#<== he collects cards for the pretty art

[pawzunyan]

i got some ok pokemon go cards. but not alot of pretty cards of pokemon i like alot... oh well. maybe next time

[dittydipity]

my legends arceus card collection so far bc i miss pla a lot

bonus nimbasa trio graded cards bc i love them very much

[skydigiblogs]

y'all bandai themselves is assigning me with the apocalymon autism

[ID: A photo of a someone holding a copy of the parallel art of Apocalymon from the Exceed Apocalypse expansion of the Digimon Card Game. The alt art depicts Apocalymon's humanoid body with an intense expression. The card itself is in a gold sleeve.]

we only bought four packs (the first time we have bought packs since 2021) and this was the last card in the last pack

we're getting the whole pizza with this one fellas

[sh1-n0bu]

✿ 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙘𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙥𝙩2 ✿

characters: penacony men x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, slight angst, poor attempt at comedy, slight spoilers for some character story and 2.2 penacony quest, injury and blood mention

notes: another popular demand! this time with more cat bois!!! part 1 can be found here! tho this can be read as its own part too. genshin boys ver is here!

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

you just can’t keep yourself away from taking in random strays that are an absolute shit to you huh, [name]?

his breed? orange. that’s it, that’s the breed, what more do you want me to say? jk but he’s still orange. american shorthair orange me thinks. friendly, adaptable, easygoing, playful, good with children and other pets — a perfect american shorthair orange

you first found the poor thing at the streets, hiding under a vehicle, too scared to come out or any approaching humans. sweet cat had a broken limb, holding the dangling paw to his chest as he pathetically meowed

thankfully, you managed to scoop the orange cat up into your arms, wrapped up in your coat before rushing him to the nearest vet

since then, nyanturine has made his progress to be your next addition to an ever growing collection of cats

a strangely crow like cat. nyanturine likes shiny, expensive things. shiny rocks? his. shiny clothes? his. material that glitters? his. expensive earrings and diamonds? his. expensive jewelries? his. everything shiny and expensive that the orange cat lays his eyes upon is his now. pretty please, [name] buy him that earring for him to play with?

out of every cats at home — you sure your home isn’t a daycare for cats? — nyanturine gets along the most with dr.nyatio and occasionally with nyelt. the orange and brown cats can be found chatting away, peacefully settled on the windowsill

not so surprisingly, nyanturine is chatty as every orange cats are, except he needs to get used to the human first before turning into a yapper. with you, it only took a week spent in your arms for nyanturine to get used to your presence

just sit him beside you on the table behind his own mini computer with one of his favorite shiny earrings laid before him while you do your work on your own computer and nyanturine will be chatting your ear off in a storm. though, his yapping sometimes tends to irritate the other cats. dr.nyatio being one of them as you watched the bigger cat jump into the table before smacking nyanturine over the head with his paw

you were pretty sure you witnessed an attempted homicide between cats that day…

surprisingly, nyanturine also likes games! card games, poker, monopoly, uno. don’t ask how but somehow you once got bested by your damn cat when nyanturine placed down +10 on you at uno. you nearly ended up behind bars if it weren’t for meow yuan’s big floofy body holding you down—

he will push all of the tokens in front of him towards the table with a meow. sometimes, you swear you can hear “all in!” in his meows but maybe that’s the ghosts in your home talking

out of every cats you housed and still do till this day, nyanturine has the most unique eyes. cyan blue on the inside fading out into a pinkish hue. when asking about it from the vets, all they could do was shrug and say it could perhaps be a very unique ocular albinism or dna mutation. either way, your cats are a fucking model

nyanturine loves the mini fedora hat you made for him as a joke. wears it nearly everyday, every time, anywhere unless he accidentally knocks it over when zooming around the house

a solid kitty if you can get behind the creepy gloving of his eyes in the dark and his tendency to win against you in every poker games

art credit goes to nasuka_gee on twt!

you first found dr.nyatio by… huh? whatchu mean you didn’t found him? you’re telling me he just waltzed his ass inside your home one day through the window and has been making himself one of the many feline bosses of the house just like that? you sure dr.nyatio isn’t anyone else’s cat? [name]? [name], answer me…

well… whatever floats your boat i guess…

the most sassiest out of all of the fucking cats and that is saying something because you literally have nyan heng and meow yuan

a bengal, me thinks. snow lynx type of marbled tan and brown bengal. a smart piece of shit and he knows it, always yapping your ears off about a certain topic. more specifically, anything to do with algorithm, geometry etc etc

but compared to nyanturine and meowhill, dr.nyatio only ever yaps about those topics and those topics only. oddly enough, he kind of reminds you of one of those annoying lecturers at your old university…

very very curious cat. what’s up there? why are you late? what did you bring? what’s inside your bag? why do you smell so different?

pause.

why do you smell so different, [name]? where have you been? who have you been with? why are you later than usual, [name]? [name] answer him. answer dr.nyatio right now before he loses his shit—

oddly likes bathing time compared to the other cats. though, dr.nyatio is a diva when it cones to taking his baths. the water must be lukewarm, not too full so when he sits in the bathtub, the water will be around his low chest area. the bath must have bubbles and those cute yellow ducks floating around or he will not step inside the bathroom

do you think of him as a low class cat? how dare you, [name]

yeah… safe to say that dr.nyatio spends more money on shampoo, hair treatment than you do

gets along with every cats actually. other than nyanturine. the two tend to scuffle sometimes. and sometimes, you can find dr.nyatio just yapping away to the other cats while he points at… an encyclopedia? since when and where did he drag that out from?

dr.nyatio has an odd hyper fixation and obsession with ancient greek things. anything related to them and the cat is not leaving the site or the front of the screen, patiently watching and listening to the documentary about ancient greek and its architectures and impact in the field of mathematics

once, you decided to bring him along to your local clay making club for shits and giggles, making a mini ionic order pillars and he fucking loved it. loves to sit in the middle of the curved placed pillars and have his pictures taken like a model

dr.nyatio also loves the cute cat helmet like thing you made for him from plastic diy materials. it works as something akin to a mask for him and the bengal loves wearing it whenever you have to step outside with him

once, one of your friends who came over at your home asked you why you named dr.nyatio that way

“is he a doctor or something? what field is his research then?” they asked, unknowingly opening a jar of worms upon themselves. you simply opened up dr.nyatio’s favorite encyclopedia in front of your friend as the bengal cat takes his place, starting to yap up a storm as the cat points to random parts of the book

after a good hour or two, your friend turned to you for help, quietly coming to regret their decision. dr.nyatio didn’t take that kindly, smacking your friend’s face back to focus on him with his soft paw before continuing

yep. doctor veritas nyatio, everyone

“meaw! [name], mrrp ammmeow mrrep mrrya! you will refer to me as doctor and doctor alone!”

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

a very demanding grey korat breed of cat, mr.meowday is

he isn’t much talkative nor is he much affectionate. but what meowday is, demanding and loves control. you once asked your local vet for advice after months of the grey korat telling you exactly how to make his food, which kibbles to buy etc etc and the vet simply reassured you with a “korat breed of cats tend to be a bit demanding and intelligent. they love to be in charge so don’t worry” and a pat on the back

yeah… you have yourself another demanding cat that loves to make you his human slave alongside dr.nyatio. don’t you think you have enough cats reigning over you in your own home now, [name]?

you adopted the poor thing from a shelter near your workplace when you heard the poor thing constantly crying out. when asking the shelter workers, they said that the cat tends to do that at random hours of the day, just calling out for attention from someone or a certain something

taking pity on the poor lonely korat sitting in the corner of his cage with his back to the world, you decided to adopt him, making yet another dumb decision

really loves sundays for that is one of the days that you have time to spend the whole day at home with the cats. and you also love to dub the last day of the week as ‘lazy day’ and therefore, you decided to name him after it. meowday, he was since then

still, even after months of living with you and the other cats, meowday still sits on the window sling, meowing out for someone or something as he wistfully stares out the window. poor cat… you’re still having some problem trying to understand what was the problem and why meowday would do that so you can at least comfort the poor thing

one day while you were showing your co-workers who loves cats as well of your cats and landed on meowday. seeing the grey, elegant korat, your co-worker asked over and over if that really was your cat

you nodded with a furrowed brows, finding it odd that your co-worker would ask such questions. until they whipped out their phone, scrolling through their gallery before showing you… an eerily similar korat

same shade of eyes, same pose, same elegant manner — you would nearly mistake it for your own cat if it weren’t for the slight shade of white grey of your co-worker’s cat fur

a korat as well. from the same animal shelter you adopted meowday too!

after careful consideration and a lot of talk, you two decided to let the two felines meet on the weekends to see if they are perhaps lost siblings, parents or anything along the lines

finally, the day arrives and your co-worker comes over. a carrying bag slung over their shoulder as they step inside. meowday could barely care for your human companion coming over, it happens all the time and he had grown used to the presence of visitors unlike some of the other cats

until he hears a soft meow that sounded eerily similar to his sister. whipping his head around, meowday nearly broke his paws due to his sudden rough landing from the window sling, practically zooming over before tackling the smaller korat to the floor

sad yet happy meows coming from meowday, grooming the other cats’ face with loud constant meows. you were pretty sure that your co-worker’s cat was meowday’s sibling now

ever since then, the grey korat constantly scratches at your feet, doing his utmost best to silently ask you to let him see his sister again, nearly everyday. please just allow him to see his sister, he had dearly missed her. please, he will be a good kitty! the best kitty in the house!

meowday could barely go a day without glooming if he doesn’t see his sister, and so you and your co-worker arranged a weekly meetings and a video call everyday to allow the siblings to meow to each other through the screen

art credit goes to Flambo_19 on twt!

is it a mini panther? is it a dog? no! it’s just your one of the most chillest cats, gallagnya

he’s a havana brown like nyelt— wait a minute, what do you mean he wasn’t a havan brown like nyelt? you sure you got it correctly? the fur sample? huh…?

“gallagnya is actually a bombay cat. brown bombay” you can hear the vet on the phone, your face immediately going pale at the news of what breed gallagnya truly has been all this time as the said cat stares at you with a “mhm. that’s right” face from the kitchen counter

why? what was the reason you were suddenly going pale you ask? you were so sure that gallagnya was another havana brown like nyelt and has been feeding him nyelt’s kibbles for havana brown. in simpler terms, you’ve been feeding gallagnya the wrong kibbles

very wrong kibbles

but don’t worry, gallagnya is a chill cat and he immediately forgave you with a lick to your forehead the next day you came home crying with a bunch of treats and the correct kibbles for the shaggy, brown cat

gallagnya isn’t exactly a mean cat but he enjoyed the look of jealousy and anger on the other cats’ face as you pampered him day in and out for giving him the wrong kibbles. the bombay cat secretly hoped that you spent a little bit longer without knowing his exact breed so you could pamper him more. eh, oh well

the main reason your vet had a hard time finding out exactly what breed he was is because bombay cats aren’t the most easiest to spot or find out. it’s a bit hard to detect them and their breed since they are a human bred cat breed

but at least you have another big cat! third biggest cat after lion like meow yuan and cheetah like nyepard. safe to say you feel safe as hell whenever you go out for a quick walk with your three big cats

another funny thing about the story between you and gallagnya is that… you genuinely don’t know where the fuck the large cat came from. did he follow you home? did he slip in through the open window one day and made himself home? who knows. not you

at least gallagnya is chill. and nice. gets along well with basically every cat except for mr.meowday— “WOOF!”

“eh, it’s probably just the neighbor’s dog going out for a walk in the hallways of the apartment—“

“WOOF!” before you could finish your little excuse for the barking you just heard, you feel the heavy big body of gallagnya pounce on top of you on the bed, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs

… great. not only do you have hundreds of cats inside your home, three of them being nearly as big as predator wildlife animals, you have to worry about the third biggest cat being a barker rather than a meower

when and where the fuck did gallagnya even learned to bark rather than meow anyways? eh, that’s a question for you to find out next morning. right now, you were too damn tired and your bed was a siren that you willingly gave yourself to

you did not found out the answer to that question the next morning. even the vets were weirded out by it since, although bombay cats are indeed seen as dog-like with their playful and friendly nature, they never cane across one that literally barked like a dog

well… at least you can scare people away with gallagnya’s barks…?

art credit goes to Hanres4 on twt!

the siamese mom in me wants to say that meowhill would be a siamese, but the logical brain in me is shouting TUXEDO CAT

and yes, meowhill is indeed a tuxedo cat. one that just won’t shut up and leave you alone

going to the bathroom? let him come along and get real political while lying on the bathroom rugs while you take a shit

leaving for the convenience store? just let him stay on your shoulder while he yaps your ears off about which seasoning to pick— no, screwubaBOO THE KOREAN SOY SAUCE TASTES BETTER ON BARBECUE!

staying home and trying to type up your work on the computer? you have a free proofreader for you who wouldn’t hesitate to meow your ears off and point at some of the things you wrote. he will even sit on your keyboard

due to his yapper nature, meowhill tends to irritate some of the cats. especially those who love their peace and quiet and staying silent

which is a huge surprise whenever you find the mischievous tuxedo cat constantly beside nyan heng, the poor black manx looking dreadful as he allows meowhill to yap his ears off. you did not wanted to get entangled nor did you go over and wanted to hear what meowhill was yapping about

meowhill also gets along with nyagenti! the two cats seem to share a past together as when you first brought meowhill home, the tuxedo cat went straight first to the elegant norweigan forest cat

ah right, speaking of bringing meowhill in…

you found the poor thing with a rotted paws and bad burn wounds. poor little thing was burnt so badly it was hard to tell the color of his fur and he kept yowling in pain when you wrapped your coat around him to rush him to the nearest vet

sadly, his front two legs were badly broken and injured and had no way of recovering. and so, the vets had no other choice but to put him under anesthetic to cut off his front two legs and replace them with prosthetics

due to the nature of his injuries, meowhill required a lot of your and the other cats’ attention. recovering from losing both of his front legs and the nasty burn wounds is a long journey and meowhill needed the support from his new human friend and fellow felines

after a long and sometimes painful 2 months, meowhill had made a full recovery! the tuxedo cat’s fur grew back and he had gotten used to walking and sprinting on his prosthetic legs. you never realized how much of an energetic cat he was until you broke the news that he made a full recovery

though, like meowday, meowhill has a slight problem of constantly sitting on the window sling and meowing out the window. why? you didn’t know

is very protective of little nyanqing. you can find the tuxedo constantly nagging meow yuan and stealing meow yuan’s little cub away from him. holding the tiny munchkin by his scruff and taking him away to dote on the little cream cat somewhere in the house

it wasn’t until you took the tuxedo cat out for a shopping in the pet essentials store as a congratulations for making full recovery and the tuxedo immediately latched onto a tiny, white kitten plush did you connect the dots

poor thing had a kitten before…

you bought the white kitten plush for him of course. you don’t have the heart to wrench it away from him

making a trip back to where you originally found meowhill, you couldn’t find anything much other than an old, burnt, red scarf. you made an exact same replica of the mini scarf in secret and gave it to meowhill for his birthday gift, wrapping the soft silk around his neck snuggly before wrapping the same scarf around the plushie

ever since then, meowhill has been deathly clingy with you and the plushie. there isn’t a single day or night where you won’t see meowhill without the white plushie, grooming it, cuddling with it and taking it with him by the scruff of the kitten plushie

art credit goes to helen_zzhao on ig!

an elegant norweigan forest cat! is his fur, brown? burgundy? red? no one knows!

nyagenti is such a beautiful cat that he competes with meow yuan in their beauty level whenever you take them out on a walk. everyone wants to pet the elegant kitties and it doesn’t help that meow yuan and nyagenti are both such gentle kitties

gets along with every cats! anyone! your friends that came over for a game night, the sitters when you need to be away for a few days of business trip, the neighbors — everyone! nyagenti has no enemies

out of everyone, nyagenti gets along best with nyelt, nyan heng and meowhill. meowhill and nyagenti used to share a past it seemed as the two cats hit it off right away while the norweigan forest cat got used to the presence of nyan heng and nyelt very quickly

tends to yap sometimes — more like pray to someone or something — but isn’t as bad as meowhill or nyaturine

doesn’t really mind bath times but he prefers grooming more than bath times. he has a beautiful long fur and they’re very dense and thick so it takes the whole day for him to finally become dry so, please let’s just settle on grooming? he can bring over the brushes for you!

a very big gift giver! shiny jewels, pretty leaves that just fell, nice shaped rocks, cockroaches— nope. nuh-uh. you are NOT getting cockroaches as a gift even though the thought is swee— OH MY GOD HE DROPPED THE COCKROACH ON YOUR BED!!!1!1!

yeah… your friend looks at you as if you’ve finally lost your mind when they came over one day and saw hundreds of rat poisons, bug and insect killing sprays just racked on your shelf like you’re gonna sell them. in return you simply deadpanned back and pointed at nyagenti who already had another cockroach in his mouth

how did you ended up having nyagenti? who knows. at this point you gave up on trying to keep track of how, when, where you got your cats from. he probably just made himself known in your house one day and you simply accepted the sign from cat distribution system no.195826592649

such a gentlemanly cat. you joke that he can kiss the back of your hand to the guests and guess what? one day, nyagenti actually did do that. the look on the guest’s face will forever live rent free in your mind

really likes red roses for some reason. thankfully, roses aren’t toxic to cats unlike some other flowers such as lily, daffodil, hyacinths but nyagenti’s love for red roses nearly borderlines on obsession in a sense

when asking the vet if there could be any reason or explanation for this, they simply patted your back, told you that you had a tendency to attract weird cats and shooed you out. not fully, but they lowkey did that and said “roses have a nice scent that tends to attract cats or dogs. they might end up taking a bite from the flower but it isn’t poisonous or toxic, so no need to worry”

still, you’re getting tired of constantly living with red rose petals thrown everywhere in your house. so much so you have gotten used to it and just decided to leave it be. if your friend comes over and sees the rose petals as something romantical, you simply shove nyagenti into their faces

unlike the other cats, nyagenti isn’t the most clingy or affectionate cat. though, that isn’t to say he is cold and distant, he does love you! but he just shows it in small ways and in quiet manners

bringing over his brush for you to help him groom his beautiful thick fur, waking you up gently in the morning with soft meows and gentle licks, even knowing to turn on the AC on a warm temperature after your shower because you always come out shivering

and he is definitely the one who leaves the fresh red roses on your bedside nightstand every morning you wake up

[hadersversion]

i had a long day but obviously there’s only one thing on my mind….if you guessed logan howlett, you’re correct! but if you guessed old man! logan, i owe ya a scratchy on friday ;)

but….

imagine old man! logan and a librarian! reader.

logan, laura, and charles moved out into the countryside in oregon. settling down in a nice cabin in the woods, town being a few miles away.

you lived nearby, all by your lonesome. you worked in town at the local library. charles brought laura in the one day, searching for some old book that you’re pretty sure they stopped printing in the 70s…but you didn’t want to let the old geezer down so you did some digging. you watched as laura walked around the building, eyes open in awe. it’s almost like she’s never seen a library before. she stopped in front of a child’s chapter book collection, eyeing it up.

“that one’s my favorite, you could borrow it if you want to. i’m sure your grandfather would let ya get a library card.” you winked at her.

she looked at you then the books, a small smile appearing. she grabbed the book and walked up to the counter with you, charles eagerly waiting to see what laura picked. you start to get laura’s library card ready, turning your back on the two.

“there you two are, got me thinking i lost ya out there.” a gruff voice said from behind.

you turned around, library card and book in hand.

“what the hells that?” he asks.

the man is tall, older looking. but nonetheless handsome. his broad shoulders being hugged by a flannel.

“a library card. for laura.” you smile, handing it over to her. “remember in two weeks you have to return it. or whenever your finished.” you said.

logan looked down at you, studying your kind demeanor. you’re cute, he thought, really cute. the large cardigan covering your body as glasses sit atop your head. but logan being logan, pushes down any feeling and huffs. “cars running, let’s go.”

charles and laura wave bye before leaving, you watch as the man pushes him out. his shoulders are tensed. his grey hair sticking up every which way and his matching beard needing a trim. but something about him intrigued you.

laura and charles become regulars at the library, constantly visiting and perusing the shelves. often spending hours just reading and enjoying the silence. and there’s logan, waiting around like he has something better to do.

“ya know, readings actually good for you? right?” you joke.

he rolls his eyes. “got more important things to do than sit around in this stuffy place all day.”

“grumpy.” you mutter, causing him to look over at you. “why don’t you go look for something? there’s gotta be something you like!”

he shakes his head. “doubt it.”

you grab his hand and pull him towards the shelves. “come on, give it a try.” you pour your lip.

his breathe hitches and his eyes burn into you. he’s never been this close to you. been able to smell your scent of a flowery perfume and bubblegum. his demeanor changes a bit, staring at your lips. if he was already thinking about you a lot, this was definitely not helping. “fine.”

you spend the afternoon looking for anything that will please this man.

“war books?”

“been there, done that.”

“art history?”

“do i look like an art professor?”

“maybe in a past time.” you wink. “hmm, cooking?”

he shakes his head.

“god, you’re so hard to please.” you go through each section. “the history of harley davidson?”

this piqued his interest. “let me see that.” he grabs it, pushing his glasses off his head and onto his face.

you could do a celebration dance. “told ya!”

“yeah, yeah. let me go find the kid and the old man to check this book out.”

logan starts joining the two on the library trips. he says it’s to find more books on automotives. but charles often teases him that it’s to see his favorite librarian.

he denies but even laura knows the truth.

the old man has a crush.

[the-art-of-sanshoku]

I really like having random fandom artbooks so you know I tracked this down the minute I learned of its existence

It came with some other stuff as a part of the Kuuga collection box, more pics below the cut and some ramblings (i am not a great cameraman...)

Got it in pretty good condition, the box is a little crumpled in the corners but thats fine

From The Visual of Kuuga a lot of stills from the show of all the characters but also some rare images I've never seen before, like these:

This layout of Godai looking wistfully at Ichijou in his joggers very funny to me

Some other misc pages, 2 page spread entirely dedicated to Goma also very funny. As are the extremely blurry bug on bike images

Btw this is the final page of the book 🙃(technically there's like an extra credits page with sakurako's pc but shh)

From The Art of Kuuga a lot cool concept art/designs from super early to much more finalized

This gold cape design goes hard ngl and I like this one and another one above where he has bug wings- guessing they were scrapped because of the gouram

Also some other cool production pages like some stuff on the grongi/linto alphabet and a page on planning some of the grongi civilian outfits and things like that

Didn't take any pics from Story of Kuuga because it's all just japanese text lol

Also came with a figure of amazing mighty form, the not quite ultimate form you see for like 10 seconds one episode lol. His packaging and him had some sort of residue on it but I wiped him down

Lastly there were some sheets of the grongi logos and honestly who cares about that it comes with godai yusuke business cards and no im not emotional over index cards shut up

As per usual the books are too tall for my lower shelves so its just set up like this for now (my rider collection of stuff pitifully small atm i haven't event built my Build, but hey look my ayami kojima of castlevania fame shouwa doujin)

[shadeysprings]

YOU

—Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Summary — Your unexpected meeting with the famous art collector takes a dark turn when you learn the secret of his private collection.

Warnings — oral (female receiving), dismembered bodies, disrespect to the dead, entrapment, plots of killing, serial killer vibes, Steve being a calm psycho. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 5.4K

A/N — Story #1 for my FREAKtober Fest. The fic was heavily inspired by the movie itself and House of Wax. I'm happy to finally explore Steve's character in writing and I must say, I enjoyed every bit of it. The title was taken from the song You.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

Shout out to @vellicore and @sgt-seabass for bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

They didn’t come.

It was all you could think about as almost 2 hours had passed since your grad show started. Despite your parents’ — mostly your mom’s — disapproval of pursuing an arts program, you still invited them to the show. You hoped that if they saw what you were truly doing, they would understand your passion for paints and charcoal.

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

“Soon.” He promises. “For now, I’ll keep you. I don’t mind that column being empty just a little longer.”

[roll-of-royces]

How The LaDS Celebrate Mother's Day

He takes the day off of work which given his abrupt entrance into fatherhood this year, staff aren't actually surprised for once. First thing in the morning he is bringing you breakfast in bed, including all of your favorite breakfast foods, a vase of flowers, and freshly brewed coffee.  

Of course your little one is well taken care of, as Zayne made sure to attend to them the night before so you could get some much needed sleep, after all he's used to getting little rest.  

As he presents you your breakfast, he explains that the three of you have an exciting day planned together going out to a local swimming attraction where you're little one will be able to splash around in the water for the first time.  

You wake up alone, padding through your home to find Xavier asleep on the floor beside the crib, one hand up, fingers shoved through the bars. You're the one to wake him, pressing an amused kiss to his mouth. As soon as he is aware enough, bleary eyed as he is he wishes you a happy mother's day.  

With the two of you both taking off work you're looking forward to a day of relaxation (and apparently an insane amount of snacks as there's a gift basket in the kitchen stocked full). Though he did promise he would take you two out for dinner for whatever you would want, and go to the arcade, which your little one loves to observe.  

You're sure he's about to spend a small fortune making sure he gets whatever plush you or your kid happen to point at even if it means cheating with his Evol.

There are balloons above your head, you wake to a cacophony of colors above you as Rafayel lays on his side, watching for your reaction. You giggle and lean in to kiss him as he announces that he supposes the day can be all about you.  

You come downstairs to a lavish breakfast laid out on the table, as he pulls out your chair for you and rushes back to collect your little one from their room. Sipping a delightful concoction, he really can make a drink, you wait for them to join you.  

Rafayel fills your day with little gifts here and there, a new necklace, a swimsuit, a gift card to your favorite coffee place, and your favorite present of all, matching paintings. Two pieces of abstract art, one with meaningful well planned lines and an artistic flair, the other a series of chaotic blobs, half a handprint and mixed color smears. He's determined to raise an artist.  

When you wake it is to the smell of childhood, you can smell some of your favorite meals from your youth as you wander into the kitchen. Caleb is there, bent over a pot though plenty of the food is already done. When he spots you he holds out a ladle and gestures for you to come taste.  

You know he wants to introduce meals that mean so much to the two of you to your child, and he hates having to baby-fy for now, but you'll eat your fill. As he makes you a plate, little one all set up for breakfast too, he kisses your forehead.  

He has two words for you 'Baby Arcade', which apparently translates to an establishment with a baby play zone and an adult play zone. You're pretty sure you might not make it out of the obstacle course alive if the competitive gleam in his eye has anything to say about it.  

[sim0nril3y]

New Hobby

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: So, I have this really annoying thing I do where I will go full force into a hobby, buying all the shit and then never using it again because I get bored or think it's too hard and honestly I just think I'd need someone like Simon to tell me off for wasting money and never sticking to something. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), teasing, brief mention of smut, talk of hobbies, canon-typical swearing.

Walking in from the gym Simon would practically trip over the cardboard boxes that lingered in the hallway, looking down at them with a puzzled look on his face before stepping through the house to find you. “What you been buying, love?” He asked softly, pressing a quaint kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, just some craft supplies.” You shrugged your shoulders as if there weren’t 5 large boxes spread haphazardly through the hallway. “Supplies? Oh, for that card making thing you were doing?” He asked, flipping on the kettle and grabbing a few mugs from the cupboard.

You shook your head. “Oh, no. This is for journaling, actually.” You informed him and Simon glanced at you questionably. “What?” “You brought all those card making supplies and I think I’ve seen you use them once…” Simply you just creased your brows at him. “If you wanted to start a new hobby, do you think maybe it might be a better idea to buy a few things and build up your supplies rather than go all in?”

For a moment you were quiet and then you laughed. “Umm, no.”  Then you laughed again, stepping past him. “Can you help me move some of these boxes upstairs please?” You asked over your shoulder as Simon pinched his brow to try and stop the impending headache that was brewing.

A week later you were sat on your phone in the living room, flicking through some app that Simon refused to download. He sat beside you and saw that you were watching a collection of videos that seemed to be all the same time. These people were revamping old furniture, fixing them, painting them, reselling them. You seemed completely enamoured by the idea. “No.” He said then, stern and cold. It caused you to look at him suddenly. “Sorry?” You asked confused.

“Absolutely not.” He told you, as if being able to read your mind. “You are not bloody upcycling furniture. I’m not having this house cluttered with old shit because you want a new hobby.” Simon stated firmly and you grinned as your brows pinched together. “What happened to the journaling?”

Unsurprisingly you remained sheepishly quiet. “Exactly. This is what I was telling you.” He stated with a shake of his head. “You can’t just keep going all in on these new hobbies, you need to try them out first and see if you like them first.” He said and patted you knee. “Try out the journaling for another week, eh?” At least if you were journaling or card making that would at least keep you contained to one room.

Not even a few days later and Simon returned home to find the hallway cluttered with another 4 boxes, he spied your name written on the top of them. “Fuckin’ hell…” He muttered under his breath before manoeuvring through them, calling your name with a hard tone. “What did I say…” He found you in the kitchen making a cup of tea and cycling through your phone.

“I know.” You told him then, turning softly to soothing your hands over his chest. “I got the message. Upcycling furniture isn’t for me.” Simon groaned and leaned his head back. “But maybe baking is…” “Babe, you never cook. I do all the cooking.” He reminded you with an almost hopeless tone to his voice. “Oh…” You muttered softly. “Right…” Then huffing out. “Maybe you could take up baking as a hobby and I can be your taster.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “Go upstairs and use your pretty art supplies to make me an apology card and I won’t bend you over this counter.” He warned causing a bright grin to spread across your face. “How about you do it and I’ll make you a thank you card.”

Masterlist | Ask | 13-11-2023

[hysteria-things]

NATE'S TREEHOUSE

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: nate’s official treehouse tour!

just a silly little post🤭

𝐈 — NATE’S TREEHOUSE

the outside of his treehouse! almost two decades old, yet it’s still hanging in there.

𝐈𝐈 — THE PROJECTOR

you guys practically lived out here on summer nights. watching a ton of movies off an old projector until the early morning. (even if you guys got yelled at to go to bed)

𝐈𝐈𝐈 — ENTRYWAY

right when you walk in there’s a jenga table that later you guys *cough* matt *cough* grew to hate. on the bright side, nate still has your arts and crafts hung up!

𝐈𝐕 — NATE’S ROCK COLLECTION

as time went on, you collected rocks to give them to nate. meet stone, pebble, rocky, and dwayne “the rock” johnson.

𝐕 — PICTURES

two photos from the collage wall that hold the most memories in nate’s heart. pictured left to right: chris, nick, matt, nate, and sls.

𝐕𝐈 — INTERIOR

nothing changed about this. same layout, same furniture… everything. who knew you’d lose your virginity on that couch?

𝐕𝐈𝐈 — MEMORIES

the old TV setup that’s still standing and proud. you guys celebrated his tenth birthday up here, hence the birthday cards! he also always kept a brush on sight for you — he knew how picky you were about your hair getting tangled and messy. last but not least, the board games on the ground. nate gets hit with a bit of sadness whenever he sees them because you guys didn’t know it’ll be the last time playing those games all those years ago…

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 — LOCKBOX

personally nate’s favorite addition. the lockbox where your and nate’s polaroids go. it’s strictly for his eyes only.

𝐈𝐗 — THE BUNNIES

pretty self-explanatory! nate’s bunnies: bb and snowy :)

𝐗 — GOLDFISH

nathaniel the goldfish that you guys won at the fair a year ago. he didn’t want it, but you insisted he’d keep it. you came up with the name to be funny, but he didn’t find it funny at the time. however, he kept the name because he can never say no to you…

[ryker-writes]

TWST characters as parents (Staff)

Crowley:

proud bird dad

literally he is so proud of anything you do and will share your achievements with the rest of the staff

he also has a box of things that you've completed/given to him

childhood artwork, cards you've made, old gifts you've given to him, your first assignment and test, and even some of your old stuffed animals from when you were a kid

he also has a thick photo album full of pictures of you growing up

the kind of parent who takes so many photos

he looks through that photo album a lot to look back on the precious memories

the box and the photo albums are protected using magic

he will cry is something happens to them

pretty sure he lives at the school so you grew up at NRC

you know the entire layout of the school, visited every dorm, and even met all the ghosts

the ghosts all love you

they watch over you when Crowley and the other staff are busy

naturally you become a student of NRC when you're old enough

and once again, Crowley is so proud of you at orientation

he's taking photos as you walk up to the magic mirror and get assigned a dorm

he's so happy no matter what dorm you end up in

and if you want to change dorms, say no more it's already done

he's a little bit protective

loves when you make friends

he already knows if they're generally good people because he has their student files

it's a bit different if you have a romantic relationship tho

he's scared and will look into your partner more

will express his worries, but not to you

the other staff members hear it

"my child is growing up too fast!"

if you get involved with any of the overblots he is terrified and hovers around you afterwards

other students have mixed feelings about you

some will want to be on your good side because you're close with the headmage

others will be cautious of you because they worry if they offend you then they'll get expelled

and some (Azul) may try to take advantage of you

he's also painfully supportive

if you play any sports at NRC he has set up a cheering squad for you and you alone

also probably going to ask you to help him with his work

"won't you help your dear loving and hardworking father?"

when breaks come up he will give you the choice to stay at NRC or go on vacation with him

even if you say no to going with him he will try to convince you

he calls it parent child bonding

while other students may say he's not a very good headmage, he thinks he's great

he doesn't mind what the other students say, but if you were to say it...

he may start to consider that he's not as good as he thinks

what would really make him realize they were right was if you somehow overblotted

if you did overblot, he's full on crying and heartbroken

of course he's going to save you from the overblot

but afterwards he's going to just hug you and cry

he can be a bit of an overbearing father at times, but it's because he loves you

Crewel:

a more strict but loving father

he absolutely loves raising you

he calls you his pup

unlike Crowley, he won't keep a million photos of you or collect your first assignments or anything

but he is proud of the things you do

if you present him with some art you made or something cool you did he will be proud

the type of dad to keep your art on the wall

he also will spoil you

like you won't even know how much he spoils you

you'll be happy just to get a new coat and it's actually one of the best brands that costs so much money

his motto is "Only the best for my little pup"

this motto perseveres throughout your life

when you attend NRC, he's super proud no matter what dorm you end up in

when you attend school is when the slightly more strict side of him shows itself

he wants you to pass all your classes and will help you study

you might not get many breaks until he's sure you understand the concept and know how to do it

of course he's not as strict with you as he is with other students

they might not even get breaks

he will push you to get good grades but he always knows when he starts to push too far and will stop himself

if he accidentally does push you to hard he will apologize and try to make it up to you

Crewel is a bit of a protective dad

he pays attention to what his students are like so when you mention your friends he already knows them

he doesn't mind as long as they're good people

if you're in a romantic relationship he's a bit more protective

remember that motto I mentioned earlier? yeah that comes into play here

he thinks you deserve the best and will not tolerate your partner giving you anything less

he can be very critical of your partner and you may have to tell him to back off

he may also give your partner more work in class than other students

Crewel likes to make sure that you're dressed well and will tidy up your appearance when he sees something out of place

Trein:

very loving father

he already has daughters so you aren't an only child

you know how he treats Lucius? you get similar treatment

he is a doting cat dad and a doting dad

he spends a lot of time with you and your siblings as you grow up

he never wants to miss any part of your life

also will hang your artwork on the wall

he'll even bring some to his classroom and hang them up there

he will go on and on about you to his students if they ask

some may do this to get out of doing classwork

they find out later that they still get the assignment but now they have no explanation of how to do it

he's very proud whenever you complete assignments or get good grades

and he's very proud when you finally get to go to NRC

he won't really mind whatever dorm you get into

but he will worry if it's Savanaclaw

students in that dorm are more prone to fights so he's worried

like Crewel, he's a bit of a protective dad

he will slightly judge your friend choice depending on who they are but won't interfere with anything

unless they get you in trouble, then he'll say something

if you're in a romantic relationship, he will silently judge them too

will also be more strict towards your partner in his class

he will not tolerate them slacking off in any way

well...he doesn't tolerate anyone slacking off in his class but even more so your partner

when you're in his class, he is much more relaxed with you

while he won't let you sleep you can still get away with spacing out or not paying attention

you also get Lucius' attention while you're in the class

most students find the cat annoying and Lucius will glare at them, but Lucius loves you!

he'll lay on your lap during class and purr very loudly

whoever sits next to you may be nervous not to disturb the cat

whenever Trein and Lucius get separated he gets really panicked

unless he knows Lucius is with you

you're the only one he trusts with Lucius

Lucius himself is protective of you

if anyone gets too close for the cat's liking, he may scratch them

while Trein is more passive aggressive with his protectiveness, Lucius is more outwardly disapproving

Vargas:

proud dad #4

he's unashamed to be your biggest fan

no matter what you're doing or where you go he's cheering you on

he probably has you playing at least one sport growing up

wants you to be super fit and active

and he'll also feed you all sorts of healthy foods

he wants to be your role model so bad

he just wants to hear you say even once "I want to be just like you Dad"

if he does hear it, he's fallen to his knees and overwhelmed with emotion

he won't cry, but he comes close

super proud when you become a student of NRC

he doesn't really mind what dorm you get in, but he secretly hopes it's Savanaclaw

Savanaclaw is the most athletic dorm

no matter what dorm you end up in, he is cheering as soon as the magic mirror says it

Crowley has to tell him to calm down

he's not a protective dad

he encourages you to make friends and doesn't mind them at all

he doesn't mind when you have a romantic partner either

in fact if you introduced them he would simply hug them and get straight to bonding

your father has now stolen your partner for bonding time

where did they go and how long will they be gone? nobody knows

when they do come back Vargas will say he's part of the family now

when you're in his class, he already expects you to participate and stay fit

so he's not as worried about you as he is for other students

if you play any sports in school, he is coming to all your games and cheering for you

he will be the cheerleader

he's over there with pom-poms and everything

Sam:

you are such a spoiled child

like really anything you want, you got it

and I do mean anything

he has connections so he can get ahold of anything

you are his special little imp

he treasures the little artwork you make as a kid

it's the one thing he won't sell

he often trains you on how to run the store

so even though you may be small, he may still have you work in the shop

he won't have you do anything too big of course

but little by little you learn more about how to work and run the shop and you get to bond with him too!

but people are more likely to come again and buy things when there's a cute child

so having you there is also a business strategy

he's such a fun dad tho

he loves to play with you a lot and will generally do anything you think is fun together

he's happy when you finally become a student at NRC and it doesn't bother him which dorm you end up in

though if he had to choose he would say Octavinelle because they got the business strategies

he's not a protective dad either

he encourages you to make all sorts of friends

he even encourages you to make friends on the other side but never specifies beyond that

he doesn't mind if you have a partner either

they shouldn't expect a discount unless they are really good to you

speaking of discounts

you don't have to pay for things while you're at the school

he gives them to you for free

but he will ask if you want to help him out at the shop sometime

some students may try to get close to you so they can get more discounts (Ruggie)

and some may try to get close to you so they can get some of those business connections (Azul)

Sam hopes that in the future, you may be able to take on ownership of the shop

it's been in the family for a long time so he hopes he can pass it on to you

you have a while before that tho

[moonstrider9904]

do i wanna know?

one shot masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 | beta read by the wonderful @jedi-hawkins and @freesia-writes

Pairing: Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Summary: You've been seeing Crosshair for months when he's on planet, seemingly only as friends. But one night when he's back, you meet him at your favorite bar, and you get the feeling his flirtatious ways might mean a bit more. Should you get your hopes up, or would that be your heart's last mistake?

Tags: 18+ only. Smut, oral sex (female and male receiving), female masturbation, unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, light nipple play. Flirting, alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of war and canon-typical violence, foul language, angst. Also, I am basing some of Crosshair's appearance on this magnificent art here.

Word count: 7056 words

Playlist: Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

The man who filled your thoughts that night leaned over the billiards table. He closed the left eye, leaving the right, tattooed eye open, and he shoved the cue forward with a strength and precision you couldn’t help but find seductive. The sound of the resin clinking as the multiple billiards balls made their way across the table was soon replaced by whistles and calls celebrating Crosshair’s trickshot, after which he straightened up next to the table and looked at his opponent, holding out his hand to collect his wager.

Crosshair had won yet another match that night. As he took the amount of credits he’d wagered from his last opponent, he dismissed himself from the competition with a carefree wave of his hand, and with dark amber eyes, he made his way to you.

“Don’t you look pretty there, cheering me on,” he purred.

You crossed one leg over the other and leaned back on the chair pretending you didn’t care much for what he was saying. “You say I’m pretty, but you’ve barely paid attention to me tonight, handsome.” You smirked at him and winked when you finished your sentence, and Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk back as he took a seat across from you.

He took another sip out of his whisky and looked over at your glass of beer. “You nearly finished that.”

“My point exactly,” you shrugged.

“Come now,” Crosshair moved his chair over closer to you and slid his glass to match his new position on the table. “I was getting credits to spoil you.”

Your head jerked in his direction and you pouted up at him. “Really? How?”

Crosshair chuckled next to your ear, his warm breath over your skin sending shivers through your body. “I was thinking… we could get another round of drinks…”

“Uh-huh?” You prompted as your body leaned closer to him against your will. You could spend weeks, months even, trying not to appear too needy or desperate to him, trying to balance out your pleas to have him closer with your wit and your sarcasm, but all Crosshair had to do was lean in close and purr at you, and you were on your knees.

“We can have as many as you want,” Crosshair continued, “and then…”

You turned and met his eyes when he trailed off. “And?”

He leaned back on his chair and took a sip out of his whisky. But you, in turn, leaned forward to match him, taking the drink from his hand and sipping on it yourself.

“And then what?” You asked again.

Crosshair chuckled, the sound deep and enticing. He took his drink back from you and set it on the table, only to then reach for your chin with his hand, cold from the icy drink he’d just held. Crosshair looked you in the eyes, and for a moment you swore his gaze softened, but it soon regained its usual fire as his grip tightened when he pulled you close.

“Play your cards right and tonight might be your night,” Crosshair crooned.

You felt yourself clench around nothing between your legs, and before you had a thought of what to respond, Crosshair got up from the chair and made his way past the billiards tables to the bar, where he gestured to his drink and yours at the bartender.

That man was dangerously sexy.

You thought he’d come back to the table with you, but instead, you saw him heading towards the back of the bar when his glass was refilled. He looked back at you and signaled you to follow him, and you obeyed. Before leaving, you took the last fried cheese stick from the plate at the center of the table and ate it on the way, and when you walked past the bar, the bartender handed you the beer bottle Crosshair had ordered for you. You took it with a smile and followed Crosshair behind the bar to a storage room. It wasn’t too dim that you feared for your life, but it wasn’t well lit enough to attract any other attention to it, and inside it, Crosshair waited for you. You watched him stand there sipping from his whisky, looking gorgeous in those dark gray trousers and pitch-black shirt topped by a black leather jacket.

Crosshair turned around and let his gaze pierce into you, and a smirk formed on his lips as he approached you. Unsure what to expect from him, your heart squeezed when he reached his arm past you to close the door behind you, and when he pulled his arm back, he once again took his hand up to your chin and lifted your face up to look at him.

“Cross…” You sighed.

He chuckled. “You do want this, right?”

“Yes,” you nearly moaned. You set your beer down next to you on one of the boxes and let your hands snake up his chest until they found rest at the base of his neck. His free hand slid down your body and found the curve of your waist, pulling you closer—he didn’t need many more words before finally leaning down to kiss you.

It was everything you’d been fantasizing for months. Crosshair’s lips were warm and they kissed you with intent, igniting your veins and drenching you between your legs. You couldn’t help but whimper into the kiss as you clung tighter to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You had to stand on your toes to press yourself closer to him, feeling yourself getting drunk on the whisky you could taste in him. Your arms shook, your legs felt as if they wouldn’t hold you up, and your heart threatened to beat out of your chest when you felt his hardness begin to press up against your body.

“Take me,” you mumbled. “Take me now, Crosshair.”

He chuckled. “Needy. How cute.”

With a strong grip, Crosshair led you towards one of the larger crates in the room and he let you go just to pat on the surface. You obliged and hopped onto the crate, sitting and parting your legs to let him press closer to you. With one hand still holding his drink, Crosshair wrapped an arm around your waist and resumed kissing you. Hungrily, you kissed him back and ran your hands all over his body. You felt the lean lines on his back and the strong muscles on his chest. You tried to get a feel of his arms, but there wasn’t much you could feel over that leather jacket, so instead, you let your hands return to his abdomen. Through the fabric, you could feel the lumps of his abs as well as some of the scars he’d gotten over the years, but choosing to focus less on the soldier and more on the man, you let your hands make their way downward.

Crosshair let the hand on your body travel as well. He felt himself getting harder at the sight of you in front of him, eager to let him in, your legs parted letting the fabric of your skirt barely attempt to hide the panties from his sight. His hand brushed down past the end of your skirt over the skin of your thigh, and Crosshair let his nails slightly dig into your flesh as he ran his hand down your leg. You whimpered and tightened your grip on him, your back straightening and making you press your breasts onto him, a reflex Crosshair may have enjoyed too much as you felt him grin into your lips.

His hand made its way up your body again. You felt his touch going up your leg and your belly until it eventually reached your chest, and he let his fingers expand over the curve of one of your breasts. Your breath hitched when Crosshair caressed and massaged you, squeezing with the perfect amount of strength to send your mind reeling without any pain, and soon, his fingertips found the bud of your nipple, which he freely pinched just enough to draw a moan from you.

“Fuck…” you whimpered.

Crosshair gave a low laugh. “You’re gonna have to be quiet, darlin’. We’re only allowed in here so long as we don’t make a scene to the whole bar, understood?”

You nodded, licking your lips before reaching down to grab the hem of your blouse, pulling it up and off your body. Crosshair’s gaze darkened as he glanced at your breasts and the delicate black bra that covered them. You reached back to undo the hook of your bra and he helped you take it off, growling as he saw the way your breasts fell freely. With a smirk, Crosshair managed to tear his gaze from your mounds and looked you in the eyes, holding his glass out to you.

“Hold this, darlin’,” he gave you the glass.

Dazed, you held onto his drink. Crosshair now had both of his hands free, and he first held the sides of your torso with his fingertips resting on your back, and he pulled you up while bending down and trailing kisses starting at your collarbone. He traced his lips over your chest, relishing in the way your panting made it go up and down while he brought his hands to your front again. Crosshair took one breast in each of his hands and resumed the massaging and caressing, and soon after, he started lightly pinching at your nipples before bringing his lips down at the level of your breasts.

You suppressed a moan as best as you could when Crosshair placed his lips over one of your nipples. He gently sucked on the bud while his hand continued to massage the other one, making you crave more. You slowly rubbed your hips against the crate under you and felt the dampness between your legs delicious with the friction. Heat rushed to your cheeks when you felt your own pulse down between your legs, so you threw your head back and enjoyed as Crosshair had his way with you.

Much to your pleasure, Crosshair soon resumed his way down, and the emptiness on your breasts was soon compensated by the sight of Crosshair kneeling down before you with dark eyes as he reached for your panties under your skirt. You wiggled to help him get them off and felt the cool air against your moist cunt. You heard Crosshair suck air in through his teeth, and he let his hands slide from your ankles up your legs until firmly grasped your hips.

When you finally felt his tongue against your cunt, you had to constantly convince yourself not to succumb entirely to the bliss—you didn’t want a shattered whisky glass ruining the moment. You moaned as quietly as you could, but the ecstasy wasn’t any less present in the lack of volume. Crosshair pressed himself deeper into your flesh, devouring you, expertly working his tongue and his lips over your all too sensitive clit. You couldn’t help but use your free hand to continue massaging one of your nibbles, just a little extra to enhance the pleasure you already felt.

And as Crosshair flicked his tongue quicker over your clit, you felt yourself getting closer to climax, causing you to press your hips forward onto him. It made him moan, his voice rumbling low in your flesh and making you roll your eyes back, dangerously close to release. Crosshair’s pace didn’t relent. He continued to suck away at your clit until you felt your hips quiver and the temperature of your body oscillate between hot and cold. Your mind went blank as you tried your best not to moan out his name—you were sure everyone out at the bar would hear you if you did. Your body squirmed on that crate as Crosshair continued to make you his own, and you were so gone that you barely noticed when his tongue left your pussy.

You whined softly when you realized he’d stopped. Crosshair was standing back up, and he reached for the glass of whisky in your hand, taking a long sip of it and downing half of its content. Crosshair grunted as the alcohol burned his throat, his chest heaving slightly after his efforts with you. You didn’t hold out your hand to take the glass from him again—messy as you were, you weren’t close to done. You wanted more, and you wanted him. You got down from the crate, and Crosshair watched you in confusion that turned into delight when he saw you kneeling down before him and reaching for the zipper of his pants.

“Oh, such a good girl,” Crosshair purred as he reached his free hand down to brush your cheek. You were still focused on undoing the button and zipper, until you finally pulled down the fabric to free his erection from confinement.

Your mouth watered at the sight. Sucking him off was yet another of the fantasies you’d had for months, just one more thing you dreamt of doing with him every time you met up with him at the bar. Every time you’d questioned if Crosshair was into you had led to that moment, alone with him in that storage room. He’d already claimed you, now it was your turn. You wrapped your fingers around his girth and took him into your mouth, starting off with just the tip, sucking and circling your tongue around it getting used to the taste.

Above you, Crosshair downed the rest of his whisky and set the glass down on another box beside him with a loud toc, moaning softly and whisper-grunting out “Fuck!” as you took more of his length in your mouth. Your breathing deepened, struggling ever so slightly at the fullness in your mouth, yet resolved to see it through. Still, you were aching between your legs as if your folds begged to be touched. It wasn’t like you needed both of your hands to suck Crosshair’s dick, so you took one of them down and rubbed small, quick circles on your clit, whimpering softly into his shaft.

Crosshair looked down at you. The way you had his cock in your mouth, the way you touched yourself, it nearly made him lose all sense of reason. His gaze softened at you as though it were filled with wonder and adoration more than desire. Crosshair reached a hand down and took some of your hair in his hand, stroking the curve of your head before resting his hand down beside your cheek again. The gesture prompted you to look up at him, and when you did, you nearly climaxed again when you noticed how beautifully he was looking at you. At that moment, Crosshair didn’t look like a man only thinking of sex, he looked like a man who adored you completely. Yet another one of your fantasies was coming true.

Your vision blurred, however, when your rubbing on your clit made you climax again. The waves of your orgasm made your lips tighten around Crosshair’s thickness, drawing a low moan from him. He mumbled a few other words you didn’t bother listening to. You were too deep in your orgasm to make sense of anything anyway. You only came to your senses when you felt his hand tugging your cheek ever so gently, bringing your rubbing on your clit to a stop as you looked at him again.

“I want to cum inside you,” Crosshair whispered as he helped you up and hastily helped you back onto the crate where he first had you.

You sat in a similar position as you had initially, with your legs parted and welcoming him to do whatever he wanted with you, and Crosshair leaned in close enough to have to rest his hands on the wall behind you just after sliding his length into your warm, wet walls. Your hands clung to his shoulders, clawing at the leather jacket that made him look dangerously handsome, and you felt your body bouncing with every thrust he gave into your hips. You could hear Crosshair grunting softly between luscious thrusts, as well as the sound of the bottles of alcohol within the crate clanking against each other with his movements. Softly, you whimpered—your cunt was already too sensitive from two orgasms. A third one was beginning to creep up on you, this one boiling deep inside you and promising to rattle you to your very bones. While you waited for it, you looked at Crosshair, his eyes dark and focusing on yours as he fucked deep into you.

You took a hand behind Crosshair’s head, curling your fingers in his hair, as you rested your forehead on his while never breaking eye contact. You wanted to be looking into those eyes when the pleasure took over you, and by the stars, it was everything you dreamed. When the waves of your third orgasm started, all you saw was Crosshair. All you felt was him. You wrapped your legs around his waist and tightened your grip, feeling your arousal dripping from your cunt and splashing your skin, and by extension his, and the only thought in your mind was his name. Not long after your walls had clenched around his cock, you heard Crosshair give a grunt and you felt his warmth filling you inside.

You had longed for that sensation, and it was unimaginably better than you ever could have anticipated. Crosshair then stopped his thrusts as the ropes of hot, thick cum continued to splash inside you, and when he was done, he slowly pulled out of you as you both attempted to catch your breaths.

The entirety of your weight still rested on the hard crate underneath you. You couldn’t feel any of the cold from the wall anymore. Its temperature had merged with the one Crosshair had made you feel—your inability to think about anything other than the wall behind you lay testament to how dumbfoundingly well he had just taken care of you. Your breathing slowed as you made contact with his beautiful amber gaze, his irises making you shiver with expectation as he got up and began leaning closer and his arms snaked towards you. Perhaps he had more in mind for you? You silently begged he would.

Your heart skipped a beat. Without warning, you felt the contact of Crosshair’s bare fingertips on your own, heedfully sliding across your palm from your pinky finger and forward towards your thumb. What you thought was an honest gesture of taking your hand turned out to be him reaching for his trousers for a pack of cigarettes, and before breaking eye contact with you to pull one out, you saw something flash in his eyes you didn’t know what to make out of.

Crosshair lit the cigarette and took a long inhale like it was the fresh air he yearned for. He watched you as you slowly regained composure and reached for your bra and your blouse, attempting to dress again.

“Need help with that?” He crooned.

“I’m good,” you replied. “But let me know next time you want to take these off me.”

Crosshair scoffed, taking another breath from his cigarette.

When you finished dressing you got down from the crate and stood firmly on the ground. You made your way over to Crosshair and he opened the door of the cellar, standing aside to let you through first. You smiled at him and were just about to step out the door when you hastily remembered your beer was still in there—no way you were gonna leave that abandoned. Though you focused on your drink, you did manage to hear Crosshair chuckle as he walked after you back towards the bar.

Crosshair draped an arm around your shoulders as you both walked back to the table you’d chosen earlier. He pulled a chair out for you to sit and went across to sit in front of you, and shortly after, a waiter brought him another glass of whisky. You hadn’t even noticed when he’d ordered—were you that awestruck from your recent encounter in the cellar?

“Do you want anything else, doll?” He asked you.

“What?” You snapped your attention to him, stuttering. “No, no, I’m… good.”

Crosshair chuckled. You could tell he was just being cocky.

The night wore on mostly in silence as you finished up your drinks. Though many of your daydreams had just become reality, you weren’t sure what was going to happen next. You were happy to suggest more things, but you were also curious to see what Crosshair had in mind. If nothing else came up, you would ask him to your place, and maybe he could spend the night, maybe you could play something on the holo for background noise while he made you his own again…

You set your empty beer bottle down on the table and looked up at him, your eyes wide and beckoning him. In one gulp, he finished his whisky and began to stand up, and you followed.

Crosshair looked over at the bartender. “Put it on Hunter’s tab, will you?”

You saw the bartender nod, but you quickly focused on Crosshair again as he adjusted his jacket. He put the cigarette out on the ashtray on the center of the table and finally looked at you, smirking softly as he began to make his way towards the exit with you next to him. The cool air hit you hard when you were out on the street, and without any prompt, you felt Crosshair placing his jacket over you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

You both stood in silence, and the absence of words or plans was destroying you. Finally, you reached within you for courage.

“Would you like to go back to my place?” You asked him.

Crosshair chuckled as he reached a hand for your chin, letting you see the snake tattoo that was prominent on his forearm. The gesture and the ink made you clench around nothing all over again.

“You still want more?” He hummed.

“Yes,” you admitted. “But I was also thinking maybe we could just… spend the night? You know, if you’re tired. Just us.”

He chuckled again. “Can’t. I ship out early.”

Your heart sank. “Crosshair…”

He raised a brow at you, prompting you to speak.

“I want to know…” you trailed off. “What we did back there… it wasn’t nothing, right?”

“Did it feel like nothing?” He asked.

“Well, no—”

“Don’t fix what isn’t broken, darlin’,” he evaded you.

“You know what I mean,” you said. “We’ve been meeting up for months. I want you, Crosshair, more than just in a hidden cellar.”

Crosshair sighed. “Please don’t go and ruin this. Not now.”

You felt your heart plummeting inside you. Were you delusional? Those times his eyes had softened at you, his fingers brushing your cheeks with such care, was it all yet another daydream you’d fabricated? Had you just made an utter fool of yourself?

“Oh…” you whispered. “I…”

He sighed. Crosshair looked like he was about to say something else, but you didn’t want to give yourself more reasons to get your heart broken.

“That’s fine, I… I got it wrong,” you said before he could speak.

“Come on, doll,” Crosshair faced you. “I’m always on the move and way too close to blaster fire for us to be a good idea.”

“Then what the hell was that back there?” You gestured at the cellar.

“I like to have my fun.” Crosshair shrugged.

Fury boiled within you. “Are you kidding me? That’s what you mean, that I’m just a bit of fun?”

“I mean I’m not tied down, and neither are you,” Crosshair looked you in the eyes. Whatever emotions he showed before, this time you were sure he was completely serious.

But knowing he was being honest didn’t make things any easier.

Crosshair sighed. “Look, just…”

You looked at him, not knowing whether to hope for him to say something to remedy your feelings or not.

“You’re great,” he said. “And I look forward to seeing you when I come back to this planet. But don’t mistake this for something else. You’d be wasting your time with me.”

“I wouldn’t,” you tried to appeal, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “Crosshair, I am mad for you! Tonight has been everything I’ve been yearning for months. You are all I want, this is all I want.”

He didn’t say anything to you. He simply looked you in the eyes with dismay.

Slowly, you unwrapped your arms from Crosshair’s waist. “But… you don’t want that.”

Crosshair looked upset. You figured he wasn’t a monster, and anyone would appear upset when making such a rejection. For your sake, you wouldn’t make anymore of it. Crosshair was difficult to read as it was.

You took his jacket off and handed it to him. “You’ll be needing this.”

“Babe, don’t do this—”

“You either do or you don’t, Crosshair,” you said, unwilling to have your time be wasted. “And right now you’re telling me you don’t, so…”

For a moment, Crosshair seemed to sadden.

You sighed. “I should just go home.”

Crosshair tore his eyes from you for a moment and he took the jacket from your grip in a surprisingly gentle manner. “I guess you should.”

You managed to meet his gaze. You didn’t want him to be out of your life, as much as you were heartbroken by him pushing you away. And the thought of him being out at war, all alone, with his life on the line every day… The idea of something happening to him and you not being in his life somehow was even more dreadful than the idea of losing him whilst having had the chance to love him.

But there was no changing Crosshair’s mind.

“Be safe,” you managed to say.

Crosshair looked at you again, his eyes laden with sorrow. Had you been more naive, you would have expected him to tell you not to leave, that he was wrong, he’d been an idiot, that he did want to be with you. But waiting for something that wouldn’t happen was too painful, and you decided to be the one who left first.

You walked homeward without looking back, and as a tear rushed down your cheek, you tried your best not to blame yourself for thinking your feelings could go both ways.

Blue and white specs of hyperspace surrounded the Marauder. Crosshair sat in his usual chair, in his usual pose of having one leg crossed over the other while the Firepuncher rifle rested across the length of his shin. Holding the rifle, his thumb tapped rhythmically over the scope in tandem with the beat of the song he was listening to on two very discreet yet very loud earbuds. The bass and the guitar, the strong and steady drums reminded him of himself, but the lyrics only made him think of you. The stoic sniper kept a straight face during the multiple times he listened to it, and his mind was able to ponder on many things at once.

What were you up to? Why was he doing something he’d openly laugh at someone else if they were doing the exact same by listening to a rock song thinking of you? What were you wearing that day? How many more men had perished in the battle he was headed to since he and his squad received the briefing? Was it even still daytime on Coruscant? And if it was night time, were you in the arms of another? He hadn’t given you a reason to cling to him anyway, not the last time he’d met you.

He focused his mind on you, your eyes staring up at him, the warmth of your body against his and the pitch of your little whimpers, the way your fingertips curled around his hair when he made you squirm and how your soft lips felt on his skin. He thought back to the moment he nearly took your hand and fooled himself into grabbing a cigarette instead. And then he’d done it again when he told you it was all a bit of fun, when he said he didn’t want to be yours, when he stood there watching you walk away from him.

Despite your absence, Crosshair had been seeing you for nights since his shore leave on Coruscant ended. You were constantly on his mind, much to his annoyance. The fact that every dream and every song lyric brought your face back into his sights was a constant reminder of his own incapacity to admit something so basic—but if it was so basic, why did that feeling fucking eat him away from the inside out? Crosshair sneered. He was at a point where he feared only the unspeakable horrors of war would succeed in removing you from his mind, a fact he didn’t know if it would be terrible or merciful. But he, alongside everyone inside the Marauder, was in for one hell of a battle, already forecast to be one of the bloodiest of the war.

If that didn’t do it, nothing would.

Crosshair’s head swayed forward and back as exhaustion took over him, and he had no sense to even make out how beneficial it would be for him to get a few winks of sleep before reaching the trenches that waited for him on landfall. Blurs of you raced through his mind as the chorus of the song echoed in his subconscious for another countless time, and after what had only felt like seconds, Crosshair regained consciousness to a Marauder that was navigating the transition between space and the tremorous atmosphere of their destination.

Even the clouds foretold the misery that waited for them down there.

Crosshair still had the earbuds on, shielding him from the sounds playing out before him, but he was able to make out Hunter’s silhouette approaching him as he mouthed the words be ready, and a cold shudder took over Crosshair as he saw Hunter had an aura of dread in him as well.

The Marauder shook from the heavy turbulence around it. Crosshair removed the earbuds and slipped his helmet over his head, and he took his rifle, ready for anything. If he made it out alive, he’d probably ask you out for whisky the moment he saw you again.

You couldn’t help but feel wary when your doorbell rang. No one ever visited you, you weren’t expecting anything to be delivered, or anyone to drop by, you didn’t even have anything planned that night. In the absence of anything going on, you figured you’d make your way across your little apartment to the door.

“Who is it?” You called.

From the other side of your door, you were met with hesitation. You were then surprised by hearing your name being spoken in a coiled, smooth voice, its pitch low that made your name sound like the galaxy’s rarest delicacy.

You opened the door.

There stood Crosshair, dressed in black and gray like he usually would when he met you at the bar. This time he wasn’t wearing a jacket, and the short sleeves of his shirt let you see the snake tattoo on his forearm that you loved so much, as well as the veins and thin layer of hair that made you wild. Still, as much as you loved that tattoo, the detail of a fresh, light-brown scar on his other forearm didn’t escape you.

You still hadn’t forgotten the way you’d parted the last time you were with him—you weren’t about to foolishly welcome him in again.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, your voice plagued with more genuine curiosity than the spite of the walls you tried to put up.

Crosshair didn’t speak. He stepped forward and took you in his arms, quickly wrapping them around your silhouette as though clinging to your back and waist. The way he pressed your body to his was alien, but by no means unwelcome. You felt his heartbeat quicken against you as his grip gradually tightened, and as he straightened his back, you had to lift yourself to be on your toes.

“Crosshair?” You inquired.

He gave a brief shake before steadying himself again. “I needed to see you.”

With a brief sigh, your heart sank. You’d watched the news over the past few days, and now that a soldier was clinging to you for dear life, you managed to put two and two together.

“You were on Umbara, weren’t you?” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper, somber, yet comforting.

Crosshair loosened his grip just enough to look you in the eyes, and the snark and wit were suddenly gone from his gaze replaced by revelation.

“Your brothers?” You followed up. “Are they okay?”

“They’re all fine, but…” Crosshair trailed off. “Too many platoons. Too many families were broken.”

You never thought he cared that much. You gently reached a hand up to cup his cheek, and he leaned into your warmth while having one of his own hands fly up to meet your own, holding your palm closer to him. You could see the remorse in his eyes, but you wouldn’t be arrogant enough to believe that remorse was only caused by you. You feared the answer of your next question.

“Did you…?” You couldn’t even bring yourself to finish the thought.

Crosshair shuddered at the memory of a blue and white helmet under his scope. He shuddered at the thought of what would have been and how many more would have fallen if Rex hadn’t run past him waving his arms. The idea of someone, anyone, using him against his brothers, controlling him with sinister motives and turning him against his own brothers… Crosshair knew how dangerous he would be, and the thought terrified him.

“I need you,” Crosshair admitted. “All that time, I needed you. I didn’t want to die out there. I didn’t want to kill one of my own.”

“Hey…” You comforted him. “None of you knew.”

Crosshair cupped your hands with his face, the gentle gesture rendered desperate with his grip giving away how starved he was.

“I need you,” he said again, a faint growl appearing in his voice. “I need to know if you feel this agony when you’re away from me, if you’d be the only home I would return to. I want to be too fucking busy being yours to die out there. I want to be yours I’m willing to crawl back to you every fucking time.”

Your eyes widened in endearment and disbelief at the words he’d spoken. “I thought you didn’t want that…”

Crosshair’s gaze and grip softened as he leaned in closer to you until his lips fell on yours. He only broke the kiss to look you in the eyes again, more serious than he ever could be.

“I was an idiot,” he admitted.

You chuckled softly. “You kind of were. But so was I. I should have admitted my feelings too, long ago.”

Crosshair smiled softly and shook his head. “Wouldn’t have made a difference. I’m too stubborn.”

You giggled, cupping his face. “I like you stubborn.”

His smile turned into a smirk. “I know.”

Your hands traveled over to his chest, where they rested gently. “Would you like to go somewhere? Clear your head?”

“I was wondering if you’d let me take you up on the offer to spend the night,” Crosshair answered without hesitation.

You smiled. “Absolutely.”

“But no cheesy soap operas on the holo,” Crosshair added.

“You sure?” You grinned with mischief. “Scandal Gal is getting really good. I think Flair and Puck are finally gonna get together.”

Crosshair directed a deadpan stare at you, but that was one of your favorite expressions on his face. You giggled, wrapping your arms fully around his shoulders as you softly kissed his chin.

“I’m here and I’m yours, you hear me?” Your tone softened.

A subdued exhale left Crosshair as his gaze turned gentle on you, but his grip around your waist hardened. Before you made sense of the door of your apartment finally closing, Crosshair pressed his lips to yours with his movements quickly igniting a passion between you. You forgot the holos and the music and whatever refreshments you could have offered your guest. There was only one thing you wanted to do that night.

The stumbling between your apartment’s door and your bed was a blur, but as soon as you were able to make sense of being in your bedroom, you felt Crosshair picking you up and setting you gently on the bed. He crawled on the bed too, perching himself up on his knees to pull his shirt up over his body to cast it aside, and you couldn’t help the tiny whimper that left you at the sight of him.

Crosshair was gorgeous, with his beautiful bronze skin apparently glowing in the light of your room. The snake tattoo on his forearm seemed more prominent when he was shirtless, but your eyes were drawn to the area of his chest where you couldn’t help but stare at the thin layer of hair near the center, as well as the little 99 tattooed underneath his left pec. There were also scars scattered around his torso, all balanced out with the lean lines of his muscles.

He smirked at the sight of you, proud that you apparently liked what you saw. You knew he wasn’t done, for he then proceeded to undo his trousers, which you gladly watched him do. When Crosshair was naked in front of you, you hurried to take off your blouse and your pants, which he helped you out of, until at last you lay bare and naked underneath him.

The electricity of the moment paled in comparison to the cellar at the bar the other night, an occasion far more desperate and wanting at the time. This was far more intimate, even romantic, as Crosshair leaned down and made contact with your skin. You felt yourself engulfed in his warmth as he kissed you again. He switched between your lips, your chin, and your neck, ravishing you and making you feel like you were among clouds. You rested your head back on the pillow and let him have his way with you, which would pleasantly surprise you sooner rather than later when you felt his fingers beginning to stroke you between your legs.

A moan escaped you like honey. Crosshair applied the right amount of pressure to your folds to make the pleasure begin to flow through your body, steady and delicious. Your arms wrapped around his back, pulling him closer as you continued to kiss him, and when you brushed your tongue past his lips to wrestle with his, you felt his long finger slipping inside your walls to stroke and curl inside you. Hungrily, you moaned into him, partly wishing it was his cock inside you rather than his finger, but you wouldn’t rush things.

Delectably slowly, you felt yourself getting closer to climax, and the way your moaning escalated lay testament to that. Your grip around Crosshair was as hard as it could be, and when he began to feel your walls tighten around his finger, Crosshair emerged from your lips and gasped for air, looking into your eyes. You pleaded to him with your gaze not to stop, to please continue and push you over that edge you so desperately wanted. All it took was a smirk from him to finally do it, and you began to quiver underneath him as you moaned loud enough for the adjacent apartments to hear you. Incoherent mumbles escaped you, but among them, Crosshair was able to make out the words kiss me, please, and he obliged.

You drowned in the feeling of his lips on yours while your orgasm endured, and as the waves wore off, you felt Crosshair shifting your positions. Now, his back lay flat on the bed and you were on top of him, and it was only then that you broke the kiss to position your entrance on top of his erection. You both moaned in unison as you sat down on him, and with his strong hands, Crosshair helped you bounce up and down rhythmically.

“Come here,” Crosshair beckoned.

You leaned forward while Crosshair continued thrusting upwards, and you enjoyed the feeling of being close to him once again. Your lips found his and you kissed him with the same fire as before, only pausing to look into his gorgeous eyes as the pleasure filled you again. Your attention lingered on every one of Crosshair’s tiny grunts and moans—they were enough to send sparks through your whole body, and you felt you could listen to him do that forever. Crosshair’s grip on your hips tightened, thrusting into you at a speed you felt was impossible, and at that rhythm of pounding, you quickly shattered over him in another orgasm, moaning louder than before and quaking on top of his body. You felt your arousal squirting out of you and dripping onto his skin, a feeling you knew he picked up on when he moaned deep and delicious into the room. Not long after that, the familiar sensation of hot ropes of cum strewing inside of you made you see white, and you felt your body rise and fall in tandem with Crosshair’s heavy breathing as he slowed down and tried to recover himself.

“Mine…” Crosshair mumbled. “Fuck, you’re mine.”

You moaned at his words and leaned down to kiss him. “All yours, handsome…”

With the strength he had left, Crosshair tightened his grip around you and flipped you over, and now, he was on top of you.

Your man, your lover, was nowhere near done with you, and you were ready for nights like those to become a regular part of both of your lives.

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging and/or commenting to show support ❤

[vintagerpg]

I love the handful of zines I own that embody not only DIY RPG aesthetics, but also “weird literary chapbook” and also “mysterious occult booklet.” I have many that do each individual flavor well, but a combo of all three is rare indeed. Such is Dungeon Divinations (2021), by Max Moon. It is one of only perhaps three zines in my collection that has a dustcover, which is neat. The art (which, I lament, greedily, there is not nearly enough of) by Luciana Lupe Vasconcelos also sits at a pleasing crossroads between RPGs, literature and the occult. The whole book is sharply designed and feels formidable in the hand.

But what is it? It is a method for generating dungeons for RPGs through the use of Tarot card spreads. Those spreads aren’t arranged, necessarily, in a way optimal for dungeons, but rather derived from the practice of using Tarot for divination. It turns out that there is considerable overlap between “good dungeon” and “effective fortune-telling” design. Does this speak, at last, to the fabled and feared conduit from D&D to the occult? Perhaps it reveals something fundamental about the ways we find patterns of meaning in the meaningless when we’re creating. I tend to mostly agree with Max in his introduction, when he describes the book in his introduction as both “absurd and earnest.” Honestly, its probably best that interested parties judge for themselves, if they can secure a copy.

Inside are sections on mindset, how to lay cards out and the thinking behind the card spreads. This mechanical section is followed by three example dungeons, one for each of the detailed spreads. They’re all…absurd and earnest and, I think, pretty workable dungeons for crawling (though honestly, I would have liked a conventional dungeon map to help me parse them).

[simplyalicee]

♡ Flowers and Laughter ♡

Nightstuck!Wally x GN!Reader

Inspired by a gorgeous drawing by @bunnyspine, AU by them as well!!

Just a lighthearted, fluffy fic <333 Enjoy neighbors!

I am writing this while sick HELPME

(Art by @bunnyspine <33 love you so much /p)

☆☆☆☆☆

"...for you."

Wally softly whispered, standing in front of you with a variety of flowers tied up together with a red ribbon. It was perfectly tied just for you with a note attached. His gaze was away from yours, but it was easy to tell that you meant a lot to him. As nervous as he was, he stood in front of you with a beautiful gift that left you in tears.

You reach out and take the sweet gift. The flowers smelt wonderful. You were fighting not to cry on the spot. Of all neighbors, you caught his attention. It made you feel special, a feeling you thought you'd never feel. And here you were, getting emotional with a beating heart. You glance at the note, which reads;

" I really think you're pretty, neighbor. So pretty that I can't stop thinking about you. You never make my heart still. It races with adoration because of you. I love you. "

Your emotions got the best of you. Tears trailed down your face. But you laughed. The air was filled with your laughter.

Your laughter.

Wally was caught off guard. He turned his head to you and saw you crying with laughter. He was confused. Did you find his confession funny? What was the deal? Unfortunately for him, your laughter was contagious, and Wally soon fell into a fit of laughter with you. You both laughed together for different reasons, but it was such a sweet moment. You clutch the flowers close to you.

The laughing continued for what felt like forever. The both of you soon calmed down, each of you collectively catching your breaths.

Wally wiped away the tear that dared to shed. "What was so funny, neighbor?" He asked, his tone filled with joy and worry.

You thought about telling him, but you had a better idea.

You gently placed the flowers and card on the ground. You took a few steps forward to Wally, smiling sweetly. Before he could say anything, you gently cup his cheek with one hand; the other tangling his hair with your fingers. Wally's face grew flushed. He smiled widely and giggled, leaning into your touch.

"Nothing, you just made me really happy," you whispered. "Because I love you, too." You lean in and press a soft kiss on Wally's forehead. A soft gasp escaped his lips, his eyes sparkling with love and adoration. You could've sworn you heard his heartbeat.

Wally became so overjoyed that he threw his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. He buried his face for one moment in your shoulder, kissing your cheek multiple times the next. His embrace slightly tightened, though, remained gentle.

"Neighbor, you have no idea how relieved I am to hear that. I love you so much," he whispered.

"I love you way more. I would've never thought you would love me back," you admitted, your arms wrapped around him with your hands in his hair.

"How could I not? You're perfect,"

That was the final string tugged. You looked at Wally for a moment before closing the gap between you two, pressing your lips against his. Wally was caught off guard for a moment but clung onto you as he kissed you back. He hummed from your fingers playing with his hair. In return, you felt his hands rub your back in a soothing rhythm. It was a sweet sensation neither of you were ready to let go. It was after a few moments that you both finally pulled away for air, the two of you gently panting but smiling like loving dorks.

Now doesn't that just make your day?

☆☆☆☆☆

OH MY GOD MY FIRST NIGHTSTUCK FANFIC LETS GOOOOOOOO

AHHH I HOPE I DID WALLY JUSTICE, THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE DRAWING THAT I JUST COULD NOT HELP MYSELF

[anna-no-emma]

How the batkids go about journaling

Jason: has very neat matching journals (like he always buys teh same red moleskin or whatever when the old one is close to running out) where he writes about events in his life. He either excludes Red Hood stuff or very very vaguely alludes to it in ways only he would understand. He also has a specific favorite type of pen he uses so it's all very uniform. As disciplined about writing as it is possible to be given his Red Hood schedule.

Steph: has a mismatched collection of journals (just notebooks she thought were cute) and mismatched collection of pens she uses. She mostly talks about her friends, school and writes little reminders to herself (replace a part on her scooter, buy a new mascara etc.)

Dick: just has a box full of pictures, receipts, birthday cards, notes from his friends, and ripped newspaper/magazine articles he found interesting. He just collects things with good memories attached to them and puts them in pretty little wooden boxes. So far he has 4-5 boxes that live in the back of his closet and he looks through them whenever he's feeling a little down.

Damian: has art journals. It's all just sketches with the date and an oocasional little note next to it (11/10/24, Drake being an imbecile. 20/09/23, Todd fixing his bike. etc.). He's very specific about the type of sketch book he likes so they all match nicely.

Tim: A certain type of notebook (he likes a certain kind) that's full of indecipherable case notes, scraps of relevant documents/articles/photos and research about his special interests but has the odd 'dairy-style' note in the corner (20/11/24 Steph bought me mango hand cream, very nice. 02/03/24 Bernard listening to Bats of Gotham podcast again, will have to monitor. )

Duke: Ends up with fat little journals with diary entries and pictures/receipts/notes/junk he stuck in it. He uses a code (it isn't very logical) that not even Tim can make sense of to allude to vigilante stuff. He only writes every few weeks but when he does write he likes to catch up on everything so the entries are quite long.

Cass: Likes to magpie bits and pieces from the rest of her family for her journal, doesn't write much, but makes quite disciplined, regular entries using things like pictures Tim takes, notes Dick has left around the manor, doodles Damian has made and forgotten about, cards/notes Duke has given her, quotes/bad poetry Jason has scribbled down on scraps of paper when he's bored or has been using as a bookmark and forgets about.

[atimeofyourlife]

Old face, new place

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up: High school or College AU

rated: t | cw: none | tags: disabled Steve Harrington, pre-Steddie | wc:1000

Steve and Eddie meet again in college. The Upside Down still happened, but Eddie was never involved.

Honestly, Steve never thought he would go to college. Between his average grades, lack of ambition, and just not knowing what he wanted to do, it just didn’t seem to be on the cards for him. But it all changed after the Upside Down turned his life upside down.

After it was all over, and he’d been disowned by his parents, he and Robin moved to Chicago together. It was there she encouraged him to start taking classes at the same community college as her, to try and get a degree.

And that was how he got here, facing down the door of an art room, trying to build up the courage to go in. He’d signed up to be a nude model for a figure drawing class. At $20 a session, it would really help stretch his and Robin’s lousy paychecks that bit further. As he opened the door, he could hear the teacher reminding the class to be mindful about the model's bodies. That made him feel a little more uneasy, because it reminded him that it was the first time anyone other than doctors or Robin had seen him uncovered since everything with Vecna, and then losing his leg in the final showdown. He stripped down in the cubicle at the side of the room, changing into just a bathrobe.

As he came into the main space, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on his prosthetic. He reached the stool set up for him, and slipped off the robe. A collective gasp rang through the room, and he knew it was because of the scarring from the demo-bat attacks. 

He got into a pose, and tried to forget where he was. Whenever he took a minute to move because of getting too stiff, he glanced over the class, seeing if there was anyone he recognized. There was one guy who felt vaguely familiar, who would not stop staring at his scars, his gaze more intense than anyone else’s.

Eddie had always known that college wasn’t in the cards for him. Hell, it took him three attempts to graduate high school. And he was only successful the last time because everyone in the class of ‘86 was allowed to graduate without sitting their finals because of the freak earthquake, and the murders, that happened during spring break that year. Wayne had all but forced him into volunteering in the relief efforts, but as soon as he had his diploma in hand, he was hightailing it out of town, looking for something better.

He ended up in Chicago, working evenings in a bar, and getting an apprenticeship to become a tattoo artist. He was a few months into the apprenticeship when his mentor recommended that he take a couple of semesters of art classes at the local community college to help him with technique and to refine his style. He tried to deny it on grounds of cost, but it was covered under the apprenticeship program.

Which is how he found himself a few months in, sitting in a figure drawing class. He zoned out a little as the teacher brought up the rules that had been laid out on the first day of the figure drawing unit, about making the models comfortable and not saying anything about their bodies. That hadn’t happened before any of the other models came in, so it did make Eddie wonder. Maybe it would be a guy with a really interesting dick.

Instead, it was Steve Harrington, of all people, that limped into the room. Eddie couldn’t help but watch as he went into the corner blocked off for the models to change in. What had brought King Steve to be a model for an art class? Looking for more validation on how pretty he was? Trying to pick up girls?

He brought himself out of his thoughts as Steve came out in a robe and. A prosthetic leg. That explained the limp, but brought so many more questions about what had happened. Because Eddie clearly remembered Steve in those tiny gym shorts and he definitely wasn’t missing a leg at that point. 

Then Steve dropped the robe. Eddie, alongside the rest of the class, gasped. And not for the reason he’d thought he would be gasping when seeing Steve Harrington naked. He had horrific scarring on his chest and sides. Just opening even more questions to what the hell had happened to him.

He did his best to complete the assigned drawing, but his eyes kept getting drawn to Steve’s scars. The curiosity kept building as the time went on, and he was unsure if he’d be able to keep it in. 

He packed up slowly at the end, wanting to try and catch Steve. They’d never been friends, but he needed to know if he was okay. He waited until they were both out of the room, before he called after him. “Hey, Harrington.”

Steve turned around, and looked at Eddie for a moment before recognition flashed in his eyes. “Munson.”

“Are- are you okay?” He asked, feeling a bit lost, unsure if what he wanted to ask was inappropriate.

“You mean my-” Steve rested his hand on his side where the worst of the scarring was. “Animal attack during the earthquake. It’s fine now.”

“And your-” Eddie’s gaze dropped to Steve’s legs.

“An accident a few months later.”

“Damn. You’ve really been through it, Harrington.”

Steve gave a bitter laugh that Eddie couldn’t quite read. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Maybe you could tell me some of it? Over coffee if you’re free?” Eddie suggested.

Steve looked at his watch. “I’ve got class in like twenty minutes. But I’ll be free after eleven tomorrow?”

Eddie ran through his scheduling in his mind, he was in the shop in the morning. “I’m working in the morning, but I’ll be off about two. We could do a late lunch or something?”

“It’s a date.” Steve agreed.