting it on the desk before it buzzed again.

L- And I’m in class

N- Come hooooommeeeee :D

Keep reading


Originally posted by ji-min

◇ Colour means so much to Yuta, much more than meets the eye.

◇ Yuta x reader

◇ soulmate!au

◇ ???? This is like 3k words also 500 followers?? What??? Omg guys let me love u thank u so much, it feels like just yesterday i wrote a scenario to celebrate 400 followers ;u;


Grey upon black upon white upon grey. That was the faith thrown upon every person who had not found their soulmate. You were born looking into a monochrome world, you grew up learning about colours you’d never seen before.

Yuta had no idea what was so beautiful about colour. He didn’t get why his mother would describe his skin tone as beautifully golden. He didn’t know why his brother told him he has vivid chestnut brown hair. The grass was described as a bright, nice green and the sky varied, apparently.

He was in no hurry to find his soulmate. He had things to be worrying about - the upcoming football tournament, finals, his friends… His soulmate - and colour - could wait.

“Yuta!” Somebody calls - Yuta is flung from his reverie, gasping slightly as if he’s only learned how to breath. Blinking, he turns from staring out of the window, the tall trees turning to a dull classroom filled with chattering students, all rising from their seats and grabbing their bags to walk to lunch.

“Hey,” Johnny frowns, waving a hand in front of his friend’s face, “What’s with you?”

Inhaling deeply, Yuta shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, as if the idea was completely alien to him, fumbling with his books and shoving them into his bag,“This class is boring, is all.”

Yuta doesn’t think Johnny’s bought it, but his friend shrugs anyway, standing from where he was leaning against a desk and patting his shoulder encouragingly, strolling towards the door of the empty classroom.

“Whatever - just be on the ball for Friday!” The football pun makes Yuta cringe, laughing at the pure cheesiness of it, but he bites his lip, pushing out from his desk with his supplies and running after his friend.


“What if I meet my soulmate when I’m 80?” Jaehyun rants worriedly, the normally ‘manly’ man’s breath quickening as he shoves chopstick after chopstick of rice into his mouth, not even registering the taste of the steaming stew he was spooning into himself. “I - I can’t wait that long, man. Call me impatient, but-”

“Honestly,” Yuta scoffs loudly, leaning on his elbow boredly and taking in the image of his anxious friend who had turned to him. “What’s so great about colour? Or a soulmate? I’ve lived all my life so far without both of them, and I’m completely fine - and you will be, too, when you finally realize that you don’t need some stupid soulmate to make your life amazing.”

He doesn’t realize the whole table had gone completely silent at the end of his bitter speech until he looks up, a piece of chicken in his mouth. “What?”

Taeyong frowns at him, pushing his strawberry milk over to Winwin while shaking his head at Yuta. The blonde has that condescending look on his face that means he’s going to lecture somebody - Yuta must’ve offended him with his ‘soulmates are pointless’ rant. “I feel sorry for you, really.”

“Why?” Yuta narrows his eyes, raising an eyebrow challengingly, as if daring him to try and change his mind, “Because I don’t need somebody to complete me?”

“You don’t get it,” Taeyong groans in exasperation, “Having a soulmate isn’t about being completed, idiot. It’s about having somebody who will compliment your personality and help you get better as a person. The colour just comes with them - and it helps you identify them.”

He shakes his head. “Before I met Winwin, my grades were falling and I was barely scraping an F. I got detention every day. Now, I’m getting As easily, and I haven’t been in detention for the last few months!”

Yuta glowers at the sight of a blushing Winwin, stealing loving glances at Taeyong and sipping at the strawberry milk in an attempt to hide the bouqet of redness that had spread over his cheeks - or, at least he thinks it’s redness. He’s been told that the darker shade of gray spreading over a person’s face was called a blush, and that it was ‘red’.

Huffing, he pushes away his empty lunch tray and slips off of the benches, muttering a ‘whatever’ as he storms away.

He knows what was said was true. But Nakamoto Yuta is a stubborn boy, and he pushes the reassuring words from his brain as he angrily shoves books into his locker.


Yuta cared about football more than he cared about colour. Well, that was easy to guess, due to the fact that the stubborn boy cared about almost everything more than colour.

Football was comfort. Football was familiarity. It was adrenaline coursing through his veins, the grass beneath his feet, sharp breaths erupting from his lungs and shouts from the many people who would watch. It was seeing shades of black and gray and white whipping passed his face as he sprinted towards the goal, football expertly being steered towards the white goalpost.

Yuta doesn’t know where his fear of the unknown had sprouted from, not unlike a pesky weed that he couldn’t rid himself of. Maybe it was when he was 5, and he was informed that there was somebody in the world who could make him see something called ‘colour’. Maybe it was when he first started playschool with no friends and only a love for football, or maybe it was when he moved away from Japan and to Korea with his family, only a gentle grasp on the language and culture.

Yuta was normally confident - he knew how to deal with trivial things, like learning a new language or talking to new people. He’s used to it. But this - this, this colour - and the person who could bring it to him - they were both uncharted territory, and Yuta didn’t like that. He wasn’t fond of the idea of a person having so much control over him, a person who had the power to change his whole life.

They could be scared, too, the reasoning voice in Yuta’s head advises. You have the power to make them see colour as well. So why are you so reluctant? Why are you so scared?

The sound of frustration that escapes him echoes throughout the fresh air surrounding him. Why was he so scared? He didn’t want to admit it, but maybe - just maybe, he insists to himself - he doesn’t want to get hurt. Like he’s seen so many times before.


“How was school?” Yuta’s mother greets him from the kitchen, the delicious smell of dinner wafting through the house and making his mouth water.

“Fine,” he replies casually, slipping his bag off and pattering up the stairs to take off his uniform. The conversation from earlier echoes in his head over and over again like a broken record. After taking out his homework, he accidentally spends at least 10 minutes doodling on his desk - a closer look at the seemingly meaningless doodles showcase swirly words, intertwining with each other - red, green, blue, purple, orange, pink, yellow.

He brushes it off as his mind wandering, not bothering to think about why his mind would be shoving the thought of colours and soulmates to the front of his train of thought. He slips downstairs for dinner, hoping that the delicious food would prove a distraction, but even he knows that’ll be hard.

Yuta’s mother is beautiful. Really, she is. On the inside and out. She cooks, she’s smart and kind. Yuta has no idea why his father would leave her.

When Yuta was a baby, it happened. The soulmate bond started weakening, as it usually did with old age - but instead of working to strengthen the bond, as most did, his parents seemed to fall apart at the seams. His father stayed in Japan and the rest of his immediate family travelled to Korea after a few years, and he witnessed the light drain slowly from his mother’s eyes.

Her colours were draining from her. As the last of her love for his father was swept away with the wind, her colours, her amazing, vibrant colours, were leaving. Yuta never wanted to be in a position where his life is changed, eyes bursting with colour and happiness and love, and suddenly it’s snatched away from him. Suddenly, it’s like he never found the one person who’s made for him - and suddenly, all the hope is flung from your mind.

It was hard to say something so harsh and inconsiderate, especially with her sitting directly across from him, laughing gently at something his older brother had said - but Yuta didn’t want to end up like his mother. And he didn’t want to be his father, either.


Ji Hansol had always been Yuta’s best friend. He was a dork, but he was shy in front of others and he was convinced that he was a ‘real man’, all because he had picked up a bug one time and hadn’t burst out crying. Yuta wasn’t sure if he hated or loved the bond he shared with him - especially now.

“What d'you mean you’re scared?” Hansol frowns, leaning back with his tilted towards the beaming sun. It’s Thursday, one day before the big football game that Yuta was participating in, and the day Yuta finally came to terms with what was wrong with him.

It had taken a lot of meditation and self-reflection to realise that he was just scared. Yuta was stubborn, and had a fierce pride. He liked to prove everybody wrong, even himself, and trying to finally listen to his subconscious had taken a lot of will power and thought.

“About - about the soulmate thing,” Yuta lowered his voice, peering around for anyone who might be lurking, even though him and Hansol were the only two people on the rooftop. “I think that’s why I got so irritated the other day.”

Hansol sits up fully, and Yuta’s not sure if he appreciates the intimidating stature of his friend or if it makes him even more nervous and ashamed to talk so openly about his feelings. “Go on.”

Yuta shakes his head, sighing deeply and running a hand through his chestnut hair. “I - you know how it went with my parents. I told you before. And I don’t want that to be me - I don’t want to be my parents.”

Hansol shrugs as if his answer is the simplest thing in the universe. “Then don’t. Be yourself.” Yuta stares at him for a second. On one hand, the advice was so vague that it was stupid - but on the other hand, it was just easy enough for Yuta to consider.

“That… was surprisingly helpful,” Yuta murmurs, narrowing his eyes in fake suspicion and making his friend snort quietly.

“What exactly were you expecting?” Hansol questions, sighing as he stretches his arms above his head, abruptly standing from the stone bench they had been seated on after taking a sharp glance at the metal watch on his slender wrist. “Come on, lunch’ll be over in ten minutes.”

Yuta is almost glad that he almost missed lunch, because that stone in the pit of his stomach has dissolved, and he feels as if he can finally breath easily.


Football has never been your favorite sport - not at all. You didn’t get what was so appealing about kicking a ball of air and leather around, but to each their own, you guess.

Your dislike for football doesn’t seem to faze your older brother, who insists that you travel 20 minutes by bus just to see him play a neighbouring school. You want to object, really, you do, but the team goes for pizza after every game, and that’s something you’d travel 20 minutes alone for.

And so you spend 20 minutes staring out of the window of a bus, earphones plugged into your ears as you watch the monochrome world pass you by.

You’ve always wondered what it’d be like to see colour. To see the various shades of something other than gray, to discover the ugliness and the beauty of the vibrant colours, to find what was associated with what and what complimented you.

And when you wondered abour colour, you wondered about your soulmate. Who were they? A girl, boy, tall, short, thick, thin, sad, happy? Were they even in Korea? Would they be happy to see you as much as you’d be happy to see them? You felt impatient and needy seeing other couples walk around happily, the world available to them in colour but they were only focused on the world cuddled in their arms.

You wanted that. God, you wanted it so bad that your heart ached if you though about it for too long. You wanted, craved, needed somebody that you could love as much as they (hopefully) loved you. You wanted to point out colours to them, to experience each one together and have the type of love that would never die out.

Your daydream has you in the clouds as you step off of the bus at what you think is the right spot, pulling out your earphones as you start to stride towards the tall school - or, more specifically, the pitch beside it.

The stands are already filled with people by the time you get there, but luckily you’re spotted by a hyperactive member of your brother’s team, who smiles excitedly and grabs your hand, yanking you through crowds of people to the front of the stands, where the subs were sitting and conversing with some people from the other team that were sitting on the benches directly beside them.

You’re placed closest to the other team’s bench, fiddling awkwardly with your earphones and hoping nobody can see the discomfort rising in your body. You’re praying that the game will start soon so that you can focus on something other than your earphone and you won’t be forced to partake in awkward conversations.

“_____!” You hear your name, your head whipping towards the sound - your brother is running towards you, a smile painted on his face st the sight of you. “You came after all.”

“Well, you know me,” you tease as he stops in front of you, “I can’t turn down free food.” He narrows his eyes, a sarcastic laugh coming from him as he shakes his head.

“Funny, really. Well, the game’s about to start, so watch well, okay?” He raises his eyebrows, not waiting for you to reply before he was turning and running onto the pitch with the rest of the players.

Sighing, you vaguely wonder if this was a good idea - but it’s too late, and you covertly slip an earphone into your ear while you inspect the football match with a slight interest. It’s easy to spot your brother’s teammates among the other school’s players, with their light gray gear. However, even with the bright clothing, your attention is focused on the other team.

Or, specifically, Nakamoto. That’s his last name, his number is 7, and his gear is a darker shade of gray, but not as dark as his ruffled hair and furrowed eyebrows - you can see him, even from here, arms pumping as he twists his leg expertly around the leg of another player - your brother -, the ball suddenly in his possession before you can realize.

Maybe he feels your eyes on him, maybe he feels the need to take a look around with the ball so easily being kicked towards his destination, but his head snaps over to where you’re sitting - and suddenly his eyes are on yours. And they - they aren’t black, or gray, or white. They’re warm, and comforting, and you have no idea how to explain the colour of them, but they just are.

There’s a gasp heard throughout the crowd as Nakamoto stumbles, tumbling to the ground with his eyes wide open - he’s staring around him in wonder, ignoring the hands that are shaking him, ignoring the ball that had rolled away, ignoring the players asking if he’s okay - what happened, you were doing great?

But he’s not listening. He mutters something to the referee, who nods in understanding, pushing him off the field and sending in another person. Yuta doesn’t even notice - he’s too busy taking in the pure beauty that surrounds him.

The colour radiating from the sun can only be described as warmth - enveloping him and everyone else in its presence. He almost stops in the middle of the field to take in the colours bleeding into dull gray around him. The grass is such a bright, happy colour. He understands why it was called vivid, now.

As he collapses onto the steel bench next to the other subs, he doesn’t want to blink. He’s missed out on this - at one point, he feared this - but now he can’t get enough of it. He feels almost greedy, bis eyes feeding off the vibrant colours and flickering back and forth between everything. So caught up in his need to ingest all of the colours properly, his soulmate almost slips his mind.

The benches look so much more different than they did when they were dull grey. The colours are molding together but sharp and in contrast to each other. Yuta almost finds it hard to spot you - but when he does, trust me, he does.

You’re not too far, but Yuta’s sure it’s you - he hopes it’s you. He feels his heart pound as he notices the way your wide eyes are trying to take in everything around you. He worms himself in between the space between the two benches, raising his hand to tap on your shoulder nervously.

You jump a bit, and it makes Yuta flinch. God, he’s so nervous he has to stop his hand from shaking, especially as you finally face him, your cheeks flushed with 'red’. Your eyes widen, and you open your mouth to say something, buy nothing comes out.

“I - I’m Yuta,” he greets awkwardly, trying to smile in a friendly manner to calm your nerves (even though his own nerves were through the roof). “A - and you are?”

“I - I’m _____ ,” you breathe, yanking your earphone out of your ear to give him your full attention. The air is awkward but you’re ecstatic, especially when he gives you a bright smile.

“Not a fan of football?” He questions, making you stutter to answer his question. Your reaction has him chuckling, his own cheeks heating up in a blush. He already feels himself emerge from the nervous and cold shell he was surrounded by whenever he was anywhere except with his friends. Taeyong’s words really hit him at that moment.

“You know,” he bites his lip, staring down at you bashfully, “One of my friends said that a soulmate balances you out. And I think that can’t be anymore true.” Your face is confused but at the sight of Yuta, looking so perfectly loving and shy, you bite your lip to contain the squeal welling up inside you.


Yuta understands what colour is now. Colour is the warm yellow of the sun setting over your skin, his arms wrapped around you and kissing your forehead. Colour is the bright green grass underneath his feet when he plays football, your encouraging sounds making him even more persistent to win. Colour is the red that spreads over your cheeks when he kisses you suddenly, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

Colour is the way your fingers tangle in his brown hair as you press your lips to his - colour is the blue of the sky you’re looking into, it’s the orange of a flower tucked behind your ear.

Colour is love, and emotion, and memories - and Yuta doesn’t know why he was so scared of it.

Retconned: Chapter Three

I don’t own anything but the fanfic!

Toby Fox owns Undertale, Goth @Nekophy, Palette: @angexci . Error/Geno/fresh @loverofpiggies  Reaper:@renrink Retconned Goth… well i own this version. Underswap!Sans by Popcornp1nce.  Dream by @jokublog Cross!Sans and Cross!Chara by @jakei95

The first time Blueberry met Goth, he thought Error had kidnapped a new victim. The small eternal child had thought it was hilarious when Blue had grabbed him and tried to escape.

Goth would admit his humour was a bit twisted after living with Error.

“Wow, if you hadn’t shown me your house i would have never have found it in my wondering,” Blueberry said as he wondered the small cozy house smack dab in the anti-void.

Of course Blueberry’s stomach rumbled as this time he’d been kidnapped just before lunch.

“The kitchens this way,” Goth grinned.

Of course the always energetic Blueberry Sans, quickly noticed certain missing supplies.

“Where’s you taco supplies?” he asked.

“Ah… I haven’t learned to make those yet, but I might have the things needed in the basement food storage,” Goth said thoughtful.

‘No taco supplies… sacrilege’ Blueberry thought.

“Wait… how does a house in the anti-void have a basement?” he asked, after all how would one dig through nothing to build it and not see it from the outside.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Goth asked totally innocently.

Goth only caused the kitchen to burn once.

Then Cross appeared and stole all the tacos.


“Blue.. are you in?” a voice asked, the small Sans blinked as he recognized the voice.

“Come on in Dream, I was only about to make dinner,” Blues called, moments later Dream entered the kitchen a small frown on his face.

“Um… I have some questions about Error, we all had an interesting confrontation with him,” Dream said.

“Error huh, been three months since the last kidnapping… have a few more till the next one, Blues said frowning, sighing he turned off the stove knowing this might take awhile.

“Wait… you have kidnapping scheduled?” Dream said wide eyed at him.

“Only for the last five years, easier for no one to be killed and to see Gothy,” Blues said cheerfully.

“Would… Gothy… be a small skeleton kid that looks a lot like Geno and Reaper with a scythe and can travel in the anti-void?” Dream asked.

“Yeah, didn’t you know. Goth’s been living in the anti-void for years. Error’s really protective about him, since leaving the anti-void too long will kill him,” Blues said, really Goth was such a sweet shy kid… he just wished Goth could chance leaving the void often.

“Die?” Dream said surprised.

Blues looked down at the floor for a moment, he didn’t know what had happened to Goth to make him end up pretty much trapped there to survive… and from the look on Error’s face that day when he started to ask.. he had decided h didn’t want to know.

“Its, not for me to say. Ask Goth,” Blue said, then turned on the stove and proceeded to ignore his friend… sometimes it was best to have some secrets.


A slightly tired Goth yawned and rapped a wondering hand away from his dinner, he glared at Cross who was pouting at the taco’s.

“Come on Cross, go make your own food… this is why I can never make Taco’s anymore,” Goth said glaring, his form shifted to fell his self more prone to violence.

“Aw come on… just one, i even got a gift for you,” Cross bribed.

-Hey! I picked them out- the every ghostly Cross!Chara protested, Goth suppressed a shiver wishing once again he hadn’t gained the ability to see the other part of Cross. Chara of course thought it sweet, after all ne had someone else other then Cross to tease.

“Gifts,” Goth said form shifting to Canon Goths form, he absently pushed two Taco’s to the other skeleton and happily received a wrapped box.

“Ohhhh!” Goth said opening it, new clothing that didn’t match anything any of his selves had ever worn.

“Be right back!” Goth said and raced to his room to try it on.

Cross grabbed the rest of the Taco’s happily.


Goth liked the clothing even if how every different they looked from what he always wore, but eh supposed that something different was the point. His scarf was still around his neck but tucked under a white hood shawl combo with a golden orb/disk dangling down the front.

His shirt underneath was a very very light grey that tucked into large fingerless gloved with red ribbons around part of it and handing off them. Pants were white and tucked into white boots with yellow-gold edged tops and a small gold disk on the front of them.

‘Could use more Black’ Goth thought, after all he’d been wearing black since his uncle dressed him that day.

The clothing felt weird against his bones, and if it wasn’t for the red and gold bits he could probably almost blend into the antivoid.

“Whats this..” he said spotting something under where the clothing had been gold in colour… and glowing?

Quickly he grabbed it up and stared, it was a lantern and in its centre glowing was a save point.

How the heck did Cross get a save point?