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chronicowboy · 1 year

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It's a couple of months after his breakdown when Eddie comes home from therapy to a suspiciously quiet house. Luckily, he and Frank had spent the session working on his anxiety, so he takes a deep breath and begins listing all the things Buck and Christopher could be doing as he goes in search for them.

They could be asleep on the couch, it wouldn't be the first time the early birds had crashed midday from fun, but Eddie finds the couch empty as soon as the thought forms. They could be doing homework at the table, drawing more hearts or puzzling over algebra equations, but the table is empty of its usual clutter. They could be eating in the kitchen, unlikely as neither of them have ever let mouths full of food stop them from chattering away, and he's proven right at a barren kitchen.

The panic rises and crests in his chest like a wave, but he takes another deep breath, reminds himself that the safest place in the world for Christopher is Buck's side.

They could be in the yard tending to their little vegetable garden, but Eddie peeks out to lonely tomato plants swaying in the gentle summer breeze. They could be rearranging Christopher's room again, possibly side-tracked by Christopher's old drawings or Lego creations, but the room is exactly as he'd left it this morning.

Its when Eddie presses his forehead into the doorframe to ground himself that he hears it. A sniffle coming from beyond the cracked bathroom door.

"Okay, buddy," that's Buck's voice, soft and unendingly gentle in a way that makes something behind Eddie's sternum pulse and ache. Eddie drifts towards it, helpless to resist the pull.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait for dad?" Chris asks, voice a little shaky however it is when he's just finished crying. The wave of panic crests again, but Eddie nudges the door open and the wave collapses into foam.

Christopher is perched on the closed toilet, both legs of his jeans rolled up to above his scraped knees, eyes wide and trusting despite his words. And Buck. Buck is crouched in front of him with the first aid kit open at his feet and an expression so tender it takes Eddie's breath away.

"We can, if you want," Buck concedes, trying and failing to conceal just the slightest bit of hurt. Eddie sees it as he sees the guilt lining the tense line of Buck's shoulders, as he sees the anguish swimming in Buck's own teary eyes. "But I specialise in scratches." He grins, wide and way too bright for the fluorescent lights of the bathroom to compete. He lowers his voice, winks, "its all Hen and Chim trust me with on the job."

Christopher's hiccupping giggle is the best sound Eddie has ever heard. And, judging by the way Buck looks up at Chris like the sound fell from heaven, he agrees. Eddie couldn't tear his eyes away if he wanted to. Not with the way Buck looks kneeling in front of his son, like this is some sort of worship and penance all at once, eyes softer than Eddie has ever seen them.

"Okay, superman," Buck cups the back of Christopher's shin with hands so big his fingers could meet around his leg, with hands so gentle Eddie has the fleeting desire to feel them on himself. "Doesn't look like there's anything in there, but I'm gonna pour a bit of water over them first to wash anything away. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah," Chris nods solemnly, and Buck smiles up at him as he reaches for the cup on the sink.

Carefully, Buck pours a cup of water over both scrapes, stopping every time Chris so much as twitches, and Eddie aches. He dries them off with a clean towel, gentler still than Eddie knew a human of Buck's size could be, then reaches for the alcohol-free wipes.

"Okay, I'm gonna make sure they're super clean," Buck murmurs, side-profile illuminated by the afternoon light cutting through the bathroom window, angelic and divine. Eddie has the insane urge to pull his phone out and capture the moment forever. "It might be a little sore, so just tell me if you need to stop." Chris nods again, and Buck uses his free hand to grab Christopher's and drop it onto his curls. "Squeeze as tight as you like, and, if I'm too rough, give me a tug in revenge."

Eddie can't decide which is more beautiful: Christopher's laugh or the smile it provokes in Buck. Both of them are bright and joyful things that make Eddie want to fall to his knees in his own kind of worship. He watches as Buck starts wiping away at the scratches, slow and soft and oh so tender it hurts Eddie himself. Chris waits patiently, bravely until Buck drops one wipe and then tugs on his hair.

"Ow!" Buck yelps, pouting up at Christopher who shakes with silent laughter. "What was that for?" When the only answer is a bubbling laugh, Buck's face twitches into a grin like he just can't help it. Eddie understands, doesn't think there's anything more contagious than Buck and Christopher's joy. "Knee number two, no tugging please, sir." And Eddie thinks that some people might forget to be so gentle after that, but Buck only gets more so.

He drops the wipes into the trash before grabbing a gauze pad and pressing it to Christopher's knee. He waits for a beat or two, undoubtedly watching for blood that might soak through even though the wipes came away mostly clean. Buck tapes the edges down and then moves onto the second knee.

And, look, Eddie knows Buck is a first responder, has seen and treated worse than this on a daily basis, but the ease with which he treats Christopher makes Eddie's stomach clench. Especially, when Buck absently rubs his thumbs over the skin of Christopher's legs like its as natural as breathing.

"Almost done," Buck whispers before leaning down to leave a big, smacking kiss on each bandage. Eddie aches. "There we go, now they'll heal faster and you can go back to being superman in no time."

"Thanks, Buck." Chris leans forward for a hug, and Buck catches him effortlessly.

Eddie watches the guilt creep into Buck's expression as he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face into Christopher's hair. When Buck takes a deep breath, Eddie copies him and tries not to get too flustered when Buck's worried eyes flutter open and land on him. A few months ago, Eddie would've shuttered, would have wiped his face clean of the dizzyingly intense array of emotions on display. But now, Eddie lets Buck see, lets him see that he's not in trouble, that Eddie is so grateful for him it hurts, lets him see the admiration and the softness, lets him see the overwhelming love Eddie feels for him right then and there, always and anywhere.

Buck lets Eddie see it all too.

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oftenwantedafton · 2 months

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the wraith | dave miller x female reader

rating | explicit

part 7/7

words | 4.5k

cw | sexual content

ao3 link

You find Dave Miller in the backyard Saturday morning.

Still wearing his work clothes, a thin stream of smoke rising thin and pale in the air from the cigarette lazily clasped near one corner of his mouth. He’s watering the garden you’ve planted together, and you smile absently, pausing a few feet away, content to just watch the tall man for a few moments. He switches the spray nozzle to the other hand and pinches the cigarette between his fingers, inhaling and then sending a more prominent cloud forth.

“Good morning,” he greets you, finally turning to regard you. Always so aware of his surroundings. The man must have eyes in the back of his head. Probably a good skill to have in his line of work, you suppose.

“‘Morning. Sorry, I was just enjoying the view.”

A drowsy smile ghosts his lips. “Were you?”

“Mmm-hmm.” You close the distance between you, setting the bag you’d packed for your first overnight stay down and sliding your hands around his waist from behind. You press your lips against his spine. The faintest bit of dampness from perspiration greets you. It’s hot already, even at this hour.

One of Dave’s hands settles on your linked pair and you sigh contentedly. He echoes the sound, sending the arch of water towards the final row of plants. You think about how it had looked before it had been restored, cluttered with weeds, the man’s cigarette butts carelessly tossed all over the yard. A reflection of the man himself. Uncared for and uncaring. But now…

You kiss his back again and tighten your arms around him.

“Alright, love.” His voice is raspy. Tired, you think, no matter how much he protests otherwise. The stream of water dies as he relaxes his grip on the sprayer. You reluctantly release him, bending to pick up your bag while he shuts the faucet off, coiling the garden hose back into place. His gaze dips to the object you’re carrying. “How much did you pack?” His lips twitch in amusement as he takes another drag, then leaves the cigarette clutched between his fingers, his arm dropping to his side.

“Not that much,” you say, feeling your cheeks grow warm. “You know, just the essentials.”

A thoughtful hum of sound is his reply, and then the security guard’s features grown solemn. “Come here.”

Your stomach somersaults as you walk towards him. His free hand touches your cheek, cupping it tenderly. “Gorgeous.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he insists. “You are. Sorry about the smoking, I’m still trying to quit, I know it’s unpleasant.”

“I don’t care.” You wrap his tie around your fist. “I mean, I care about your health, of course, but it doesn’t make me want you any less. Nothing could make me want you less.”

His lashes flutter a bit at that claim, as if not quite believing its validity. You tug gently on the accessory you’re clutching, and his mouth finally drops to yours. Hot, wet, ashy, his tongue probes the interior. You’ve learned by now he’s particularly responsive when you drag yours across that gap between his teeth and you perform that action now, eliciting a low moan, the hand that had been resting on your face now sliding down to the base of your throat. “Inside,” he manages to gasp out, and you relinquish your grip, letting him fumble for the handle of the door, reluctant to stop touching you, the kisses still gifted one after another.

You stumble into the kitchen, bag quickly dropped, the remains of Dave’s cigarette tossed in the kitchen sink for now. You toe off your shoes and he unfastens his belt buckle and your mouths collide again, a hasty, sloppy reunion that is slightly off target. You catch a bit of his chin, slightly rough with stubble, his fingers stuttering over one of the buttons on his shirt while you unfasten the fly of your shorts. There’s a little murmured apology, a soft nervous sounding chuckle as you both try to divest yourselves of your clothing.

“Sorry, I need to shave, I—”

“—Don’t care,” you finish, dropping the tshirt you’ve just pulled overhead to the floor.

His eyes rove over your nude torso appreciatively. “I need to fuck you into my mattress. Right. Now.”

The floor becomes littered with garments, a trail of clothes that leads to the stairs. You reach the first step with only your panties remaining and he hooks an arm around your waist and drags your body towards his mouth, the sudden height advantage giving him access to different areas. Wet kisses are planted between your breasts and over your ribs and abdomen, and your hands sift through his hair. You feel the heavier weight of it this morning, the buildup of oils. Familiar and yet not. He always insists on a shower first, on his skin smooth and lathered and freshly shaved, but today you’re too impatient for any of that. Even with the prospect of the entire day in front of you, you want him right now.

You finish climbing the stairs, backing into the master bedroom, the older man prowling just behind, a little squeak escaping when he suddenly surges forward, pushing you down into the mattress.

“Fuck me, Dave,” you plead, as if he needs any urging, his hands manipulating your lower limbs, guiding his cock into place. You catch sight of his eyes rolling back at the sensation as he penetrates you, bottom lip bitten hard enough to leave indents before he presses them back to yours.

Your nails dig into his ribs, scratching along the scarred grooves and earning another moan. “Hnngh…fuck…so wet…”

“You make me crazy,” you pant against his ear before lapping at it, tracing over the thin skin covering the cartilage. “I’m so crazy about you.” This confessed in a whisper, so faint you’re not sure if he’s heard you, until his hand slides up the forearm you have draped beside your face, fingers spreading yours and then gripping them tightly.

“Love…”

“Dave, yes…you feel so good…”

“Mine.”

“Yours.”

“Fuck,” he curses, driving down into the hips you roll up to meet him. Your free hand slots around his jaw, thumb resting along the wedge of his bottom lip and then slips over it, nestled now on the center of his tongue. His teeth sink into that offering, lips pursed to suck the digit, working over it, making it spit slicked, your index and middle fingers following suit until he grabs your wrist and shoves it down between your bodies, damp fingertips now perfectly placed over your clit, mashed against it with every thrust.

“Cum for me,” his breath huffs hotly over your mouth, mingling with your own frantic, needy gasps. “Be a good girl. Like that. You’re close, I can feel it inside…”

“Dave!” His name punches out, your head lifting off the mattress cushioning it, mouth searching, muffling the rest of the sounds of your pleasure as you come undone.

He eases the pace slightly, letting you recover, face hovering above your own. You’re lost in those eyes, those eyes that have captivated you from the first time your own had discovered them, this slender bit of man standing beneath those purple boughs, perfumed air reaching you across the street, beckoning, impossible to resist. They’re so dark now, blown wide with desire, underlined with those bruised looking half moons that he’ll never be free of, a feature as permanent as the scars that tattoo his flesh.

“Dave,” you say again, gently this time, nothing like the rapid push you’d uttered during the throes of your climax. This single syllable is uttered lovingly, cradled tenderly, full of raw affection and adoration.

“I like the way you look at me,” he murmurs, hips canting in a slow rhythm, like waves lapping at the side of some sea vessel. “The way you seem to see inside…reflect it back, show me what I don’t see…my perfect mirror…” His head drops, lips touching yours, the steady rocking increasing again, storm tossed, thrashing against your body. The sound shoved inside your mouth is desperate, deep, guttural as he spills into your womb. Your fingers find his hair slightly damp, the vein at his temple throbbing, kinked and pale blue beneath the skin.

Dave settles beside you, one hand stretching until he holds yours, face turned to regard you as you turn on your side. You’re making a mess of the bed, can feel his cum leaking out of you, sliding down between your thighs, but you ignore it. That can be dealt with later, but for now, you just want to lie here, and look at him, and touch him like this.

You smile at him and he grins lazily back at you, calloused fingertips dusting across yours. You caress the hardened edges of the whorls, that pattern unique to him. More scars from some previous profession, making you wonder what he used to do, before he began guarding that old restaurant. That mysterious time before. A father. A husband. Another life.

“What are you thinking?” His voice sounds drowsy, languid and content.

“Wondering what your favorite day has been. If you could have any to revisit again, which one would you choose?”

“A heavy topic for this hour of the day.” He hums a thoughtful sigh. “This one is turning out pretty well so far.”

“Pretty well, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm.” His thumb strokes over the inside of your wrist. “I want to take you somewhere later on.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“No.”

“No fair.”

You pout until he rolls closer, tugging you against him. “You’ll like it, I promise.” He tries and fails to stifle a yawn.

“You need to sleep.”

“For a bit. Not too long. I don’t want to miss spending time with you.”

“You have me for the whole day,” you remind him. “And all night, too. I’m all yours.”

“Mine,” he agrees, his lips finding yours once more.

***

Dave emerges from the shower later that afternoon, the hand holding the razor against his cheek freezing when he hears a sound he has not heard in many years.

You’re playing the piano.

He’d forgotten he’d invited you to using it whenever you’d liked. There is always so much else to fill the time with. Distractions. The tone is definitely off; he really should see about getting it tuned if you’re going to be using it regularly.

He recognizes the melody instantly, Schubert’s Serenade, something from one of the lesson books still tucked into the piano bench that he hadn’t realized was still there. He wonders if anything else was hidden in that spot, another memory come back to haunt him, the hand holding the blade trembling a bit as one surges hard and fast.

His daughter’s fingers stuttering over the keys. Stubborn. She doesn’t like being forced to play, to practice, and it’s nothing short of a sin, because she’s talented. She’s inherited his straight posture and long fingers and is intelligent, quick to adapt and far too knowing with those eyes, emerald green and judging. Those she’s inherited from his wife, accusing more and more often, the question so innocently asked, “What happened to Charlie?” But she knew, they all knew, but couldn’t prove it, could never…

He sees the streak of crimson before he feels the wound it leaks from, staring with a detached kind of fascination at the cut on his throat, just beneath the corner of his jaw. It runs into the bordering stripe of shaving cream, staining the white, trickling until he finally regains his senses, breaking free of the almost trancelike state he’d been in. He jerks the razor away, grabbing a washcloth to wipe at his neck, feeling a slight burn when he reaches the laceration.

He tears off a piece of toilet paper and presses the balled up tissue against the injury, hurrying to finish clearing the rest of the stubble. By the time he’s dressed, the bloody line marking his throat has clotted. Another mark to add to the collection.

You’ve moved on to the next song in the book spread open on the stand, pausing when you realize you’re no longer alone. He moves to stand behind your seated figure, one hand cupping beneath your chin and lifting your face slightly.

“You didn’t have to stop playing. You’re skilled. Far more than you let on.”

“I hope you didn’t mind. I heard you were up and I just thought, while I was waiting…”

“It’s yours to use whenever you like. I’ll see about having it tuned.” He bends to sweep his lips across your forehead, then lets his hand drop. You close the book and replace the cover over the keys, sliding off the bench and twining your hands around his neck.

“Did you have a good sleep?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

“I’m not spoiling the surprise for later,” he admonishes, “but I’m certain you’ll enjoy it very much.”

“You are, are you?” Your fingers stroke his cheek. “Handsome.”

“Nothing like it,” he replies, but he smiles, the gesture coming easier and easier every time he’s around you. “Come with me, love. Let’s enjoy the day together.”

***

The first stop on your itinerary is a trip to the grocery store.

You normally hate doing mundane errands like this, but with Dave, it’s certainly a different experience. He doesn’t use a list, seemingly drifting through each aisle to browse things at random. You’re beginning to see why his pantry is so empty, though; this haphazard impulse buying doesn’t really make for weekly meal planning.

You’re perusing the Asian snack selection, contemplating what flavor of mochi you want to try next, when Dave’s finger’s curl around your arm, his lips moving beside your ear. Whatever music is playing in the background, some kind of soft rock tune that’s been overplayed on the radio, fades to static, your vision of the package lettering blurring as you focus on what he’s murmuring. Part of your surprise being revealed. Picnic. He’s got a place in mind to stop along the way for the main part of the feast. The pair of boxes in your hands are both collected and tossed into the shopping cart. You don’t need to choose between them. Try both. Everything your eyes or hands fall upon, he invites you to add to the growing collection. Spontaneous. Irrational. But fun. You’re enjoying this. You think he is, too.

Your fingers collide on more than one occassion as you both unload the contents of the cart onto the conveyor belt, and you trade smiles. You look at him standing near the register, holding the wallet well out of your reach when you protest that you should contribute something. He says something about owing you anyway. You’d completely forgotten about your initial reason for spending so much time at his home, the promise to clean and unpack and organize evolving somewhere along the way, becoming something very different.

You study that tall, slender man, with his long button front shirt and slacks that are still a size too large, the belt cinched tightly around his waist, just now noticing the marked difference between a well worn groove much closer to the end of the leather strap than was being utilized now, as if there had been a drastic weight change. Something scratches at the back of your mind, one of your landlord’s many admonitions about your crush reminding you that he is not who he says he is; that he had once done terrible things. But you can’t see it, can’t even imagine it, less convinced now than ever. You know him. He’d never. He just wouldn’t. You feel fierce senses of possessiveness and defensiveness wash over you and you move closer, sliding a hand around his waist.

Once you’ve returned to the car and the trunk’s been lifted you see Dave has already packed some things for your outing. Folding chairs. A blanket. A cooler that he now adds a bag of ice to. Then you’re on your way to your next destination. The driver reaches behind his seat, blindly feeling for the cassette case, withdrawing one at random and setting it on his thigh to open it one handed in a gesture that looks like he’s done this often, sliding it into the player and tossing the plastic container into the center console.

You lift the case back up to read the label: The Psychedelic Furs. The singer has a distinctive British accent.

“How come some British people keep their accent when they sing and others don’t?” You muse aloud.

“Depends how they want to sound, I’d wager.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how you do it. You’ve been keeping the accent up for how long now? It sounds so natural.” He shrugs, his eyes still focused on the road. “I like it,” you add, thinking maybe he’d mistakenly inferred you didn’t.

Dave glances at you while simultaneously adjusting the volume control, the dial pinched between his index and middle fingers. “I know you do. That’s why I’ve kept it going.”

“Spoiling me.”

He smirks. “Maybe a little. This is a good track,” he gestures to the cassette player and you settle back to listen, one arm resting on the door frame, the window rolled down completely to allow a breeze inside.

There's an army on the dance floor

It's a fashion with a gun, my love

In a room without a door

A kiss is not enough in

Love my way, it's a new road

I follow where my mind goes

You watch his fingers tap out the percussion rhythm on the steering wheel, finding yourself smiling again. He just looks so relaxed, so content. It completely erases the weariness you’re accustomed to seeing.

“You do like this song, I can tell.”

A little parting of lips, a flash of teeth in a not quite grin, but he keeps his attention on the road ahead.

“You should sing it to me.”

“I cannot sing to save my life. I wouldn’t dare attempt it.”

“Not even by yourself in the shower?”

“Not even there.”

There's emptiness behind their eyes,

there's dust in all their hearts

They just want to steal us all and

take us all apart, but not in

“You should try it anyway. You might like it.”

“Maybe.”

Love my way, it's a new road

I follow where my mind goes

So swallow all your tears, my love

And put on your new face

You can never win or lose,

if you don’t run the race

“This is good,” you agree as the song draws to a close.

“Like it? If we can find something to play it on you can borrow it. Must have a Walkman around the house somewhere. Ah, here we are.”

He hits the left turn signal and you peer past him to see where he’s brought you. It’s a small convenience store, one of those mom and pop ones on the first floor of a house with the living space on the second. When there’s a gap in the traffic he pulls into the lot and parks in front of the store. There aren’t even any lines painted on the asphalt to demarcate where to park; if they had ever been there, they’ve long since faded.

“Coming in with me or staying here?”

“Going with you,” you decide immediately.

“Not letting me out of your sight, huh?”

“Not for a minute.”

“That’s my girl.” He tugs the keys from the ignition and leans over to kiss you. Simple, chaste, but it has the same effect as the more lustful variety. You can see him hesitate before he fully draws away, torn between wanting more and parting for now. You’re willing to bet he doesn’t give a damn who sees you together; it’s more about choosing the right moment. Later. When you’re alone. It’s inevitable.

For now you follow him into the store. There are the typical assortment of supplies and sundries lining the shelves, and a deli counter along one wall. This is where Dave is headed, inquiring what you want. You study the menu offerings written in dry erase marker, wavering between the choices. Your companion has already picked out a pair of chocolate chip cookies from a basket on the counter, the plastic wrapped desserts having slightly irregular shapes, a less than perfect circle that speaks of being homemade. Still better shaped than those rabbits you’d mangled, but still, it had been the thought that counted, and you’d sampled them to make certain they were edible. He’d enjoyed them anyway so it was a win-win as far as you’re concerned.

You understand exactly why Dave has opted to visit here instead of just getting everything at the large chain grocery store. The place has the look of something from several decades past. A checkered linoleum floor not so different from the one at Freddy’s. The Coca Cola logo on the refrigerated case was distinctly vintage. Your eyes settle on the older man standing beside you and you think he is quite nostalgic. So much of what he likes—his music, his wardrobe, even that crusty old pizza place he’s employed at—speaks of an appreciation for another time, another place.

The woman behind the counter reminds you a bit of your landlord, straight spined, her speech and mannerisms brisk, but with a friendly glint in her eye just the same. You get more of a dubious glance from what must be her husband behind the cash register when you set the beer case you’ve retrieved on the counter. You’re used to being carded, but Dave clearly isn’t, pointedly meeting the man’s scrutinizing gaze and stepping a bit in front of you as the store owner tries to determine if you’re of legal age to drink alcohol.

What do people think when they see us together? A father and daughter? Surely not. Surely they can tell. It’s written all over our faces. Not even remotely subtly hinted at in body language. We’re together. We belong to each other.

Back in the car, the drinks loaded into the cooler and the subs and cookies secured, Dave reaches for your hand once you’re back on the main road, and leaves it there for the remainder of the journey.

***

Sand Hollow Park is a well known recreational site for camping, swimming, and kayaking. A gorgeous desert oasis with azure colored water and red sandstone cliffs, but far too crowded for Dave’s liking, which is why he’s taken you somewhere nearby, somewhere more isolated with a good vantage point that will be perfect for the little surprise planned for later.

For now, though, he focuses his attention on unpacking the sedan and getting things set up. He takes a moment to roll up his shirt sleeves while you adjust the placement of the folding chair onto a more level surface, then reach into the cooler to pull out a couple of beers.

The sun filtering through the trees just behind the spot he’s chosen dapples his bare arms in light and shadow, patterning strangely over the pink marks already there. It feels weird to be outdoors, exposed like this, and yet he’s not uncomfortable, as he’d expected he’d might be. He’s oddly relaxed. He hasn’t craved a cigarette all day, not since you’d come over. He takes a bite of his sandwich and chews thoughtfully, letting his gaze wander over the landscape before settling back on you.

“It’s pretty here,” you murmur appreciatively, studying the vista.

“It is,” he agrees, ignoring everything but you now.

You turn to face him and offer a shy smile. “This was a lovely idea, thank you.”

“There’s a little more to come later. But for now…” He lets the thought hang there, taking a long swallow of his drink. It’s good. All of it is. The food. The company. He’s actually enjoying himself, and when’s the last time he’d been able to say that? When was the last time he’d even considered doing something for someone else? He’d been so absorbed in all his grandiose schemes for so long, he’d forgotten what it’s like to consider someone else’s wants and needs. It feels nice.

When there’s little more than some shredded iceberg lettuce at the bottom of the paper wrapper the sub had occupied and the cooler is a bit emptier he offers to take you for a walk. It’s leisurely and aimless, the path chosen winding between trees, weaving in and out of patches of sun. When he finds shade again he presses you further back into it, against the trunk of a tree, fingers teasing through your hair, caressing your neck, then nudging your chin up to find his waiting mouth. He kisses you for many minutes or long hours. Somewhere between there. It’s darker now. The sun is setting. It’s almost time.

Dave manages to find his way back to the car, leading you by the hand. You watch as he removes the blanket from the trunk and spreads it out over the windshield and hood. He sees the bridge of your nose wrinkle in confusion and it reminds him of his favorite animal, a twitchy nosed little rabbit. His hands settle on your waist and he lifts you, settinf you on the edge of the hood and stealing another kiss before he gestures for you to lie back. He joins you on the opposite side, leaning over to whisper in your ear. “Almost time,” he promises. The first loud thump of sound makes you jump, startled. It’s followed by a pop of color in the sky. Crimson. Another fires. Gold. Your eyes reflect the sudden riot of colors appearing in succession, the dazzling lights that flare briefly and die overhead. You turn to face him, cheek lightly striking the cushioned surface. Wonder there. Something more. I love you. He doesn’t hear the actual words, but he can see them; recognizes the shapes of them formed by your lips and teeth and tongue. It’s the most beautiful, terrible ache, to know he’s finally driven you that far. Your devotion unquestioned. He has you. You’re his.

There is still the secret waiting in the basement. The dark history of his past you know nothing about. Will he ever reveal the truth? How will he react the next time his establishment is invaded? He has no answers for these questions, yet.

For now, what matters is the metamorphosis. He’s becoming someone else again. A little less Dave, a lot less William. Still there, of course. Still part of him.

But now you are, too.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader #william afton smut #divider @saradikagraphics

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mayordea · 1 year

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songwriting with meiko 🎙️

i have a few things to comment abt this which will be isolated under the cut so the post doesnt get too bloated :] mainly small hcs about meiko/kaito/miku hhhh

an idea that briefly popped in my head when i was brushing my teeth that i did not want to let get away. it was ambitious and i liked the concept of using my hc'd versions of the younger crypton vocaloids (miku's beta design and meiko/kaito's v1 designs) interacting with each other, so i went for it. i designed the general vibe of the background in animal crossing, ol reliable for these kinds of things, since i knew i wanted to cram as much detail in the environment as i could. i made a post about it on my personal account here since i was quite proud of this build.

as i was decorating, i kept spontaneously making headcanons for the younger meiko/kaito/miku unit in order to understand how to populate their living space with accurate clutter. i ended up totally overdecorating the whole thing and only referenced a small portion of the interior (like, why'd i go so hard on thinking about the yard? thats just what happens when i try taking this route) but i did like some of the ideas i came up with to explain my decorative choices. here's just a ramble.

oh yeah i guess i should get something i mentioned in the tags of that art i made w all the crypton gang's "younger" versions out of the way: i hc the character vocal gangs' "younger" designs to be their "IF" or beta designs. and meiko and kaito's younger versions are their V1 designs, mainly inspired by how they appear in the earlier project diva games (every time i look at them i just see them as awkward teens still trying to figure out who they are lmao)

also mentioned there that sakine meiko and meiko are one in the same and the fanloid and vocaloid arent separate entities. sakine meiko was meiko in her early music career as a relatable teen pop idol, with the "sakine" family name being made up to create that image. once meiko grew into an adult, she put the persona behind and just went by meiko, and around that time she met kaito and theyd be musical partners for a while

meiko sort of adopts miku into their unit when she recognizes her potential and serves as a mentor to her after then. kaito is the same but acts more as a supportive guardian in comparison. rin, len, and luka would come along later of course.

yeah i really fuck with the idea of the crypton gang being a little family :] i think it's neat! and this art/animal crossing build was a fun way to explore that hc a little

meiko is a physical media fiend, especially for music. loves collecting cds and vinyls and the like; they're littered all over the house. loves rock music too

kaito on the other hand has a knack for gardening and tends to the very modest garden outside their house. also collects a lot of art he finds in thrift marts and such for novelty's sake

miku always dedicated herself to improving her craft and finding her voice thanks to the help of meiko. she was also kind of a nerd at this era. very serious and dedicated

these folks did not know how to clean shit up, everything left lying on the floor ends up being an intentional decoration (probably not clear in this but i did like scattering stuff around to the best of my ability in the AC build)

ummm that’s it for now i guess i had less than i expected? but i’m glad to get this down somewhere lol feel free to share your own hcs if you wish, i love hearing them

#mayor doidles #fanart #vocaloid #hatsune miku #miku #hatsune miku if #meiko #meiko v1 #kaito #kaito v1 #digital art #cell shaded #art #artists on tumblr #illustration

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yourheartonfire · 2 years

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Here we go - The Soulmate Programme part 5!

This will make no sense with prior parts 1, 2, 3, and 4

They were halfway over the city when the protagonist started shivering uncontrollably in the pre-dawn cold. The hero slowed, started to float down towards a rooftop.

“No,” the protagonist said through chattering teeth. “No, don’t stop. We can’t stop now or...”

...or else I’m not getting back up, the protagonist didn’t say.

The hero’s grip tightened around them. But silently, they sped up just slightly.

They were both avoiding eye contact.

“You knew?” the protagonist asked quietly. “Who [Villain] was?”

The hero swallowed. “Yes,” they confessed just as softly, their eyes on the horizon as the wind ruffled their hair gently. “I mean, I knew what happened to me - to us. I didn’t know...”

The protagonist squinted up at them. “You didn’t know the government put them up to it?”

Hero pressed their lips together, so tight the protagonist expected to see blood. “[Villain] has every right to hate me. So do you, I guess.”

The protagonist leaned their face against the hero’s shoulder, inhaled that same smell of sweat and singe and fear. It was really a thing, flying over the city as the last stars twinkled overhead, shedding their kind and forgiving light over them all.

“I don’t hate you,” the protagonist whispered, and realized a moment later they meant ‘you’ in the plural.

“I still think it’s real,” the hero said, with a sniff and a faint smile. “The soulmate match. I hope it’s real. You’re incredible.”

The protagonist swallowed. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

...

They touched down on the balcony of a squat office tower on the south edge of the city, overlooking a grim expanse of freight yards and train tracks. The hero carefully set the protagonist on their feet and, after an assessing look at the door, gave the floor-to-ceiling window beside it a swift jab that shattered the glass into a puddle of smooth-edged fragments.

“Safety glass?” the protagonist asked hoarsely. They’d gone beyond tired and cold into some other numb place, feeling like they were still floating on air somehow.

“Standard for any government building now,” the hero said, stepping over the threshold and offering the protagonist their hand.

For a moment, the protagonist hesitated. But they were too far along now to be petty. They took the hero’s hand and did not let go as the hero led the way through the silent cubicles, punching in codes to take them through locked hallways and past red blinking security cameras that never turned to follow them. Up an odd half stairwell in an old fashioned style that didn’t fit the modern building, and then a final steel lined door that the hero grabbed and simply yanked from its hinges.

Within was a cave of a room, lit by the light of dozens of monitors mounted in a haphazard pattern around a small workstation cluttered with crumpled papers and a clutch of novelty mugs. Staring up at the screens in a cheap office chair sat a figure in a dark hoodie. As the door crashed open, she swiveled around.

“Ah. Hi, [Hero], [Protagonist],” the soulmate super said with a tired smirk. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

“You-” The protagonist felt hands on their arms and realized the hero was holding them back. “I knew it. This was a set up. You set me the fuck up! You lied to [Hero] - got their hopes up and broke their heart! You knew this would happen, that this would all blow up when you dropped me in the middle of this clusterfuck of government malfeasance and abuse and- and-”

They had to stop and catch their breath.

“Um.” The hero looked back and forth between the protagonist and the super. “Sorry, you were expecting us?”

“Of course she was!” The protagonist wrenched free - or rather the hero let go - to jab an accusing finger. “What does the soulmate programme really rely on? Behavioral prediction. That’s your superpower, isn’t it?”

“Eh. Close enough,” the super said with a little shrug. The smirk faded as she got a closer look at the protagonist. “Oh, wow. I think, ah, tea. You definitely need a tea.” She stood and took herself over to a makeshift kitchenette set up on a folding table, waved to a camp cot set in the corner. “You lot will have to sit on the bed. Sorry, I don’t do much entertaining.”

The protagonist did not move. Behind them, they felt the hero straighten. Squaring up, following their lead. The soulmate super swallowed. “Please?”

The protagonist gritted their teeth. Sitting also felt dangerously comfortable, threateningly normal behavior that might lead to things like understanding or naps. But the gurgle of the electric kettle made up their mind. Dammit, they did want tea. Tea sounded incredible. They stomped over to the cot and sat. The hero trailed after them and to the protagonist's surprise, they were grateful for the silent support

“Thank you,” the super said, letting out her breath. “Yes. You’re right. That’s my power - I’m not a telepath, or clairvoyant but with just a little bit of interaction or information, I can kind of intuit a person’s whole psychological profile. Including, yes, some behavioral prediction.”

“And you knew our profiles together would end in me finding out the truth,” the protagonist snapped. “About [Hero], about [Villain], about the government’s role in setting all of this up. And now you expect me to splash that truth everywhere, blow the whole thing sky-high, because that’s who I am! Am I wrong?”

“Wait.” The hero’s eyes had gone wide in alarm. “[Protagonist], please, you can’t tell anyone...”

The super rubbed at her neck, watching the water in the kettle bubble up to a froth. “You got a couple things wrong, but that’s the gist of it.” She looked up from under her hood with a tired smile. “So. After [Hero] saved you from [Villain], why didn’t you start splashing? Why did you come here?”

The protagonist jerked away from the hero. “Because I don’t like being controlled. I don’t like being manipulated.” Distantly they noticed there were tears streaming down the face that felt like it belonged to somebody else. “You think you can just treat people like pawns, because you have powers and I don’t? Where do you think you get off? You want to expose the truth, why the hell don’t you go out there and take the heat yourself?!”

There was an awkward pause. The soulmate super had her arms wrapped around herself, slid a pleading gaze over to hero. The hero closed their eyes, but cleared their throat. “Um. [Protagonist],” they said gently, and gestured back to the broken steel door. “That was locked from the outside.”

The kettle whistled into the silence. The protagonist felt themselves crash hard back into their body, the crazy adrenaline rush sharply and suddenly over. The world spun and suddenly they were sitting on that army cot, the hero and the soulmate super on either side, holding them up.

“Stop,” the protagonist said thickly, trying to shrug them off. “Stop, I’m sorry. I get it. I’m not the one that needs saving...”

Over their head, the two supers shared a look the protagonist couldn’t put a name to.

“Maybe,” the soulmate super said, “We should drink that tea and I can start from the beginning.”

...

“So, there’s not actually that many of us that are that powerful. And of that group, there’s even less like [Hero], with that sort of classic flight/strength combo that makes for good television. So, there was a lot of pressure to find ways to make yourself useful.” The soulmate super sipped from a cup covered in kitten pictures and shrugged. “One of the counselors had called my power ‘reading souls.’ That’s what gave me the idea for all this. It was the least harmful thing I could think of to do with my powers.”

The protagonist crammed another biscuit in their mouth. They were the cheap kind, and only digestives, but in this moment they tasted like manna from heaven. “But if this was all your idea,” they said around a mouthful of crumbs, “why are you a prisoner?”

The super snorted. “Officially? I’m here for my own protection. From [Villain], or anyone else looking to take down such an invaluable government asset. In reality? Same reason they took [Hero] and split them into two. The government lusts to maximize our superpowers and is absolutely terrified of losing control of us.”

“That’s not - that’s not true,” the hero blurted out. They looked absurdly large on the end of the soulmate super’s cheap little cot, the thin metal legs visibly bending under their hunched over weight. “They had to do it. To me! My - our powers were dangerous and we were out of control-”

The protagonist opened their mouth to sooth, but to their surprise, the soulmate super got there first. “There was nothing wrong with you,” she snapped at hero, with the first flash of real anger the protagonist had seen. “I was there. There was... Fuck.” She rubbed at her neck again. “There was nothing wrong with you other than being the same scared kid we all were. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. Neither of you did.”

Belatedly, the protagonist startled up off the cot. “Shit. Do we... should we be running?”

“Nah,” the soulmate super said, leaning over to tap something on her computer workstation. “At this point the locked door is almost more of a formality. It’s when I stop working that all the bells and whistles go off.”

“Good.” The protagonist put down their tea mug with a thud. “Because now’s the part where you tell me exactly what is going to happen next. What was the point of all this? What’s your end game here?”

The super blinked again, took a long and slow sip of tea out of her kitten mug. “Ah. And here is the first place your summary of the situation was a teeny bit off. You... seem to be under the impression that I have some kind of master plan going on here.”

The protagonist felt their stomach drop. “What.”

The super spread her hands. “I had a split second. When your profile flashed into the system in the middle of the night. I could guess what would happen, I could see it was the perfect opportunity to throw a great honking monkey wrench into the works and...” She shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry if you came to me because you thought I had the solution to this, to [Hero] and [Villain]’s situation, to the whole government and supers and everything.” She glanced shyly over to the protagonist. “I was kinda hoping you would tell me.”

Heavily, the protagonist sat back down. They had wanted to believe there was a plan somewhere. A plan behind why the government seemed to both love and fear their supers, a plan behind why they specifically had been tossed into this mess to be manipulated, kidnapped, attacked, and more. The soulmate super looked genuinely distressed and somehow that made it worse. Because no one was coming in to save the day except the protagonist, and they had precisely zero god damned idea how to fix a person who’d been broken in two. Let alone, you know, everything else.

“Okay,” the protagonist said, holding their head in their hands. “Okay.” They reached out and grabbed the hero’s hand. The hero looked startled, but before they could say anything, the protagonist grabbed the soulmate super’s hand too. “We’ve got a superhero, a psychological genius, and, uh. Me. We can figure this out. Together.”

The soulmate super beamed. The hero nodded, their eyes fixed on the protagonist’s hand, dwarfed in their meaty fingers. The protagonist turned to the other super. “Anything else we need to know? Anything else I got wrong?”

“Oh!. Yes!” The soulmate super snapped her fingers. “I did set you up, but it wasn’t a lie. You are [Hero]’s soulmate. One of them, at least.”

“I’m what?” the protagonist shrieked, the same moment the hero gasped, “One of them?”

“Well, here you all are,” said a new voice from the darkness of the hallway. “How cozy.”

The protagonist and the two supers sprang to their feet, the hero shoving their way in front of the others.

Stepping awkwardly over the broken door was the governor’s chief of staff. She had a cast on her forearm, a nasty purplish bruise down the side of her face, and had replaced her usual spike heels with flats. But her hair was as shiny and her smile as vicious as always, as guards rushed into the room behind her, carelessly trampling the meager food and furnishings beneath their boots.

The soulmate super’s breath was short with terror. The protagonist grabbed her, squeezed her closer.

“You can’t think you can take me-” the hero started.

“[Villain] is decimating the city,” the chief said flatly. “They’re on a rampage of destruction and manslaughter, and have announced that they will not stop until [Protagonist] is delivered to them. Alive.” She looked to the soulmate super. “Cute little stunt you pulled here. I hope you’re happy with how it turned out this time.”

The soulmate super shrank, pulling back from protagonist’s arms. The hero’s gaze went hazy as their focus shifted somewhere else. Then it snapped back to the protagonist, their wide eyes a confirmation.

“Don’t,” the protagonist said, to both supers. “It’s what she wants. Dammit, don’t listen-”

“They’re right, you don’t have to listen,” the chief said with the cold inevitability of taxes and death. “But if you don’t want a lot more people to die, [Hero], starting with [Protagonist], I suggest you take your precious soulmate into protective custody and then get out there and do what you were made to do.” She smiled sourly. “Save us.”

Final part coming soon!

#my fiction #soulmate programme #hero x villain #continuation #protagonist x hero #should be just one more final episode after this #i hope #100

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htchnr · 3 months

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♰ 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 ༻ 𝐀𝐬𝐡 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬.*ೃ˚ 01.

✮ꜜ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. ✮ꜜ 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞!

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 mention of Ash's injuries ⋆ mention of stitches ⋆ slight tension ⋆ Ash catches you mid changing your clothes ⋆ slight technical canon divergence ⋆ this is set at the end of AoD, where Ash instead opens up portal back home ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 AoD!Ash x Witch!Reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 the air felt off, and when bright lighting flashes across the sky, the bizarre swirling clouds drop a strange young man into your pumpkin patch. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 3,9k.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 you guys i am SOOOOO hyped to finally post the first chapter/part to this little (might grow big) series!! these two characters have been living in my head rent free ever since me and bestie @morrrrow first started coming up with ideas (all creds definitely go to him!!) but Ash and Witch!reader are my babies and i love them SO DEARLY.

the air changed as you stirred through the pot of pasta on your stove. you pause your movements, glancing out the window above the cluttered counter — the sky was dark, strange clouds swirling above. something felt wrong.

you turned your stove off, pulling your apron off as you move to stand closer to the window, your eyes watching a particular swirl of clouds. when suddenly, lightning flashes, loud thunder following. and in the blink of an eye you grab a vial of salt, shooting through your front door and out to your yard.

you search around, eyes flitting across the garden in search of what was causing everything. you push through the small gate to your large vegetable patch, your eyes trying to check every inch of everything.

you're turning around, ready to head back when a hand drops from behind the shed, falling against your shoe. you let out a shriek, jumping back to see the possible threat. when you look down you blink widely — a young man, not much older than you, covered in scrapes and cuts, laying face first in your pumpkin patch.

you huff, groaning at the sight of the crushed and dirtied pumpkins beneath the rather handsome man. you give his strange metal hand a kick, scolding the unconscious man. " you couldn't have dropped anywhere else?! " you open the vial, chucking some salt onto him. you wait, but the man doesn't appear to react to it.

you let out a deep sigh, hands on your hips as you stare at him. you look around, the sky had calmed down significantly and had returned to its usual boring and cloudy grey — not a single peculiar swirl to be seen. you look back at the man, huffing. " you're lucky you're not melting, mister. " moving down to lightly slap the man's cheek to try and wake him. but he doesn't.

you sigh, rounding the man to stand by his feet. you bend down, grabbing both his ankles and groan as you try and drag him out of the patch. you look down at the heavy man, realising his face was scraping across the dirt with each pull. you drop his feet, stepping beside him as you kneel down. you push against his hip and his chest, pushing the man onto his back with great effort.

your eyes flit across his figure, lingering on his torn shirt, his toned stomach very visible. you swallow, cheeks flushing a little as you pull your eyes away drom his exposed skin and get up again. " lets get you inside. " you grumble, grabbing his ankles again as you start pulling him towards the gate.

you pulled him through your front door with a loud groan, dropping his ankles once his whole body was inside. you shut and lock the door, turning to rest your back against it as you look at the stranger. " oh what the hell have i brought in? " you whine, dropping your head against the door.

though the drag to and into your home had been anything but smooth, he still hadn't woken up yet. you kneeled down beside him, fingers hesitantly pressing against his pulse — feeling a slow but steady pulse. you let out a relieved breath, " thank the stars i didn't drag in a dead man, " you laugh breathlessly.

you move to your bathroom, grabbing a few washcloths and a bucket to fill with some warm water so you can start to tend to his injuries. there were a lot of them.

♡✩°｡⋆🦇

Ash awoke with a low groan, his head pounding as he came to. he pried his eyes open, slowly adjusting to the dim and warm light around him. the first thing his eyes are met with is the worn wooden ceiling of the room he was in. he could make out the faint flicker of a candle that he assumes is lighting the room.

he tries to sit up, only to drop back down with a loud, pained groan. his eyes take in the rest of the room, clearly a bedroom, decorated with various pieces of art and dried plants, the shelves on the wall covered in books and clutter.

the door shoots open, Ash's wide eyes landing on your figure, your eyes equally wide. " you're actually alive, " you let out a relieved breath, though mixed with a tone of surprise and shock.

Ash grunts as he tries to sit up straight again, but you rush to his side, pushing him down by his chest. " if you rip your stitches, they'll be the last of your concern. " you huff, lifting the blanket to look at the stitched wound on his side.

he looks up at you, wide, dark brown eyes flitting across your figure. " who are you? where am i? and when am i? " he throws the questions at you in a rush, his voice raising a little out of slight panic.

you cross your arms, the look on your face enough to catch him off guard and stop Ash's rambling. " listen mister, you're in my home and it's 1994. you came crashing down into my pumpkin patch — so i think i'll be the one asking questions, okay? " you squint at him, one brow raised. he almost looks like a scolded child. he nods, visibly relaxing a little.

he lays back down, " ask away i suppose, " in interesting look in his eyes. " just don't get mad if you don't like the answers. " he shrugs.

your squinting increases, and Ash shut his mouth. " first you can start off by thank me for taking care of your injuries. " you huff, in crossing your arms and resting your hands in your lap as you sit down on the couch facing the foot of the bed.

Ash sighs, he does suppose a 'thank you' is in order, he did feel and look better than when he was last awake. " thank you for taking care of me, " it comes out somewhat forced, though you can still sense a genuine hint to it.

you offer him a smile, taking Ash slightly aback as your face doesn't return to the frown again. " now, who are you, and where did you come from? "

you watch him take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. he opens them again, deep brown eyes back on yours. " the name's Ash, " you nod along, " and uh, i just came from the, middle ages? " you blink at him, that accusatory squint back in your eyes. " hey now! don't give me that look again! "

you sit back against the cushion of the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. " how'd you get here? "

now it's his turn to squint — no questions about the middle ages? no joke that he must've hit his head too hard? okay then, he'll bite. " by reading a passage from The Book of The Dead to open a rift back home. " his eyes carefully watching you.

your eyes widen a bit, " nothing followed you back did it? cause if you bring damn Deadites to my front door-! " you start, but Ash interrupts you.

" no, nothing followed me back-! wait, Deadites? you know about 'em? " he tries to sit up, grunting in pain as the stitches tighten.

you shoot up from the couch, pointing a finger at him. " you stay down, or i'll tie you down, got it? i will not stitch you up again. " you stand beside him. he drops down in defeat, nodding. he honestly felt too weak to fight it.

you step towards the doorway, looking back at him. " you hungry? i've got some stew on the stove, " and before Ash can answer his stomach grumbles loudly. " i'll take that as a yes, i'll bring you some. " stepping through the doorway and out of his sight.

he glances around the room, dark eyes scanning each inch that he could. it was cozy, a big fireplace in the corner furthest from the bed, the room well lived in and cluttered — from what little he's seen of you, very you.

a few minutes later you return, two bowls with spoons in your hands. you set them both down on the bedside table, moving over to help him sit up. he groans as the stitches tense, but you make sure he doesn't rip any as you help him move. you hand him one, which he gladly accepts. he stirs through the bowl, watching you blow on a spoon full before you swallow down a few bites.

he waits a minute, watching for any kind of reaction. though you don't look up from your bowl, you sigh, " if i wanted to kill you, i would've just left you out there. i didn't poison the damn stew. " you mumble with a mouthful.

Ash grumbles something, before bringing the spoon to his lips. the moment the stew hits his tongue his eyes widen a little at the how good it tastes — comforting, warm and delicious. in a mere second after swallow the first bite he shovels spoonful after spoonful down. you smile into your bowl, listening to him scarf down his food.

in a few minutes he's done, wiping his lips with the back of his flesh hand, setting the bowl down on the bedside table. his eyes are you as you're still eating. " i take it you like it? " you peak up, seeing Ash nod. you pull your knees back up to your chest, resting the bowl atop them. " so what did you do in the middle ages? " you ask, pushing another spoonful in.

Ash blinks, how you were so normal about this all the moment he mentioned the Book of The Dead. " you really don't beat around the bush, do you? " he grumbles, crossing his arms with a flinch.

you shrug, " people waste so much time, i never cared for it. " you answer him, looking up at him with an expecting look.

he sighs, " i fought an army of Evil, along with a Deadite version of myself. " if he was being honest, it was kind of refreshing to talk about it so blatantly. he watches you as you nod along, pushing in bite after bite as you listen to him. " how are you not laughing at me? calling me crazy? "

you shrug, swallowing a bite. " v'seen my fair share of strange things out here, " you scrape the last few pieces together, " it takes quite a bit to weird me out. " you smile at him. you scoop up the last bite, chewing and swallowing it down. " i will say, having a man crash out of nowhere and crush more than half of my pumpkins is a first though, "

Ash sinks into the pillows, he'd forgotten about that for a moment. " 'm sorry about your pumpkins, " he offers.

you shake your head and wave him off. " honestly it could always be worse, hell, you could've landed on one of my fences and been impaled, " you shrug, setting your bowl aside as you direct your full attention back to him. " so, tell me more about your 'trip', " you rest your chin atop your knees, wrapping your arms around your legs.

you listen in wonder as he tells you all about the middle ages, about Sheila, about Evil Ash, the Delta tank they built. he pauses as he looks down at his metal hand, looking back up at you. " hey, you didn't happen to find a chainsaw and a shotgun with me, did you? " you blink, thinking back.

you shrug, " don't know, i could look once it's light out if you'd like me to? " you offer. he nods, accepting that offer. you yawn and stretch, glancing out the window to find it long dark. " we should get some sleep. "

you get up from the couch, stepping outside the bedroom for a minute before returning with a pillow and a big knit blanket. you prop the pillow up on the couch, laying down and pulling the blanket over you. Ash blinks at you, " you okay with me taking your bed? " he asks, finding himself ready to try and get out of it.

you wave him off, " don't bother, " you pull the blanket up to your chin. you sign, closing your eyes. " sleep tight, Ash. "

Ash yawns, your sleepiness infecting him. he scoots down with sharp breaths, turning his head as he settles down. and to Ash's surprise, it doesn't take long for sleep to overtake him.

♡✩°｡⋆🦇

it's a few days later, you had indeed found a shotgun and a chainsaw not too far from where you had found him, which now laid on a shelf in the pantry. you weren't the biggest fan of shotguns in your home.

Ash was recovering well, clearly — as he had been cramming every sentence with a bad pun or lame pickup line.

and much to your dismay, you found them kind of working.

the two of you were in your kitchen as you made breakfast, bacon and eggs frying in the big skillet as Ash sat at the table quietly watching you. a low grumble could be heard in the air, giving Ash a weird feeling. he watches you pause the flipping of the bacon, clearly having noticed the slight change in the air. " you felt that too? " he asks, brows furrowed.

you turn your stove off, setting the fork down and pull off your apron. " yeah, i felt it. " you hang the apron over the chair beside Ash, grabbing a vial of salt as you move towards the window above the counter. you look outside, eyes finding a small wisp of smoke dwindling by the shed. you grumble something under your breath, Ash barely making out 'you did bring someone along.' before throwing the front door open.

he pushes himself off the chair, dashing for his shotgun in the pantry before painfully jogging after you. " hey now! " he calls, stepping down the steps of your porch in his socks.

Ash nearly slams into your back as you stop by the shed, his eyes landing on what was causing the small stream of smoke — a Deadite, leaning against thin air as it sizzled against some invisible barrier. " what the? " he mutters, watching you merely stand there with your hands on your hips.

you grumble, twisting open the vial. " put the damn gun away, Ash. " you huff, chucking what looked to be salt at the Deadite. the moment the grains hit the creature it lets out a hissing scream, slowly melting against the barrier. Ash watches with a beyond bewildered look on his face.

you watch the Deadite completely melt, before turning back to Ash. " what? i thought you've seen them before, mister. " you squint at his stupid look.

Ash snaps out of it, stumbling over his words as he gestures at the puddle that once was a creature. you just blink at him, waiting for his meltdown to pass. " what did you throw on it?? " he sputters.

you give him a concerned look, looking around you. you lick your teeth, " uh, salt..? "

you watch in real time as Ash seems to break at that information — hands slack at his side, shotgun dropping into the leaves. " Ash, honey, you doing alright? " you ask, starting to get a little concerned.

" salt-?! " he exclaims. " you mean to tell me, that all this time i've been carving them up like Christmas turkeys, and you throw some DINNER SALT on them and they fucking MELT?! "

you're trying to suppress a smile as you watch him freak out. " also, what the hell was it layin up against?! " he gestures at the barrier.

you glance down at your feet. for a man who had gone to the middle ages and back, defeated an army of undead creatures and an evil version of himself, he was reacting surprisingly poorly to this. " first of all, it would be Thanksgiving turkeys, second, it's a barrier? " you offer, brows furrowed in both amusement and concern. " do you uh, want to sit down? maybe you should eat something, "

you step towards Ash, leaning down to pick up his shotgun. you grab his flesh hand and pull him back up the path to the cabin. Ash lets you pull him along as he follows you blindly as he tries to process it — he had found it odd how nothing had come after him, but having witnessed the protective barrier, it makes sense.

you pull him up the porch steps and through the front door, closing it behind you two. you lead him back to the chair he had sat in, pushing him down to sit. you rummage around a few jars, looking for a specific flower for his tea to calm him down. " hey, Ash? " you call out, turning your head to watch him flick his soft brown eyes up to you. " want some tea with your bacon and eggs? "

he shakes his head, contemplative eyes flitting across your figure. you shrug, turning back to fix the two of you plates of food. his eyes drag across your form, watching your movements as you move through the kitchen. he blinks, snapping out of it as you walk over with two plates of breakfast, a few big slices of bacon on one side and an omelette with tomatoes and cheese on the other side. he'd be lying if he said it didn't smell amazing.

he watches you as you eagerly break apart the omelette with your fork, shovelling in bites. it takes him a minute, then he too digs in. and boy was it delicious. it had to be the best homemade breakfast he's ever had.

he looks up from his plate, soft brown eyes on you. " f'you wanna ask somethin', jus' ask, " you mumble with your mouth full.

he blinks, shoving down a bite of eggs. " who are you? " he takes another bite of eggs. " and what is this place? "

you swallow the bacon and eggs left in your mouth, clearing your throat. " i'm who people turn to for all kinds of things, " you shrug, sipping your tea. " f'you need remedies for various things, or a totem to protect you, or if somethings not right in your home, " you list off, eyes focused on your tea. " and i apparently take in stray strangers that fall from middle ages and crush my pumpkins, " you laugh into your mug.

Ash breathes out a sheepish laugh, " 'm still sorry about that, " he swallows down the last bite of food, pushing his empty plate forward.

you wave him off, " honestly, they weren't looking too good this season anyway. " you finish your last bite as well, sighing as you get up to grab his plate.

though, he pulls it away from you. " let me at least do the dishes, you constantly cook and take care of me, it's makin' me feel bad, " he gestures his plate towards yours, wanting you to put it on top of his.

you shrug, stacking your plate on his. " as long as you don't overwork your side, the healing's going so well, i'll be livid if you mess it up, " you laugh, though he understands you're serious about it. he nods, bringing the plates into the kitchen. you watch him awkwardly glance around your cluttered counter and shelves for a second, before finding a sponge and some soap.

you leave him to it, making your way to your bedroom to change out of your sleepwear. you open your closet, eyes glancing at various things before settling on a long patchwork skirt and pulling out an easy thin strapped tanktop.

" heya, where'd you want the clean dishes- " you hear Ash ask from just beyond the doorway, cutting himself off as he enters the room, wide eyes glued to your naked back as you had just pulled your sleep shirt off. he can just make out the swell of your tits on each side of your torso.

you pull your tanktop over your head, the blush on Ash's cheeks deepening as he catches a good glance at your tits while your arms are raised. you adjust the top before turning around to face him. you try so hard to suppress your grin at his deep red cheeks and wide eyes. " you can leave them to dry on the counter, i'll put them away in a bit. " you smile at him, closing your closet.

you move past him to the bedside, lifting the covers up to pull them straight across the bed. he watches you, frozen in the doorway as you let out quiet grunts as you neatly make the bed he had been sleeping in for the past few days.

you let out a huff, standing straight as you turn to meet his eyes again. you smile, " you know what you can help me with today? " you offer him, resting a hand on his chest as you slide past him and out of the bedroom. " cleaning up the pumpkin patch, " you throw him a teasing smile as you make your way to the big closet you keep your garden supplies in.

you swing the door open, pulling out a pair of gloves that you chuck at his feet. he watches you curse and dig for something, only to the turn around with a lopsided smile. " oh wait, " you hold out one glove, " guess it doesn't matter that i can't find the right one, huh? " you laugh, chucking the glove with the other pair. you close the door, bending over in front of him to pick the gloves up.

you look up at him, handing him the one glove. you smile as he takes it, putting it on. " c'mon handsome, let's go clean up. " you pat his shoulder, grinning as you make your way to the back door.

Ash follows closely behind, letting out a deep breath. his healing journey and his time here with you so far, has definitely been interesting — dare he even say it, almost safe feeling now he knows about the barrier and your capability to handle yourself and Deadites.

#⋆୨🩷©2024 htchnr #ashley williams x you #ash williams fluff #ash williams oneshot #ashley williams imagine #ashley williams x reader #ash vs evil dead x reader #ash williams imagine #ash williams smut #ash williams x reader #ash vs evil dead #older!ash williams #older!ash williams x reader

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xxreader-writerxx · 2 years

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Perfect

A/N: Alright I've come out of my hidey hole. I know you missed me ;) Anyways enjoy my perfect flowers.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader (not yet dating)

Warnings: Nothing really. Just pure fluff.

Summary: Remus wants to preparefor your birthday but struggles to be perfect.

Word Count: 1.5k

It was a bright, sunny day as I walked across the courtyard. I giggle as a rogue pygmy-puff dashes across my feet. The fluffy hair tickling my ankles above my black shoes. I tuck my books into my bag because all my classes are done for the day. Scanning the yard for my favorite boys and snicker at the sight. Sirius tries to flirt with some Gryffindors and James ruins it by magically mocking him. I walk over and Peter pulls me into a hug.

“Finally someone to help me with these idiots.” He jokes into my ear quietly. I cover my smile and lightly hit his chest. My face morphs into a slight frown when I realize Remus isn’t with the boys. “And when I finally made the shot I could feel the rush- Yes darling?” Sirius asks when he feels the tap on his shoulder. “Where’s Rem?” I asked him since they were together last. “Oh last I remember he was skipping off to our dorm. Saying he had something to do.” He tells me and I kiss his cheek. “Thank you pads.”

I giggle as he starts to rush an explanation to the Gryffindors in front of him, blushing furiously. I make my way inside. I smell what the elves are making for dinner waft through the hallways as I pass the painting to the kitchen. There are traces of mushrooms, steak, and bread in the air that could make any stomach growl. The best part of Hogwarts is that even the non-magical things that even muggles could do become magical just by default.

Fingers dragging along the cool stone walls, the bumps of the pillars halting them from time to time. The castle is warm but somehow the walls themselves have a type of independence, choosing to have a cool temperature that could save you from the day’s heat. The wallpaper of the walls goes all the way to the ceiling, delicate designs most likely made by fairies. The hallway is full of quiet chattering, footsteps, and laughter. Some students having clubs rush past to make it on time, others not having a care in the world letting time fly during the free time they have.

The fat lady comes into view, singing her famous “operatic” melody that might not break glass but certainly can burst an eardrum. Her pink dress ruffled looking like she’s been running around, most likely searching for an unwilling audience. “Password?” Her cultured voice sings and I nod. I tell her the password and the painting opens to show the common room.

The common room always smells of firewood and old books. A fire is crackling underneath a painting of an old man. I was half expecting to see messy brown curls tucked into the red sofa but it was completely empty besides a cozy blanket and pillows. Huffing, I look at the staircase that leads to the boy’s dorms and begin my journey. Posters scattering every other door, some muggle sports and some wizarding. The seeker of the Irish team winked at me as I passed by, making me a bit shy. He was always a flirt, making the boys I often have by my side huff about how he wasn’t all that charming.

Finally making it to the door I was looking for I raise my fist to knock but pause at the sounds inside. There’s crashing and rummaging like someone was looting around. Folding my hand around my wand I whisper “Alohomora,” there's a click signifying the lock opening and I turn the door knob. Opening the door quietly, hoping to not let any possible intruder know someone was entering. Instead of a burglar all I see is a cluttered room with a messy Remus in the middle of all the clutter. “Where is that damned thing?” He mutters to himself as he throws a shirt behind him, unknowingly landing on me.

I begin to pick up around the room, folding jerseys, putting trinkets back into their designated shelves, and other things as I slowly walk up to him. I place the folded clothes on Jame’s bed and place my hands softly on his shoulders and go on my tippy toes. “What are you looking for Remus?” I softly question and his shoulders relax for a second before they stiffen.

He flips around and I nearly fall if it wasn’t for him being there. He holds my wrists softly looking down at me. “What are you doing here?” He questions and I bite my lip. It does seem a bit strange that I welcomed myself into his dorm room unannounced. It’s normal for me when all the boys are in here but never when only one is inside. My face heats and I place my heels back on the ground. “Oh um- I’m sorry. I just- and you were-” I stutter and he smirks at me. “I’m not upset darling, I just wish it wasn’t a whole mess for you.” he tells me.

He looks behind him, still not breaking contact, using one of his hands to shuffle the mess on the table. He finally finds what he was looking for and takes his wand. “Scourgify.” He casts with a whip of his wand. The room around us starts to put itself away, as if an invisible maid or butler was making their rounds. He walks with me over to his side of the room and I notice that his foot is kicking a box under his bed. I quirk my brow and lean down grabbing the package.

“No don’t-” He sighs, pinching his brow “...do that.” Looking at the package I smile. “Oh Remmy…” I gasp, placing my hand at my chest. “I- I was trying to wrap it for your birthday but… but-” He groans, flopping on his bed. “No one ever taught me how to wrap presents.” He whispers under his hands. My fingers trace the broken parcel around the present. There’s strips of tape trying to hold it together and the brown parcel is crumbled with a string holding it in place. “Oh Remus, how did you know?” I ask, feeling tears prick at my lashes. “Well I overheard you saying that you didn’t care much for your birthday and I- I couldn’t bear the thought. I also noticed whenever we were heading to the Broomstick how you eyed this. I scrounged some money together and bought it.” He blurts out and I climb next to him on the bed.

Lightly peeling his hands from his face, I smile at him softly. “Why are you so stressed? I love it, Remmy…” I tell him and his face stays solemn. “I wanted to make sure it was perfect, now I spoiled it and it’s all messy…” He frowns and I lay my hand on his chest, tracing small pictures across it. “Remus, it’s already perfect because you made it. You could’ve gotten me a stink bomb and I would’ve loved it.” I tell him and he holds my hand, squeezing it. “But it’s not. It’s all torn and I can’t find another roll of parcel.” He complains and I giggle. I raise my wand and wink. “Acio roll of parcel.” I smirk and he groans slightly laughing. “I didn’t think of that.” He mumbles and I reach out for the parcel floating towards us.

I pull him to sit on the ground with me. I reach for a box similar in size and he raises an eyebrow. “What’s this?” He asks and I shrug. “I’ll teach you.” I whisper and he wipes under his eyes though they are mostly dry. “Ok…” He whispers back and we get started.

“So, I fold it like this… And how do I tape it without it unfolding?” He asks, holding down the triangle he just made. “Well you are a beginner and that is a high level move…” I joke and he rolls his eyes. “Here I’ll help you this time.” I say and quickly jut my hand out to take his place. My fingers graze the back of his hand and I jerk it back for a second. My face heats up in an instant and I place my hand back. “Ok…” He says, looking up at me. His nose nearly meets mine and we lock eyes. “You- You can tape it now.” I mutter, his hand unmoving. He makes a small noise agreeing but still doesn’t move his hand. “Your eyes always take my breath away…” He mutters under his breath and I gulp. So quickly I question if it even happened his chin moves closer, lips almost touching but never making contact.

He moves away and grabs the tape and I stay there amazed. I snap too once he finally tapes the last part and he laughs. “I did it!” He tells me and I nod happily. “I have no idea why you were so worried. I never took you as a perfectionist.” I say and he sighs. “Because it’s for you. I always thought you were the most perfect person I’ve ever met and wanted you to know that…” He admits and I smile. “Remmy…” I sigh, I lean closer only to be interrupted by Sirius barreling into the room. “You completely ruined my chances, you asshole!” He yells and I laugh, hiding behind Remus to dodge the pillows being hurled.

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lila-rae · 11 months

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My parents worked with fear and authoritarianism with me and my siblings and I can say it didn't work, this is why I'm doing so much research on how to deal with kids, I'm honestly so scared that I will end up like them but I've worked on my anger issues for years now. Really curious on how you deal with your children of different age groups when they do something wrong? I honestly am going to try to stop the wrong parenting my family has been doing for years now.

So I’m lucky in that my own parents didn’t hit me but they definitely had some questionable parenting practices I’ve had to come to terms with in therapy and then had to let them know how what they did was harmful, and how it wouldn’t be tolerated when they watch my own children.

Our general philosophy for parenting is our children are fully human and deserving on respect in how we interact with them in all things. We rely a lot on natural consequences. If you get mad and throw your toy, the toy is gone. If you decide to yell and scream at mommy, you can wait until you calm down and speak with respect to receive a response. If you refuse to come in from the back yard or refuse to leave the park, it might mean we can’t do those things for awhile until we see you’ll be able to leave when we ask.

It’s also a lot of picking your battles. I’m not going to get into the food wars my parents did with us at dinner time. We serve food (that we know they will eat) but if they don’t they’re always free to find something they will in the fridge or pantry. Because let’s be real no one forces you as an adult to eat food you’re not in the mood for. I’m not forcing anyone to make their beds we only expect their rooms be clear of clutter from the floor because it’s a safety hazard and we take the time to explain that to them. Hygiene isn’t negotiable but we discuss it in regards to medical safety.

It takes a lot of patience and being willing to talk to them about everything you’re asking them to do instead of falling back on “because I said so”.

Our first child is also Autistic so early on we learned we had to explain things to him so that he would comply because if he doesn’t understand why he’s being asked to do anything he’ll shut down. If it’s something that involves safety, we have a code word, and it means you need to listen right now so mommy and daddy can keep you safe but we will talk as soon as we can and explain. And we don’t abuse that so he knows when we say it we mean it.

I know we don’t always get it right, and we’ve had to apologize to our kids and seek their forgiveness when we get it wrong. Something that my parents never did.

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twst-drabbles · 2 years

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Leona 22

Summary: The many sections in Leona’s room. Items need a place after all.

(When one is depressed for as long as I have, you kinda start to notice your interesting relationship with you room.)

Items that one seldom use, that one doesn't want to see or care for them to gather dust are always out of sight. Placed behind big furniture, behind closet doors that are seldom opened, or even under laundry piles that should’ve been put away long ago. It doesn’t matter. It’s too much of a hassle to get up, open a trash back and stuff them all in there. There’s just too many things Leona doesn’t care about.

If it breaks, so be it. If it rots, so be it. Useless things are put in useless places. Water bottles, wrappers, red tissue paper from gifts he didn’t care for, empty soda cans for when he craved that shot of sugar, and piles of textbooks he’s required to buy but seldom used.

Thing that Leona occasionally use, like shoes, pencils and his ceremonial uniform, those get put on the floor. They’re not important enough to be on the bed, rarely anything is, but they can’t be put in a shelf and forgotten about. Leona doesn’t have the energy to go around and relocate every little thing he needs.

So, rather than do that, it’s better to have it plain sight. On the floor, where he can just push it to the side if it’s in the way. Not too taxing on the memory, though not even this method helps. It ends up blending with the floor at some point, a permanent fixture that he can’t distinguish. You might notice a single black blade of grass in your yard but when they start to pile up, you eventually stop noticing altogether.

Leona’s bed wasn’t a cluttered mess, but it had enough things in it to not be considered clear. There’s a wide area clear of anything. Of course, this was the spot where he slept, where he’d wake up, daydream and go right back to sleep. He can flip, he can lay on his stomach. Rarely does he ever move from this side of the bed. On the other side was more clothing, things like hair bands and his college uniform are there.

Ready to be picked up, ready to be used without him ever getting out of bed. There are even little bags of snacks, still closed, still waiting to be consumed when getting up to get a meal was just not worth it. A couple of water bottles were there as well. A hairbrush, his phone with the charger hanging on the pillow next to Leona’s, and his phone itself.

All sorts of crumbs have gathered on that side of the bed, but his spot stayed clean and free of dust and debris.

The world continues to spin while Leona lays here, drifting into the blackness that sleep provides, that temporarily takes away his ability to feel. It’s less than numb, it’s simply nothing.

Another day, another night passes, another class missed. Leona is just too tired, too sleepy. He can get up another day. Not today. Never today.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #savanaclaw #leona #leona kingscholar

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pictopye · 13 days

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Figure Fridays #6:

TLDR: A quieter week – focused more on artwork so I had time to work on Glorfindel, his base, and started working on Strong from Fallout 4 while waiting for paint to dry (literally - Glorfindel & a closet).

The Long Rambley Version: This week I had more free time from housework/renovations after finishing the paint in a closet before we start floor repair. So I got some down time to work on more artistic projects - some zines, sticker designs, a greeting card, etc… My partner & I tend to start releasing zines/stickers & other projects sometime around the new year.

I worked more on Glorfindel – slowly building up his hair, working the blending of his cloak, and refining a lot of the front embellishments of his sash. I have a few more passes for the hair to be done, and I’m considering my options for some washes on the armor in the front to get the bright vibrant green spring feel I’m going for with him – basing his look more on his time in Gondolin.

I also managed to find some excellent rocks in my yard to build up the base a little more till I was happy. I want to go with the final look being similar to post-Gondolin's Fall, but obviously before our man Goldilocks gets his hair yanked by the Balrog. So rocky/cliffs/mountainy vibes. I then affixed him to the base.

While waiting on the layers to dry on Glorfindel I started up on

Figure #3 – Strong from Fallout 4. He got a base coating of a rusty brown color then a good mix of flesh tones and greens dabbled on to him roughly. From there I felt it was too bright & too green so I ended up giving him a wash with some ruddy brown and peach tones which I’m quite pleased with. I’ve started his metal plates out with a metallic teal/blue and started up base tones of the Super Sledge he’s wielding.

That’s pretty much it for this week, thank you all for checking in on the progress! One other thing of note - Hopefully I can get a better photo set up area created before I paint some more – as man oh man I’m cringin’ hard at the photos I’ve taken. My cluttered desk & ill adjusted lighting just ain’t cutting the mustard. Sigh. Another project for Another day!

In other exciting news – going to PHX Zinefest tomorrow to see what folks are upto, see what's popular, etc! It's a fully masked event so we're stoked for a chance to get out for something fun!

#figure fridays #figures #miniatures #LOTR #Fallout #Fallout 4 #Strong #Glorfindel #acrylic paint #elven #super mutant #milk of human kindness #Silmarillion #Games Workshop #Modiphius #zinefest #PHX #Gondolin #fall of gondolin

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crabbng · 7 months

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I've been trying to study your art style, your backgrounds I mean. Can you tell me or explain in someway how you like draw your backgrounds? Like sometimes you'll have characters interacting with an object or part of the world so you only draw that object in white space. But sometimes you go the whole nine yards and draw everything.

In white space you leave it up to us the reader to understand that the character is in that area without drawing it and that's so cool to me.

How do you know when to not redraw a background? Like in the scene when Chaarose was talking to the old lady. There was hallways drawn and you drew most of the room but for the most part the only thing that we saw was the couch/chairs so we know they were in a room but the background was white and not very much detail but we understand this was her room how did you do that? You do this with a variety of other panels like when they are in Hana's house (when baby first turns humanoid) you sometimes draw the couch or the table and there are things that indicate walls but I think it's my favorite thing in the world when you do this.

Basically my question is how do you know when to do this and how do you go about doing this? Do you just decide I dont wanna draw that background again so the reader knows where the characters are? Or do you do something else?

thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it ☺️☺️💕

i guess it's a consideration of what's important to communicate in that panel. is this an establishing shot/do i need to set a new scene? do i want to focus on the character and what they're saying? do i need to convey space in order to achieve a certain mood? (like the more recent pages of chaar where she's sitting in front of the sea looking very small)

the other thing is like. how have i arranged the people in the panel. if they're sitting down and i want to show more than their torso, it's going to look weird if i just draw them sitting on nothing. generally the more i show of a character, the more background i put behind them.

the OTHER other thing is.. man i got all these pages to draw 🤣🤣 i CANNOT be drawing backgrounds in every panel (nor should i, it gets too cluttered)

there's a sort of rule of thumb I've heard of having at least 1 panel of background per page, to ensure the reader remembers where they are, which i think is a decent starting point if it's something you're unsure about.

so yeah, idk how helpful this is, i may have rambled a bit but like. consider what the point is in having a background in a panel. whether that be you need to establish a location, your characters would be floating around otherwise, or it's important to evoke a certain mood. I'm sure there are other things, but that's GENERALLY what i consider.

imo the less backgrounds you draw per page.. the better lol. save yourself the time and wrist stress 🤣 but im also someone who enjoys focusing on characters more, so i am biased!!

amyways. hope that helps. or is interesting. i appreciate the question tho!! i am flattered u enjoy my work ☺️ feel free to hmu with more questions!

#asks #noeggets

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bishops-of-the-old-faith · 2 years

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misc. temple headcanons

all temples have a main room (the boss fight room, for context) with lots of constantly lit candles (by followers) and a ritual circle in the center. this circle is important for the bishops to fully unleash their eldritch forms, as they cannot fully transform without a massive blood sacrifice. and they all have branching rooms, full of stuff. there's at least a room for offerings, a room for sermons, and a personal work/relax room.

-it's a nightmare to navigate leshy's temple - tree roots, vines, all kinds of plants grow everywhere in it. leshy is pretty adept at swiftly weaving through all the clutter, but for followers and his siblings, it's a hassle. he is forced to make a clear pathway so his followers dont get frustrated trying to get in the main enterance. - he often bonks his head trying to dig into his temple, he isn't quite strong enough to dig through stone in his normal form! he can still use his bishop warming power through it, but that isnt nearly as fun - leshy has a massive arboretum. it branches off into different climates to house all kinda of flora from all regions of the old faith (except for stuff that only exists in the afterlife, because its impossible to get those)

-heket's temple is very rustic - cottagecore type vibes, autumn cottagecore. the floor is always a bit damp because of how anura is. small mushrooms sprout through the cracks in the stone and moss/lichen is very common (though i should note, the moss/lichen in anura is yellow/orange in color, rather than green). there's also lots of clusters of tadpole eggs. if youve ever seen anura, it's pretty difficult to not notice the massive amount of (large) eggs everywhere - she has a large dining hall attached to a ballroom-type area she holds festivals in. the dining hall is available for any follower at any time, but they get crowded during times of celebration. the kitchen is very strict access though

-kallamar's is elaborate - he loves detail. lots of patterns and fossilized shells are carved and embedded in the stone, small crystals are painstakingly arranged to create shimmering displays of color. seaweed is constantly trimmed, but it always seems to grow back in there. everything is clean, cracks are patched up, stone battered by the current are sanded down, whole nine yards. if youre wondering how candles are lit here, same magic that lets non-aquatic followers live in anchordeep - he has a room of collected sea creatures, mainly shrimp and small fish, but the room also has pillars for barnacles, urchins, sea stars, the like

-shamura's is dusty - cobwebs are everywhere, because spiders are everywhere. its very gothic, lots of dark architecture and dark colored materials. paths free of dust are made where followers tread the most, but otherwise, dust is allowed to collect. there's a network of cobwebs at the top for spiders to navigate above the ground - there's library, of course. it's full of various books, art, and scrolls from all periods of time, some followers work on creating copies of especially old texts, so when the paper weathers and rots away, its information is still available. this area is a restricted space, and a follower would need shamura's direct and explicit permission to enter and work there

-narinder's is dusty... for a different reason - not many enter the temple of death. white, red, and black curtains drape the ceiling. a few camellias grow, but they grow wildly, as nobody maintains them. unlike the others, this temple does not have additional rooms. anything else narinder needs is in the afterlife with him. strangely, a plant from the afterlife, wicked pomegranate, can grow here. this is because: - the temple is a direct gateway between life and death. it's an eerie feeling being there. mortals cannot access the gateway, but gods can. they need to be careful, though, as life cannot be supported there for very long. slowly, they will lose their life and no longer be able to leave (unless they have narinder's blessing)

#note from the sky #headcanons #not an ask

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redflagsandbanners · 2 years

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#Ronancetober _ Day 2

She gets bitten when she’s sixteen. Her best friend is dead but, apparently, she needs to be quiet about it and Nancy gets bitten in the same woods.

Tries to silence the fever; the loudness of blood and fresh soil staining her skin. Tries to quieten the pain. Her narrow shoulders had never looked so board until one of them gets marked by lines of rough skin that remember the feeling of teeth sinking in and finding bone. She tries to hide – muffle – the scars in ironed shirts, pinched button ups, proper fabric; a fond, one wouldn’t believe what was hidden underneath. She fights to keep quiet about it. Bury it like her grief.

The wolf rips out anyway.

A full moon, the woods, the earth under their paws, the smells and the moon – the moon – the moon. The wolf sits on the lake bank and looks up at the moon and howls.

Inside, Nancy wails too.

Deep, from their soul; untamed, wild, free.

The wolf is her and she is it. Nancy runs too. They run; they eat; they roll in soil and autumn leaves, and in the bright moonlight. They howl; aching to close the distance between earth and universe; in grief so deep it passes the bounds of self and being; howling in the night of complete release.

The wolf is curious; of people, school, family. Curious; why Steve doesn’t smell right but Nancy stays. Curious; why Jonathan has never been asked to follow them in the woods. Curious; why – why – why is there another being in Nancy, fighting to keep them silent when Robin is near.

Robin, who smells like polished metal and feels like the autumn breeze through fur. Robin who is safe and whole. Robin who the wolf wants to sleep next to and Nancy wants to protect. Or – or – or the other way, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know shit when it comes to Robin, but they both – no, no, the whole of Nancy’s being settle into one when Robin is near. Nancy is the wolf and the wolf is her and she wants Robin Buckley like – like – like – she doesn’t know if there is a thing in this world to describe this.

It is the scent of her making both Nancy and wolf long to tuck against her neck and allow Robin to be everything there is to feel. A scent so similar to stardust and the reflection of light on dark waters. Nancy’s jaw slacks, head tipping back each time Robin walks into the room. An inhuman whine getting catches in her throat. The wolf fights to get Nancy up from the couch in this basement of children; get her to walk closer, press against this girl’s side, properly breathe her in.

It takes until the next full moon; when the world is so painfully clamorous, the fever burns Nancy inside out, and the stars wail for the being in her to climb up and join them already. The kids are downstairs and bowing over a game of fantasy; Holly has just discovered the appeal of music put on speakers; the TV is shouting and the dishes are cluttering in the heat of the kitchen.

The front yard is dark. Grass feeling fresh with life in her palms. The smell of rain coming from the stars above; the scent of polished metal and Robin, Robin, Robin coming for Nancy’s – left. Why is she here, so close to a full moon? Why is she here, with a bike in one hand and a helmet in the other? Why is she here, with the brightest of prospects a soul can carry in their essence?

“Hey, Nance”.

“Sit with me”, Nancy whispers, more than a huff of breath than a voice being exhaled. The fever is making her jawline tickle, making her eyes burn in their heat. A final battle neither Nancy or the wolf want to give, but nature has different laws of being.

Robin sits, brings the moonlight with her. The moon has always eased the battle of nature.

“Can I ask you for something?”

“Of course”.

“Can you hold me for a moment? I have to go soon”.

Robin’s eyes shine so bright in their blue that Nancy would gladly swim in them. When long arms bring her to lean in the crook of bare neck, Nancy has to steel every muscle and bone to keep from nipping a trail of soft bites from the girl’s shoulder to her jawline.

“W-Why do you feel like you’re burning up?”

“I am a werewolf”.

Robin bursts into a chuckle – a deep raspy sound that makes her face brighten and her shoulders shake. Nancy smiles. In her neck, while curling a hand around a grasp of shirt and flannel, while melting against the girl’s side and down to the pointy grass. The wolf whines inside her chest; in the back of her head; in the depths of soul; and it calls for Nancy’s heart to race and catch up to the pace Robin’s own heart pounds, finally breathe her in.

“Do you want to come with me?”

As the night swallows the last rays of sunlight; when the wolf comes out; Robin cries as if she is watching something holy. Cries and never once pulls her eyes away from Nancy shredding her clothes in the middle of the woods, fingers shaking from shy nerves and creaking knuckles. Kneels as if in prayer when muscles violently shift, the bones break, the dark fur grows over stretching skin, and never once looks away.

The wolf trembles with a loud, finally cry of discomfort. Huffs in the air and the scents it is filled with; shakes the thick fur and aches to run – run – run, until the discomfort falls off its nature and until the moon finds its highest position in the sky and the wolf celebrates it.

But they are not alone this time.

“Oh, my god. Hi there”, Robin reaches a timid hand towards the wolf’s wet nose, letting the animal smell her palm; letting the animal come to tower over her until Robin has to tilt her head back for once. She laughs when the wolf steps closer and presses the length of its muzzle along the curve of the girl’s jaw, down the line of the girl’s neck. In recognition. As a welcome.

Just as the wolf prepares to pull back to look at her, Robin leans her cheek on the strong edge of bone above its eye. An equal hand reaches for the side of the wolf’s neck too; human fingers sliding through strands of dark hair; finding a hold in the thick fur. Two pulse points thud against skin in different paces but equally at peace.

“You’re so beautiful”.

The wolf huffs a loud exhale, nipping at Robin’s arm like Nancy had wanted to. And Robin laughs, playfully pushing it away; playfully pushing its muzzle down. In retaliation, the animal knocks its board head on the girl’s chest until Robin falls into her back on the ground and her laugh becomes the only thing worth celebrating tonight. Its tail wags from side to side in greeting and a deep huff comes out of its nose when Robin points at it with another laugh and a hand running through her hair to spread more of her scent in the air.

The wolf takes her running, takes her walking, asks for her to roll on the ground even when she refuses and settles by a tree to watch. The wolf takes her to the lake bank; lays down as Robin watches the stars and the wolf looks at the moon. While the wolf howls, Nancy stays peacefully quiet inside as if sharing Robin’s speechless awe too.

And when the last hues of darkness are overtaken by the dawn’s grey light, Nancy finds herself immediately wrapped in a flannel before she even shifts back into human. Sleepless blue eyes look at her with electrified wonder and a gorgeous smile pulls across Robin’s lips from where she is hovering close. Just like the wolf did, all playfulness and laughter, Nancy pushes her back on the ground and kisses her deep, tasting the moon on her tongue.

In return, Robin kisses each one of the scars on her shoulder, holds her naked human body close and sits on the lake bank for a few more hours, just to watch the sunrise.

#ronancetober #day two #robin buckley x nancy wheeler #stranger things fic #ronance #i just need nancy to scream a little

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