#Circuit Mane

[circuitmane]

Day 19: Draw a pony finding peace with themselves

I always like to imagine Diamond Tiara finding peace with herself as she got older and more mature.

[toacoy]

**********Tsuki saying go the fuck to sleep*********

He cares about his friend's sleep

[antirepurp]

hey it's our crowdsourced oc! they're a maned wolf who was created in a project researching methods for turning biological beings into data, and as a result their body is largely unstable. they're also able to use that instability to partially enter computers and similar machines, not fully though as they can't fully turn themselves into data. they prefer being and doing things by themselves and have a hard time accepting help, but a lot of it is a front they put on to appear tougher than they are. they're in a qpr with big and visit him often, especially when they just want to Exist for a while

thanks for everyone who helped make them real! :D

[shirefantasies]

Horse-Maid- Eomer x F!Reader

I’ve been really wanting to do more one-shots, so here we are- enjoy this short little imagine 😘

“What happened to you, huh?”

Chuckling, you bent down to take up a brush. Sneoan, your horse, had somehow gotten a mess of leaves and brush tangled in his pure-white mane. Smiling at the way your horse’s eyes fluttered shut in contentment, you gently dragged the brush through the tangles, working out the leaves from the coarse hair with your fingers.

Your father had long cared for that stable, but ill health of late had driven him to grant its care to you, his eldest daughter. And with joy had you said yes! Your people’s love of horses carried naturally into your heart even without the wonder of seeing how your father groomed and sometimes armored your proud Riders’ mounts. Truly the trust he had for you to continue it was an honor.

Sneoan suddenly turned his head; you followed, gaze tracking the swing of stable doors. Thuds of boots and rustles of the hay littering the ground alerted you further to the presence of another.

“Where is Havner?” No malice colored the man’s tone, just a serious inquiry.

Finally turning around, you were met with an expression of curiosity across a face that perfectly matched his tone. Long golden hair fell to his shoulders and around the look of regal inquiry, swept as it was away from his dark eyes.

“Retired,” you replied simply, eyes trailing lightly across the man’s features as one of your hands still combed Sneoan’s mane.

The man’s brows arched and rose. “Ah, I see. That is news to me. Well, would you mind terribly directing me to the new master of the stable?”

Your hand finally faltered, a single freed leaf fluttering to the floor. “That would be me. Which of these fine horses is your mount?”

“You?”

“Yes.” A faint frown began creasing your forehead- for all his looks, was this man truly that dense?

“Never before have I seen a stable in the hands of a horse-maid,” he remarked.

Striding over to the wall where you rehung your hoof pick, you shrugged and gave a small roll of your eyes, not that the man could probably see it. “Well, now you have.”

“Why did Havner choose you?” He pressed on, shuffling closer as you tidied.

“My father chose me after years of training and even observing the farriers,” you countered, crossing your arms and smirking drily, “and if you really still doubt me, ride with me. See who completes the circuit faster.”

Apparently forgetting whatever errand had been at hand, the man shrugged lightly with a cocky look of his own. "Very well. Let's."

~

Sneoan saw you through. It was a tight race, but in the end you pulled ahead, creating a respectable difference in your finishes. Turning around, you fixed the stable man with a pointed look of satisfaction.

“You have bested me.” His grace and decency met you such that you felt shock; you’d expected more fight, greater upset at loss.

Your mouth opened once to speak, twice, before a reply emerged, your ire nearly all drained. “Indeed I have,” you replied, easing the grip you had on your reins as the both of you slowed down, “so?”

“So,” he shot back, “you have proven yourself a more than worthy heir to your father’s work.”

Squinting in the sun as you may have been, you caught the glint of pride in the man’s dark eyes. “You know, you are quite like my sister. You have spirit. She would be very fond of you.”

“Sounds as though she is of sound judgment,” you teased as your horse trotted evenly aside his, inclining your head his way.

“Indeed she is!” He chuckled, shaking some golden hair off his shoulder.

You smiled. “So, may I finally know my opponent’s name?”

The almost childish look of surprise that dashed across his face was something you couldn’t help a giggle at, feeling another rosy rush of warmth to your face complementing the sun’s touch.

“I never…” He cleared his throat, finally returning to his look of gentle stoicism. “Yes, well, my name is Éomer, son of Éomund. At your service.”

You gave your name in turn. “And I, it would seem, at yours. Your horse there? He’s a good one. Always puts up with my prodding. Don’t you, sir?” Reaching across to bridge the gap, you stroked the flowing mane of Éomer’s horse.

Leaning to look back up, you were surprised at the intensity in your fellow rider’s gaze, his eyes boring into yours. “He knows a good hand when he sees it. Might we do this again someday?”

“Have a race?” You replied, perhaps a bit dumbly, beneath that stare.

“I could try my hand at a rematch.” A smile teased upon his lips. “Or we could simply ride together. Whatever you prefer that day, I suppose. I will be happy for the company. What say you, horse-maid?”

[painted-bees]

August 12, 2008.

 Magritte had only ever heard good things about Vancouver's Granville Island and so, naturally, it was the first place she set out to find upon arriving in the city. The Greyhound station her bus pulled into had been only a short walk from the Skytrain that would carry her two minutes to Granville Station. And it was here that Magritte had the good sense to find a nice, unintrusive space to sit cross-legged and lay her old, faithful piano keyboard across her lap.

  The instrument, pulled out of its cozy bed from within her large duffel bag, was a well loved Yamaha PSS-270. Its dull, black, plastic body was covered in ancient, disintegrating stickers, and a generous amount of electrical tape served to hold its batteries in place.

  With an affectionate press of a button, she woke the machine up from its slumber, selected her choice presets and, with no specific setlist in mind, began to improvise a little tune. Something cute and fun, perhaps a little bit like Donkey Kong’s Stickerbrush Symphony in tempo and progression. Or just…”Stickerbrush Symphony”, wholesale, why the hell not? Improvisation melted seamlessly into the classic video game tunes that were fondly familiar to her.

The beloved instrument cradled in Magritte’s lap had been pulled apart and reassembled more times than she kept track of. But still, it held together and played its charming FM sounds dutifully. A tidy row of silver metal switches, lined up along the side of its body, were left carefully undisturbed as her fingers danced across the yellowed plastic keys. Magritte had learned very early in her busking career that the general public did not appreciate the unpredictable discordinance of a bent circuit as much as she did. And so that row of silver little switches connecting the data lines stood stoically in their ‘on’ position, not allowing for any delightful surprises, but also not deteriorating the synth-chip’s sound into glitchy noise on a bad turn. Perfectly vanilla, perfectly agreeable, endearingly nostalgic.

 She had placed an old ball cap upside down infront of her, tossing in a few quarters of her own as a way of inviting more from friendly pockets. Ideally, she’d play an hour or two and leave with enough change to buy a coffee. Not just a Tim’s coffee–no. She wanted a decadent foamy latte from a cute, artsy little cafe she could sit in. She couldn’t bear to walk through the streets of Granville Island without having the spare change to treat herself on an impulse. And so–she’d not leave the train station until the passing public funded her frivolous spending habits.

After all, it was her birthday. She deserved a little gift.

 Busking in a transit station was always a bit of a trade-off. It was a bustling place full of foot traffic but the people here were focused on reaching their destination; busy and preoccupied. In a place like this, Magritte had no expectation to captivate loiterers. Not many transit-goers could spare a minute or two to sit and listen while she hammered out her cheap little tunes on cheap little piano keys. And so, when a well worn pair of tan colored, loose-laced Timberlands entered her field of vision, stopping definitively to stand before her, Magritte turned her gaze upward to welcome the listener with a wide, sloppy smile.

 Without giving her brain time to register the face she was speaking to, Magritte opened her mouth to chime a cheery greeting. She was cut off faster than she could process his expression.

  “You’re in my spot.”

  The man’s voice was curt, and the cold annoyance in his tone was mirrored in the expression on his short, square face. Pale blue eyes looked down a sharp, slightly bent nose at her. His narrow lips were pressed narrower still in a stern line, framed by a full, sandy colored beard and moustache. Atop his head, long hair of the same light color was pulled back into a small, tight bun; more slick and tidy, but far less full than the sloppy bun that Magritte’s unruly mane of curly rust colored hair had been wrangled up into.

 Her dorky smirk dissolved with a few confused blinks into a slack jaw of nervous apology. “O-oh! I uh-s-sorry!” 

Her startled gaze snagged itself on the acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, and the instrument’s exciting potential made her straighten her back with intent.

 She found her smile again. “What if–maybe we could jam? For a few minutes! And then I can scoot on outta here and leave you to it if you want. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to–”

 “Do you have a permit?” His tone was unchanged by her eager proposition.

 “Huh?” It wasn’t that Magritte didn’t hear him, but she needed a moment to process what was being asked.

 “You can’t be here without a permit. Not the stations, not anywhere in Granville either.” The unaccommodating man took a few steps towards her duffel bag and used the top of his foot to lift and slide it away from where she had safely tucked it. “Get a move on.”

 Magritte protectively reached out to grab her bag as the man carelessly footed it out of ‘his’ space. And in doing so, she caused her keyboard to slide off her lap, forcing her to clumsily abort her duffel-grabbing effort in favor of clutching her instrument before it could somersault over the edge of her knees and land face-down onto hard ground.

 The man, it seemed, was done with words and had already begun moving into the small space that shoving her bag out of the way had created. She felt her face turn hot as she began to gather up her items. Any desire to engage the guy more than she already had was lost along with her nerve.

 As she relented to stowing her keyboard back into her duffel bag, an unfamiliar hand shoved a cold, unopened can of Coke in front of her face.

 “Here you go.” Another man’s voice. A softer one, this time. Magritte glanced up to meet eyes with the stranger who was offering her a free drink, only to gaze into a pair of red, plastic, star shaped dollar store sunglasses.

He gave the soda can a little shake, prompting her to take it into her hands. “Sorry I took long, I had to give someone directions to the aquarium.”

 “Is this…for me?” Holding the can in both hands, Magritte stared at the unopened beverage, unsure what to do with it.

 The new stranger leaned onto his back foot. “You said coke, right?”

 Before Magritte could stammer out a response, the new stranger turned his attention to the man with the guitar. “‘Ey, Kurtis. You mind, dude?”

 The unaccommodating man, ‘Kurtis’, had just started settling in, and looked towards the new stranger with an expression that appeared as perplexed as Magritte herself felt. He turned up both his palms in a slightly contentious gesture. “Didn’t know you were playin’ here again. I’ve had this spot for, like, a year. People don’t usually park here without asking me first.”

 “Okay, but you can’t just kick ‘em out like this, man.”

 “I didn’t know she was with you–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Magritte’s new best friend replied. “Sixty minutes. It’s not a long time to wait if you gotta wait.”

 Magritte, who had been watching Kurtis’ confidence slowly drain from his body with each passing second, turned to examine the cut of her spontaneous new accomplice. His hair was a shade or two darker than Kurtis’, and trimmed much, much shorter, with longer locks in front that fell in straight tufts over the tops of his ears and just past his thick, blocky eyebrows. His eyes remained obscured by the cheap plastic shades, and their childish novelty paired strangely with the well trimmed goatee that fanned out from under his lip to define the curve of his somewhat long but gentle chin. And he had with him a rectangular instrument case of…some variety. Not big enough for a guitar, not small enough for a flute. It didn’t give away the shape of the instrument inside, but the black oxford cloth and gold colored metallic detailings of its exterior gave it a classy, charming look she had not seen for an instrument case before. It was cute. Magritte wondered if such a style was available for portable keyboards.

 His hands, which wore white fingerless driving gloves, cracked open his can of sprite, and he took a casual sip while waiting for Kurtis to, “Get a move on.”

  Relenting, Kurtis shuffled away from the spot he had been deliberately crowding Magritte out of. With a snort and a nod of his head towards her, Kurtis said, “Can’t exactly play Paganini on a Portasound, Raf. What’s on your setlist?”

  Raf brandished a lopsided smirk and jutted his chin in the direction of Magritte’s upturned hat on the ground. “Put a toonie down and I’ll show you.”

  “Fuck off.” Kurtis’s scoff was accompanied by a laugh–one that sounded surprisingly genuine to Magritte's ear. “I came here to earn change, not spend it. But I’m curious to hear how the Ephrem Classical pairs with Toy Piano.”

 Raf let out a low groan that could have been mistaken for a growl. Moving into the corner that Kurtis had surrendered, he unslung his instrument off his shoulder with a shrug. “There’s plenty you can play on just forty-nine keys.”

 Being very confident about this fact, Magritte couldn’t help but provide her insight on the matter. With an enthusiastic lean-in, she interjected, “Yeah, like Kirby’s Dreamland!”

 Raf’s head flinched in her direction almost imperceptibly, and if she had caught the subtle downward twitch of his eyebrows that betrayed a pang of confusion, she might have felt a bite of embarrassment. But instead, she heard him agree. “Like…Kirby’s Dreamland, yeah.”

 He turned to look over his shoulder at her, his sunglasses mercifully hiding the bafflement in his eyes. Magritte beamed gleefully back up at him.

  “Well, have fun.” Kurtis levelled a stern yet somewhat pleading glance at Raf.” I’ll be back here in an hour. Don’t let anyone else move in if you leave early, please.”

 Raf simply shrugged and sipped loudly from his can of sprite in response.

  As Magritte watched Kurtis disappear into the foot traffic, she began to tentatively scoot back towards where she had previously sat. “I didn’t mind giving that guy his spot back, he was just kinda–”

 “A dick. Nah, I saw that. S’why I stepped in.” Raf had carefully set his instrument case down, and was in the process of zipping it open.

 Leaning slightly to get a peek at what he was playing, Magritte said, “Thanks for the pop, by the way! I can pay you back after. If uh–you’re actually gonna stick around and jam with me.”

 He pulled his instrument out of its protective cradle; a pale varnished wooden violin. “Don’t worry about it.”

Inside the carrying case, Magritte noticed two bows neatly stowed. The bowstrings on the bow Raf selected was a standard white color, but the strings on the one he left in the case were an eye-catching red.

“Truth be told,” tucking the chin rest of the violin beneath his chin, he played one string, and then two experimentally, “I don’t really play anymore.” His fingers closed around one of the tuning knobs at the head of the violin, but if he had tweaked it at all, it wasn't perceptible. “So it’s gonna be pretty rough. But uh…gotta commit to the bit, I guess.”

  Magritte took the moment to open her soda and enjoy a refreshing sip. “What kinda music do you normally play?” 

  “Classical,” he replied almost too quickly. “You?”

  Magritte hesitated for a second. She should have had an easy answer for this by now, but all she could manage was, “a bit of everything. Anything, really!”

  Raf ran his bow over the strings again to hear their tune before turning to look at her. “Yeah?” His eyebrows were raised, and his smirk favored one side of his face; an expression Magritte interpreted as incredulous. He fidgeted with a tiny, lone knob on the violin's body where the strings ended.

  “Y-yeah! I, um…” Settling her keyboard back into her lap, she turned it on. “You can just play whatever, and I can fill it in. I can improvise, I think.”

  Raf paused and stared down at Magritte’s little Portasound with a sigh much heavier than he intended. The thing was lacking, not just in keys, but in sound. It was a struggle to think of something he could play that she’d be able to accompany. The titles which did come to mind where…overplayed and would have to be simplified considerably to suit the keyboard's limitations. Weighing it in his mind, however, he decided that ‘simple’ may benefit not just the limited range of her instrument, but of her musical skill as well.

 He ran the bow over his strings to measure their tune one last time before tentatively, very slowly playing the first few crystalline notes of Für Elise. He felt a tension he didn’t know he was holding melt off his shoulders as he watched Magritte’s face light up. She curled over her little piano in a hurry to play his accompaniment. She knew this one.

  She picked a soft, more ambient sound from the keyboard’s voicebank, electing to quietly cushion the violin’s notes rather than chafe against them. It was…difficult. Her little yamaha and its quaint library of FM chip sounds did not get along nicely with ‘real instruments’ that were being played ‘straight’. It wanted to be weird and annoying, just like her. But the notes Raf played, while simple, were extremely clear in tone; neat and tidy. The bow did not once stutter on the rough strings, it glided with practised ease. And with a great deal of restraint.

  This guy…he was playing beneath his skill level. For her sake, presumably. Like a gentleman.

 As Raf brought Für Elise to a close with the last, steady draw of his bow, Magritte swapped her soft, ambient voicing out with an annoying music box sound, and began hammering out a choice section from the 3rd movement of Appassionata. Her fingers slammed the keys harder than was necessary, solely because she enjoyed the percussive sound it added to each obnoxious, feverish note. 

  Lowering his violin, Raf watched Magritte’s fingers flutter furiously across the mini keys with respectable precision. Holding both the bow and the neck of his violin in one hand, his free hand reached up to remove his sunglasses and he rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. A humbled snort escaped through his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Play any song.” Magritte slowed her fingers to a stop without completing the movement. “Even if I don’t know it, even if it goes beyond the range of my little piano, I can improvise something nice for it, I promise!”

  Fitting his sunglasses back on, Raf let out a tentative hum. “I’m not much of an improviser–”

  “You don’t have to improvise anything! Play whatever you want, however you wanna play it. I will improvise around whatever you give me!” Magritte’s voice had risen to an excited shout, and instinctively, she withdrew into herself just a little bit, as if making herself smaller would also make her voice smaller, too. “It’s my favorite thing to do. It’s a lot of fun.”

  His incredulous smirk returned, but this time his brow furrowed slightly, encouragingly, under his growing sense of intrigue.

  “It’s–” Magritte held up both hands haltingly, “it’s probably not gonna be like how you know it should be. Just…so you know. It might even be…bad? In some parts? But-! Mostly it’ll be neat! I promise!”

  “Neat…” Raf brought the violin up once again to rest under his chin. “Neat’s cool. Alright, let’s see, then.”

  As though he had been inspired by Magritte’s aggressive interpretation of Appassionata, he began with a series of fast, chirpy, clean notes of his own. A wholly different song, but Magritte recognized this one too. She had most often heard it as a phone ringtone, but she couldn’t recall who composed it nor what the song was titled. She provided a jaunty, equally bouncy accompaniment that she’d have described as ‘percussive’. The violin’s unwavering confidence was a delight for Magritte’s deft little fingers to dance around. He never fell out of tempo, and she was able to punctuate his notes with hers in perfect time. Maintaining synchrony for the entire length of the fast paced composition filled her with such satisfying joy, she had failed to properly appreciate an obvious fact about her musical accomplice until he brought the song to a close; he was a skilled musician.

  Staring up at him from her spot on the floor, Magritte’s wide eyes almost sparkled with delight. “You’re like…Concert hall good, aren’t you? Are you part of the local orchestra? Or at least like–aspiring to be?”

  Raf’s gaze hung on her as both his jaw and posture slackened. “Uh…” 

  She didn’t give him enough time to respond, hitting him with another question. “What was the title of that song? I just know it as one of the Nokia ringtones.”

 “P–” Raf’s stunned silence cracked with a laugh that sprang forth from his chest and took him by surprise almost as much as Magritte’s line of questioning had. “Paganini. It’s–it’s Paganini, Caprice number…number 24.” The response was punctuated with warm chuckling. “Or, you know, that one phone ringtone, yeah.” He smirked at her for a moment longer, studying her for any sign that she was putting him on. “How do you…accompany me that well, on that little machine, and not even know the song?”

 Magritte waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, I knew the song! I’ve heard it before, I just didn’t know what it was called.”

 “Yeah, alright.” He snorted one last incredulous laugh and brought his violin back up for another song.

 Magritte stopped him before he could settle on his next pick. “Do you play professionally? I mean, it sounds like it but, like–”

  “No.” Before Magritte could inquire further, the first notes of their next song filled the space between them, drawn out of his violin with long, purposeful strokes of his bow.

  The next several songs, Raf played seamlessly one into the other–without pausing for conversation. That was just as well for Magritte. It had been ages since she was given the chance to play music with someone, and never had she played with someone who was so…solid? Consistent? The real deal. Usually, she had to avoid getting carried away when playing with another person. It was very easy for her to close her eyes and get taken to places that her musical partners could not follow along with. But with Raf, she was finding herself challenged to keep up with him. Most of the songs he had chosen, she had not heard before. And so she needed to keep an attentive ear out if she wanted to pick out repeated phrases, and predict melodic trajectories.

  Finally, they arrived at the end of an especially eclectic piece, and Raf did not immediately follow through into another composition. Instead he lowered his bow, and Magritte took her opening to converse again.

  “I really liked that one. It was super janky, in a fun way.”

  “Yeah,” Raf said. “I was always fond of it, too.”

  “I liked the plucky bits. Did you write it?”

 “Did I–” Raf palmed both his bow and violin in one hand, and massaged his eyes and browline with the other. “No, some guy named Ravel did. Tzigane, that one’s called.”

  Magritte chewed the inside of her cheek. “R-right.”

  He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “You knew that one, though.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “...You just let me solo the first four minutes based on vibes?”

  “I thought I missed the bus on it.”

  “The actual composition has no accompaniment until about half way through, so…bravo.”

  “Wait, really?” Magritte leaned forward eagerly. “Did I play the accompaniment correctly, too?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Drat.” She slumped.

  “Was good, though.” Raf picked up his sprite from where he had placed it, on the ground next to his case, and drained the last bit of its contents.

  Magritte perked up again. “Yeah!?”

  He held the lip of the empty can between his teeth as he began tucking his violin back into its carrying case. “Mmhm.”   

  Magritte watched him pack up for a moment longer than it should have taken her to realise, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

  Raf zipped his instrument safely away before removing the empty soda can from his mouth. “Yeah, I gotta get going. But look,” He bent over to collect Magritte’s upturned ball cap off the ground. The few quarters she had started with now had a generous handful of friends with them; more quarters, some loonies, a few toonies and–

 Magritte accepted the hat when Raf handed it to her, and pulled a crisp twenty dollar bill out of it. “W-who left this!? I wasn’t even paying attention, I should have said thanks!”

  “A mystery.” He slung his violin case over his shoulder.

  Magritte urged him to wait, fluttering a hand at him. “Half of this is yours!”

  “Nah.” He favored her with a smile. “Genuinely, this was a treat in itself. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for fun like this. It…was fun.” That last part sounded as though it came as a surprise to him.

  Frowning, Magritte pleaded with him. “Okay, okay but–okay. Lemme treat you to a coffee then, at least? If you’re in no real hurry.”

  Raf paused to regard her with a measuring stare. He then sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black denim hoodie jacket, waiting for Magritte to stow her keyboard away into her bag.

  Zipping the duffel closed, she hoisted it with effort over her shoulder and beamed up at her new friendly acquaintance. “If you know any cute, cozy coffee places with a real decadent latte, I’m open to suggestions!”

  “There are…a few.” 

  “I’m Magritte, by the way!” She extended her hand out to him.

  With slight hesitation, Raf shook it. “Rafael.”

  As the two of them began to make their way out of the station together, he dared to ask, “Are you here visiting, or..?”

  “Oh!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, “I just came in from Calgary like…two hours ago. Ideally, I’d like to stay until the spring, but that’s gonna depend on things.”

  “Calgary?”

  “Yeah! I was in Edmonton before that, and in Winnipeg before that–but that was mostly a fever dream. I wasn’t there long. Montreal before that, though, was nice..!” She talked the entire walk, and he was content to quietly listen. part ii

[ohtobearandomftblog]

the amount of times he forgets his name is leo and loke is embarrassing

he had to train himself out of responding to leo when he left blue pegasus (was already conditioned to only respond to karen calling out to him, if any human did). there were too many people talking about karen or leo the constellation or leo the spirit for the first few months after her death and he tried to make it not affect him by just. discarding it and taking up loke

which worked until he became leo the spirit again. it was fine sometimes, because the humans he was around most often still called him loke for the most part, but being back in the celestial world? nightmare. 'leo, can you get me the wine?' 'leo, let me cut that mane of yours' 'leo, we have a meeting in thirty' 'leo, lucys far moooo-re receptive to my flirts than yours'

it got to the point where, around the oración seis arc, loke had two masks, similar to that celestial eclipse arc in the anime. there was loke the human and leo the spirit. loke would flirt unabashedly with anything that moved, leo would focus on the mission first and relationships second. loke would grab almost anything someone handed him, leo would be far more reserved and skeptical. loke would eat almost as much as natsu for the hell of it, leo would never touch human food.

when aries showed up on tenrou, he had such an identity crisis it heavily impacted his fighting ability. he was summoned as leo, so he was trying his damnedest to not let distractions cloud his judgement, to not let relationships hinder him, to not let memories drag him down. but aries was right there and his own memories were pulling the loke mask up while still drowning him in hurt and pain and he dealt with that with the loke mask but he was summoned as leo

the more he's been able to heal from karen, the more he's able to be both leo and loke at the same time. sometimes he jokingly ignores the other spirits when they call for leo. sometimes he genuinely forgets when the humans call for loke. sometimes he gets such whiplash when a spirit calls him loke or a human calls him leo that he just short-circuits for a solid ten seconds.

it gets to the point some of the more reactive ones (aquarius, lucy, freed, sting, etc.) start calling him 'lion'. and he still forgets that he's the lion spirit, come on dude—

[acknowledge-reigns]

No Yeet (Roman Reigns x Fem!OC SMUT) 18+

Description: Roman hates the word yeet. His bratty sub loves to push his buttons.

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, bratty sub, pet names (babygirl, princess, baby. Lil, short for Lilith...), light degradation (use of the word slut), orgasm control and denial, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, begging, edging, spanking, aftercare, fluff at the end, tiny bits of angst if you squint.

Kayfabe compliant. This is a story about Roman, not Joe.

18+!!!! MDNI!!!!

Face claim is Megan Thee Stallion.

See my other stories here.

It had been a couple of months now since the press conference where Jey and Cody had affectionately been dubbed 'team yeet' by the fans, due to Jey's obsessive ussage of the word and getting even Cody, although in a drunken state at the time, on the 'yeet' train as well. It was like overnight the word was re popularized, amongst the WWE Universe and the wrestlers in the locker room at least.

Two Months. Eight weeks of hearing that damn word non stop. Roman had lost count of the amount of times he's yelled at Jimmy not to say yeet, simply explaining "I don't like that".

That explanation was a hell of a lot easier than the deeper reasoning.

He missed Jey. His little cousin, his right hand man. While Roman refused to admit that he was in anyway jealous of Cody, he refused to utter that word. That word was a symbol of betrayal. Of his cousin leaving him and aligning with the enemy.

A lot has happened as of late. More recruits to the bloodline. Specifically a newly signed Lilith "The Vixen" Obsidian.

Fresh out of the independent circuit but with plenty of experience, Lilith knew what she was doing. Not just that but she practically grew up with Roman and The Usos. They had been close childhood friends. She and Roman had shared their first kiss, went to prom together and so much more.

There was never a question of where her loyalties lie. The two had gone their seperate ways after high school with no hard feelings at all. They just wanted different things in life at the time. Roman was pursuing football, and Lilith was ready to begin a wrestling career.

Fast forward and years later, Lilith couldn't have gotten signed to WWE at a more perfect time. With the bloodline's rivals growing more powerful by the day something had to he done.

The minute Rhea Ripley sat in Roman's locker room and said for Paul, Roman's Wiseman, to acknowledge her.. That was when Roman knew it was time to make the call. Lilith of course eagerly agreed to join the bloodline and handle any potential drama and disrespect from Rhea. And things grew from there.

Feelings were quickly rekindled. It started as a one night thing. Roman needed to blow off some steam, Lilith was ready and willing. So they had sex. From there it moved on to friends with benefits. Any time either of them were in need of pleasure, the other was one call away.

It continued to grow though until eventually Roman asked Lilith to be his girlfriend. And she said yes.

Roman sat in the chair in his locker room, Lilith perched in his lap playing with his long gorgeous mane.

"Yeet" Jimmy says

"I already told you, I don't like that." Roman snapped. To be fair he was already frustrated as hell with LA Knight of all people having the audacity to challenge him. And he'd hurt his finger in the process of the scuffle with that nobody, to say he was in a pissy mood was an understatement.

Lilith though, ever the brat didn't miss a beat seeing the look on his face. She looks directly in his eyes with a challenging smirk.

"Yeet" Lilith says as if daring him. You could hear a pin drop in that locker room.

"Everybody but Lilith, out. NOW." Roman's voice boomed. Lilith giggled, clearly amused with herself as Solo, Jimmy and Paul quickly headed out of the room at the tribal chief's command.

As the door closes, Roman faces Lilith. With a determined look on his face, he takes a step towards her, his dominant aura emanating from every pore. Lilith's eyes widen slightly.

Roman firmly grabs Lilith's wrist, his grip both gentle and commanding. Lilith's heart races, her bratty facade crumbling under the weight of Roman's dominance.

Standing in front of her, Roman leans in, his voice low and authoritative. "Now babygirl, I know you know better than breaking your tribal chief's rules." he spoke.

Roman maintains his dominant stance, his eyes locked with Lilith's as he contemplates the appropriate punishment for her bratty behavior. He smirks, sensing her nervous anticipation.

With deliberate slowness, Roman reaches out and gently brushes a strand of Lilith's hair behind her ear, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. He leans in closer, his warm breath grazing against her earlobe as he whispers, "You know, I think you need a reminder of who's in control here."

Roman's hand trails down Lilith's neck, his fingertips grazing her collarbone, before slowly sliding underneath her shirt. His touch is both firm and tender, igniting a mixture of pleasure and anticipation within her.

Roman's eyes gleam with a mix of mischief and dominance. He leans in, his lips grazing against her earlobe, his warm breath tickling her skin yet again. "You've been a very naughty girl, Lilith," he murmurs, his voice dripping with a potent mixture of authority and desire.

"You remember your Safeword, Princess?" Roman asks.

"Oreo" Lilith stated.

"Good girl." Roman responds as his hands move lower, skimming over the curve of Lilith's waist before slipping underneath the waistband of her pants. His touch is tantalizingly light as he traces circles along her hip bones, teasing but never fully satisfying her growing need. Each touch leaves her craving more, her body yearning for release. Once he pulls his hand away, he relievers delivers two quick slaps to her ass.

He leans back slightly, his eyes locked with hers, relishing in the sight of her desperation. "You see, Lilith, I am the one who decides when and how you receive pleasure, I'm the one who makes all the decisions around here." he says, his voice a low growl.

Roman's lips curl into a smug smile "You want my touch, don't you, Lilith?" he whispers, "You're craving it, yearning for it. But you gotta learn, babygirl." he muttered.

Roman's fingers trail along the edge of Lilith's pants again, teasingly close to where she desires him the most. He watches as her breath quickens, her eyes pleading for his touch. However, he remains steadfast, denying her the relief she so desperately seeks.

"Tell me, Lilith," Roman continues, his voice dripping with authority. "Tell me how much you need me. Beg for my touch."

Lilith's cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and desire as she hesitates for a moment before complying with Roman's command. With a trembling voice, she whispers, "Please, my tribal chief... I need you. I need your touch. Please."

Roman's grip tightens ever so slightly on her waist, his dominance palpable. "Good girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. "But I'm not finished with you. Strip." he added.

Roman watches with lustful eyes as Lilith begins to strip for him immediately. He couldn't help but grin, she probably thought he was going to let her cum. She would be wrong.

For the next couple of hours He pushes her to the brink of climax repeatedly, only to deny her release.

With a calculated touch, Roman continues to tease Lilith's body, his fingers tracing a maddening path along her sensitive skin. He brings her to the edge of climax, skillfully manipulating her pleasure until she's on the verge of losing control.

Just as Lilith's body trembles with anticipation, Roman withdraws his touch, denying her the satisfaction she craves. A whimper escapes her lips, a mixture of pleasure and frustration. Her eyes plead with him, silently begging for release. She was laid back on the couch, her legs spread wide displaying her glistening pussy and allowing his fingers and mouth to work their magic.

He continues to repeat the tantalizing cycle, each time bringing her closer to the edge before abruptly stopping. The waves of arousal crash over Lilith again and again, intensifying her desire and driving her to the brink of madness

"You're mine, Lilith," he whispers as his fingers pump in and out of her pussy with a steady rhythm. "Your pleasure, your release, everything belongs to ME."

Lilith's breath quickens, her body yearning for release. "Please" she whimpered and begged.

"You think you can defy me and still expect pleasure? Nah, princess. Not today." He chuckled.

"Look at you," Roman continues. "Pleading for release like a desperate little slut." he says as he denies Lilith release time and time again, "MY desperate little slut."

Roman slowly and sensually explores Lilith's body, his touch becoming more intimate and passionate. He pays meticulous attention to her responses, ensuring her pleasure reaches its peak.

"You can cum for me now, babygirl." Roman says as Lilith's arousal builds under Roman's skilled ministrations, he carefully listens to her body, attuned to her every moan and whimper. He knows exactly when she reaches the point of no return, when her pleasure is on the cusp of overwhelming her.

With a final flick of his tongue against overly sensitive clit, Roman pushes Lilith over the edge, allowing her to climax with a wave of intense pleasure that echoes through her entire being.

Roman grins, his beard still glistening with her juices as he lifted her gently into his arms and sat again with her in his lap.

With a tender touch, Roman runs his fingers through Lilith's hair. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin. "You did beautifully, my love," he whispers, his voice filled with admiration and affection. "I'm so proud of you."

Roman wraps his arms around Lilith, pulling her close to his muscular chest, offering her warmth and security. He gently rocks her back and forth, creating a soothing rhythm that helps her unwind from the heightened sensations.

As they bask in the afterglow, Roman peppers Lilith's skin with light kisses, his lips tracing a path of tenderness along her neck and shoulder. He murmurs words of reassurance and comfort, reminding her that she is cherished and loved.

"So, what's your problem with.. that word?" Lilith asked curiously, refraining from repeating the word that had led to her punishment in the first place.

"I don't want to be reminded of how I messed things up with Jey." Roman stated honestly. Lilith was the one person he could share his true emotion with.

"Ro, you know you could try talking to him. Apologizing. He'll forgive you." Lilith encouraged.

"I can't be seen as weak. That makes the bloodline vulnerable." Roman said.

"Baby, you are anything but weak. And whatever decision you make, I'm gonna be right here along for the ride." Lilith assured him.

"I love you, Lil." Roman says.

"I love you too." Lilith smiled as she kissed him.

[oftenwantedafton]

haunted | dave miller x female reader

rating | explicit

part 3/?

words | 3.9k

cw | none

ao3 link

taglist | @tylerxrbtwhp

Dave Miller stands in front of the mirror in the employee locker room in the depths of the concealed pizzeria and considers his appearance.

He will never add another line to the few that crease the corners of his eyelids or tuck alongside his mouth; never see the genesis of another silver thread seeding the dark chocolate mane. The joints that he had once feared would eventually succumb to the ravages of time, stiff and kinked with arthritis, are no longer a worry. There are no aches, no pains. There is no more sense of having to rush to complete things. He no longer has to bow before time, that constant, irefutable master that every living creature must ultimately answer to. It is now his plaything, an abundance that spreads before him, an endless field stretching in all directions, borderless, limitless, infinite. No further interruptions for the work that had fascinated, blinded, consumed him.

He is eternal, true; his pizzeria, however, is not.

That is why he is still careful with his supplies. The lightbulbs will not last forever, which is why he only allows a bare minimum of power to be conducted into the building, leaving most of the circuits switched off. His writing utensils will eventually reach their demise, the graphite and ink depleted. Those are the more common items he is concerned about.

Then there are the components of the animatronics. They’ve endured a lot, but even those long lasting materials will wear down eventually. The building itself is decaying around him. It will take years before it becomes a serious problem, but it also calls into question what that means for his own existence. If he’s truly tethered and bound to the establishment, what would happen to him if it was destroyed? Would he simply vanish into thin air? It seemed a cruel joke to be given an illusion of immortality only to snatch it away again. He still doesn’t believe in a higher power pulling the proverbial strings, but he does put faith in the concept of destiny. Surely he is meant for something greater. That’s why he’s been allowed to transcend into this new form, an unbound specter unlike the souls he’d permanently trapped inside of the animatronics. He’d once thought of this afterlife as a sort of prison, but perhaps that’s not the mindset he should have after all. This is not torment. This is a gift. He should make better use of it. He should be planning and plotting and scheming, just as he’d done when he was mortal. He’s barely managed a few sketches, merely jotted a couple of notes. He was growing lazy. Complacent. He needs to focus. This is what the ghost of the man that had once been known as William Afton tells himself, but that newfound resolve is already showing cracks.

In that quiet dark where the spirits of deceased children slumber, he finds himself thinking of you.

***

You stare at the blank space on the shelf in front of you for a solid five minutes before you realize the books you’d just revealed inside the shipping carton are still waiting at your feet.

You shake yourself, reaching for several volumes of the hardbacked novels. They’re a reissue, new dust jackets slotted over a popular young adult supernatural romance series that’s never really waned in popularity. They’ll probably sell well. The manager certainly seems to think so; there are at least half a dozen more boxes just like this one out back in storage.

Once the rows are neatly lined up and you’ve got one book from each volume facing the front of the display, you retrieve the empty box and return to the back room, breaking down the cardboard and adding it to the pile waiting to be taken to the recycling bin. You consider what to unpack next, deciding you might as well resupply the impulse buy items kept near the register. Children are the biggest fans of these goods, fussing with keychains and bookmarks and stickers, wheedling at the adults’ elbows until the items are invariably tossed onto the counter for purchase, indulging in that brief whim that likely will be forgotten moments after they’ve left the store.

It’s one of the slower days for commerce today, the nice weather still keeping people outdoors. You take your time rearranging the displays, your coworker flipping through one of the gaming magazines from the rack lining the wall nearby while you pull out a carton of miniature constructible plastic figures, some knockoff Lego brand that features a few building pieces tucked into each pouch. They’re still pretty cute, even if they are bootlegs. Especially this pirate one. You pause, looking at the image on the bag, the character clad in a stereotypical striped shirt with a bandana wrapped around its head and a cutlass in its hand, and you instantly think of Pirate’s Cove.

You haven’t been back to the old restaurant since last week, and you’re not entirely certain why not. You’d been invited. You’re welcome to go there. So why did it still feel so intrusive? So forbidden?

That security guard would surely enjoy the break from the monotony. After all, how much action can Dave really be seeing down that end of the mall? There couldn’t be that many trespassers. It must get boring. Lonely.

What is it about that man that intrigues you so much? What is it about that place that keeps casting a spell on you, creating a feeling that lingers long after you depart its walls?

You realize you’re zoning out again and focus on finishing filling up the bins. It’s early afternoon. You might as well take your lunch break now. You’re pretty sure you know exactly where you’re going to be spending it.

The stores at the opposite end of the mall are still vacant. It’s funny how those lots that are close to the old pizzeria just don’t seem to attract any vendors. It has to just be coincidence, right? Maybe it’s the idea of being so far from the more active part of the shopping center. Concerned about drawing enough customers to actually make a profit. A financial decision. That has to be it. Odd that no further works seems to have been completed on that final area still allegedly under construction as well. Everything looks exactly the same as the last time you’d visited: signs, boards, plastic sheeting, broken wall. Maybe that was a funding issue as well. Running out of money to finish the project. You wonder if they won’t just decide to tear down the pizzeria for good. Convince the stubborn owner to finally let go and demolish the remains. It makes you a little sad. To have withstood so much only to be brought to such an undignified finale.

You’ve brought lunch from home today, generous portions that you now realize might have been your subconscious acting on Dave’s behalf. The man looks like he could do with a decent meal. Maybe he’s just got one of those rapid metabolisms. You’re a little envious.

The security guard appears almost as soon as you arrive, as if he’s sensed you coming. His gap toothed little smirk greets you as you enter the dining room.

”Long time, no see.”

“Hey. Yeah, I guess it’s been awhile.” You hold up the bag in your hand. “I brought lunch. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course. Pick any table you like.”

“Uh…this one looks fine.” You walk amidst the chairs and tables and booths, choosing one at random that’s somewhere near the center of the room. There’s a half walled partition lining one side of the booth with a sheet of stained glass bearing the images of all of the main mascots, and another with the Freddy Fazbear’s logo. Depending on how you stand, the light from the skylights filters through the colored glass and sends little rainbows across the flooring. You’re about to set your tote on the table when you notice the layer of dust coating the seats and the table.

“I guess it’s gotten a little dustier than I’d realized,” Dave murmurs apologetically, noticing your hesitation. “I can grab something to wipe it down with from the kitchen.”

“Do you have a microwave? I can eat this stuff cold, but if it’s possible to reheat it, I’d prefer that.”

“Yes, there’s one in the kitchen. Perhaps now would be a good time to begin that tour I promised you. I realize your time is limited, but…”

“It’s slow today. We’ve only had a couple of customers all morning. I should be good for a bit.”

“If you’ll follow me, then.”

Dave begins pointing out the various features as you exit the dining room and enter the arcade. He offers you a peek behind the curtains you’d been curious about, surprised to find the animatronics still looked to be in fairly good condition. There’s a distinct note of pride in his voice as he narrates a bit of the entertainment center’s history while guiding you through each area, and you find it charming. He obviously likes this old place, as dusty and dated and unusual as it is.

Once you enter the restricted employee area, the first room you visit is the aforementioned kitchen. It’s a large space, full of stainless steel appliances and counters and cooking equipment lining metal shelves. You’re pleased to find that the interior of the microwave appears clean, devoid of any primordial crumbs or leftover food spatters.

You unzip your insulated lunch tote and begin removing several containers. The man’s eyes watch each movement carefully, examining the contents as you begin cracking the lids of each: brown rice, steamed broccoli, grilled chicken, and a small tub of teriyaki sauce. You’ve also got a large slice of brownie for dessert that you’d baked the previous evening, a bottle of water, and an ice tea nestled down beside the ice pack at the bottom of the bag.

“There’s plenty here if you wanted to share. I brought extra,” you offer as you load the first container into the microwave. You push several buttons to set the time limit and the interior of the appliance lights up, humming to life.

“No, that’s alright. Thank you, though.” Dave busies himself with retrieving something to clean the table and seats with while you finish reheating your leftovers.

The security guard makes quick work of wiping everything down with a damp rag, followed by a dry one. He settles across from you, looking solemn for a moment, as if concentrating on something, but then his expression clears as you begin unpacking your lunch and stirring things together, then pouring the sauce over the top.

“You probably think I’m crazy not just having it already mixed together, right? I don’t know, it just tastes better this way. The vegetables stay crisper and the sauce doesn’t make things soggy and…”

He nods. “I understand. It makes sense.”

You feel a little guilty about being the only one eating, especially with that hungry look in the thin man’s eyes, but you’d already offered to share and he’d declined.

“So what do you think of Freddy’s so far?”

“It’s pretty neat. Still think it’s a shame it’s just rotting away here, though.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Wish the arcade still had power,” you muse, munching on a broccoli floret. “There are a lot of good games over there.”

“Oh, it does. What you’re seeing now are just the bare necessities to light the place and so forth. There are switches for each individual section. It takes a lot of juice to bring the arcade to life, but it’s entirely possible to do so. You’d like to see that?”

“Yeah! I mean, if you’re allowed to do that. Are you allowed to do that?” Enthusiasm quickly shifts to caution. You don’t want to get him into trouble.

Dave smiles softly. “Who’s going to tell?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’re right,” you reply, still a little hesitant.

“Come back when you’re done your shift and I’ll show you. Unless you have other plans. I imagine, it being summer, you have some leisurely activities to attend to.”

You shrug, thinking Dave certainly never spent much time in the sun. Not with that fair complexion. “Not really. I guess I could stay a little while.”

“Excellent.” He eases back against the vinyl padding, folding his arms across his chest. “It occurs to me that I don’t know much about you. Beyond working at the mall, I’m rather lacking in details.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t know that I’m particularly fascinating. My parents are divorced. I’m an only child.”

The security guard hums impatiently. “Yes, yes. But what I mean is, not so much demographic details, but what interests you. Your hobbies. Your passions.”

“I like reading.”

“A bookworm. That explains the job choice. What genre?”

“Science fiction and fantasy.”

“Why those in particular? What do you like about them?”

You finish chewing a spoonful of rice and squirm a little in your seat, mulling the questions over. “The limitless imagination. Being able to exist in other worlds without restrictions.”

“An escape from this reality.”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm. And do you write as well?”

“No, that’s beyond my abilities, I’m afraid.” You shake the bottle of ice tea before popping the cap, then take a large swallow and sigh in satisfaction. “Uh, let’s see, what else. I enjoy baking. I did try working in the food service industry one summer, but the customers could just be so demanding and rude. I took karate and ballet and tap lessons when I was younger.”

A flicker of something in Dave’s eyes at this announcement, though you’re not sure what it is.

“Didn’t keep up with any of those, though I do enjoy music and I like just dancing for fun. Used to take art activity classes at the local library, too. Sewing lessons. Joined the Girl Scouts. Guess just none of it really stuck, you know? I’m grateful I had so many opportunities, though. I know not everyone does.” You begin resealing the containers and then place them inside your bag, finally turning your attention to the aluminum foil wrapped brownie. “You sure you don’t want a piece?”

Now the longing is plain on Dave’s features, an absolute naked want that doesn’t change when his eyes flick back up to your face.

“Alright. A small one.”

You break off a corner and hand it to him. He pops it in his mouth and chews for a long time. That serious expression is back, the dark eyebrows drawing down, furrowing the skin above the bridge of his nose. Now he’s making you wonder if you’d messed up the recipe. You sample a bite for yourself and find it just the way you like it, moist and chewy.

“What about you, Dave? What do you do when you’re not guarding this gloomy old building?”

“Research.”

“What kind of research?”

“Oh, just trying out some ideas. You could say certain things in this establishment inspire me. The magic of making mechanical things come to life, for example.”

“Like those animatronics onstage?”

“Precisely. That is where it begins, in its most basic form. An idea, seemingly improbable, sketched onto paper. Then the learning on how that might be constructed, the acquisition of the necessary materials to assemble it, and, once done so, how it can be improved upon. Always working towards that same goal: making the imagination become a reality.”

“It’s really unfortunate these types of places have gone out of fashion. You’re so passionate about it.”

“It should be discouraging, right? Instead it only makes me strive for it more.”

“You like the challenge.”

“I love the challenge,” he corrects you. “Facing odds that are insurmountable and managing to overcome them and triumph in the end.”

You sigh wistfully. “I wish I was that motivated about something. I still don’t really know what I want to do with my life. My college major is still undecided.”

“You’ll find your way. Follow the spark that ignites your curiosity. Inspires you. It will never steer you wrong,” the security guard declares. You nod, sitting for a moment in silence as Dave’s eyes sweep over the room and then suddenly light up. He points to something behind you. “You said you enjoyed music and dancing, right? There’s a jukebox over there. Got time for a song before you have to head back?”

You turn to see the object the older man is pointing to, the machine one of several others lining the far wall, nestled between a pair of change machines and ticket exchangers. “Oh, cool! I don’t have any cash on me, though,” you realize aloud.

“No worries. I have the keys to that change machine over there. Plenty of quarters and tokens still inside, I’ll wager. Might as well put them to good use instead of sitting there neglected.”

You rise and follow Dave, watching as he extracts a keyring from his pocket and inserts it into the lock, then drags the front of the case open. Even in the reduced lighting you can see the shining piles of coins inside, the silver sheen of the twenty five cent pieces and the more tarnished, brassy looking tokens.

“Help yourself. The jukebox costs a dollar per song, if memory serves me right.”

You peer at the front of the device. “Yup, says it right here.” You reach for a handful of change and then turn your attention to the jukebox. Some of the lights seem to be out, the colorful arched dome not quite as vibrant as it could be, but you still think it’s neat. You’ve never actually used one of these, but you get the gist, pushing the buttons to flip through the racks of artists and song titles. It looks like a lot of stuff from the eighties. You recognize some of it, stuff your parents had listened to when you were younger.

“There’s a random option if you can’t decide on one in particular,” Dave murmurs beside you.

“Okay, let’s do that.” You thumb the quarters in the slot and your companion presses one of the buttons. For a moment you think maybe the machine might no longer be functioning after all, but then a song begins, louder than you’d anticipated, filling the dining room with a catchy pop tune from decades previous. Your face lights up with recognition. “Hey, I know this song.”

“Good. Then there’s no excuse not to dance to it.”

“I’m usually alone when I dance. I’m not…I’m not really that good at it,” you confess, thinking maybe you’d oversold yourself earlier when you’d mentioned having some training in it.

“Neither am I. Doesn’t matter. Just go with it.” You watch the man perform a few exaggerated gyrations and finger snaps and you burst out loud laughing.

“Okay, okay. I can manage that much, at least.”

Dave’s teeth flash in a grin as your foot taps to the beat while the British punk rocker croons, accompanied by breathy female backing vocals during the refrain.

“Here.” The older man reaches out and captures one of your hands and it seems to surprise you both, his eyes widening slightly and then softening into a pleased expression as he slots his other hand at your waist and steers you around in a half circle.

“You can’t ballroom dance to Billy Idol,” you protest, even as you settle your hand on his shoulder.

“Says who?” He shifts his grip to your lower spine and you feel yourself dropped back, so far that you think you might actually hit the floor, but then he jerks you back upright, bringing your body flush against his. There’s something triumphant in his features as he guides you along, moving back and forth over the checkered linoleum and you laugh, flushed and nearly breathless.

The song ends and silence descends upon the room once again. One of your hands is still clasped in Dave’s. A flurry of emotions passes over his features, everything from wonder to delight to a ravenous hunger that makes your breath hitch.

“I can feel you,” he whispers. “And you can feel me, too.”

You frown over these bizarre statements, shaking your head in confusion. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be able to?”

Dave shudders, finally releasing your hand. “Nothing. Don’t mind me. The long shifts, you know. Overtired.”

“I don’t know how you do it. You’re a trooper, Dave.” You retrieve your lunch tote and head back towards the gap in the wall. “Speaking of which, I should probably get back to work now.”

“Of course. The invitation is still open if you decide you want to come back later.”

“Thanks. Today was fun.”

“Yes, it was.”

You step over the crumbling masonry. Dave looks so much paler here, at this boundary between light and dark, old and new. The natural lighting coming from the mall’s skylights nearby almost makes his skin translucent. You can’t imagine working seven days a week. Pulling all these back to back double shifts.

No wonder why the man always looks so exhausted.

***

Dave nearly misses the chair in the security office the first time he attempts to sit down.

He’s expended a lot of psychic energy today, spending that time with you. Touching you.

Oh, he can’t even begin to describe how that had felt.

At first he’d made the attempt out of curiosity, an experiment to discover if it was even possible. Physical contact with inanimate objects is one thing, but a living being? Quite another. You are his first.

And what a first you are.

It’s infinitely more draining than manipulating material items, that’s for certain. Making himself solid to allow you to achieve contact. Feeling your skin, warm and vibrant. He swears he could even feel your pulse there for a moment, beating rapidly at your wrists. The knowledge that he can feel that lifeforce humming before him opens up so many more possibilities. Things he can still achieve. Research made reality.

But that’s not all that captivates him, if he’s being honest. He’d never been an overly affectionate person, even with his own family. Now, though? He thinks he comprehends the idea of being touch starved. Deprived for a long period of time, only to be gifted a few moments of pure rapture. Sheer bliss. They seem inadequate terms, but that is how it had felt. You don’t understand the wonder of it. The need that makes him crave more. How much more he wants.

Warm body soft crushed to mine those lips want to can I…

The thoughts ramble in a manic fashion until he forces his mind to reel them in, sorting them into tidy clusters. There are still abilities he’s denied. Your gifted dessert had tasted like nothing, no matter how hard he’d tried to envision that chocolate flavor. He couldn’t smell the aroma of the reheated food. Such simple things, and yet he cannot achieve dominion over them.

But being able to touch you, as briefly as he had, makes those deficits seem inconsequential. This was far more important. He wants to try again; grow more adept, build stamina. And then, and then…

Dave stretches his arms over his head, even though that spectral form no longer has need of relieving tired muscles, savoring the prospects that your presence will afford. The children had no idea what path they’d set you on, that day they’d led you here. But he knows, now. And he intends to take full advantage of the opportunity.

He just needs a little more practice.

[ihopesocomic]

What is the difference between a lion and a lioness in this comic? In real life, whether you like it or not, animals have no concept of "gender" (and no sexuality either) They just follow their instinct, and reproduce. Lionesses who have manes and act like males do this because of hormonal and sexual issues. Not because they are trans lol. So if the lionesses in your comic can be trans, can assume the same positions, and sex doesn't matter at all, there's no reason to call them lionesses :/

Okay, now hear me out, and this is important, neither of us gives a flying fuck about realism. I thought that would be obvious with the lions having philosophy and the lack of infanticide and the mere existence of Diamond, one of the lions is fucking blue for crying out loud, but apparently you're too busy having weird emotional reactions to the concept of trans animals. You absolute weirdo. - Cat -

Yeah, can everybody just stop using anthropomorphic animals to represent your gender/sexuality because it hurts the transphobic wannabe zoologist's feel feels? lmao And yes, I'm just gonna flat out call you transphobic, anon, because it's interesting how you're not concerned about our characters having an established medieval society, knowledge of minerals/plants, philosophies and the power of fucking speech but trans identities are apparently what made your itty bitty bigot brain short circuit? Don't even bother replying, because we're just going to block your ass. - RJ

[circuitmane]

Day 6: Draw a pony offering a pearl of wisdom

Well, it didn't say the wisdom was from a pearl, or all that wise. Though I wonder what the princess is thinking

[toacoy]

**********Posey and corn cob*********

Toa: I swear this prank is going to fail

Circuit: Nay it will be fine

[barrenclan]

I LOVE THE HUMAN DEEPDARK DESIGN SO MUCH!!

C'mon now you gotta do his besties too

I can't believe you're making me do this... oh nooo.... ANYWAYS

Alfons "Prowl" Jüsten -> I wanted to give Prowl a European name, and I settled on German as I feel it fits his vibe best. Oh you weren't expecting Prowl to be an oldass man? An oldass man in gay love with redneck DILF Deepdark? Too bad, he's BALDING and you'll LOVE IT. Some other design notes is that his big wolf mane got translated into the fur coat hood, and all his main accent colors are blue.

Alfons Jüsten is the accountant for Dodd Tiedrich's insurance business (and whatever other money flows in), and generally known as an icy, standoffish man. He's got a wife and two kids, but never seems to spend much time at home. Sometimes people call him Prowl; what's that about?...

Esther "Spike" Chau -> Since Spike's voice claim is Jude Perry, and I think she shares a lot of personality traits, I wanted to base her appearance on Jude a bit. I decided to make her Chinese, although she's taller than Jude is. But just as ripped! "Apex Predator" is Spike's theme song, and I wanted to include that in her design.

Esther Chau never seems to be holding down a consistent job, and can be seen doing everything from roofing to moving to pottery. But her real love lies in the underground fighting circuit, where she's known as Spike. Ferocious, gleeful, and desperately admired by teenage wannabes, Esther isn't often seen without at least a little blood on her. She hangs around Dodd Tiedrich quite a lot...

Margaret "Fang" Sullivan -> I mostly just wanted Fang to have a middle/southern American-sounding name! Her design was really easy for me to visualize, and I liked being able to more prominently use her main colors. The translation of her quills into an afro with locs style was a lot of fun.

Margaret Sullivan seems like a normal, practical lady, working as a waitress at a local cafe and volunteering on the PTA where her kids go to school. But her keeping friends with Dodd Tiedrich and his gang seems at odds with her average suburban life. And she has a surprisingly large knife collection...

[dr-lizortecho]

🐞🐜

Recommend a favorite fic or several from one of your friends, or a fic author you really look up to!

Oh damn- one friend??? One author I admire?? Imma cheat- it’s has to be three or whatever

@ajna-eye-cogitations is one of my favs ofc

Heartlines : a beautiful echo fic thatshows a sweet and emotionally intimate moment between the couple, really putting Max’s romantic -and kinky- side on the table, and being written really poetically as always

Blanco Navidad : a Christmas time fic that is sooooo sugar sweet it gives me a toothache and also is super sexy but in an understated way- weaving together imagery through memories and experiences and emotion instead of physicality

Thicker Than Pod Vapor : a look at the stress and destress Max would feel welcoming his kids into an unwelcome world- lines of this still haunt me, like knowing he will never fully be at peace and believe himself safe nevertheless his children

@rewritingroswell’s fics are also amazing <3

Impulsive Decisions Made Under The Moonlight : for those Max/Charlie cravings :P

The Consequences of Being a Tease : Delvecho- what’s not to love. Also, super sexy as always. And like… my brain short circuits everytime Max calls Maria ma’am. Also, just the decision to make a fun little competition to make Liz orgasm? Instead of an angsty who’s better in bed? Glorious.

I’m Burnin’ Up On You : t4t echo! They’re soooooooo. And then they’re- ugghhh- this fic captrued them so well, their earnest communication, their burning desire. It’s all there and more. Go read it. Please.

Cheating a second time with @ladynox and @beautifulcheat with two joint works and then one individual (cause I can’t not- they’re too good to pick just a few)

The Truth is Right Here : xfiles. Meets rnm. Malexa and Kaliz and mystery. And just- it’s so god. Truly one of the most intricate and well handled stories (emphasis on story not fic!) I’ve ever had the pleasure to read. From Michael and Max pretending to be ghosts, to Liz fiercely gathering mushroom samples, to Kyle bumping shoulders with Max, to Michael buying Maria a tacky bracelet, to Alex accidentally implying a threesome vacation, to Maria wearing Michael’s hat, to all the fucked up alien stuff (and lemurs) and Jesse Manes it’s a wild ride more than worth taking. Go read it. Like truly- even if you haven’t seen the show, you’ll fall in love with these characters.

Dealing With Dragons : Maria is a witch. Michael a dragon. Fate brings them together in a magic forest? What more could one ask for? The answer is a beautifully written fantasy setting that will have you purchasing the inspiration book to sit on your nightstand.

Nox’s Rough Stock : ummmmmm sexy. like so sexy. brain dead type sexy. Maria pegs Michael- need no say more? Well I will- it’s slow and sensual and just so well done. Sorry- your work is so amazing and I’m like ah the smut.

Beautifulcheat’s Surreal Estate : *hides cause I’m behind* Just the best. Like these three girls are perfect in this setting. Not only that but the romance and the ghosts as metaphors is so well done. I’m on the edge of my seat every chapter head spinning to figure out all these mysteries. Also there’s a cute little demon dog. Precious.

Recommend a fic that makes you laugh! A crack fic, or something that's just really funny!

Ohhhhh- I just rec’ed this in like two servers, but Guerenti Gay Chicken in which they have a kid before someone loses????? Perfection.

That’s How You Lose The Game by @andrea-lyn

Ask Me For A Fic Rec <3

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

I’ve been reading your rodeo writings and wanna ask if you could write about being Dallas’s S/O who does barrel racing?

A/N: Sure thing, Nonny! Coming right up!

So, Dally with a barrel racer, huh?

Well you know exactly what I’m interested in working on, don’t you Nonny?

Let’s jump right in <3

From a character stand-point, I have no doubt that Dally’s been involved with at least one barrel racer before

It’s canon he’s close to Buck and since Buck works rodeos, Dally’s going to be around a lot which means he’s going to spend some times around the barrel racers

So it only makes sense, realistically speaking, that Dallas spends some time with that group, even if it’s only in passing

You being a barrel racer? Definitely up Dally’s lane, rest assured he’s interested in you doll <3

If he didn’t already go to all the rodeos with Buck, he’s definitely tagging along a lot more now, begging Buck to just let him hang around and get a ride to the rodeo grounds

He makes sure to catch all your rides, he’ll stand right by the panels so he can have the best view!

You’ll flirt, toss compliments and insults back and forth until Dallas finally asks you to come out to the Dingo with him and get something to eat

From then on? You two are practically inseparable and totally rule the rodeo grounds when you’re going out together

Barrel racing is a sport that requires a lot of effort and anyone else who tries to say different will have to answer to Dally once the New Yorker hears about what’s going on

He hypes you up, at least to his friends, bragging about how he’s got the best barrel racer on the circuit and how the other riders have nothing on you when it’s time to race

I have a feeling the other riders might kind of hate him?

But, y’know, we are talking about Dallas Winston, I’m pretty sure a lot of people are going to hate him

So he really doesn’t care about their opinions, you’re the only barrel racer he’s really going to ever listen to

I highly suggest, highly highly suggest to try and coax Dally into riding in a rodeo event, I doubt it would take too much convincing if you go about it the right way

Oh! And your horse!

There are two routes for your horse to go with Dally, either your horse is going to love him, or your horse can’t stand him

If your horse loves him, they’ll chew on his sleeves, his collar, nuzzle at his hair and poke at his pockets to see if Dally brings any treats

If your horse hates him, they won’t so much as let Dallas touch their mane, heaven forbid let him help you with the tacking

So yeah! That’s a bit of Dally with a barrel racer, thanks for the request!

[icefang100]

I cannot for the life of me draw humans, so I’ve made some anthro designs for the Mechanisms crew!

In rows from right to left, these are Jonny as a Bengal tiger, Nastya as a gyrfalcon, Ashes as a black kite, Brian as a mouflon, Ivy as a barn owl, the Toy Soldier as a maned wolf, Tim as a coyote, Raphaella as a golden eagle, and Marius as a red fox.

Image descriptions below the cut - be aware they’re long.

[Image set ID: A set of nine digitigrade anthropomorphic designs for the Mechanisms crew. They’re drawn digitally, and have transparent backgrounds. All are wearing their usual outfits, though none have hats. End set ID.]

[Image one description: Jonny d’Ville drawn as a Bengal tiger. The stripes are jagged, mimicking his usual eye makeup. In contrast to his main fur and underbelly’s orange shades (underbelly being almost cream), the stripes are slightly blue-tinted black. Jonny is baring his teeth, and has dark grey eyes. End description one.]

[Image two description: Nastya Rasputina drawn as a gyrfalcon. Her colors are slightly blue-tinted greyscale. There is dark grey barring on her wings, a streak from her eye to mid-neck, and a few small spots around her neck. Nastya’s arms and legs are pale yellow, with dark grey talons and beak. She has a neutral expression, and her eyes are dark blue. End description two.]

[Image three description: Ashes O’Reilly drawn as a black kite. Their colors are a few shades of brown and a warm dark grey. Their face and the middle of their wings are cream-colored, while the tops of their wings, low neck, and tail feathers are more moderate. Their wings’ feather tips and a few spots on their neck are warm black. There is light barring on their wings. Ashes’s arms and legs are a moderate yellow, with medium grey talons and beak. They have a neutral expression and brown eyes. End description three.]

[Image four description: Drumbot Brian drawn as a mouflon. He is mechanical, looking to be made of bronze, with some fur-like texture on his neck. Many bolts and screws are visible at the edges of panels. Brian’s horns, hooves, and nose are a darker color than his main body; his hands, feet, and the end of his snout are lighter-colored than his main body. His eyes are yellow and have rectangular, horizontal pupils. Brian’s expression is neutral. End description four.]

[Image five description: Ivy Alexandria drawn as a barn owl. There are bronze panels visible on the side of her head. The undersides of her wings, her face, and front half of her neck being cream. There are warm grey specks across the middle of her wings and around the back of her neck. The rest of Ivy’s feathers are a moderate brown, while her arms and legs are a tan color, and her talons are grey. Her beak is pale yellow, and her expression is neutral. End description five.]

[Image six description: The Toy Soldier drawn as a maned wolf. Its colors contrast strongly - pumpkin orange main body, cream underbelly, and dark brown along its back. The divisions between colors are clean and smooth. The Toy Solder’s dark facial markings resemble a curled mustache. Its expression is vaguely happy, and its eyes are white. End description six.]

[Image seven description: Gunpowder Tim drawn as a coyote. His eyes have a circuit pattern radiating from the bottom edge and midway onto his cheek. His fur is a few shades of brown, with the grey-est of them on his ears, the back of his neck, along his legs, and on the top of his muzzle. A richer dark brown is present on Tim’s throat, his tail, the backs of his legs, and on the bottom half of his face. His underbelly, inner ear, below his eyes, and a little on the back of his neck have a cream color. End description seven.]

[Image eight description: Raphaella la Cognizi drawn as a golden eagle. Her wings are mechanical and look to be made of bronze; each feather is separate from the next, with the quills connecting beneath the joints of the wings. She’s a golden brown color, with a darker shade on her underbelly, the edges of her tail feathers, and a streak from her eye to the middle of her neck. A lighter shade is present along her beak and in a fragmented stripe on her tail feathers. Raphaella’s arms and legs are a moderate yellow color. Her expression is vaguely happy or interested, and her eyes are a moderate blue-green. End description eight.]

[Image nine description: Marius von Raum drawn as a red fox. His main body is a dull orange, with some grey ticking on his tail and the back of his neck. His ears, the bottom and tip of his tail, and his muzzle are a near-black brown. Marius’s underbelly and part of his tail are cream-colored. He is smirking, and his eyes are dark brown. End description nine.]

[gyuswhore]

tina by pristin + karina (please make it gxg if you can, the lack of gxg i see is killing me) <3

Thank you for sending this ask, anon!

That song request really projected me back to 4 years ago, I miss Pristin :((

I won't lie, I've never actually written anything gxg but I've made an attempt with this one so I really hope it meets your expectations!!

lawyer!karina x femlawyer!reader

masterlist

part 1 | part 2

***

[10:13]

Your attention is brisk to turn to the person who slammed another brick for your wall of evidence files. One more present for you to read through. The choice words are bubbling in your mouth as you look up but are dumbed short by the mane of black hair and sparkling eyes that greet you.

"Ms. Lee asked me to give these to you," Karina quips.

"Right," You reply, wanting to refute yet another hour of work but unable to say anything to her face. Sometimes you wondered if your boss knew you would never say no to Karina's pretty face.

You play off your prior misjudgment, cool and collected. You're avoiding her eyes and attempting to busy yourself with your ballpoint, scribbling a note to add to your lengthy to-do list. You set down your pen a little too hard, fumbling hands trying to reach for another file on the table.

Karina is still standing there.

You almost short-circuit when she holds your hand in hers, bringing them closer to her face to inspect.

"I love this color on you, I was thinking about getting mine done for my friend's wedding next week", she has a smile on her face as she says it.

You're vaguely registering what she's saying more focused on the soft feeling of her palms, and very aware of the sweat that has accumulated on yours.

You tug your hand away in a panic, mumbling a small "thanks".

"I got them done at the salon down the street" you quickly added, realizing your avoidance of response was probably rude.

"Oh", she says, a little taken aback at your strange behavior.

She knows though, she's known for a while. And your flustered self had always come out as cute to her. How you could never meet her eyes, stiffened up when she spoke to you, the longing stares she could feel when her back was turned.

She was getting impatient now, and running out of excuses to talk to you. So she decides, pulling up another chair to sit in front of you, that she's done playing pretend.

"Y/n?" You look up at the sound of your name. Her heart melts a little at your expectant expression.

She puts on her own face, one that she knows you won't refute.

"Why do you never look at me?"