#I seem to be moving into a cartoon style.

[batshit-auspol]

What about that time Australia hired a furry artist for the Olympics. Still better art than the ACT centennial hot air balloon.

2021: The Royal Australian Mint puts out a call for artists to submit portfolios of "Japanese style" cartoons, in preparation for a commemorative series of coins and artworks to be released for the Tokyo Olympics.

The campaign would have a cross promotional tie-in with Australia's largest supermarket, Woolworths where 24 million collectables themed on the artworks would be given away.

It wasn't until the final artist was selected that they realised the people at the Royal Australian Mint had somehow mistaken the anthropomorphised animal-humans that seemed popular on the internet for a popular children's cartoon franchise.

“They knew exactly what they wanted," explained the artist, "we worked together to make sure they got what they envisioned, I tailored what I made to their examples/feedback. They just didn’t know there was a word for it, basically, or that it was SO popular.”

Needless to say, when the artworks were released online people immediately called a spade a spade, headlines were made around the world, and the furry community expressed bemused joy that the Australian government had apparently just released an official fursona.

Unfortunately for those innocent soles that had planned the campaign, given they had just minted $24 million worth of furry coins they couldn't exactly scrap the whole thing, and they were forced to just push ahead while doing their best to ignore the large community of internet oddballs salivating at their every move.

Anyway, here's some of the art:

Here's some of the collectable cards given out free to kids by Woolworths:

[rosenclaws]

The Wolverine and His Bunny || Logan Howlett x Bunny Girl!Reader

summary: You and Logan have always butted heads and his constant, condescending reminders of your mutation don't help. It's not until your forced to train together and well, the tension is undeniable

warnings: MINORS DNI, SMUT, 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, rough sex, a variety of bunny themed nicknames (Bunny, thumper, carrots), creampie, manhandling, pain kink (Logan), doggy style, dirty talk, blow job, mirror sex, slight choking, degradation, praise, he plays with your bunny ears oops, enemies to lovers kinda? Logan's a dick at first, teasing, being pinned down.

Don't like it don't read it :)

Halloween Masterlist

wc: 3.7k

a/n: Okay look, I thought this was hot and so I wrote it. Anyways happy October first everyone! Hoping to add my degeneracy to the long list of fics to come. This also ended up being more. angsty than i mean it to be. I think I have an angst problem oops

You hated him so much. He was. He was just a massive dick for no reason and you hated people like that. You get that he was the all mighty Wolverine who was indestructible or whatever but if he could act like a normal person for once in his life that would be great.

He wasn't even the leader of the damn team and yet every one seemed to act like he walked on fucking water. It's not like he was the only one on the team either. He may tell everyone he's a loner and he doesn't need help but we're the X-Men. Not just Wolverine.

It's just not fair.

You had the perfect plan. Planned down to the very second and Logan had to go and fuck it all up. Maybe it was an honest mistake but you highly doubted it. He always had a problem with you. You didn't understand why. The moment you showed up to the mansion he was hostile. Calling you stupid, condescending nicknames because of your mutation while ignoring the part of it that made you super smart.

You were fuming when the team got back from the mission. You stormed right past everyone to get to Logan. They shoot you apologetic looks but you paid them no mind.

"Logan!"

"What's got your panties in a twist bunny?" He leans against the jet hangar door. A cigar already lit in his mouth.

"Don't call me that asshole!" You shove his chest but he doesn't move. Your nose twitching in anger as he just laughs.

"I had a plan Logan. A good plan. A perfect. Plan. So tell me why as soon as you had the chance to, you ruined it!" He scoffs and blows a puff of smoke in your face. Your ears flatten against your head as you wave the smoke away.

"We finished the mission didn't we?." He says with a smirk. If this were a cartoon you'd surely have steam coming out of your ears by now.

"God you're nothing but a slimy little weasel sometimes!" You push your finger into his chest. He pushes your hand away and bares his teeth like an animal.

"You have no idea what it's like to actually be on the field so why don't you tuck your little tail between your legs and run back to the lab."

"Logan! That's enough." Jean scolds him harshly as you turn around and storm out of the room.

You feel tears welling up in your eyes but you force them down. Fuck him, you were an important part of the team. Whether he liked it or not.

It's like he lived to torture you. Ever since the day you told him off he seemed to just. appear. Constantly. Wherever you were he was there too. In the kitchen? He strolls right in for a soda. In the training room? He's already there. All sweaty and grunting and gross. You're outside near the water fountain, guess who strolls right on up. It was like he was stalking you or something.

Your ears perk up as you hear footsteps approaching your classroom. You taught most of the high level classes, the advanced ones for students who wished for more academic classes. So their tests were more complex to grade which is why you were still here so late into the night. Your nose twitches as a familiar scent fills your nose. Without even looking you let out a long sigh.

"What do you want weasel?"

"Now that's not very nice of you." Logan says with a smirk as he sits in the chair across from your desk. He puts his feet up on your desk. Right on top of the stack of papers.

"Can't you go bother someone else? Please. Like anyone else." He grins and you roll your eyes.

"But I just love your company." His voice is dripping with playful sarcasm.

"You're going to work yourself to death carrots. It's not good for you." The truth is he came to try and apologize for the other day but he just hasn’t found the right time. Okay well there’s been good times but he was never able to get the words out. So here he is trying his best.

He stands up and leans over your desk. You have to admit he's certainly an overwhelming presence. His face is inches away from yours, eyes staring into your soul with a wolfish grin on his face. He picks the pen out of your hand and throws it over his shoulder.

"Why not take the stick out of your ass and have a little fun?" Wow, for a second there you almost thought he cared.

"You know what Logan, just leave me alone."

"You know I'm trying to be nice here and all I'm catching is attitude." He growls. You slam your hands on the desk and stand up. Getting close to his face as your ears flatten. "

Nice? You think you're being nice?" You laugh in his face and he pushes back. Papers fly everywhere.

"Fine, work yourself to death I don't fucking care." He storms out of your room and slams your door loudly.

"Asshole!" You yell back. You turn back to see the mess of papers and sigh. Great, now your night got even longer. Logan mutters angrily as he stalks through the halls. So much for trying.

It's been at least a couple weeks since that night with Logan and thankfully he's finally decided to leave you alone. You barely saw him and in a weird way, you kind of missed him. Kind of. Barely. In fact you really enjoyed the peace. Your ears definitely didn't perk up when you heard Logan's voice on the other side of Professor Xavier's office. You push through the door and find Logan looking very pissed off.

"You wanted to see me?" You glance over at Logan who was fuming silently.

"Yes, I think it's time you join the team. On the field." You widen your eyes in surprise. You never considered yourself to be a field agent. Your mutation wasn't exactly built for combat. You were speedy but that's about it. Strategy and smarts were much more your speed.

"I think bringing you out on the field would be an immense help to your battle tactics. As Logan so kindly put it, being on the field is different from watching on the outside." You flash back to the harsh words Logan had said to you a while ago.

Logically it would be helpful for you to observe what missions were like first hand but you don't think you needed to be there. Still to get yourself a suit and be part of the team sounded nice too.

"And since it was his idea, Logan will be your instructor."

"What?!"

"Absolutely not." Charles gives you both a look, one that said to quiet down and you both reluctantly listen.

"I am not a fool,  the two of you need to learn to work together. My decision is final." His tone leaves no room for argument and the two of you leave with scowls on your face.

"Alright thumper, here’s how it’s going to go. Tomorrow. 7am in the training room. Think you can handle it?” He places his hand near your head. You roll your eyes and duck under his hand.

“Yeah yeah, see you then Weasel.”

It feels like this was meant to be a punishment more than an assignment. You get that you and Logan haven’t. exactly gotten along but to stick you together like this? That’s just mean. You showed up right at 7am the next morning dressed in workout clothes. Logan is already there dressed in his little gray sweatshirt, white tank top and sweatpants.

“So you didn’t run away? Good bunny.” He smirks as your face scrunches up in anger.

“Fuck off.” You’re already dreading this. If you could just survive an hour then you could never deal with him again.

"Okay, show me what you got." He stands in the center of the mat. Arms at his side with an expectant look on his face.

"What?"

"I heal bunny, so give me all you got. I need to see what I'm working with here." You take a deep breath and launch an attack.

You weren't helpless by any means but you weren’t on the same level as Logan, even you could admit that. He barely flinched as you darted around the room. Striking him in a few places but he just stood there. It was starting to piss you off. You get that you weren’t the fiercest but he could at least try and fucking help instead of wearing you out like this. You look around the room and see wooden poles used for combat training. He never said you had to just use your hands. You dart across the room and grab one, swinging it hard against his back. To your surprise it completely breaks. Shattering on impact. He grabs the broken half that’s left in your hands and pulls it out of them.

“That’s cheating,”

“No it’s not. I was just using my resources.” He laughs and grabs your wrist. He slowly backs you up until you hit the wall.

“Oh yeah? What you’re gonna find a really big stick out in the field?” He mocks.

“This is useless.” He lets go and walks away from you.

You feel anger bubbling up in your chest. You don’t belong. You’re useless. What good are you to the X-Men? You are sick and tired of hearing shit like this all the fucking time and Logan was the worst about it. You launch yourself at him. Running as fast as you can and jumping on his back. It blindsides him, he tumbles to the ground. He grunts as you start to hit his back hard.

“What is your fucking problem!” He pushes you off and you wince as you hit the mat. You scramble away before he can get up and jump back onto him. Legs straddling his waist as you push his shoulders.

“Why do you hate me so much?! What did I do to you?!” You take a swing and hit him square in the jaw. He looks surprised but shakes it off easily. He doesn’t fight back, more in shock than angry at this point.

“I get that I don’t have metal claws and I can’t move stuff with my mind but I’m part of the team too!” You swing your fist again but he catches it this time. He grabs your other one and pushes you to the ground roughly.

“Fuck off!” You hiss as he crawls on top of you. He’s heavier than a fucking boulder as he practically pins you to the ground.

“No you shut up and fucking listen.” He growls. He still has your hands pinned to the floor. An almost animalistic look on his face.

“You are so infuriating, everything about you drives me fucking crazy. So pretty, so smart, so easy to rile up.” He purrs. Your body feels like it’s on fire. What the hell is he even talking about?

“I say things without thinking sometimes but you, you make it so hard. Always running your mouth.” You squirm under him, trying to get free.

Then. He moans. He fucking moans.

You stop moving and stare up at him in surprise. Then you feel something hard against your stomach. Oh. He’s hard.

“No fucking way.” You say with a smirk. He may be on top of you but right now it feels like you have all the power here.

“Don’t tell me you were an absolute dick because you liked me?” He doesn’t deny it. Instead pressing you harder into the mat.

“Shut up.”

“Couldn’t handle your feelings so you decided to tease me like a fucking schoolboy.” You laugh and try and move your arms but he doesn’t budge.

“You know what I think, I think you need to lose the attitude carrots, I think a nice good fuck would do you good.” You scoff at his words.

“And you think you’re the one to do that? You couldn’t make a girl cum if your life depended on it, Weasel.”

“Is that a challenge bunny? Come on, say it.” He’s hot and horny but he’s giving you a way out.

If you tell him to fuck off he’ll leave and you both can forget about it, but if you don’t. If you say you want this. Well he’ll finally shut you up like he’s been dreaming about. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you. He’s breathing heavy like an animal and you’re studying his every move. Was this a bad idea? Probably. But you couldn’t deny that Logan was hot and right now all you wanted was to suck him off until he was milked dry. Shit.

“You can try, but I bet you won’t even last a minute.” He practically pounces on you. His face is buried in your neck as his hips grind against yours. You gasp as he bites your neck harshly. Eyes fluttering shut as he kisses it better.

“Dreamed of this, my bunny all wet and needy for me.” He nibbles up to your ears. Practically purring at how soft they feel.

“Not your bunny yet.” You bite back. He lets go of your wrists and sits up on his knees. He rips open your bra without the least bit of resistance. Mouth drooling as he stares at your tits.

“Fuck me.” He mutters as he harshly gropes your chest.

His thumb flicks over your nipple and you let out a squeak of pleasure. The last thing you wanted was for him to get an ego but fuck the way his hands feel on you is just so good. They’re rough and calloused and he is relentless in his movements. You almost whine when he stops playing with them, already missing his touch. He sheds his tank top, leaving him in all his muscled glory.

“Like what you see?” He asks cockily as he takes his pants off too.

“You fucking wish.” You mutter unconvincingly. You take your nails and rake them down his chest making him moan.

“You like a little pain don’t you.” You tease, digging your nails into his skin harder.

“Maybe I do.” You yelp as he shreds your pants and underwear to shreds.

“Those were fucking expensive asshole-Fuck!” You gasp as he buries his face into your cunt. His hands locked on your thighs, moving isn’t an option as he practically inhales your cunt.

“Smells so sweet, can always smell you bunny but up close is just. So much better.” You feel yourself start to melt under his rough hold. He’s absolutely overwhelming.

“Maybe later I’ll finally get a taste but right now I think I need to put your mouth to better use.” He pulls you up onto your knees. Stroking his cock as he pushes you down. Shit he’s big but you don’t even react, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“Come on bunny, open up. Be a good girl for me.” Fuck him if he thinks he’s going to be in charge here. You smirk and take him as far down as you can.

“Fuck!” He hisses, not prepared for you to do that.

“Fuck slow down.” There's a hint of desperation in his voice and you feel a sense of pride. You pull back and spit on his cock. Using your hand you coat it, looking him right in the eyes as you roughly move your hand along his cock.

“I think you need a lesson too,” His eyes roll to the back of his head as you take as much of him as you can.

Choking as the tip hits the back of your throat. You are unrelenting, eating up every little desperate sound that’s coming from his lips. Not so tough now are you Logan you think as you feel him twitching in your mouth. He’s so damn close and its driving him wild. You feel a heavy hand bunch your ears and pull you off.

“As much as I want to come down your throat and watch you swallow it all…” He wipes some drool off your face as talks.

“I need to be inside that cunt.” Then he grabs your face and kisses you, actually kisses you. You’re startled at first but melt into it. His lips are rough and he smells so much like tobacco and whiskey but fuck its intoxicating. He’s big, rough, and so fucking hot.

“You’re soaking wet bunny.” He taunts as he cups your cunt with his hands.

“I bet you’re just aching to be filled. Don’t worry, I can help.” He manhandles you with his crazy strength till you're on your knees facing the mirrors.

“See, you’re just shaking with anticipation.” He grins wickedly as he cups your face and forces you to look into the mirror.

He’s not wrong. He’s big and you can feel his cock nudging its way into your cunt. You’re panting, hair a mess. His hand looks so good around your neck and he looks even more delicious. Your vision blurs as he slides himself inside of you. The air is knocked out of your lungs as you feel nothing but Logan. Head up in the fucking clouds as he gives you a moment to relax, whispering sweet words to help ground you back to earth.

“Is your dick inside of me the only way to get you to be nice?” You ask breathlessly. Logan grunts, not happy that you’re still able to speak beyond moaning his name.

“I can be nice, I can be real nice.” He slides out of you at a slow, agonizing pace before thrusting harshly back in. You claw at the mat as he sets a brutal pace. In and out. Slow and hard. Pulling desperate sounds from the depths of your throat.

“Logan please!” You beg, you need him so bad. Need to feel him, need him to rearrange your fucking guts. “

So polite, now that’s more like it.” He leans in and kisses your neck roughly.

Claiming you as his own in his own animalistic way. He would tease you, continue to pull you apart on his cock for hours if he could. But the truth is he needed you. A deep carnal desire to render you completely fucked out. He leans back, pulling your back to his chest. He guides your hands to his arm.

“Hold on bunny.” Your nails sink deep into his skin, drawing blood as he sets a brutal pace.

Pounding into you so hard you see stars. Fucking hell super human strength and stamina really is a gift. He coos in your ear when he notices you starting to slump in his arms. Your legs burned, he was reducing you to a puddle of nothing.

“You okay pretty? Feel too good doesn’t it.” You nod, words not forming in your brain anymore.

All you feel is pure bliss and Logan feels a surge of pride in being the one to do this. You catch his gaze in the mirror. His eyes filled with pure, raw lust. His face was twisted in focus, brows furrowed and mouth slightly open. His muscles were bulging with every move. You couldn’t stop yourself from look. Watching as he buried his cock into you.

“I know you’re close, it’s okay. I got you bunny.” One of his hands slips down between your legs. He draws tight, harsh circles on your clit making you cry. You’re squirming wildly, it feels too good. His fingers are too much but you don’t want him to stop.

“Shh, that’s it. Just relax.” He sinks his teeth into your shoulder as you come hard.

Your legs can’t stop shaking. Logan tightens his grip on you, keeping you up right as he fucks into you hard. Chasing his own release, thrusting wildly and you fucking swear he whimpers as he stills his hips deep inside. Filling you up and then some. It’s a real shame when he pulls you, an empty feeling overtaking you. He loosens his grip and you almost face plant onto the mat.

“Logan..” You whine and he helps maneuver you to your back.

“Sorry carrots, didn’t mean to let you fall.”

“Don’t call me carrots.” You mumble, still completely exhausted.

“Okay, whatever you say, carrots.” You huff as Logan helps you stand up.

Your clothes are completely ruined but he somehow finds some extra sets of clothes in the closet. When did he even get up? Maybe you were still a little lost.

“Hey, you okay?” He cups your face gently. A slight look of worry in his face.

“Aw, you do care.” You tease. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go of you.

“I always cared.”

“Had a real shit way of showing it.” You snort and he just smiles softly.

“Yeah. Guess I did.” To your embarrassment you still can’t exactly walk right. Luckily Logan is right by your side. You mentally prepare yourself to tell people you hurt your leg or something when they ask why you’re limping so bad.

“I still don’t know what I did to make you hate me.” You say quietly as you reach your dorm room. He sighs and gently plays with your ears. It tickles.

“I don’t hate you, I never did. I just. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He can’t articulate just why he acted the way he did. He wants to, he really does but it just. Doesn’t come out. There's a long history of pain and loss and while you want to know why, an apology is certainly a start.

“Thank you,” He smiles softly, then realizes he’s probably overstayed his welcome. As if you two weren’t fucking in the training room less than 10 minutes ago.

“Do you want to stay?” He hesitates, unsure if this is truly what you want. If this line is ready to be crossed.

“You owe me for ruining my clothes. Just one nap.” He relents, it’s easy when you’re looking at him like that.

“Okay bunny. Just one nap.” He shuts the door behind him, crawling into bed with you.

He feels a rumble in his chest as he sinks into your bed. You’re soft and it feels like he’s meant to be here. You fall asleep quick, body aching and practically screaming for you to sleep. Logan stays awake for a while, just okay with being here. Just one nap he tells himself. 

He’s lying. It’s never going to be just one nap.

[kianamaiart]

Hello your magical girl story looks really intriguing, the premise feels very creative, the art style is simple but good with its own identity, and the characters seem to be fleshed out with depth, personality, and backstory. In short, I love it, and I do have a few questions.

One: Is the story character driven, story driven, or something else

Two: Is the story rated G, PG, PG-13, or something else

Three: Would the story be a web comic, web show, or something else

Four: Will there be a lot of lore and world building, yes or no

Five: what other inspirations did you have for the story's characters, plot, and art style

Six: What humor do you use for the story

I'm only asking these questions out of curiosity. This is just because I love your story, and would like to know more about.

So please be free to not answer all the questions if you want. I'm also fine if you ignore this ask. so please, no pressure.

At the end of the day, please have fun, relax, work hard, take your time, and have a nice day.

I'm so glad! Thanks so much for your interest <3

Character driven (always)

PG/PG-13

Dunno! I've been reached out to already for a few opportunities but right now, I'm just trying to have fun with it and keep it mine until I feel like the idea is fully realized and ready for something bigger. Right now, I'm shooting to make a lil pilot animatic mostly on my own with help from a few friends

Depends on what you mean by a lot but I'd say a soft yes

For Aika, just generally other anime protagonists from shoujo and shonen. I feel like when you're doing a spin on something you do have to rely on the tropes from the genre at least a little bit. For Zira, Toko Fukawa was the jumping off point but they're very different. They're also both based off of aspects of myself (I feel like most artists do this with their ocs tho). Style and story-wise, I was definitely looking at Doremi and Panty&Stocking. That chunky cute look that's distinctly anime but takes some notes from Western cartoons. But mine's flipped where it's more based on my own style from working in Western animation but then having anime influence. And story-wise I like how they're more episodic with an underlying story. The magical girl stuff is more a backdrop that helps the story move forward and enhances the slice of life stuff that's being focused on.

I'm not sure what kind of humor to say other than my own? But my sense of humor has been shaped by Big City Greens (obviously) Adventure Time, Jimmy Neutron, Bob's Burgers, Smiling Friends and many other things but hopefully that gives you the gist

[prettyoatmeal]

i know this is a long shot but HEAR ME OUT!

PLS PLS PLS PLS PLS can you do a TF141 reacting to when their girl asks to peg them. IM BEGGING YOU

TF141 and How They'd React to Reader Asking to Peg Them

A/N: I'm on it, anon. DON'T WORRY

Warnings: SMUT!!! Includes pegging ofc. Written with an AFAB reader with fem genitalia in mind.

NSFW UNDER CUT

Masterlist here!

***************

Price would be incredibly hesitant. I don’t think he’d actually agree to it. He’s very traditional. He’s normally the one fucking and believes it should stay that way. Maybe he’s thought about it before, maybe he hasn’t. TLDR, he doesn’t think he would enjoy it.

The furthest you would ever get to it is just fingering him. Of course it would take a bit to lay him back and have his legs spread, but you seemed so happy when he agreed to try something new with him.

Working him up wasn’t too hard, sucking him off to help comfort him, holding his hand when he got a little nervous. You could really feel his vulnerability radiating, never exactly being in this position before. But right as you push a slicked finger inside him, the all new feeling was too much and he backed out.

Yeah, it just isn’t his thing. But you were proud of him nonetheless for trusting you that much to just try. You make sure to suck him off good to make up for it.

Gaz I feel like would be the only one from them to be immediately for it. He’s probably fingered himself before, once giving himself a prostate orgasm that’s left him breathless and shuddering. He feels secure enough to bend over for his love.

Even if you’re just pushing your fingers inside him, he’s already begging you to fuck him.

“Gotta stretch you first, calm down.” But he’s pushing back against you with a shudder. He’s too eager, it makes you roll your eyes from how damn needy he can be. This man has no chill whatsoever.

Gaz back arches would go crazy, arching like a cat as the tip of your strap slams against that sensitive spot inside him. Has such a pretty and plump ass too so it’s hard to not claw at his flesh while he’s taking you from behind.

“F-Fuck.. right there, please. Right- mmfh!”

His eyes will roll back, his cheeks flushed as he asks you to ram his insides in no-mercy style. Kyle will actively bounce back on you, wondering to himself why he’s never asked you himself to do this earlier. It just feels too fucking good that he trears up and cries out for you to keep going.

“No! Don’t stop. Gonnacum, gonnacum, gonnacum!”

He gets so addicted to the feeling that it definitely becomes part of your routine, sometimes just wanting his pretty thoughts to be fucked out of his head.

I can see him coming home from duty one night and he’s just missed you so much. He’s like a dog in heat, begging you to fuck him again because he just needs you to take care of him so bad. Who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely? Good boys like Gaz deserve to get dicked down and have their backs blown out by their pretty little partner.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ghost spits his tea out like a cartoon. I don't see him saying yes at first, very very reluctantly agreeing, but only to you fingering him. He isn’t used to being so vulnerable like that, but… just MAYBE he trusts you enough to not hurt him… pfft.. whatever.

Despite now nervous he feels, you know just how to calm him down. Your hands first run down his chest and stomach as you press small kisses along his lips and jaw. Running lower, you squeeze at his balls a few times before lubing your fingers up and gently pressing them against him.

“Relax, I’ve got you.”

His legs shake a little as you push them into his tight hole, his walls clenching around you. He would definitely not feel comfortable the first few times, or maybe even ever to take something as thick as your strap, but your fingers do him wonders for now.

He would definitely prefer you to move slowly, soft breaths leaving his mouth as he can’t help but dig his fingers into you and bury his flushed face into your neck. As he slowly becomes more and more comfortable with the feeling, you eventually hear him mumble into your neck, asking you to go a little faster.

His moans increase in volume, his legs threatening to close and trap your hand between his thighs every time you curl your fingers. But he’s loving it. He’s breathing heavily in your ear, his body shaking against you as his cock throbs and threatens to spill his cum on his tummy.

“Don’t.. don’t stop. Fuck, g’nna c-cum.. oh god-”

And it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had.

Soap wouldn’t be as eager as Gaz, but also not as against it as Price. Like Ghost, he’s in the middle.

“Seriously, Bonnie? Are you getting bored with me fucking you or what?”

He’ll prefer you take him in missionary first as you prep him. His face will scrunch up so beautifully when you push a finger inside him.

He squirms so much under you, trying to get comfortable. But once you curl your fingers, it only elicits a shaky moan from him as you press against his spongey prostate. And as you get the cue to finger fuck him, his moans become so cute and whiney. He wants to cum so bad just from your fingers, he gets almost sad when you’re forced to pull them out :(

He’s done with words once the strap on comes out. As his back arches against the bed and his legs wrap around your hips, his poor fucked out brain finally knows how it feels to be in your shoes. You know that you can’t feel it, but you wish you could just because of how deliciously he was tightening around the strap.

It’s only a matter of time until you need to slam a hand over his mouth to muffle his slutty moans.

“Mmh- Shit.. fuckfuckfuckfuck-!”

You don’t even need to touch his cock and he’s throbbing, leaking cum like a faucet.

He’s definitely asking for you to peg him again.

***************

I feel like this is going to flop so bad since I've seen NONE of these going around. But I need to finish all my drafts though so 😭 rip

*************** DISCLAIMER Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.

[vintagerpg]

This is Horror Tales: Spirits, Spells, & the Unknown (1974), edited by Roger Elwood and gorgeously illustrated by Robert Baumgartner. It is, I thiiink, the last in an unofficial 6-volume series of similarly bound and dressed books from Rand McNally (the others are Tales of Terror, Monster Tales, Baleful Beasts and Eerie Creatures, and two volumes of Science Fiction Tales. Most of them are edited by Elwood. I know them from when I was a kid — my local library had a few of them on the shelves. They don’t seem common on the second-hand market, which makes me think they were primarily marketed to libraries, similar to Helen Hoke’s excellent anthologies.

I confess, I have never read this. Honestly, I don’t recognize a single author. Well, one, maybe, I think might be a shitheel who got booted from the Horror Writers Association a couple years back. The rest ring no bells — if you told me they were all Elwood writing under different pseudonyms, I’d believe you.

I’m hear for the art, really. Baumgatner’s stuff is somehow both wholesome and nightmarish. There is a folksy vibe to his style and it mostly feels warm and inviting, but everything also looks like it might melt into horrible goo at any moment, the way the G.I. Joes do in the mindfucking horror cartoon classic, "There's No Place Like Springfield." I particularly like the one of the kid in bed, scared of the shadows and the tree outside, because it reminds me of staring at my wallpaper as a kid in bed and being convinced it was moving and that the toys in the pattern were going to come down off the wall and get me. God. Where was I? Halloween? Horror? Never turn the lights off ever again?

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

It’s Not A Camera

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: You make Daryl regret bringing you back a gift from a run. This technically takes place in the same universe as my other fics “Your Fault” and “Meet Cute,” but it can be read as stand alone.

Tropes: Fluff, Established Relationship

Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan

Warnings: I mean, I don't think there's any? Daryl being super hot, working on his motorcycle, and being in love with you? Flirting? Honestly, if I’ve missed anything please let me know. ❤️

Note: This is written in a dialect style with Daryl's accent in mind so the misspellings are intentional. There is minimal use of (y/n). If any? Any references to the reader besides the (y/n) is done using "your" or "you". I tried to proofread the best I could, nobody's perfect. If you don't like, don't read, but if you do like you're my favorite!

Internal monologue is done in italics and is in first person.

A/N: Just felt like doing a little bit of Daryl fluff on this fine Thursday morning.

Main Masterlist

Walking Dead Masterlist

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"Alright, could you give me a more engaging pose?" You ask tracing the outlining shapes of the scene in front of you in a worn sketchbook that Daryl found for you out on a run last week.

"Wha are ya doin?" Daryl turns from the motorcycle rubbing his hands against the red oil stained rag that hangs from his back pocket.

"Capturing Daryl Dixon in his natural habitat." You stand up and move to sit next to him, crossing your legs underneath you as you go. "And now I'm getting a close up."

"s'not a camera." He shakes his head at you, but you can see a smile twitch on the end of his mouth before it fades. A reminder that he might act annoyed, but deep down you know he’d be lost without you.

"You can only blame yourself- you're the one that brought this back for me." You tease.

"Because ya begged me to bring something back for ya like a damn toddler."

"No no no. I think secretly you wanted me to capture just how sexy you are for prosperity." Your pencil scratches against the paper, tracing the smooth line of Daryl's strong jaw against the page.

Daryl huffs, but continues to tinker with the motorcycle with red tipped ears.

The sun was just beginning to set in the west, barely seen through the thin slats in the large metal fences that protected Alexandria from the outside world. A cool wind blew from the east, but it wasn't enough to wick the sweat that gathered on the back of your neck and soaked into your collar.

You sit in silence for a few moments together, your shoulder leaning into his arm, while you draw a cartoonized version of him holding a wrench leaning forward to fix a motorcycle that will never be finished, but it's nothing like the real thing.

Daryl lets out a sigh every few minutes adjusting and cleaning, adjusting and cleaning, adjusting and cleaning-

But he makes it look so good.

You think to yourself with a smile.

"Daryl?"

"Mhmm?"

"I love you."

He stops working to glance at you, quirking the end of his lips. "Wha’ did you do?"

"Nothing. I just realized I didn't get to say it to you this morning when we woke up. We were both in a hurry and I wanted you to know." You reach up with the eraser end of the pencil and push some of his dark hair out of his deep blue eyes that always seem to see beyond what everyone else does.

Daryl's hand comes to gently curve round your waist and land on the small of your back, bringing you closer to him. "I love you too.”

"Well I'm glad because if we’ve been together this long and you didn't-"

His lips brush against yours stopping you mid-sentence with a soft sigh as you feel yourself melt into him.

"But at least after all this time, you know how to shut me up." You mutter against his lips.

"Had tah learn pretty quick."

“You think you’re so clever Dixon.”

“Naw.” Daryl nudges his nose against yours with the same soft smile that always makes you weak in the knees. “I’m just happy.”

“Happy that no matter how hard you work on this motorcycle it never seems to get fixed?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No.” He chuckles, raising an oil stained hand to your cheek. “Just happy.”

You lean into the gentle touch of the man you love with all your heart tracing the familiar lines of his worn face and feeling the roughness of his fingertips against the smooth skin of your cheek. The hands that had done so much, both good and bad, and yet were only gentle to you and touched you only with love and care.

“Me too.”

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Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this fic please feel free to read the other two in the same universe:

Meet Cute: How the reader and Daryl met

Your Fault: Daryl and the reader navigate a delicate situation.

[crayons-and-glitter-glue]

I think about Sun and Moon's original versions a LOT, and I don't get why people say they're not expressive!

Or perhaps, I do, and I just wanna ramble. Anyways! Big ol warning for lots of talking, some fursuit gifs and analyzation of body movement.

So, they have flat, immobile faceplates, right? Technically, yes!some argue that this makes them immediately inert and expressionless and opt to enhance their expressions. And this is a-okay! Do what you like!

But as someone who used to be a costumer, and wears a fursuit on occasion,

(Sorry, I love this gif so much)

BUT! When in a mascot costume, fursuit, or any other costume with a mask over one's face, the performer has to learn how to move in order to portray the emotions necessary for character engagement with the audience! Whether it's exaggerated head bobs, using your hands to talk, or making everything a bit of a spectacle, even the way you tilt your FACE can affect how you look.

Even MUPPETS do this with their limited range of expression. And we can easily draw those conclusions of how the boys were programmed to act in canon!

Take Sun's default animation in the daycare, just standing there.

It's very obvious here what he's trying to portray, and who his programmed audience is- little children! When costuming around little kids, you wanna use big gestures, and get on their level because you can seem HUGE AND SCARY to them! You wanna get down towards the ground, make big sweeping cartoon motions, and make sure all your movements are ROUNDED- not jabbing, sharp, or sudden- so that the kid isn't ever surprised, but rather delighted by your performance as a costumer. I'll show you an example by the amazing performer, Temba the Bat! (Made by Toxicoon, I believe.)

Big sweeping motions, slow without being too spooky, and generally friendly motions while swaying the head! Looks kinda similar right?

Another point is, though, these exaggerated motions don't really... turn off when feeling other things. Sun and Moon don't have a customer service mode, and that's WILD to me that their programming requires them to act like this all the time. Exhibit B: Sun's pain in the transformation scene.

He's making such exaggerated motions and movements to INDICATE he is in pain or holding something back. He's gripping his face like something is trying to come out of it, and even dramatically falls backwards to indicate a loss of control in his body. Whether the way the fall looks so cartoonist was intentionally programmed in, I couldn't tell you.

And then... there's Moon.

This is SO cartoon villain sequel, isn't it? The hands tapping delicately on the surface, the exaggerated head tilt, all of it is so wildly exaggerated in such a smooth way to let you know "Ah! I'm in danger! Great!"

And yet... he still is low to the ground. Still in that pose of going after someone SMALL. Performing for someone small. His evilness is almost completely exaggerated and, dare I say, fabricated by his programming. Of course, the virus probably had something to do with it but LIKE! Look at that range of motion!

Idk what the point of all this is, I just wanna say: it's totally understandable to make the boys super duper expressive in the artistic, flat 2d styles i see a lot!

But man I do hope someone draws them biblically accurate while expressing something else because that would be hilarious to see Sun throwing a temper tantrum by banging his fists on the ground and flailing while his face is just

:D

[oaksgrove]

The Sweet Side of Bravery

pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x paediatrician!fem!reader

synopsis: The 141 team drops by for a blood donation drive, but all the other doctors are busy—leaving a quirky pediatrician in charge. Between colorful crocs, Mickey Mouse band-aids, and lollipops for bravery, Gaz finds himself charmed in the most unexpected way.

warnings: none, just fluff, humor, and a touch of slow-burn!

word count: 977

a/n: This story was so fun to write! I loved bringing some lighthearted chaos to the 141 team, especially through the Reader’s unique style and charm. Also, English isn’t my first language, so thank you for bearing with me—and I appreciate all the support on my other works!

part 2

Kyle had been in his fair share of strange situations, but walking into a pediatric clinic wearing tactical gear for a blood donation campaign definitely topped the list.

“This is a bad idea,” Ghost muttered under his breath as the four of them entered the clinic, colorful murals covered the walls, and a little cartoon sun in the corner cheerfully announced, “Every drop counts!” to promote the blood donation drive, his skull mask somehow makes him look even more out of place.

“It’s just a needle,” Soap teased, clapping Ghost on the back. “What’re you scared of, mate? The cartoons on the telly?” He motioned to the TV in the corner, where Paw Patrol played on a loop.

Price, ever the voice of reason, ignored them and gestured toward the front desk. “Let’s just get this done, yeah? Try not to scare the kids while you’re at it.”

Gaz wasn’t paying much attention to the banter. His focus was on the doctor who had just emerged from one of the exam rooms. She didn’t look like any doctor he’d ever met—bright, colorful glasses perched on her nose, her hair streaked with pastel highlights, and—were those crocs covered in pins?

“Dr. [Your Last Name],” the receptionist called, waving her over.

“That’s me!” she chirped, her voice cheerful as she approached them.

“Hi, we’re here for the blood donation,” Price said, stepping forward, trying to keep his tone professional despite how out of place he felt.

Gaz wasn’t really listening. His attention had snagged on the woman who was making her way toward them, clipboard in hand. She didn’t walk so much as bounce—her ponytail bobbed with each step, and her pastel scrubs were patterned with tiny teddy bears and clouds.

The glasses got him first—big, colorful frames that looked more suited to a quirky bookshop owner than a doctor. 

“Oh, great! Welcome!” she said brightly, motioning to a chair at the station she’d set up. “I’m Dr. [Your Last Name],” she said brightly. “I’ll be handling your blood donations today!” She scanned the group and raised a brow, though her smile didn’t falter. “So, which one of you tough guys is going first?”

Soap immediately pointed at Gaz. “Him.”

“Traitor,” Gaz muttered under his breath, but he stepped forward anyway, trying to ignore the amused looks from his team.

She gestured to the chair and patted the armrest. “Come on, Sergeant. It’s not so bad. I haven’t made anyone faint all week.”

“That’s reassuring,”

Gaz sighed and stepped forward, sinking into the chair. He glanced up at her, trying not to look at the ridiculous assortment of pins on her crocs—disney characters, rainbows, tiny stethoscopes, syringes and hearts.

“This won’t take long,” she said, snapping on gloves. “Promise it’ll only sting for a second.”

“You seem awfully comfortable doing this,” Gaz said though he was very aware of the amused glances his mates were throwing his way. 

“Occupational hazard,” she replied with a shrug. “Kids aren’t exactly thrilled to get poked with needles, so you learn to make it fun.” She glanced up at him. “You’re a little big for a sticker, but I’ve got lollipops if you’re good.”

She prepped the needle with a practiced efficiency that surprised him, though her accessories jingled softly as she moved. Tiny charms dangled from it—medical supplies, teddy bears, and even a cupcake.

“Nice bracelet,” he muttered.

“Thanks! It’s from one of my little patients,” she said with a smile. “You’d be amazed how much easier it is to get a six-year-old to sit still when you’ve got some sparkle going on.”

The needle went in smoothly, barely a pinch, and she gave him a nod of approval. “All done!”

Before he could react, she stuck a Mickey Mouse band-aid over the tiny puncture and handed him a heart-shaped lollipop.

Gaz blinked at the lollipop, then at her, his brain struggling to catch up.

“You’re joking,” he said flatly.

“Not at all,” she replied, grinning. “Everyone gets a lollipop. It’s the rules.”

Behind him, Soap let out a loud snort of laughter. “Rules are rules, Gaz. Take the lolly.”

Behind him, Soap practically howled with laughter, while Ghost muttered, “I’ll take Elsa, if she’s got one.”

“You can have Anna,” she shot back without missing a beat, holding up a Frozen-themed band-aid. “I’m saving Elsa for someone braver.”

Even Price chuckled at that, though he tried to hide it behind a cough.

Gaz, meanwhile, found himself oddly fascinated by the doctor. She was cheerful—borderline ridiculous, really—but something about her felt genuine. She didn’t treat them like soldiers or strangers, just people.

When they’d all finished, she handed each of them a lollipop and made a show of comparing their band-aids. “See? Look how brave you all were. I’m so proud.”

Soap held up his Hello Kitty band-aid like a trophy. “I’m keepin’ this as a souvenir.”

“You would,” Ghost muttered.

Gaz lingered as the others headed toward the door, finding excuses to check his phone or adjust his jacket. He didn’t know what he was waiting for until she glanced over at him, her glasses sliding down her nose just enough to reveal her curious gaze.

“Something on your mind, Sergeant?” she asked.

“Just… thanks. For this. And, uh, for not laughing too much.”

Her smile softened. “You’re welcome. And for the record, I think it’s great you all came out to do this. Most people wouldn’t bother.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he nodded and followed his team out into the rain.

Soap nudged him as they walked. “What’s that look for, mate? Don’t tell me you’re smitten.”

“Shut up, Johnny,” Gaz muttered, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.

And as they headed back to the base, he couldn’t help but glance at the lollipop in his hand and wonder when they’d need to donate blood again.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

This thoughts still cooking, so it might not make sense, but I think Thomas (Tomas?) Astruc is a very good case study on how being too attached to your own ideas can hinder your story telling.

I don't mean this in a "Thomas's original idea for the series was bad", but rather that he seems so attached to this concept that he can't stand other people having a differing view from him.

Chloe's the titular example here. Some people thought she deserved a redemption arc, and instead of just saying "nah, I don't think so" and continuing to write her the same way he had been, he had to prove them wrong, prove that his idea was the only correct one, and so turned her into the spawn of Satan and let her rule over Paris for some reason.

Instead of making Marinette less stalker-y, he wrote an entire episode poorly justifying it. And, imao, somewhat diminishing what PTSD actually is and does to people.

I'm not saying he has to make any change (though I think making Marinette less stalker-y would be a good change), but instead of 1.) sticking to his resolve or 2.) taking the criticism, he clung dearly onto this perception of his characters and his writing suffered because of how much he had to twist things to "prove" that his original assertions were right. And also that everyone who disagreed with him was wrong and didn't understand

idk if that makes sense, but the concepts been lingering in my head recently

It makes perfect sense! I've had similar thoughts. It's hard to say for sure, but Miraculous may be a case study in "kill your darlings". I'm not deep into the behind-the-scenes lore and I was not here in the early fandom, but I do know that, at some point, a much darker version of the show was pitched. That's why these exist (image source):

[Image description: two sketches styled like comic book covers. Both have the title "The Mini Menace Ladybug". The left cover shows Marinette's silhouette in a doorway. The door's glass and the glass of a nearby window are broken. In the foreground lies a hand holding a ladybug charm. The hand is limp and surrounded by blood, implying that someone is injured or dead. The right cover is Ladybug doing a spinning kick while looking angry.]

We also have this evidence of the darker original concept:

Jeremy Zag then proposed another project... which he was unable to sell to broadcasters... the project was called "Ladybug". No one was interested, as the project was aimed more at an adult audience... Sébastien had to make sure that the project could be broadcast on Disney and TF1.... Thomas wanted to make a series for adults, but at the time, it was very complicated to make a cartoon for adults. What's more, they didn't have enough money to take on such a project. Sébastien finally agreed, but there were some changes to be made, which Thomas accepted... In the end, Thomas Astruc's entire project was discarded, leaving only the love story between the two heroes and the city of Paris, where the story was to take place.

I've been aware of this darker origin story for a while due to Tumblr and, because of this knowledge, I have often had the thought, "are the writers trying to sneak elements from this darker version into canon?" Because that's the most likely explanation for what's going on here.

If I'm right, then I think that was a terrible move on their parts. They needed to let go of the story that they couldn't sell and embrace the story that they're being allowed to tell. It's why "kill you darlings" is such good advice. Many good stories have been ruined by writers clinging to an idea that ultimately doesn't work for some reason.

It's why the sitcom How I Met Your Mother has such a universally hated ending. The show was originally supposed to go for two seasons and so they wrote an ending that would fit the second season. The show ended up running for nine seasons and, by then, the ending didn't fit, but the writers kept it and left everyone with a bad taste in their mouths, which is not what any writer wants. That's why you have to do what's best for the story even if it means abandoning something that you really love.

This early version of canon may also be why the writers are so obsessed with Marinette. My understanding is that this concept had her mainly acting as a solo hero and, oh look! What is one of canon's biggest problems? Marinette being treated like a solo hero even though she has a partner and, later on, a team!

Not saying that this theory has to be true, just saying that it would explain some things. And if they're poisoning canon by trying to include elements from their darker original? Then it makes sense to assume that they're also doing it for smaller stuff. Like I'm pretty sure I've read that the head writer wanted Chat Blanc to be a lot darker originally, but no one would green light it, so we got an incredibly lackluster episode that spat in the face of the genres Miraculous' is trying to be part of while also falling to have the sort of impact we'd expect from an episode like that. It's a good example of a darling that really should have been killed. It just doesn't fit.

(Totally unrelated sidenote, but is your blog name from Tangled? Because that's what I immediately thought of and it made me smile!)

[cowboylikelyric]

strip (famous!harry x fashion designer!y/n)

Summary: A focused CEO Y/N clashes with an unprofessional but alluring Harry Styles, their heated partnership testing patience and stirring unexpected tension.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: nothing much, angsty

A/N: hey guys.... it's been a while. the writing bug bit me tonight, so you guys have the start to a new series that i will hopefully finish. i know that there's no smut, but hoping you guys will still love it. more to come in up coming parts!

---

      You stomp quickly through the halls of the office, your folder tucked in the crease of your arm against your body. At the sound of your heels clicking, everyone stiffens in their seats and people in passing move to the side of the hallway, out of your way. On a regular basis, your employees weren’t threatened by you like this. But when the click of your heels went up an octave, they all knew to stay out of your lane. 

      When you stepped into your assistant Heather’s office, she must not have picked up on the cues considering she began by greeting you with a, “Good morning, Y/N! All good this morning?”

      You ignore her greeting and cut straight to the chase, “Do you have any idea where he is?” Heather’s face drops and surely her stomach too. You look down at your watch and up at her again, “It’s quarter ‘til 10. He was meant to be here 45 minutes ago.” 

      Your assistant immediately reaches for her telephone, pressing it against her ear as she types in the sequence of numbers. Heather sits there for a second as the phone rings, biting her lip until you hear a faint click and someone speaks. “Hi Abby, yes, this is Heather Rossi, Y/N Y/L/N’s assistant, and I was just calling to check in about Y/N and Mr. Styles’ meeting this morning. It was meant to start approximately 45 minutes ago, but we still have no signs of Mr. Styles.” You lean against the door frame, possibly looking like a cartoon character with steam spewing from your ears. 

      Heather nods as she listens to the person on the opposite end. “A miscommunication, I understand.” You roll your eyes and scoff. Heather gives you an apologetic look. “Will you excuse me for a moment while I talk to Miss. Y/L/N?” She puts the call on hold before looking up to you. “Are we rescheduling or will you still take him?” 

      You sigh and shake your head, “We have to take him today. We’re under a strict schedule, there’s no time for rescheduling.” Heather nods and picks up the call again.

      “Yeah, so we’re going to need for Mr. Styles to come in today. Scheduling is tight and there is really no time for rescheduling.” She pauses for a second as she hears Abby’s response. “Asap would be great. Perfect, thank you.” When Heather hangs up the phone, she gives you a roll of the eye. “20 minutes.” She sighs.

      You groan and decide that you might as well take a seat in her office. “This guy is actually creeping onto my last nerve.”

      Normal people would just tell you to get rid of him, and it has crossed your mind plenty of times, but it just wouldn’t be good for your company. Aurelia, your clothing brand, thrived when he was wearing your clothes, unfortunately. His first advertisement boosted your sales by almost 50%. It felt almost insulting, but you couldn’t really deny that it was rewarding. And of course his assistant came running back to you. Whatever was good for your company, was even better for him. 

      However, while this partnership was very important to his team,  modeling was not his top priority. In fact, it was probably last on his personal list. On a normal day, he was a music artist. He’d show up to proposals in wrinkled button ups and sunglasses to shadow his hangovers. Overall, he showed no respect for you or your brand for that matter. So, it seemed to you that he was treating this partnership as extra spending money. It infuriated you. 

      Heather nods, “Mine as well. I mean, he could at least try and take the whole thing more seriously.” 

      “Tell me about it,” You lay your folder down on her desk and sit back in the guest chair in front of it. “Abby’s always like, ‘He really appreciates this opportunity,’ with that sweet smile. And while I appreciate excitement, I don’t appreciate lies.” Heather snorts out a laugh before picking up the coffee mug in front of her, handing it to you. 

      “I think you might need this more than I do.” You accept it and take a large sip, feeling the warmth travel down your body. “I’ll make sure I stock up on some tequila next time.” That cracks a good laugh out of you.

      While most CEO’s look down upon their assistants, You praise yours. Heather is an angel sent from above, and most of the time, her work is harder than yours is. She keeps everything on track, aside from Styles' shenanigans which you can’t blame her for, and does it like it’s nothing. She’s the real lady boss.

      “Okay, well let me get down there and prepare for their arrival,” You scoop up your folder and take the mug of coffee with you. “And would you consider coming down to teach Abby how reminders work in online calendars? She’s driving me up the wall.” 

      She laughs, “I’ll be there.” You exit the office with somewhat less of a temper, giving everyone a good morning as you pass, despite you not having one. When you make your way down to the lobby, You watch as a petite woman with icy blonde hair and lash extensions enters through the doors. Abby. And the man you were supposed to see over an hour ago following close behind.

      Harry Styles.

      “Good Morning! I’m so sorry for our tardiness.” Abby clatters near you, grabbing your shoulder as she apologizes. You remove her hand, painting on a smile.

      “That’s alright, Heather’s gonna set up a joint online calendar with you today, so there are no more misunderstandings.” On your part, you want to say. You peak around her to see Harry with his head buried in his phone. You clear your throat and his head lifts. “Harry.” You say, your neck is stiff and your nose is tilted. 

      “Y/N.” He’s dressed in ripped jeans and a loose t-shirt that contains a few holes, as well as glasses that you’ve seen him in one or two times. He slides his phone into his back pocket. “What are ya dressing me up in today?” 

      “Ah, there’s that excitement of your’s I would have loved to have over an hour ago.” You state as you start walking in the direction of your dressing room. You can feel his eye’s roll from behind you, but you continue on with a firm click of your heels. 

      When you reach the room, Heather happens to already be there, looking up from her phone as you approach. “Good morning, everyone.” She walks straight toward Harry and Abby. “Nice to see you again, Harry. Abby, would you like to join me up in my office? I think we should go over some of the future meetings and shoots we have so there are no confusions.” Abby nods and you have to try hard to hold back a laugh. You would say poor Abby, but sympathy left you a long time ago. 

      After their departure, you turn to Harry, who is on his phone yet again, “Harry.” You call his name, but this time you don’t worry about layering on any nice tones. If you aren’t stern with Harry, your words fly right over him. He looks up and raises his brows. “Okay so listen. This project that we're working on is moving fast and on schedule. Which means I need you here when you’re supposed to be and doing what you’re supposed to be. An album with no release date can wait, a line with a hard launch date cannot.”

      You raise your brows, looking for a reply. Harry huffs out a laugh and, “Yes, ma’am.” At least he’s paying attention. 

      “Great.” You turn and grab some of the pieces you created, specifically with him in mind. 

      While he never seems too interested in his part of Aurelia, Harry is known in the media for his style. He’s been seen on the cover of multiple fashion magazines, which is where you first caught sight of him. So while his interests in Aurelia were low, he didn’t mind fashion. 

      “While I get these ready for you, remind me of the name of this collection, the one that you are the “partner” for.” Yeah, you just air quoted him.

      He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the dressing room. “HA HA HA.” 

      “Exactly, which is a very you name, and not a very Aurelia name. But if you really sell it, everyone will love it.” You pull a ringer tee off of the rack that displays a moody teddy bear, quite similar to Harry right now, with a line of his lyrics. You look over to Harry who’s still fully clothed, raising your brows. When he raises his back, you groan, “Strip.”

      He smirks and pulls his shirt over his head, “Geez, take me to dinner first.” When his abdomen flashes in front of your eyes, you scold yourself mentally for spending a little extra time perusing the creases of his body with your eyeballs. You quickly shake the thoughts from your head and hand him the shirt, not missing the sly grin on his face, signaling that he most definitely caught you gawking. 

      Harry slips on the shirt and walks over to stand in front of the full body mirror, brushing his hands down the shirt. You walk over behind him, just barely being able to look over his shoulder in your heels to see his reflection in the mirror. You pull at one of the sleeves to even out the shirt on his shoulders, your stomach twisting slightly, making you pull away rather quickly. When you look back into the mirror, Harry’s no longer looking at himself, but he’s looking you in the eyes. 

      “Look good?” He asks, the tone of his voice being deep, adding a rasp to it that gives you goosebumps. Judging by the way he asks, he knows it looks good, he just wants to hear you say it. You nod, but he pushes further with a, “Hmm?” 

      You bristle and straighten your shoulders, pulling yourself from the daze you fell into. “Yes, it looks exactly as I imagined.” Strutting over to the rack, you pluck out a pale yellow pair of slacks to pair with the shirt. When you look back over to Harry, he’s just staring back at you, so you raise a brow.

      “Strip?” He asks, and you nod, rolling your eyes.

      “You act like you’re new here, Styles.” He reaches for the button of his jeans, shrugging,

     “Just in a daze today.” That makes two of us, you thought. As he discarded his jeans you couldn’t help but be drawn to watch below his torso. This man annoyed you on the regular, but something about him today spiked your blood. You had to be ovulating, it was the only explanation. Something about the way that those ferns pointed right to a place you’d never thought about before today, had your lady bits in a frenzy. But that was quickly shut down as he tugged on the pair of pants you had given him, covering the tattoos you were fantasizing about following like they were a huge neon sign that read ‘suck my cock!’ What the hell was wrong with you? 

      You cleared your throat and began helping him tuck the shirt into the trousers. You can feel as he sucks in a breath and his abdomen caves in, making your stomach turn. When you’re finished, you lean back and take him in, tilting your head to the side.

      “Something’s missing.” Don’t get it twisted, he still looked near delectable, which was infuriating, but it needed something more. You watch as he looks past you to the rack. 

      “That.” You follow his eyes to the plaid green overcoat that hangs at the end of the clothing rack. As soon as you saw it, you gasped. 

      “Exactly,” You rush toward the piece, pulling it off of the hanger and walking it over to him. He pulled it over his arms and joy burst throughout your chest. You clapped a little to yourself out of pure satisfaction.

      Harry smirks at your excitement, stating, “I know what I’m doing, sometimes.”

      Blinded by happiness, you rush forward and run your hands down his coat covered arms smiling. “This is sooo good.” Key moments like this were the reason that you loved this job. When an outfit just made sense, it meant everything to you. But then you realize that you’re feeling up your brand partner, and pull away immediately. Harry huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. Cocky bastard.

      Turning a shade of pink, you pull out your phone from the inside of your blazer, pulling up your camera to capture the outfit. Harry sticks his hands in the pockets of the slacks and stares at you with this sexy straight face smolder. God damn ovulation. You snap the photo and quickly put your phone away. 

      “Okay, on to the next.”

—

      You needed to get him out of your office as soon as possible. Something in the air had turned you into a cat in heat, feeling like you were going to hump his leg any second now. It was such a strange sensation. One minute you wanted to punch his face, the next you wanted to sit on it. What a predicament.

      Harry snapped in front of your face. “Hello?” 

      Your shoulders tightened up and you blinked a few times. “Huh?” Sorry, I was too busy focusing on the fact you were standing in front of me in just a pair of briefs that hug your package quite nicely. 

      “Is that all for today?” He smirked as he looked you in the eye, his gaze then traveling up and down your body. You planted your hands on your hips and tried to give him an unimpressed look, though you were definitely impressed by the size of that- Oh my god, what is happening?

      You nodded and gestured your hands to his original outfit. “Yeah, put some clothes on please.” 

      “I don’t know,” He said slyly, stalking closer to you, like a predator to its prey, “I’m starting to think you like them better off me.” I definitely am- No! You gave him a stern look and squinted your eyes. 

        “Styles, that is highly inappropriate. Please put your clothes on.” Crossing your arms, you made your way to the door of the room. “Get here on time next time.” You reach for the door handle to exit the room but as you do, his fingers grasp your wrist tightly and spin you around, pulling you close to him.

      He shakes his head, with a panty dropping expression. “I don’t think I will.” He whispers. You grit your teeth and huff through your nose. This brings another one of those god damned smirks to his face. “Not if you're gonna continue to be a brat like this.” His hand reaches up to thread through your hair before pulling it tight to cock your head up to look at him. “You gonna keep being a brat?” 

      Your nostril flared and your panties became drenched. It has to be ovulation time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      He chuckled degradingly, “Oh, please. Like you aren’t crossing your fucking legs right now.” Harry leans in beside your ear. “Need some relief, don’t you?” His teeth nipped and your ear and you felt a shiver run down your spine. But then a knock came to the door and you ripped away from him, also probably ripping out a few strands of hair at the same time. A moment later, Abby burst through the door. 

      She smiled, “Oh good, you’re done. You have a studio session in an hour, so we better get going.” Oh, so she could keep track of the studio sessions, but not this? Makes you feel wonderful. 

      You straightened your posture and nodded to Harry. “See you in a few days.” 

      A fucking smirk and you squeezed your thighs together. “Can’t wait.”

***

For more of my writing, check out my masterlist!

[redesigningxmen]

REDESIGNING MIRAGE

That’s no mirage you’re seeing, that’s our group taking on Dani Moonstar, aka Mirage! One of the New Mutants from the 80s book, Dani has long been that team’s leader and served in different leadership roles. She’s most notable for being one of the X-Men’s most prominent Native American characters. Her identity is so central to her character, she refused to wear the standard New Mutants training uniform without adding pieces from her Cheyanne heritage.

Our team considered both Dani’s unique power - the ability to manifest someone’s greatest hopes or fears into realistic illusions - and her Indigenous background when redesigning her. Taking on a character so strongly rooted in such a specific - and non-White - culture meant approaching the design with respect, and of course always with an eye towards an exciting design!

Give all our talented artists a follow on social media!

Rake | @/pastelrake

"For Dani I drew on two prominent western themed pieces of media from my childhood. Firstly my father's favourite John Wayne film;  1965's The Sons of Katie Elder and secondly, the 1987 ridiculous children's cartoon BraveStarr. Both of these properties, whilst flawed, gave me a love of Americana/ Wild-Western aesthetics. With this in mind, I wanted to create a vintage-style western movie poster that centred Dani as the protagonist. In particular, I imagined her in the recognizable role of Sheriff, given her established characterization as a protector."

SSTArtwork | @/sstartwork

"I did two looks for Dani, one is more of a practical field uniform, with padded armour sections and oversized gloves. I've added an extra skill to her power set, as well as creating arrows and bows, she can now create a psychic vulture, which I envision swooping onto an enemy and ripping at the fears and drawing them out, or the desires, to varying effects. The second look is more Valkyrie based, with more opulent armour and headpieces harkening back to her initial days as a Valkyrie. In this state, all her powers are boosted and her bird becomes much larger, around about the size of a very large condor. She can use the bird as an aid in battle, for gliding, shields etc etc."

Alex Buckland | @/blueromanticss

"Dani's culture has always been really important to her so I tried my best to incorporate that into my design! "

Thwwip Stickers | @/Thwwip_Stickers

Dani is one of my top two most fave New Mutants and a character I’ve always loved in the comics my entire time as an X-Men reader ( since I was 6…I’m old lol)

"I had two Goals with this redesign.

I wanted to move Dani into a cyberpunk futurism feel…as I feel like it’s time for all the X-Men to be ushered into the age of CyberPunk.

I really wanted to grow Dani up. My goal wasn’t to do an entire redesign from the ground up, but rather take what she’s had and mature her. Dani, as well as most of the New Mutants, have a tendency to to revert or be written like teens again and it was high time that we start viewing Dani as the strong, mature, dynamic member of the X-Men she truly is.

I wanted to use style lines and shapes that evoked Indigenous Futurism without (seeing as I am not indigenous) just covering her in a bunch of patterns and regalia that might not be appropriate for Dani as a member of the Cheyenne Tribe. I wanted to really make her seem like a hunter while still honoring her indigenous and mutant roots."

[whump-imagines]

Ice

Will & reader (could be platonic or early relationship.)

900 words

For anyone else who was missing a certain red head on Wednesday...

You felt like Bambi trying to make your way across the parking lot toward the hospital. Between sleeping through your alarm and the icy road conditions you were running very late for your shift. In your haste to get out of the house, you’d thrown on your regular shoes rather than your boots.

About halfway to the door your tractionless shoes slipped and you took a full cartoon style fall– both feet up in the air to land hard on your back. The hit knocked the wind from your lungs and it took a moment to suck in a breath.

Seconds later, the pain registered. Your back and head hurt. Before you could even think of what you should be doing next, Will was kneeling beside you.

“Don’t move,” he said. He started to run his fingers down either side of your neck in search of any abnormalities. “You hit your head pretty good. Does it hurt?”

You coughed, your lungs still trying to function properly. “Uh, yeah. My back too, kinda like up between my shoulders.”

“Okay, can you squeeze my fingers?” He placed two fingers against both your palms and you did as he'd asked. “Good, and push against my hands like you're pushing the gas pedal.” Again, you did as asked.

“Fuckin’ ice,” you muttered quietly.

“Okay. Do you think you can sit up?” Will asked.

You took another deep breath. “Yeah.” He offered his hand and very slowly pulled you into a seated position. You closed your eyes tightly as dizziness set in. “Woah.”

“Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You peeled your eyes open, locking into his concerned ones. “Just dizzy. Really dizzy.”

“You probably have a concussion,” Will suggested.

A shiver ran down your spine. “Yeah, well, won't matter if I freeze to death out here.”

Will chuckled. “We are going to move slowly. I don't need you passing out because you stood up too quickly.” He shifted so he could stand to help you up. “Ready?”

“Yup.” You winced as you straightened up, pain flaring through your back. You took half a step to get closer to Will and your feet slipped slightly. You gripped onto his arm so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“Okay, you're okay. I got ya.” He started to walk slowly and carefully towards the doors.

Once you made it to dry flooring, you sighed in relief. Will kept your hand wrapped around his arm as he headed towards the nurses station.

“Hey, Mags,” he greeted. “What's open? She took a hard fall outside.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She rubbed your shoulder gently. “Take treatment one.”

“Thanks,” said Will. “Can I get thoracic and cervical spine x-rays and a head CT?”

“And something for the pain? Please?” You asked.

“Let's get 50 micrograms of fentanyl, too,” Will added. “Oh, and a warm blanket.”

“You got it,” Maggie noted all the requests in the tablet she was holding. “Any blood work?”

“No, just the scans for now.”

About an hour later, you had finished all the scans and were trying your best not to doze off under your second warm blanket. April had brought a new one when she'd come to check your vitals.

Will came in with the tablet in his hands. “How're you feeling? In too much pain?”

You gave him a thumbs up. “I'm possibly too comfy. I'm fighting the nap hard.”

“Good news then. You can nap shortly,” he said.

“Yay!” You said lazily.

“You do have a mild concussion,” he explained. “As well as two bruised ribs. So you're stuck here for observation until at least tomorrow but you can sleep if you want.”

“Well that's gonna hurt tomorrow. Awesome,” you added sarcastically.

Will squeezed your hand gently. “At least nothing is broken. Get some rest, alright?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, already giving into the pull of sleep.

You had no idea how much time had passed when you woke up. It seemed a safe guess that the pain was what had roused you. It felt like someone was digging a knife into your shoulder blade and breathing made it even worse.

You groped around the bed for the call button as tears welled in your eyes. A moment later, you found it and proceeded to push it several times. April pushed the curtain back soon after.

“You're awake,” she stated.

A tear rolled down your cheek. “It hurts. It hurts a lot. I feel like I can't even breathe.”

She quickly moved closer and took your hand. “Just squeeze as hard as you need to. Take slow breaths.” Within a few minutes she had calmed you down quite a bit. “I'm gonna go find someone to get you something for the pain. I'll be right back.”

She leaned out the door and you heard her tell someone that you needed something for pain. Will came in a second later and gave April a dosage for morphine.

“That should help,” he started. “I'll make sure to get you a prescription before we send you home too. Sound good?”

“Thanks, Will,” you said. He took your hand. “What would I do without you?”

He laughed. “Probably would have just frozen to death in the parking lot. So my shift is over soon and you're getting moved upstairs. What do you say to some pizza and a movie?”

“Ooh, yes. Please! Hamburger, bacon and extra cheese for me.”

“Okay. I'll see you upstairs in an hour or so.”

[ccycloneblogging]

I'm seeing age differences in those relationship charts-

But are those Real age differences, or are they part of their "Character" and not when they were actually made.

I'm assuming the latter because of them "remembering" the cartoon as you've put it- but the idea that they actually had real childhoods (one not just written up on some script) and were kids is both adorable and also very depressing.

Thinking about it, realizing you're an artificial being that was made directly into an teen/adult with only fake memories and stories from a tv show is some prime existential dread. I mean that seem like it could be one of the few things that could truly break the critters- especially for Catnap who seem adamant that there is a world to go back to, only to be faced with "that world- those memories were never real".

That kind of angst seems ripe for picking!

Alright - Combining these together.

Let's start off with a height chart and ages for the Critters! (Plus Angel), and this would be in feet - and yes these are the heights I am trying to keep consistent.

Find the original here.

Okay, more under the cut!

So

Let's start with our Anon. You are so right. I really want to make these guys have varied bodies, just like I did whenever I draw the FNAF animatronics. So it makes it tricky for me to keep the cartoon proportions, as I just want to lean into anthro proportions. But I strongly agree with you!

Okay. Moving on.

The ages for the Critters are based off of two things. My preference for having some older style toons - and I imagine these are based on their creation and not their ages on the show. I imagine the show kept them ageless, but around the same year. DogDay is our oldest, because I believe whoever created them in universe first thought of him before the other critters. I think the creator of the show originally meant to just have a small show with just DogDay, Bubba, and Picky - for whatever reasons. (She just gives off older vibes to me). Over time, the others were added in for various reasons. Hoppy is our youngest, as I like to think she was a last minute addition to the team to balance them out.

These ages are just what I have listed, but I think none of the critters really view themselves having the same age. I think if you were to ask any of them, their first answer would be at least twenty five. Five years working in PlayCare, ten after the Hour of Joy, and they would simply shrug off the rest.

Then there's Angel, who started working for the company at the age of twenty three. Stayed for three years, then left.

As for childhoods? They have a false one written into each of their characters. Excuse me while I ramble on about what the backgrounds they were "programmed" with.

DogDay was an only child and rather lonely. He decided to take that loneliness and work that much harder to befriend others and create meaningful relationships. He approached each critter one-on-one, and after that? He'd try to hold on to anyone he clicked with. He has so many false memories of his family and his time with his friends before the show's "start". Though... If he actually thinks about it, he starts to question why he never had any pictures of these memories. However, once brought into the "real" world, he adjusted to this realization.

Bubba was the first to be approached, though he knew DogDay when they were children. They grew up together, and DogDay really helped him get past his awkward phase. He spent so much time trying to focus on learning, fascinated by everything he could read about. DogDay helped him come out of his shell and befriend others. He was the first to realize his memories were fake and adjusted incredibly well. As far as he saw it - yes. They weren't "real" creatures in the show, but existing in PlayCare? They were alive. Did the past really matter when the present was far more important?

Picky grew up with a massive family. She is the eldest of her siblings and had always taken on a caretaker kind of role. She happened to meet DogDay towards the end of their childhood, an was confused when this excited dog insisted on dragging her over to meet a rather shy elephant. She found them both to be weird, but she warmed up to them quickly. She struggled with the realization that her memories were fake. After all, this meant that the family she had, the siblings she loved so deeply and cared for... None of that existed. To cope, she ended up taking care of the kids that much more. She was going to heal her sorrows by making new memories.

CatNap happened to wander in to town on their own, deciding to make a life for themselves - despite their young age. They was probably three days into their solitude when DogDay discovered them in a tree. CatNap was confused and insisted that DogDay leave them be, but the pup wasn't backing down. Eventually, he convinced them to come down and join him and Bubba for a picnic. Though CatNap and Bubba didn't get along at first, CatNap and DogDay were inseparable after that day. They discovered their memories were false due to their recall. They poked their head around the councilor's office and discovered too much, and CatNap just couldn't handle it. They still don't believe all of those memories were fake, and they just want to cling to those nonexistent days.

Bobby moved into town with her family, a middle child with three older siblings and one younger adopted sibling. She happened to run into DogDay during a Valentine's Day celebration. She had taken charge of the decorating, and was impressed that DogDay not only wanted to help, but enlisted his friends to help too! This is how she met Bubba, Picky, Kickin and CatNap in their teen years. She couldn't thank them enough and was the first to suggest a weekly meetup for them. She still has not realized these memories are fake, but she is suspicious of some details and has her doubts.

Kickin is the youngest child in his family, adopting a cool persona to help his self esteem issues. He didn't meet the others until later on, in the end on their childhood and the start of their teen years. He met CatNap first on accident, catching the cat being cornered by some larger critters. Despite being so tiny, Kickin' jumped in to defend the cat, and though the two didn't fair well, they immediately bonded. CatNap soon introduced him to DogDay. Though they liked each other, Kickin' always felt the need to one-up him. A rival. He has not realized the memories are fake, but he has no idea.

Crafty was an only child, but incredibly gifted. She happened to find herself in town to study, though she had a small desire to follow her art. She often spent time alone, finding a quiet spot to occasionally doodle between her studies. It was during one of these days when she met DogDay - who had no concept of personal space and leaned on her, asking her what she was drawing. Of course, this scared the hell out of her. Afterwards, DogDay apologized and insisted that he make it up to her by inviting her to the group's weekly hang-out. When Crafty met the others, she was amazed by how welcoming the other Critters were. She then began to start coming up with ideas on friendship charms and was the one to propose the idea. Everyone voted on what type of charm best suited the others. She is deep in denial that her memories are false, but deep down? She thinks she's always known.

Hoppy was the last to join the group. She met DogDay during a sporting event - as he was there to root for Kickin' (and CatNap, though CatNap spent the game sleeping on the benches). He was impressed by her sportsmanship, and she found his sunshine behavior pretty funny. They clicked almost immediately, so he grabbed her hand and quite literally dragged her to the others. While Hoppy didn't get along with the others that quickly, she stuck around. Because Hoppy was a last minute addition to the show, her memories are the most fragmented. It stresses her out if she dwells on it, so she ignores it.

CatNap's insistence on returning to their cartoon is probably the one thing that deeply angers DogDay as well. In the cartoon, they didn't have freewill. They could not feel things outside of their script - at least, not to the same extent. In the "real" world, DogDay felt they could finally be themselves. That they could truly be alive, even though they were technically prisoners to Playtime Co. DogDay couldn't express his love for the others in the cartoon. His friends couldn't be as happy - like Bobby and Hoppy. They could never be together in that world.

So, hearing CatNap demand that they just give up their freedom? Yeah. This is probably one of the only things that they fought about.

[starry-iris]

I had such a cool dream about Michael tonight. I've been up for 2 hours or something trying to recreate how he looked like in my dream. The drawings are at the end of the post, please read the dream before looking at them, because my art skills don't match what I saw in the dream.

In it, I first saw everything from the first point of view. I woke up on the street, under a pizzeria on the main street of my city. It was dark outside, the sky was completely black and I barely could see anything. It was so late that even the street lights were turned off. I saw a man closing the last shop that was located inside an avenue nearby. He was switching off the last bit of light.

I had no possessions on me, they were all left behind In a pizzeria (maybe I fell asleep there, and was kicked out when it was closing, I'm not entirely sure). It was cold outside as if it was early autumn. I had no coat, and I might have had no shoes on me.

I walked to my bus stop and looked at the tabloid that announced bus times. My bus was due, and it arrived almost immediately. It was a big coach, the one that only goes outside of the city. It was almost full, and it seemed like there were no free seats left.

I stumbled inside, I felt very weak in my legs. The bus started to move, and I said to the driver, while still on the stairs "Sorry, I have no money, I cannot pay you, but I really need to get home". Other passengers looked at me with judgment, but the bus driver was quiet for a second and then gestured for me to sit beside him, on the last unoccupied seat.

Then my point of view switched, and I was watching Michael talking to a bus driver from my seat. Possibly I was Michael all along.

He was dressed in a light blue button-up shirt, not exactly the one you would see on a blue-collar worker, but something softer and more casual looking. He was dressed too lightly for such a late and cold night. He looked as if he was from a well-drawn cartoon. His hair was as usual, golden and wavy, one of his eyes blue. His right eye looked blind, with a red pupil, and the iris was much lighter than his seeing eye.

He looked all lost and confused. He claimed he had a very bad memory, and that he just got unlucky, falling asleep and ending up in the town that late.

But once the bus moved outside of the city, he changed. He started to smile, and tell the bus driver everything he knew would get him to listen, and everything to get under his skin. That facade of a poor lost soul was gone. He made sure that the bus driver would want to go to seek help in the Institute, and he spoke as if John was already listening to him. He said "I know what you are looking for" to the Archivist.

Some time had gone by, and the bus arrived at Michael's stop. It was a tiny village, with barely any houses. He smiled, and looked at the bus driver, with a sticker of a smiley face covering his seeing eye. He stared at him for a moment, until the dream abruptly ended.

Here's the attempts to recreate the last scene and more "innocent" version of him.

I also want to put some examples that capture the art style better. Also, if anyone who can draw better than me wants to draw this, PLEASE DO IT, I'M GOING CRAZY OVER NOT BEING ABLE TO DRAW HIM LIKE HE WAS IN THE DREAM, I NEED THIS ART TO EXIST IN REAL LIFE

Art by @thoriffix

It captures how cartoons the style was

And this art by @marshallmigraine

And this one captures the proportions and generally how he looked like.

Note: he had no distortions besides that smiley face on his eye in the end. And the smiley face looked like it was plastered on top in photoshop

[immeasurablesaladagere]

Can we get a fic about Wilson&House finding out Chase regresses please 🙏🙏🙏

Fun fact! I already had a prompt similar to this sitting in my notes app before I ever made this blog, so I decided to work on that! It just includes cg!House, I hope that's alright. House would have a very... ahem, interesting first-time-cg style.

-----

Word Count: 1230

Summery: House can tell that something is up with Chase on an overnight shift.

-----

Something was wrong with Chase.

House stared at him through the glass of his office, watching him go back and fourth between flipping through the patient’s files and a newspaper crossword. At least, that was what he was pretending to do. Chase’s eyes were obviously unfocused and staring directly through the papers, and it looked more like he was moving them around on autopilot to seem busy in front of his boss who he knew would be spying on him through the window. A smart move to be sure, but ultimately a pointless one. 

Chase picked up his pen and hovered it over the newspaper like he was going to write in an answer, then stopped and put the end of the pen in his mouthfor the dozenth time.

House wrinkled his nose in disgust. He was never using that pen again. It was definitely covered in bite marks and saliva, and while there was probably a large clientele who would pay too much for pretty-boy’s spit, he wasn’t one of them. If it wasn’t the pen, then it was biting the top half of his thumb or pointer finger, before he would get a look on his face and switch back to the pen or the cuff of his coat sleeve.

Then there was the fidgeting. For the most part, Chase matched the expected appearance of a man who had been awake for twenty-four hours on an overnight patient watch; sunken eyes, painfully-bored expression, slumped posture, and a general air of ‘I’d rather be having steamy sex with a hooker right now’— or maybe that was just him— but Chase was fidgeting almost constantly. It consisted mostly of swinging his feet back and fourth under the glass table or mindlessly shaking his free hand up and down. When he was particularly lost in thought, he would begin rocking in place to entertain himself. 

It was when the thought crossed House’s mind that Chase looked more like a little kid waiting for their parent to finish up at the DMV than a doctor trying to stay awake that he began to think that Chase was more than just tired. 

Age regression was a zebra, but Cuddy hadn’t given him his own team and office because he was an expert at finding horses. 

He watched as Chase yawned and rubbed his eyes, then rested his head on his hand and slipped his entire thumb in his mouth. If it wasn’t regression, then House got an embarrassing habit to hold over his head for the rest of time.

It was probably best to test his hypothesis before they were called to deal with the patient and Chase’s toddler brain accidentally killed her. He turned to his laptop and typed ‘colouring pages’ into Google, then printed the first result; an ocean floor scene with corny cartoon dolphins and fish.

At the sound of the printer starting in the office, Chase seemed to snap back into some kind of focus and pulled his thumb from his mouth, hastily tucking it against his cheek. 

When House walked in, Chase pushed away his file and cleared his throat. “Did you find something for the patient? I can’t think of anything.” 

“Forget the patient, I have a much more important question.” He set down the colouring page in front of Chase, “How do you feel… about sea creatures?”

He watched as Chase’s eyes went wide for a split second before he schooled his face into confusion. “What’s this?”

“Sea creatures.” He tapped the cartoon dolphin’s face, “See?”

“Yeah, uh… Why?”

“You tell me. Why would I, as your boss, distract you from a case with a children’s colouring page?”

Chase shrugged, looking anywhere but directly at the picture. “I ‘dunno…”

“Sure you do.” House nudged at the pen on the table. The plastic end was completely mangled by teeth marks, and it left behind a small trail of spit as it rolled. “And the sleeve, and the thumb, and the fidgeting like a four-year-old.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, House—“

“Tell me the truth, or you’re fired.”

Chase looked up at him in disbelief. “W-What?”

“You’re showing signs of an altered mental state. What if you were drunk? Or on drugs?” House wondered aloud, “The hospital wouldn’t take kindly to that, and what would that say about me? I can’t have a drugged-out doctor on my team—“

“I’m not on drugs! Or drinking!” 

“Then what?“

“It’s age regression, okay?” Chase blurted, “It’s this thing I do, I-I was thinking like a kid and it’s not like— why am I explaining it? You already knew, I’m just— I was tired and we weren’t getting anywhere with the case, s-so…”

House smirked with vindication. “So you figured it was fine if your adult brain took a vacation for a few hours, right? The patient’s not important, I get it.”

Chase buried his face in his hands. The tips of his ears were bright red with shame. “Please don’t fire me. I swear, it was a one-time thing, I’m not— I can control it, I—“

He hummed and tapped his fingers against his cane in dramatic thought. “I don’t know… I’m pretty sure you need to be at least eighteen to be a doctor, and you’re, what? Five? Cuddy wouldn’t appreciate the liability, and I don’t know if I can trust you to be a big boy if you can’t handle a—.”

Chase sniffled. Ah, crap.

“M’sorry,” He mumbled and stood up quickly to leave, but House grabbed him by the arm before he could run away and lightly pushed him back down into the chair.

“Sit down, relax.” He wanted to mess with the kid, not make him cry. “I’m not going to fire you.”

Chase looked up at him, eyes round and wet like a sad puppy. House grimaced. “But you said…”

“It was a joke. I was just messing with you.” He didn’t look convinced. On one hand, House was happy that his theory was correct. On the other, now he was stuck babysitting his employee who he’d inadvertently worked up into a panic. Why couldn’t kids ever understand sarcasm?

“Oh…” Chase shrunk in on himself and fiddled with the end of his tie. “…Sorry.”

“It’s fine, kid.” He sighed. “How young am I dealing with here?” If he was babysitting, he at least wanted to know what he was getting into.

Chase stared at him owlishly like he was afraid to answer, and his face flushed pink as he answered, “Six..?”

“So I was close! Look at me go. Listen, we’re going to talk about this later, but you’re not fired, got it?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, and you’re off the case until you’re an adult again. If you get paged, I’ll go. I was serious about the liability, Cuddy’ll be up my ass if I let a toddler perform CPR.”

Chase frowned indignantly. “That’s not a nice word. An’ I’m not a toddler.”

Oh good, the language police. “You’re close enough.” He turned to grab the cup of pens on a nearby counter and set it down next to the colouring page. “Here. Not much for colours, but it’ll do.”

Chase looked between him and the pens a few times before hesitantly picking up a red one and beginning to fill in the crab.

“Oh, and no eating them. Those are my good pens.”

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Four: Tequila First, Sage Later SS: 7 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.8 K Content Warnings: sex dreams, discussions of sex dreams in detail, Minho is unhinged and has no shame

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Ayame sprawls on her plush couch, surrounded by the charmingly ridiculous chaos of her apartment. Smurf figurines litter every available surface. Perched on bookshelves, clustered on the coffee table, and even lined up along the windowsill like a tiny blue army preparing for battle.

One particularly smug Smurf in a chef's hat surveys the room from atop a stack of novels near the TV, his expression seeming to judge her questionable choice in reality dating shows.

Clad in an oversized fluffy sweater that slips off one shoulder and a pair of shorts, Ayame lounges with her legs tucked under her, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, ignoring Minho's spam texts. Her hair is piled into a messy bun that's more chaos than style, a few strands escaping to frame her face. The sound of keys jingling in the hallway pulls her from her aimless scrolling.

The door flies open, and Minho bursts in like he lives at the place, which, considering their years of friendship, he practically does.

"Okay!" he announces dramatically, throwing his arms out as if delivering divine proclamation. "It's an Oppa-and-Ayame day! That tyrant Haechul accidentally gave us both the same day off, so we're drinking wine and shit-talking the Four Devils. Especially Jisung, that squirrely little fucker."

Ayame grins lazily from the couch, not bothering to move. "You two should just fuck already. All that tension? It's gotta be sexual."

Minho freezes mid-stride, a look of exaggerated horror overtaking his face as he heads for her kitchen. "I considered it once," he says, yanking open her cabinet with unnecessary force, "but then I realized, ew. I'd get Miroh slime on my dick. Hard fucking pass."

Ayame snorts, watching as he emerges triumphantly with a bottle of red wine and two hilariously mismatched glasses, one a delicate crystal goblet, the other a mug with a cartoon penguin on it. "Bold of you to assume you'd be the top between you and Jisung."

Minho freezes, the wine bottle in one hand and the penguin mug in the other. His face twists in mock indignation as he glares at her. "Yah! I am a fucking top!"

"Sure you are," Ayame hums, accepting the glass he hands her. She takes a sip, savouring the rich flavour with a soft sigh.

Minho plops down next to her, kicking off his shoes. He watches her for a moment, his usual playful smirk softening. "You okay?"

Ayame twirls the stem of her glass between her fingers, staring into the wine like it might hold the answer to all her problems. "I think I'm going to have to quit."

Minho jerks upright, his glass clinking as he slams it onto the coffee table. "What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"Haechul's going to pull strings to make sure Chan gets the managing director job," Ayame explains. "And I made that dumbass deal with him. If he gets it, I have to leave."

Minho stares at her, his mouth agape. "You can't fucking leave. Who the fuck would drive Chan insane if you're gone? More importantly, who's going to keep me sane?"

"Minho," Ayame says, smirking softly, "you're already insane."

"Fair." He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "But I'm serious. If you leave, I'm leaving. No way I'm sticking around without my favourite pain-in-the-ass maknae. Besides, if you're gone, there'd be no HR complaints to keep me entertained. What the fuck would I even do with my time?"

Ayame snorts, taking another sip of wine. "You'd miss me."

"Of course, I'd miss you," Minho says, his voice dropping to something softer. "But seriously, that deal? Fucking stupid. You're a pabo."

She grins, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I love you too, Oppa."

He rests his cheek against the top of her head. "You're still a pabo."

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sound of the city humming faintly in the background. Then Minho speaks again, his tone laced with mischief. "Have you ever thought about just getting it out of your system with Chan?"

Ayame jerks her head up, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "I'd rather fucking die than have sex with Bang Chan."

"Yeah, but he's hot," Minho says, grinning like a cat who's cornered a mouse.

"Too hot," Ayame mutters begrudgingly, her nose scrunching as she sips her wine. "Oh, speaking of disasters, you'll never guess what I found in my closet yesterday."

Minho raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What?"

Ayame sets her glass down and stretches dramatically. "Remember that BDSM novel manuscript from before the merger? The one with the dolphin metaphor?"

Minho's eyes widen, his grin practically splitting his face. "No fucking way. You kept it?!"

"Oh, I kept it," Ayame says, grabbing the bottle of wine and glasses as she stands. "This is bed and wine reading material. Let's go."

They head to her bedroom, fairy lights strung along the headboard casting a soft, warm glow over the space. The Smurfs have infiltrated here too, perched on her bedside table and dresser like a tiny blue cult.

Minho flops onto the bed, spreading out like a content cat as Ayame rummages through her closet, eventually pulling out a thick stack of papers.

She plops onto the bed beside him, flipping to a random page. Clearing her throat, she reads dramatically, "'Her body bent like a bow, her legs both entwined and spread apart as his hands worked magic she didn't know existed.'"

Minho chokes on his wine, doubling over as he coughs. "How the fuck do you do both?"

He attempts to mimic the described position, his limbs sprawled in every direction like a broken action figure. Ayame howls with laughter, clutching the manuscript as tears stream down her face.

"Okay, okay," she gasps, flipping to another page. "'Electric pulses shot through her as his velvet tongue traced-'"

"Velvet tongue?!" Minho interrupts, his voice high with incredulity. "Is he a man or a fucking fabric swatch?"

Ayame collapses onto the bed, laughing so hard her stomach hurts. "This is even worse than I remembered!"

"It's art," Minho declares, striking a ridiculous pose. "High-brow erotica for the mentally unhinged like us."

Ayame's breath hitches as she lies in her bed, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The air feels thick, heavy, as Chan's voice cuts through the silence. "Ayame," he says, his tone low, almost a whisper.

Her heart pounds in her chest. "Chan," she whispers back, her voice trembling.

Before she can say anything else, his lips are on hers, firm and unrelenting. One of his hands grips her thigh, the warmth of his palm searing through her skin as he pulls her leg over his waist. His kisses trail down her neck, soft but insistent, leaving a path of heat as he moves lower, his mouth grazing her sternum.

Ayame's breathing grows shallow, her fingers curling into the sheets. He lifts her leg effortlessly over one of his impossibly broad shoulders, his movements deliberate and assured. The room feels like it's spinning, her senses overwhelmed by the weight of him, the feel of his lips, the strength in his hands-

Nope. Nope. Fuck no.

She slaps a hand over her face, jolting up in the bed. Beside her, Minho stirs under the covers, mumbling something unintelligible before flopping onto his side.

"Minho," Ayame hisses, shaking his shoulder urgently. "Red light. Code fucking red."

Minho grunts, his voice muffled by the pillow. "What? Fire? Bug? Break-in? Mouse? Talk to me, Maknae, I'm barely alive."

Ayame sits up, hugging her knees, her voice trembling as she whispers, "I had a-"

Minho rolls onto his back, squinting at her through the haze of sleep. "A what? A bad dream? A good dream? A fuck-you dream? Spit it out."

Her cheeks burn as she finally blurts, "A sex dream. About Chan."

For a moment, the room goes silent. Then Minho's entire body stiffens, his grogginess vanishing in an instant. "No," he whispers, sitting up like he's just heard the world's worst news. He grabs her by the shoulders, staring at her with wide, horrified eyes. "No."

Ayame groans, burying her face in her hands. "It was so fucking real. His stupid hands, his stupid voice, his stupid fucking broad-ass shoulders. Why the fuck does my subconscious hate me?"

Minho's face twists in exaggerated pain as he pulls her into a tight hug, rocking her gently like a child. "No, no, no. We're cleansing this shit right now. You are not allowed to let Miroh trash like him into your brain space. Not even dreamspace."

She laughs weakly into his shoulder. "It's not like I fucking invited him. I didn't send out an RSVP."

Minho pulls back, his expression deadly serious. "Tequila. Sage. We're getting both. Right fucking now."

Ayame snorts, wiping her face. "You're overreacting. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Not that bad?" Minho leaps out of bed, pacing dramatically. "It's the end of the fucking world, Ayame. Next thing I know, you're gonna tell me you dreamt about licking his abs while he growls stupid shit like, 'You're mine, shortcake.'"

Ayame flops back onto the bed. "Stop. You're making it worse."

Minho stops mid-pace, snapping his fingers. "Wait here. I'm getting the tequila." He toddles out of the room, his bare feet pattering against the floor as he makes a beeline for her kitchen.

She sits up, her hands pressed to her cheeks, muttering to herself. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Minho returns moments later, a bottle of tequila in one hand and a shot glass in the other. He unscrews the cap dramatically and wafts the bottle under her nose. "Smell that. Salvation."

Ayame leans forward, inhaling the sharp, familiar scent. "Smells like my saving grace."

"Exactly." He pours her a shot, his movements precise. "This will cleanse your soul. Tequila first, sage later."

Ayame downs the shot without hesitation, grimacing as the liquid burns its way down. "How do you even know this works?"

Minho pours himself a shot, his expression unreadable as he takes it like a pro. "Because I've had to do it, Maknae. More times than I care to admit."

She raises an eyebrow. "You? What, you had a sex dream about Chan?"

"Jisung," Minho says matter-of-factly, pouring another shot for himself. "His cute little cheeks, full of my cock. Tequila and sage every fucking time. I call it a sanity reset."

Ayame chokes on her laughter, falling back onto the bed. "I hate you. I hate this. I hate everything."

"You'll thank me later," Minho says, patting her leg as he sits beside her. "These men are like incubi, Maknae. They latch onto you. But tequila? Tequila is your tether to reality."

Ayame groans, throwing her arm over her face. "I can't fucking believe I'm having this conversation."

Minho smirks, nudging her with his knee. "You should've seen my face the first time I dreamt about Jisung. I woke up like, who the fuck am I? But you know what? I've survived, and so will you."

She pulls her arm down, her laughter bubbling up despite the lingering embarrassment. "You're insane."

"And you're welcome," Minho says, holding up the tequila bottle. "Now, another shot. For good measure."

Ayame sits up, taking the shot he pours and downing it like it's medicine. The warmth spreads through her chest, dulling the edges of her anxiety. "Okay. Fine. This helps."

"Of course it does," Minho says, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "Now, for the record, if you ever even think about looking at Chan like that in real life, I'm moving out of the country and dragging you with me."

Ayame laughs, shaking her head. "Deal. No Miroh trolls in my headspace."

"Damn right," Minho says, raising his glass. "To tequila, sage, and exorcising Bang Chan from your subconscious."

"To my stupid fucking brain," Ayame mutters, clinking her glass with his before downing her shot.

The tequila's warmth settles into her, and as the laughter spills out between them, Ayame feels the weight of her nightmare lift, replaced by the comfort of Minho's ridiculous, unwavering loyalty.

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