#also I need to get away from heavily rendered pieces for a bit

[fumiko-matsubara]

Okay so, here's how it goes:

I'm keeping the poll open for a week so that there'll be enough time to vote.

Aside from the eventual winner, the order I will follow afterwards is gonna start from 2nd most voted to least.

For my previous portrait warm-ups, I had compiled them into a sixfanarts format and posted them on my twitter (@/hwangskoo). The top 6 in this poll will be in the next compilation.

And I'll see you all next week!! 😛

[staticintone]

Thinking about RAM stuff… (CW)

I think it’s very easy to brush him off if he’s not in your direct line of sight.

The odd talk about insects and his very distorted moral compass renders him semi-harmless when looking from a distance. Even more so if you end buying into what he ends up saying, especially about his choice in targets.

It’s the comparison between Lecter in Silence of the Lambs versus Lecter in Red Dragon. Clarice falls for the manipulation, but Will does not. This makes Lecter bend to Will a bit more, but become more dastardly in the background. He goes to Dolarhyde and gives him Will’s home address because he can’t attack him himself.

That’s RAM if you tie his hands.

In the last Ordeal I did—on a 2P Alastor on discord—one of the most horrific moments for me was just how willing RAM was to do unnecessary damage. Things like breaking 2P’s staff to subdue him, even when he already had him and knew he couldn’t get away. Breaking his jaw or ripping out his tongue for the sake of it, only refusing to do it himself because he “needed his fingers”.

And none of it was even spiteful. Just easier.

Taking his power, his agency away for the simple reason of getting the Metamorphosis moving forward more quickly. It’s almost business.

Speaking of…

RAM focuses very heavily on getting directly to the nerves. There was an image in my mind of him playing on peripheral nerves like a stringed instrument. Delicate and precise, even when he pulls it out to the root. Splicing the myelin sheaths and then putting it right back in. Sewing it up because it hurts more than just letting it rebuild on its own.

The musculature is just a means to an end. He could gore someone. Tear them to pieces. But that doesn’t get to the source.

If the idea is to set someone on fire, he won’t wait to watch the flame spark. And he also won’t touch the central nervous system during the torture for the same reasons. In his mind, the gray matter is reserved for the rewrite. The white matter toes the line between destruction and safety perfectly, as if the central nerves would somehow nullify the process entirely if they were torn. As if they can’t regenerate properly on their own, or would make things over too quickly.

He does want to hear you scream, after all.

There’s a distinction between the body and the brain to him. As if none of the other organs have their important functions. They can all be ignored, especially when he considers most of them nothing more than a meal.

A person is nothing more than a soul, a bundle of nerves, and all the meat that surrounds those things.

He doesn’t want your heart.

The brain will make sacrifices, to all organs and even itself, to keep the heart beating. He will be your heart. And you will do anything to make sure he keeps pumping blood to you. He will be the only thing giving you oxygen.

And I think that’s way worse.

Make no mistake, for as much as I write things from his perspective, I think it’s absolutely terrifying. Codependency to the most extreme, obsession at its peak. A study in just how far someone can go when they feel entitled to someone.

[komohine]

Hi! This is like totally unrelated (sorry!) but I was wondering how would you approach depicting invisible characters 😭 I’m so sorry if this is a stupid question but I need advice…

Hey! No worries at all im always happy to give out art advice!

This depends heavily on everything else in your piece and the nature of the invisibleness. For example, i would draw that one invisible girl from BNHA differently to how i would draw a character that doesn’t have invisibility powers but is instead just invisible/absent for the specific piece. These are just some things to consider though. Here’s some ideas:

1) negative space. Use negative space to carve out the silhouette of your character. This would look especially cool if the invisible character were interacting with a non invisible character

2) glow effect. Similar usage of silhouette, use the select tool to outline the character and then airbrush in a light glowing effect

3) bits of clothes. Like how invisible girl from bnha wears only gloves. You could get away with just drawing floating gloves (for example). Has some strange implications attached though

4) just the outline. Id use a light colour for the outline, unless it gets hard to see, then id experiment more w/ diff colours. I also wouldnt draw in most of the internal details (ex. clothing folds, bangs, face) but i also wouldnt not draw them (id maybe draw in the eyes and some other sparse details. Focus on the outline!)

5) jelly…? This ones hard but try rendering them to look translucent and jelly-like instead of fully invisible. Idk how to do this though lol, get lots of references and tissues for when you inevitably break down crying (sorry i hate rendering and painting (me soon though i have some jelly visuals coming up.))

Hope these ideas help!

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Imagine drinking moonshine with Forrest and (unintentionally) becoming tipsy.

TH Masterlist

- It’s no surprise Forrest knows how to hold his liquor. However, when he gets drunk, he gets absolutely ossified.

- But tonight he drinks even less than he usually does.

- Because he doesn’t want you to hurt yourself.

- He’d seen you leave the office earlier. He just came up the stairs as you left through the front door. You held it open for him, but he didn’t walk on as he usually does when it’s someone else.

- “Where you goin’?”

- “Home. I…,” you breath tapered and you swallowed hard to conceal your hurt as best as possible, “I didn’t make it. We terminated my contract and I’ve handed over my stuff.”

- His eyes flitted across your face, frantically looking for a lie that wasn’t there.

- You mustered your kindest smile. “Goodbye, Forrest.”

- You made to move past him, but he grabbed your arm like he did the night he dropped you off at the central station for the first time.

- You gave him a quizzical look.

- “Can we… during my break… coffee? You. Me.” His breath hitched and he grabbed you a little tighter. “Have a drink? After work?”

- He bit his lip and looked at you through his lashes, blue eyes luminous but shut away behind a thick wall of timidity. “At my place?”

- Knowing him enough to be certain he harbours no ill intentions towards you, you agreed.

- So here you are, seated on a worn leather couch in his apartment. The interior mixes modern luxury with rustic cabin vibes. Various wood tones are worked into decorations and bigger furniture pieces like the coffee table in front of the hearth, one of Forrest’s old weekend projects.

- The scent of cedar mixed with black tea, raspberries, and sandalwood hangs in the air while you two sit in front of the fire. In your hands, you hold the latest invention of the Bondurant brothers; pumpkin spice moonshine.

- If it isn’t the strong alcohol percentage that makes you choke, it’s the very strong presence of cinnamon. All the same, it makes for an easy drink.

- Being a lightweight, one glass is already enough to make you feel lightheaded. But one glass follows another and after the third you’re heavily leaning on the burly bear of a man next to you.

- In the meanwhile, there’s little conversation. In part because you share the language of silence, comfortable with one another without the need for words. But it��s also due to Forrest not knowing what else to talk about and not wanting to pry into what happened earlier that morning.

- Nonetheless, although he won’t admit it outright or even to himself, he’s glad you’re no longer colleagues for a very shallow reason.

- You’re no longer off-limits.

- He hates himself for using your state to push his own agenda a little bit, but he weaves his fingers through yours. You blink in surprise, but hum and snuggle up into him further while looking at your hands.

- “Can’t let you go home in this state.”

- “But I can’t stay here. I don’t wanna…” you frown, at a loss for words. It seems your brain has lost the battle war with the booze in your veins, rendering you unable to form a single coherent sentence. Doesn’t help his body is really warm and his mere presence offers the type of comfort you’ve been needing all day. “You know.”

- And he does, because he doesn’t need words to form a crystal clear explanation. “You won’t be. You sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep here.”

- “Grumpy wolf.” You chuckle at yourself. “Curled up by the fire.”

- The thought that passes through his mind at that moment?

- I’d rather be curled up next to you.

- “C’mon, time for bed.”

- “I’m not sleepy,” you protest, clutching his arm. “Stay here. At least for a little while longer.”

- He groans and then lets out a deep sigh through his nose as a smile slowly spreads on his lips. “You’re starting to talk nonsense. I’ll see if I have a toothbrush lying around too.”

- Gently he frees himself from your grip to prep his bedroom and find you your own toothbrush as well as pyjamas. He catches himself standing in front of his closet, smiling at the shirt and cardigan in his hands.

- Dreaming of how you’d look in them.

- Like you’re his.

- Woken up next to him.

- Back in the living room, he sees you’ve fallen asleep. You’ve toppled over and are basically sprawled over the couch.

- He grumbles about how you just had to fall asleep in the worst possible posture. Forrest picks you up and immediately stops his grumpy rambling when you curl up into his chest, humming contently.

- But it’s not only that which makes his heart stop.

- It’s also the prospect of having to dress you in the pyjamas he’s prepared for you. Now, of course he could put you to bed dressed as you are, but he wants you to be as comfortable as possible. And wearing jeans to bed is anything but that.

- He’s glad you’re sound asleep because you won’t be able to see how red he is while carefully manoeuvring you out of your clothes and into his shirt and cardigan. All the while, he makes sure not to touch you inappropriately, being wary about where his fingers touch you.

- He remains seated on the edge of the bed for a moment after he’s tucked you in. On the one hand, he’s overjoyed you’re with him, in his bed, safe and sound. On the other, he feels guilty since it’s because you lost your job you’re here.

- He runs a hand through your hair before he gets ready for a night on the couch.

- Come morn, you wake up to a glass of water with painkillers next to it as well as a wee note stating: “In case you need it”.

- You smile, take a painkiller, drink the water, and look down at your pyjamas. Had it been anyone else, you would have dreaded the thought at likely having been touched inappropriately. However, when it comes to Forrest, you don’t need that type of reassurance. Instinctively you know he respected you even in your unconscious state.

- In the kitchen, Forrest is busy making pancakes. The table has already been set. A pot of steaming coffee, yogurt with fresh fruits, a big mason jar filled with orange juice, and a reed basket with croissants and pains aux chocolates line the middle of the table.

- “Sleep well?” Forrest asks, briefly looking away from the pan. He’s clad in loose grey sweatpants, a matching cardigan, and a dark blue shirt portraying a dog snout. On his nose balances a pair of thick black glasses.

- “I did.” You stretch and bite your lip, only now aware of the trouble you caused last night. “Thanks for letting me stay. You didn’t have to.”

- “‘Course I did. It would’ve been irresponsible to let you go home when you’re not steady on your feet.” He gestures at the table with his spatula. “Sit. Eat.”

- “You had to sleep on the couch, though,” you mumble as you settle on the chair facing the kitchen. It’s not a bad view to wake up to, messy brown locks and broad shoulders working hard to put proper grub on the table.

- He puts a plate stacked with fluffy pancakes between the mason jar with orange juice and pot of coffee. “Dig in.”

- “Forrest?”

- “Hm?” He looks at you over the rim of his coffee cup. Normally he reads the paper during breakfast, but he gladly makes an exception for his secret favourite person.

- His secret girl.

- “Next time, sleep next to me. I was cold.”

- He almost spits out his coffee and quickly grabs the newspaper to hide his beet red face behind. Under his breath, though still crystal clear, he mumbles: “Next time.”

- And all the times to come.

Let’s end with the wee treasure I found;

Imagine doing this with him after some rounds of very steamy (and very passionate) sex🥰🤤

I went off with this one, but I have so many feels and Forrest is simply still one of my faves to write😅🥰

Tag list: @buttercup32sstuff @hecatemoon87 @potter-solomons @liliac-dreamer @vir-tual @alikaheroes @ilovemanypeople @zablife

[revilleaj]

Art update & 3D Robodi model images

It has been quite a while since I've last really done anything online. I've been heavily burned out and tired constantly since at least December or so (I have done drawings in months prior, but I have never posted them publically). I still do not have a new computer, even though I have enough money (about £1k) to buy the parts or even an entire computer, but there are other factors in life that need more attention being put towards right now.

I'm still in the midst of trying to get a job (damn required experience and driving license listings!), and drawing right now is bottom priority. It feels like a chore and it's not fun when I have rusted from not drawing in so long (making so many mistakes really sets off my anger problems). I really do not like being pressured into trying to do things, and I have been experimenting with 3D, but only to an extent.

So, with that said, I am going to put making newer drawings on hold for an indefinite amount of time until I feel motivated enough to draw. I'm not done with art entirely and I never will be, but I think I really shouldn't pressure myself as if art is some kind of requirement in life. I've been also having drawing tablet issues, and I noticed there's a small crack in my Huion that I haven't been able to use almost ever since I had it (thankfully the thing still works, and the crack is near the top, only half getting on the drawing area).

I may also finally add some images to my empty DeviantArt account. As much as I do not like that website nor its community, I think it would work if I just put my favorite drawings I've worked on there, specifically ones up until the end of 2023. All of the really old and weaker art (mostly from 2018 and 2020, and anything from 2017) I won't be reposting, as they no longer reflect me, and have not done so for a very long time.

-----

Now, for the second topic of this post, and in a much better light; the 3D Robodi model. I'm sure I've talked about this years ago on Twitter. Back in 2020, when I was still in my first year of university, I worked on a 3D model of one of my characters named Robodi, using Cinema 4D. It was never finished, but I did learn quite a bit when working on it. Here's some newer screenshots of him, now that I've managed to pick back up an older version of C4D (I do not like the 2022 UI layout change):

This is the last version of the model to not be animated, from May 2020. The image is rendered using the Sketch & Toon shader with the Standard renderer. A few options were altered to remove unnecessary outlines.

The model in the renderer itself; right is the objects list, bottom are the materials (vertex colors and textures, some with C4D specific features).

The last ever version of this specific model from September 2021, with the FOV heavily reduced to improve the depth. A single black thin cube was added between the eyes to create a fake extra outline. A bit of a hacky effect; I did not know how to do inverted normals, in fact I don't think I knew that was how most computer games handled outlines.

The very first saved version of the model, in Cinema 4D's editor, made earlier in May 2020. The pieces have default names and are not parented, some materials are not added yet, and the shapes are noticeably bigger, especially the base of the head and the torso.

I once experimented with "realistic" materials and shading (including the dreadfully slow Global Illumination), which doesn't make the most sense for a cartoon character. Here you can see the unit plate on the back of his head, which I don't think I have ever shown before. The camera may look close here, but it's actually extremely far away with a very low FOV (dubbed Super-Telescope). Some textures are no longer in the project files, so this looks slightly off from how it did back in 2020.

In October 2021, I went back to the older May 2020 model and decided to try and remake it. I realized that using one mesh and extruding it works a lot better with the Sketch & Toon shader, as it does not create unnecessary outlines when the default shader options are left the way they are. The lines in the middle of the eyes and nose are from the shader, rather than a black material cube. Of course, it would be more wise to just duplicate each mesh, enlarge them and invert the normals while applying a pitch black texture to them. I abandoned the model shortly after the progress I made here, and I am not sure why. Maybe I was burned out and lost interest.

I should probably try to attempt making a 3D model of him again and some others, now that I know a lot more than I did nearly 4 years ago (yeah, can you believe it has also been nearly 6 years since my Reville character was created? Robodi was first created in mid-2019; almost 5 years ago! Good things take time and care). It will be a difficult task, but I'll make sure to export whatever I make to a .FBX model, so that it doesn't get lost to C4D licensing Hell. Hopefully, that would make the models work in Blender and such (the materials will have to be baked into textures however, instead of being separate C4D ones. At least .FBX doesn't use an external material file unlike .OBJ, which I and others have had issues with). Maybe I could use them for rotoscoping or somethin'.

Here's hoping to me eventually finding motivation, losing my tiredness, and getting a job with stable income alongside continuing to work on my passion projects, no matter how much time has past since the day I first thought of them. I want to keep doing things, not resting in bed most of my days. Too bad winter is freezing cold where I live, and I suffer from mild hypothermia...

[cat3ch1sm]

🍀|HEY GUYS

💚|y'all were really open to the hxh thing and im thrilledd! so i bring y'all a hisoka x reader NSFW- it's kinda unfinished so it doesn't get super smutty, though it's heavily implied. it's kinda like a sneak peek of something except im not actually publishing anything else to do with this particular piece. however i did come up with another idea~

🐢| enjoy, ily!

Hisoka x Reader NSFW short

"I'm sorry I had to put you in such a... compromising position. It was the only way you'd keep still, you see."

"You'll find it rather pointless to try and break away- the bonds I have used are a quite durable material, and with a tad bit of my Bungee Gum infused into them as well, they are nearly invincible."

"Oh, and your Nen- it will be of no use to you. With my Elastic Love, I have also rendered you into a state of Zetsu- one that cannot be exited until you are free from the bonds."

You were spread out across a rather large bed- legs and arms apart, sprawling out on your back. There were several rubber band looking items tying your wrists and ankles to the bed, seemingly easy to snap- but several minutes of struggling had proved otherwise. The room you were in was your hotel room- completely dark except for the indigo of the night sky outside of your open balcony sliding windows, the curtains flapping in the gentle breeze- Hisoka hadn't bothered to shut them after breaking into your room; he was far too cocky- he knew he could clear every last trace of himself in here when he needed to.

Because of the sock-tasting gag in your mouth, you could do nothing more but thrash in vain against the bonds as the tall magician watched, a half-smile on his lips, leaning against the wall beside the bed with one leg propped up on it.

You made a strangled sound through the gag, and Hisoka's sharp golden eyes darted towards you, briefly meeting your furious ones before chuckling quietly.

"Unrelenting." he noted, a pleased expression on his painted face. Slowly, he pushed his body off of the wall and sat down casually beside you, arms folded across his chest as he titled his head down to observe your heavily breathing and sweating figure.

"Hm... I was hoping you'd look like this a little later rather than now; I haven't even begun yet." His signature taunting purr echoed through the empty room, silent except for your muffled, gasping breaths.

"Well, better late than never, I suppose," Hisoka mused, lowering a long finger to your face and gently tracing shapes on your skin with his sharp nail. Then, he reached into your mouth and plucked out the gag- but immediately clapped his hand over your lips roughly the second he did.

"Scream, and I will kill you," he warned, voice smooth and hissing. "I removed this for one purpose- so I can hear your pretty screams and whines when I begin to break you."

Your face began to burn- but from what emotion, you weren't sure. You were incensed, but you weren't dumb- Hisoka would certainly kill you if it came down to it. You weren't weak either, but with your Nen disabled, your limbs bound, and your weapons elsewhere, you were worthless if you tried to fight against the eccentric clown. So, all you could do was nod.

You had a pretty good idea of what Hisoka wanted to do to you anyway- so if you simply did not indulge in it whatsoever, not giving him what he wanted, perhaps he would lose interest and leave. It was your only hope for now.

Hisoka smiled seductively and removed his hand, the taste of his hot palm bitter on your unwilling lips. "Very good, darling. Now, shall we begin our fun?"

You didn't respond, sticking to your earlier strategy and keeping your eyes averted. Hisoka, however, paid no mind to your feigned disinterest and leaned down carefully, almost delicately to meet your lips, a quiet and low moan emitting from his throat. The thought of seeing your perfect, usually idle face flushed, sweating, drooling, crying out for him was absolutely divine- and the longing, the animalistic lust he had been harboring for you ever since first laying eyes on you at the Hunter Exam could no longer be satiated. Hisoka was going to have you; you were going to belong to him no matter what.

Your parted lips tasted of saccharine candy; and Hisoka deepened the kiss, taking your chin in his index finger and thumb to force your mouth into his. His own lips were unexpectedly soft, and your eyes widened as the honeyed taste flooded your mouth. Hisoka, sensing your small gasp on his lips, licked your bottom lip and gently bit it, gaining entrance into your mouth. The bite sent a strangely pleasurable jolt of pain along your lips, and you let out a tiny involuntary whine. Hisoka smirked against your mouth as his long and hot tongue slid past your lips and met your tongue, instantly dominating it, and you found you were losing your breath.

Before long, Hisoka pulled away, leaving you gasping softly as you tried to regain your composure. When he spoke again, his voice was raspy- and almost frightening lust was dripping through his tone. "Y/N, you taste absolutely intoxicating."

You didn't say anything- but the act was already getting difficult to stick with. If Hisoka could make you feel like this with just a kiss...

"Still being stubborn, are we? Oh, what a bother." Hisoka stuck out his bottom lip in a childlike fashion, pretending to be annoyed- but without warning, he dove for your neck and began to kiss you there, intent on eliciting those pretty sounds from you.

Hisoka's lips trailed down your neck, sucking and licking- and you had to bite your lip to keep from making any noise. All you could see was his wild hair as his lips massaged your skin. The pleasure was beginning to get to you- clearly, Hisoka was experienced at this. His wet tongue slid over your sensitive neck skin, and you felt his teeth lightly nibble on your ear- he was definitely trying to get a reaction from you. Your legs writhed in their bonds as the feeling began to arouse your lower region- your body was very rapidly betraying you.

"Mm..." you couldn't contain it any longer, and a moan escaped you involuntarily.

Hisoka sat up abruptly, pleased that he'd finally drawn a sound out of you. "Ah, yes- that's more like it. Unfortunately, that's hardly enough to satiate my desire- so I'll need you to make many, many more of those pretty noises for me, alright?"

🍡 | UH THATS PRETTY MUCH IT- SORRY ITS SO SHORT BUT I LOST MOTIVATION SO

🌵| at least it's something right ;D

🐸| anyways keep an eye out for more hxh smut as well as death note! ilysm, bye!! remember, requests r always open <3

[servicetopkaradanvers]

Do you have any tips for coloring/shading? I always love how your colors look cause they're really nicely saturated but still well balanced

oh boy do I have some very strong opinions about color lmao

First, I’m morally obligated to mention that there are 8 million ways to approach digital color, so these are really just the Thots going through my head when I’m working on a given thing. For the sake of this rant, I’m gonna use this scribble of Kara and Lena from last fall, because it’s simple enough that I can easily illustrate some key points.

Most of the ideas I’ve outlined are about shorthand techniques that can easily and quickly use color to your advantage when you’re trying to sell the environment your characters are in. I’m not a painter, and painting is absurdly difficult, but we can use digital software to our advantage and consider how a painter would approach when lighting a figure/object/environment. Too many shortcuts are >:( but a few quick and simple habits can go a long way in finishing and posting a quick drawing you don’t want to spend hours rendering.

1. Pure black almost never exists in nature, and similarly, you will almost never need it.

Most illustration aims to “sell” a perceivable, believable space. While this is not everyone’s goal, most of what I draw is finished with an at least semiconscious goal of appearing touchable. Pure black is a guaranteed way to take away from that, because we almost never see it in nature. The darkest point in this particular drawing is Lena’s (terrified, dead) eyes, and it is only about 80% black and has some red/orange in it to help unify with the rest of the darks in the piece.

Here, locking my drawing layer and scribbling in some browns, blues, and even whites goes a long way to mesh the figures with their environment, especially because the background is lineless.

Here’s what this same drawing looks like with pure black lines. I would argue that this version does a disservice to the steps I’ve taken to light the figures, and it’s flattening the brightly lit outdoor space I’m trying to imply. There’s a whole additional essay about how lines play into this as well, so that’s a pretentious argument for another day.

2. Local color will rarely reach above 50% saturation.

Here’s the drawing with all the lighting work I’ve done removed (barring a few highlights I’m too lazy to turn off). In illustration, “local color” is referring to the color of a given object at the most neutral lighting possible.

The most heavily saturated element here is the artificial red on Kara’s cup, which makes sense! Printed logos, light up colored signs, things that are generally hard-sided and man-made will be more saturated. The next most saturated object here, and the only other local color exceeding 50% is Lena’s coat.

The rest of the clothing, skin, and hair falls between 10% and 35%. A neutral base gives you a lot of room to work with when you start lighting. It’s easier to go richer in digital than it is to accurately reel your colors in. Like any other kind of contrast, saturation can be used to pop points of interest, and if your entire canvas is TURBO SATURATED, none of it actually is. Also you’re hurting my eyes.

3. Natural light is cool, artificial is warm.

As humans, we spend 99% of our time either seeing the world lit by the sun, or by a lightbulb. Light from the sun is cool and generally diffused because it has passed through our atmosphere. Interior lighting tends to be warm and direct, casting clear shadows that come from a very specific light source.

Even if we remove the background, you would probably assume that Kara and Lena are outside based on the light temperature. Blue and orange are opposites on the color wheel, so an orange-tinted shadow (warm) will by effect make all the lighter colors look blue-ish (cool)! Pretty much all the shadows on these figures are just a faint orange Multiply layer. You’ll also notice a faint blue gradient over Kara’s shoulder to emphasize the approximate point where the sun is in the sky.

In short, cooler light and warmer shadow will imply that the setting is outdoors. Warmer light and cooler shadow will imply that the setting is indoors. It’s a fast and easy way to communicate character location.

4. Skin is weird.

If I’m just slapping some flat colors down and don’t plan to do much painting, facial features and skin have a lot of complex undertones, so if I don’t want to get into too much detail, a splash of red on the nose and around the eyes, a bit of color on the lips, translucent ears, can all go a long way to making flesh look more like flesh and less like barbie plastic.

5. Atmospheric perspective is much more important than grid (1/2/3 point) perspective.

This is relevant to color because color is the best way to easily portray atmosphere and the passage of space. Especially when your setting is outdoors, objects’ colors should become cooler and less saturated as they recede in space. The closer an object is to the camera, the more contrast you’re going to see in hue (position on the rainbow), saturation (richness of the color), and value (light vs dark).

[1littleshippergirl1]

Teachers have lives, too

Percy/Oliver

Modern AU with magic. Teacher AU. Zoom style

Prompt 23 (I think) from my challenge: secret relationship

My first and only Percy/Oliver fic. Hope y'all enjoy it!

__

"What, no robes?" Oliver raised his eyebrows when Percy came out of their bedroom dressed in one of Oliver's muggle style t-shirts and casual trousers instead of strictly adhering to the dress code of wearing his teaching robes like he'd set upon himself to do since the start of online school.

"I didn't feel like it," Percy shrugged as he took a much needed gulp of tea. Swallowing, he added, "It's Friday and I doubt the kids will care."

Oliver propped himself up on the countertop by his elbows, simply adoring the way his shirt highlighted the muscles that his boyfriend was adamant didn't exist. "You're staring," Percy remarked idly.

"can't help it. You're irresistible, love."

Percy scoffed, but Oliver saw that tiny smile appear when he made to turn around. Grinning, he maneuvered around the counter to sneak his arms around the red-head's waist, pressing a kiss to his temple. "We should take the day off," he murmured into his ear. "Tell Minerva we're both sick."

"Much as I would simply love to," Percy turned to face him, "we can't and you know that." He moved away and Oliver sighed dramatically.

"Don't see why we have to keep it a secret, Perce."

Percy shrugged again. "I don't want our private life aired out for everyone. You know how nosy the kids are."

"I know how nosy Phoebe is," Oliver chuckled as Percy snorted and rolled his eyes.

Phoebe Wren was one of Hogwart's newest students, a Gryffindor and a complete and utter chatterbox. She had no qualms about asking personal questions or blurting out whatever came to mind, no matter how embarrassing it was to the other person. She was a nice enough girl, a real sweetheart but that mouth of hers needed controlling.

"Didn't she ask you to take off your shirt so she could see if that rumor about you having a tattoo was true or not?"

Percy groaned good naturedly. "Don't remind me. I've yet to figure out who even started that ridiculous rumor."

Oliver's eyes dropped and a broad, yet sheepish grin came across his face. "Well-"

Percy's jaw dropped but he was smiling as well and choked out laughter. "You didn't."

"In my defense," Oliver chuckled, "I was bored and Phoebe was willing to listen."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, spreading rumors like a third year," Percy had a sparkle of mischievousness and playfully swatted Oliver's bum.

"I should be," Oliver agreed, smiling cheekily. "But I'm not."

Percy rolled his eyes good naturedly and opened up his computer. "Quiet, now,' he ordered mildly. "I don't want her hearing you."

Phoebe had a tendency to bring up irrelevant subjects in class that had absolutely nothing to do with the lesson. Other times she was late to another class because she stayed on chat with Percy to talk about anything and everything she wholeheartedly believed he needed to know. So, being that she was in his first hour of the day, he let her get on early so she could get everything out of the way ahead of time.

In a very unPrecy like manner, he curled up on the couch, with his feet facing one way and the computer resting on his lap. He clicked on Zoom, waiting for his students to sign on. In the meantime, Oliver moved Percy's legs, raising them up a bit and sat down, laying them on top of his upper thighs. The redhead raised his eyebrows but his boyfriend merely smiled innocently.

He didn't buy it one bit.

Oliver began to gently rub Percy's legs, massaging them. The redhead would be lying if he said it didn't feel good. "I know what you're trying to do," Percy closed his eyes.

"I'm just giving you a massage, love," Oliver momentarily passed, grabbing Percy's hand to press a kiss to his knuckles.

Quiet, Percy mouthed as Phoebe's window screen popped up. Immediately, red came into his vision. A bright red. She'd dyed the ends of her hair red with some muggle beverage. Today, she wore her hair in two knots on top of her head with the end pieces sticking upward for the world to see. She beamed as soon as she saw him, bouncing in her chair. He couldn't help but smile back. She was contagious in that aspect.

"Hello, Professor Weasley!"

"Hello, Phoebe," he said, warmly. "I trust you had a good weekend?"

"oh, yes! Unless you count my mum's mood swings. I think she's going through menopause."

"I see," Percy said as he noticed Oliver trying not to laugh and waved him off for it.

"Your mum's still around, right? Is she going through menopause, too?"

That was just something he preferred not to think about. "Remember what I said about asking inappropriate questions?"

"Yes," she nodded, more like bobbed her head up and down. "But it's not like I asked something personal."

"Actually-"

"Professor Weasley, how old are you?"

"Excuse me?" Percy raised his eyebrows.

"You're like thirty five, right?"

Percy spluttered indignantly. Oliver was laughing in one of the couch pillows to keep from being heard. "I'm not even thirty yet!"

"Really?"

"Yes," he said shortly.

"Woooow. Talk about being unlucky."

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. He loved his job....he loved his job....he loved his students....

His thoughts were broken through by an excited squeal. "Oh my gosh! You should totally let me give you a makeover! I read this magazine and I can totally make you look twenty."

"As kind as that is," Percy lied through his teeth, "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

She pouted.

Percy inwardly sighed in relief when the rest of the class popped up. They said their hello's and he allowed the kids a few minutes to talk before he dove into the lesson. All the while, Oliver had a free period so he stayed where he was, poking and touching Percy. First it was his knees, drawing circles on them. Then he grabbed the red-head's hand again, interlocking their fingers. When they couldn't keep it like that, Oliver's hand slithered up to Percy's bum--to what he could reach anyway--and the red-head gave him a subtle warning look.

He let out a grunt when Oliver gave it a squeeze. Oh, he was so in trouble once school was over. If it weren't for the fact he was still in charge of twenty five students, he would toss the laptop aside and tackle Oliver now. Soon, he promised himself. Right after class when he had a bit of a break.

"Professor Weasley!"

"What's he staring at?"

"I dunno."

"He looks constipated. Professor, are you constipated? I can relate. See just the other day-"

"No, Phoebe," he said, cutting her off. "I'm fine. Sorry everyone, just spaced out for a moment."

Discreetly, he mouthed to Oliver, this is all your fault

Oliver looked pleased.

Percy rolled his eyes.

"Professor, I was thinking about something."

"Yes, Phoebe?" He said, warily.

"You totally need a date!"

He spluttered. "Excuse me?"

Some of his students snickered and giggled.

"Men your age need that companionship. And the sex. Unless you're like a virgin," she said with a thoughtful expression. "Are there virgins at your age? Oooh, if not you could be the world's oldest virgin! Do wizards have a record book? Muggles do. I think you get money for it...."

Oliver's face was fairly red now from trying to refrain from laughing out loud.

He sighed heavily. He did not get paid enough for this job. "That is inappropriate to ask-"

"Do you fancy anyone? I could totally set you up. I've seen a gazillion rom coms. I know what to do!"

Percy checked the time. No he couldn't leave yet. He sat up straighter, figuring that if he started the lesson now, he could salvage what was left of the time.

And his dignity.

Suddenly, someone--Phoebe, of course-- let out a gasp.

" Professor, you're wearing Professor Wood's shirt!"

Percy's head snapped down to look at it. It wasn't anything distinctive that could be traced back to his boyfriend. Nothing about Puddlemere or how much of a fanatic he was (he'd gotten a shirt like that as a gift for Oliver's birthday once). Just a plain olive green shirt. How did she-

Oliver was surprised too.

"How do you know?" One of his other students demanded.

"isn't it obvious? He's worn it before."

"You also said it makes his muscles pop," someone else pointed out.

Shamelessly, Phoebe agreed and added, "No offense, Professor Weasley, but that looks hideous on you. That is so not your color."

"It's a good thing I have you, Phoebe. Otherwise I might have worn the bloody thing outside," Percy deadpanned.

She nodded vigorously in agreement. Then something seemed to click in her mind. "Oh my gosh!" She let out another squeal. "Do you guys know what this means?!"

Her classmates simply blinked.

"If Professor Weasley is wearing Professor Wood's shirt....they must be together or something!"

Alarm was clouded over Percy's face. He was rendered speechless at how she'd figured it out. Oliver jumped to his feet and came around to the camera on the laptop so the kids could see him. "Hey, kids," he waved.

"No way!" Phoebe exclaimed excitedly. "Hi Professor Wood! I can't believe you hooked up with our History professor. This is so cool! Everyone thinks you're both hot. This is like double hot....like fire!"

Both men regarded her with amusement.

"I feel like I should warn you, Professor Wood, that if you break Professor Weasley's heart, there's gonna be problems."

"Oh?"Oliver chuckled.

Phoebe nodded. "He's the nicest professor ever and if you make him cry just know I'm good with a knife."

"I have no intention of breaking Perc-Professor Weasley's heart," Oliver reassured her and kissed Percy on the forehead. The girls awwed and the boys grumbled about how gross it was.

Percy was grinning broadly. He'd been wrong about all this. Perhaps they didn't need to hide in the first place.

__

After class was over with, Percy placed the laptop on the floor and laid on the couch with Oliver on top of him, his head resting on his chest. The red-head threaded his fingers through his boyfriend's hair, craning at his neck at times to nuzzle him.

"Do you regret telling them?" Oliver murmured.

"No," Percy decided, dropping a kiss on Oliver's soft hair. "Not one bit."

"Me either."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Even if you are the world's oldest virgin."

"Oh shut up!"

[halfway-happyyy]

The Girl

Friends, this piece is a bit naughty, so it’s under the cut. It’s also inspired by this ask: 

How he has always possessed the ability to know exactly what she needs without vocalizing it.

How all he must do to see how badly her body yearns for his, is to press his lips to the warm nape of her neck.

How all she has to utter is, “I need you…”

It's late when he arrives home for the evening; the scent of damp pavement from a recent storm floats in on the breeze from the open front door, and she drops her head back for a moment to breathe it in. Dinner is already long but forgotten; a plate of walnut-crusted trout (his own catch from a few weeks ago), blue cheese and bacon brussel sprouts, and roast potatoes sits on a rack in the oven under an all-encompassing warm setting. The flame from a candle wavers in the spring draft beneath her gaze and she sighs contentedly when she hears him enter the kitchen.

He sidles up behind her, his deft fingertips brush the hair back from her shoulder blade as he begins massaging her shoulders. His ministrations are firm- bordering on painful, but she stays rooted to the spot because she knows she'll feel all the better for it in the end. “You're carrying a lot of tension kid,” He murmurs, lowly. “Everything alright?”

She turns in his arms to face him, then. Blueish-violet circles grace the delicate space of skin beneath his beautiful azure eyes, speaking volumes of how much time he's spent on a film set the last few weeks. She fights the urge to trace a fingertip along the deepened creases next to his eyes, and drags a bottom lip between her teeth. She’s managed to keep the feelings at bay most of the day, but now that he's finally home- warm and hard and utterly alive beneath her touch- she is rendered entirely powerless. “I crave you, Alex…” It exits her mouth more strangled and embarrassingly desperate than she wants it to, but luckily for her, it seems to get the point across.

A barely audible noise exits his parted lips before he offers her one last look, and makes for the living room. He doesn't beckon her to follow him but she does regardless, and watches him take a seat in the plush, burgundy chair adjacent to their bay window.  Their home perches high above the city of Los Angeles, a myriad of lights twinkle before them like a starlight-woven tapestry. Alexander clears his throat and pats the top of his black, trouser-clad thigh. “Come here, and I'll see if I can give you what it is that you so desperately need…” She takes a seat atop his thigh; the soft material of his trousers is felt easily through the thread-bare cotton of her sundress. Levelling his piercing gaze with hers, he gives his head an almost imperceptible shake. “Now what's got you in such a state, hm?” He wraps an arm around her waist to secure her to his lap.

She swallows hard- opens her mouth to answer him but feels his fingertips on the soft skin of her knee and she shudders. They travel lazily up her thigh and he nods his head to encourage her forth.

“I had a dream about you last night. An inexplicably sexy one, and when I woke up this morning you had already left…”

Alexander clicks his tongue, pouting his pink lips up at her. “How unfair… will you share with me what your dream was about baby?”

A shadow falls over her features; she suddenly grows bashful and turns to bury her face in the hollow warmth of his neck.

A soft chuckle erupts from the base of his throat and he squeezes the tender skin of her inner thigh firmly and tries to press her on further. “Did I have my lips on you, gorgeous girl?”

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth again and nods her head against him. “Yes…”

“Good girl. Did I make you feel good?”

She untucks her head from his neck to gaze at him, and he certainly doesn't miss the sudden burst of pink in her cheeks, or the way her heart thrums a little more wildly in her chest. “So good…” She whispers, earnestly.

She can feel his erection growing in the crotch of his trousers, how hard it swells beneath her thigh.

“And did you touch yourself at all today while I was gone?”

She shakes her head no, and it’s the honest truth.

His fingers travel farther up her thigh, and he groans when he notices her complete lack of panties. “Did you do this for me?”

And what she wants to say is, of course! But all she can manage is a meek nod of her head. He's close to the center of her hot, wet core now. One fingertip away from it, and the urge to grind down against him is overwhelming. He takes a deep breath and swipes the hardened pad of his fingertip over her slit, catches the moisture there and groans loudly at the notion of it. “So wet for me baby. Probably making a huge mess out of these pants, hm?” Her eyes fall shut as a desperate moan escapes her parted lips. Alexander sighs heavily at this and clicks his tongue. “This isn't going to work if your eyes are closed. You're going to be a good girl for me, and watch everything I'm about to do to you, hm?”

She concedes without fuss.

Alexander pushes two fingertips deep into her soaked cunt and leans in to take the velvet softness of her earlobe between his teeth. The fullness of his fingers inside of her, combined with the sensation of his stubble against her cheek; her earlobe as he gently suckles on it, has her trembling violently against him. He pulls away to blow a stream of cool air over her lobe, and admires the goosebumps that rise in patterns over her chest and neck. “How does this compare to your dream?” He smirks.

A breathless laugh escapes her lips and fans a lock of sandy blonde hair out of his eyes. “It doesn't.” She squirms above him as he begins to fuck her more aggressively. She resists the urge to close her eyes as her pleasure builds in her belly. “More,” She suddenly whimpers.

Alexander clicks his tongue, slows the movements of his fingers to an aching crawl. “I beg your pardon? Is that really any way to ask for what you want?”

She swallows hard and tries to grind herself against him, in dire need of more friction. “Please,” She whimpers breathlessly. “More please…”

Alexander hums against her. “I don't know if you can handle a third one, baby. I think it might just be too much for this sweet, little cunt of yours to take…”

“Please…” She whimpers again.

And he finally relents, pushing a third, thick digit into her hot, dripping wetness. His rhythm is lackadaisical at first; followed by a period of a sped-up tempo for a few seconds, with his long fingers hitting her spot every time. Her orgasm builds steadily in the pit of her tummy like a blaze gaining momentum. He can feel it in the way she clenches around him, can see it in the perspiration that blooms over every bare patch of skin on her body. And God, he wants her so bad…

“You're so close for me, sweet girl.” He purrs, softly. She nods her head; her gaze is utterly pleading and glassy and he simply assumes that this is just her looming orgasm taking its toll on her… but then the glass in her eyes turns to tears, which cascade down her flushed cheeks, and he fears for a moment, of coming apart on the spot. “Good girl…” He manages between groans, as he continues to fuck her without abandon. He has a strong hold on her, knows that if he loosens up even the slightest bit, that he'll lose her for good. “Let go for me sweet girl,” He whispers.

She tosses her head back as his words echo through her foggy brain. Her orgasm ripping through her, sending shockwaves of electric pleasure that exit her body in the form of ragged moans and breathless sobs. It takes her a while to recover from her high, but Alexander takes the extra time to wipe away the stray saltwater with the calloused pads of his thumbs. “I don’t think that's ever happened before…” she murmurs lowly, her voice utterly wrecked.

He wraps both of his arms around her protectively, grounding her damp, flushed frame to his, and rests his chin in the crook of her shoulder. The image of her coming apart beneath him plays on like a film in his mind, makes him even more dizzy with need for her than he already had been. He allows himself a deep, steadying breath, cuddling his face ever further into her. “I’m always learning something new about you, my beautiful girl.” A heavy, contented sigh follows in that statement's wake. “I have a feeling I be will until my last, rasping breath.” His brimming, unadulterated admiration for her causes her heart to swell with endless amounts of love.

[thefanficmonster]

There You Are

PART 2: ‘Finally, You’re Back’

Karl Heisenberg x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mild spoilers for Resident Evil 8:Village, Swearing

Genre: Romance, Mild Angst

Summary: It’s the life before the nightmare. It’s the breath of fresh air before the pollution. The sunshine before the storm. And there they are, standing in the warmth of a sunny spring day in that Romanian village, their meeting coincidental yet fated at the same time.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! I’m sorry for the long wait but here it finally is - you request turned into a fic! Also, big thanks to that other Anon who gave me the idea of modifying the fic in a way where it’s now gonna be a two-parter, a sort of the before the nightmare and the aftermath of Heisenberg’s turning. Regardless, I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy ❤

Because one is incapable of expecting the unexpected One can never see what the future may hold One can never know what storms await One can never fully prepare And neither did he Because he could’ve never guessed Never known He could only see so far ahead He could only plan so much Yet he always thought he’d run free Let the winds and rivers guide him forward Never did he think his fate would uproot him into a nightmare He had no idea what to expect He had no idea he’d never be the same again Hell, to him it was the first and last time But to his hope it was a lightning spark Praying for more Regardless, in that moment When eyes met eyes, all he could think was... ‘There you are’

And there they were, standing in the almost completely melted snow on the outskirts of the Romanian village, the shy sun rays shimmering on their skin, making their hair glow. Their gaze gave away nothing yet so much simultaneously. Their crystal, shining yet still tired orbs were busy taking in their surroundings, their back turned to him. They didn’t have to face him for him to be able to guess they weren’t from around here. Truth be told, there were several clues that let him know: the clothes, the shoes, the sun-kissed skin - which there’s no way they could’ve obtained from the gloomy sunless winter in the village- but most important, the dead giveaway was the huge rucksack burdening their back and shoulders.

‘A traveler‘, he thought, ‘They’re probably lost. There’s no way they landed in this shithole on purpose.‘

The contemplation of whether to address them or not ends shortly and not really willingly - it mostly has to do with the fact that his thoughts were momentarily shut up when the traveler’s eyes met his. 

Even with the amount of distance between them, something in those E/C pools glinting in the faint sunlight while also reflecting the brightness of the last remaining snow on the ground stole his breath away and paralyzed him. He was rendered helpless and unmoving from simple eye contact with this stranger.

But they weren’t done surprising him with the overwhelming power they unknowingly possessed.

They, out of the blue, shot him a smile that could only be described as blinding. One that sent his heart racing, eyes widening ever so slightly with disbelief. He was rarely offered such a kind reaction upon being seen by someone. A smile - not a mocking or menacing one - was an expression he rarely saw directed towards him.

‘They don’t know you, idiot!‘ He scolds himself mentally, ‘They don’t know what kind of lowlife piece of shit you are.‘

Yeah, they don’t. And they’re never gonna find out

He was willing to pull every lie from the book to keep his miserable life as a nearly homeless, poorly treated worker of three jobs hidden from this stranger. He didn’t want to see pity in those eyes nor sympathy in their smile.

He didn’t want things to change. Though, he simultaneously didn’t know what ‘things’ he didn’t want changed.

And so, he decided to create some, knowing full-well they would be temporary.

“Need any help? You lost or something?“ He calls out to them as he makes his way down from the cliff and into the large field where they’re standing.

They shake their head in response, loose strands of hair forming a curtain over their features as they do so, their smile never fading, “Nope, not at all. I’m exactly where I wanna be.”

“What could you possibly wanna see here?“ He asks, now without having to belch his lungs out due to the smaller distance between them.

They turn away from him, pointing to the monstrosity of a building he’s more than familiar with, towering over the village and dominating the outskirts. Having been abandoned for years now, the factory has become a home for rats, roaches, bats and Karl Heisenberg. The young man runs the risk of having it all crumble atop him while he sleeps the three hours he’s allowed each night. He’s not usually embarrassed by this fact but he doesn’t proudly announce it either. Sure, some people who pick on him and are determined to make his life a living hell have spread rumors about his place of stay but no one dares go into the factory to fact-check. It’s menacing exterior looking to be straight from a horror movie or a nightmare is more than enough to drive any person away, but the haunting noises the place harbors accompanied by the many creatures that produce said noises just add to the fear factor among the villagers when it comes to the century old structure.

“That.“ The traveler says, looking almost dreamily at the building so many people turn to with disgust and fear. “Would it be trespassing to enter? I really wanna have a look inside.“

Forgetting to mask his confused and surprised expression, Karl is caught with that wide-eyed, mouth-slightly-agape look on his face which sends the traveler in a fit of laughter.

“I know I probably sound crazy saying that, but abandoned places are sort of my thing, you know. I can’t simply pass by one without going in and doing a literal scavenger hunt. Not that I ever find much apart from graffiti and crap all over the place, but it’s worth having a look. Especially inside a place that looks that old. And man is it huge.“ No, his assumption was right the first time - their eyes do indeed get dreamy when they turn to observe the giant structure further down the overgrown path.

Who gives him the right to tell them no?

“Lucky I found you then.“ He says, shedding every last bit of confusion and replacing it with enthusiasm, a wide smile plastered on his face, “Follow me, I know all the entrances.“

He needn’t tell them twice. Hell, he barely had to finish his sentence before they literally took flight as they rushed - as much as they could with the heavy backpack they were carrying - towards the factory, taking his hand to drag him along, never stopping their river of gratitude the whole way there.

It awoke something in him, something warm and genuine that made him want to get to know this sunshine in human form better. He hasn’t had a chance to smile plenty in his life, never having a reason to do so. But during this less than five minute interaction, he hasn’t been able to contain the grin brought upon him as a side effect of their own happiness.

“I’m Karl, by the way!“ He informed them as they stomped their way up the path.

“Nice to meet you, Karl!“ They called back, giving him a brief glance over their shoulder, “My name’s Y/N.“

‘Y/N‘ the name echoed and repeated itself in his head, intensifying that feeling dangerously close to adoration.

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N.“

                                                              *  *  *

Dust and dirt had stuck to their clothes, practically merging with the textile by the time the pair left the factory to see the setting sun once again. The darkness and dinginess of the factory periodically made them forget how beautiful the outside world was. The place was filthy but what Y/N didn’t know is that it had been in a worse state before. Before Karl started staying there.

The young man always had a fascination with mechanical engineering, having met many workers who worked in the factory prior to its closing. They often times snuck him in so he could admire the work process the different types of machinery they had in there - many of which still remained in the factory covered in rust and spiderwebs. That being said, he took it upon himself to clean up a bit, treat the powerful mechanical giants with the respect and decency a machine of their kind deserved. Some he even miraculously repaired - probably the biggest achievement in his life - but he was yet to put them to good use, given that he still didn’t know how to properly operate them and what their true purpose was.

“That was incredible!“ Y/N cheered once the two had stepped onto the grass outside in the field again, “I can’t believe I almost started debating whether to go or not after so many of the villagers tried to scare me.“ They turned to give the factory one more lingering look, “Damn, I wish I could go back in there again to see if we missed anything. Unfortunately, my time’s limited.“ They sigh, checking their wristwatch before sparing the setting sun a look as well. “And it’s almost up.“

The knot that suddenly appeared in Karl’s throat made him choke on the oxygen he had inhaled. The worry of what those words of Y/N’s meant made his stomach turn.

But, before he could ask what they meant, they gave him an apologetic smile, their eyes still shining, but saddened now, “I have to get going. I have a different destination I need to reach by dawn.“ They sighed heavily, looking down at their boots. Karl opened his mouth to say something, but he found himself to be at a loss for words. He felt hollow and empty and couldn’t bring himself to stomach what he had been told. However, Y/N once again beat him to the opportunity of saying something. Their head snapped back up, their eyes meeting his, now glimmering with the glow he had grown to think of as familiar at that point. “However, that doesn’t mean I won’t be back.“ They took him by the wrist and brought his hand up, opening his clenched palm to drop a small chain in it. “Growing up, I was taught to not expect people to return things you give them but to go and take them back yourself. And so, Karl, I’m giving you this necklace and promising I’ll be back to retrieve it.“ They closes his palm again, letting his arm fall by his side. While he still had only processed half of all that happened when they spoke up again, “Ok, so now I ask of you to stay here, not see me off, not follow me, just stand right here. Or you can turn around and walk away too, that’d be even better. Can you do that for me?” They asked, cringing suddenly, “Sorry, I’m bad at goodbyes.“

He faintly nodded, unable to get any words out yet again. That was probably a good thing, cause there was a huge risk that he would’ve asked them to stay if he spoke. 

Taking his nod as a positive response, they gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning around and walking off in the direction they came from earlier, leaving him behind.  Karl wanted to force himself to walk in the opposite direction like they had told him to, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off them. He stood there, heart aching, watching them go. All the while squeezing the dog tag necklace tightly in his hand. The physical proof of the person that reminded him how it felt to feel.

The physical proof of the promise that they’d come back.

They’d come back to him.

He’d see them.

And he’d once again think to himself...

There you are, finally, you’re back

[moonofiron]

I saw this one panel in the manga and lost my shit.

He looks so 🥵 here. This is the panel that has inspired this smutty fanfic. I also wanted to draw something related to this piece so I've thrown in an illustration between the story as well! Enjoy!

Jujutsu Kaisen, Chapter 78

Anime: Jujutsu Kaisen

Characters: Geto Suguru x (fem)reader

Genre: smut, bondage, kinbaku, edging, overstimulation, explicit sexual content, visual content thrown in too 🥵

Rating: M

Synopsis: Geto shows you his skills at kinbaku

Word count: 2.4K ~

Minors, dni.

Geto Suguru ties the last knot near your ankle. You whimper from the rope chaffing your skin but ease into the burn and position yourself the way Geto wants.

It has taken months for you to get to this point. 8 months back you had casually asked him where he disappears to for hours at end every Saturday. You couldn't hold it in and he couldn't bring himself to lie to you.

"I..I practice kinbaku love. It's to destress, really."

//

"Oh, what's that?"

"Umm, it's the art of tying knots. It's derived from the act of tying prisoners during the war but now it's a...a form of art."

"I see." After a moment's pause, you had asked, "So what do you tie knots with?"

"Three strand jute ropes. On manequins."

You didn't really get it and had pouted slightly.

To break the awkward silence, you had asked him, "Will you show me sometime, Suguru?"

His face had clouded and he had looked the other way. "Maybe. Maybe, someday I will."

//

"There, all done," says Suguru joyfully. He puts his hand under your chin and pulls your face up so you can look at yourself, his artwork, in the large mirror in front of you.

You gasp at how helpless you look. You're naked and your hair is tied up neatly in a bun. Suguru did your hair earlier and decorated it with the delicate pin he bought for you on your second date. You're pretty much bent into a ball and perched on the futon you both have fucked on on so many nights that you've lost count now. Your hands are tightly tied behind your back and your ankles are tied to your thighs. The knots go down from your neck all the way down to your clit and then climb up your spine. Your breasts perk up from the pressure around them. The knots are elegant and look complicated, and you can see your cunt swelling from the pressure of the tight ropes around your inner thighs.

Please do not repost or plagiarize.

Years of practicing kinbaku has rendered him into a master of this art that he's extremely private about. His passion leaks in the way his long fingers tackle the ropes around your body, almost as if he's making love to them.

You meet his eyes in the mirror and see him looking right back at you as he bites his soft lips. His eyes are dreamy and lustful, and he wears a look of pride that pushes all the buttons for you.

He takes out a small black ball from his kimono's left sleeve and your eyes widen. He walks around and sits in front of you so his face is inches away from yours.

"Open your mouth, love," he whispers.

You do as he says without even giving it a second thought. He pushes the ball-gag in your mouth gently and you close your eyes as you envelope it with your wet mouth. He moves closer so your nose buries into his chest as he clamps the ball-gag strap at the back of your head. When done, he sits back and strokes a finger across your jaw.

“I'll be back in sometime, baby. Be good. I'll be watching." He winks and kisses the ball in your mouth gently, his gaze never leaving yours. A soft gasp escapes his lips. And then, just like that, he's gone.

You panic. 'What? I thought he'll just be showing me how it's done. What does he mean he'll be back in sometime? When? How long?' you think. A flash of fear makes your stomach drop. But then you calm down.

The first few minutes are easy. You spend them admiring how beautiful you look, how lovely Suguru has made you. But, after a while you get bored and start looking around. There's nothing to do except wait for Suguru to come back. Perhaps he ran out of ropes. The thought excites you but you don't know how long he'll take. You don't know if he's locked the door. There's no way to tell how much time has passed. All you know is that there's a warmth spreading in your stomach from the anticipation of his arrival. You try to bend down to take a peek at your cunt and see that you've formed a small pool of wetness on the futon. And, you notice a strange little cube embedded in the knot on top of your clit. You instinctively reach with your hands for your clit forgetting you can't and let out a small moan as the ropes dig into your wrists. You look back at yourself in the mirror. You notice the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead and that your nipples are plump and hard. You look around frantically before you give up and enter a kind of peace that you've never known before. You look up at the ceiling, close your eyes, and hear yourself make a gurgling noise. The small cube has suddenly come alive and is vibrating against your clit, making you squirm and lose balance. Your entire body jerks and shivers as you moan out Suguru's name unintelligibly, the ball-gag stopping you from forming coherent sentences. You feel a wave of pleasure coming and then, just as suddenly as the cube had come alive, it dies, leaving you on the edge, helpless and slick and frustrated from being denied release.

//

Geto Suguru absolutely can not wait to get back home to you. He watches you through a curse, a little eyeball, he's placed in the corner of his room. He struggles to keep still and loses patience in all his meetings. He wants them to get over as soon as possible so he can focus on you. He finishes mission reports and some pending tasks as he watches you struggling and squirming, wet and waiting. His cock twitches at the absolutely stunning sight of you, wriggling on the floor, helpless and vulnerable.

//

//

You don't know how many hours it has been. All you know is that it's the 12th time that the small cube has come alive and you can't take it anymore. The threads of the ropes are wet and cold, the futon is completely ruined, you're hot and extremely bothered. Your thighs are sticky and slick. You need to cum. You can't take the teasing, the absolute relentlessness of this thing that's refusing to let you cum. You're not in an elegant stance anymore, either. Suguru, without even being here with you, has made you fall face-first into the futon, your back arched so your hips are in the air. You're uncomfortable and all you can think about is Getou's cock buried deep inside your throbbing cunt. Your hair has almost come undone and strands stick to your breasts. Your jaw aches and your neck and chin are covered in drool. You're focused on your release. You'll definitely get there before this damned thing shuts off again. But, you know that's wishful thinking.

'This is getting out of hand,' you think as you feel tears dripping down your flushed cheeks. You try to get a sense of balance but you're so disoriented that you can't think anymore. You breathe heavily and are about to close your eyes when you hear the low buzz of the vibrator again. You're grunt and moan and your entire body buckles again and again. In all your frenzy, you don't realise when Getou comes back and quietly sits on the floor behind you.

When the vibrator stops, you scream an unintelligible, "No, please!!" and drop face-first on the futon again. Your laboured breath makes it hard to concentrate on anything. When you finally calm down, you feel his presence. You look back and see his kimono loosly wrapped around his waist, the sleeves are halfway off his shoulders as he gently strokes his cock, already rock-hard and glistening. He watches you intently. You let out a sigh of relief and arch your back to let him know he can use you anytime. Amused and greedy at once, he pulls you to himself, and unclamps the ball gag. He shoves his cock in your mouth, grabs your hair, and maneuvers your head just the way you like it. He moans and grunts out loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He's extremely vocal today and this is new.

He suddenly stops and kisses your mouth hard.

“Such a pretty babe today. Eh? You look stunning.”

"Su..Suguru, pl..please fuck me. Please. Please. Please." You break down, you can't bring yourself to speak coherently. You start to lower your head so you can taste his cock - anything to have him inside you - but he pulls your hair hard and stops you.

He pushes you back and makes you lie down. He carefully unties only the knots near your inner thighs. His cool fingers give you shivers. He cups your nipples with his mouth and licks, nibbles, and bites his way down to your clit.

“Who are you so fucking wet for?”

“Suguru! You!”

“Yeah?"

“Uhun, please, just please, take me already."

“Yeah? How?"

“Suguru, I am begging you. I cant-"

Getou comes back up in a flash. He squeezes your face with his hand and roars, “I asked, how?"

You're crying again and he can't stop thinking how gorgeous you look, sweaty and flushed, begging for his cock.

You take a sharp intake of breath and say, “Getou I want you.”

He raises his eyebrows but doesn't let your face go.

“I want you inside me, I want your cock inside me. I'm throbbing and dripping and so ready for you. Just for you. For you to use and love and fuck. Please Daddy." you say, in a trembling voice.

Suguru lets go of your face and removes his kimono. He's naked underneath. He can't believe he gets to ruin a goddess like you. He starts to lightly flutter his tongue across your swollen clit. You're trembling and it doesn't take long for your whimpering to turn into screaming. You're so close to cumming, finally! Your eyes roll back as you feel his long and thin tongue lapping up your wetness. He licks it like a fucking dog before kissing it sweetly and moves back, leaving you on the edge again and you have such a violent reaction that he lets out a strong grunt.

You've never felt so helpless before. You realise that he's enjoying himself a bit too much seeing you struggle, at your body so bent before him. You're sobbing now, and he hovers over you.

“You're making me lose it with all this begging and squirming, baby," he whispers and thrusts into you in one deep stroke. You immediately bite his neck hard and moan deep into it. Clenching around his cock hard, you take in as much of him as you can. His touch on your arms and lower back is electrifying but he soon holds the ropes around you for leverage. He moves in a quick pace and it doesn't take you long to gush around him, giving him a cumsleeve that he bends down to look at. Your release is so so sweet, your toes are curled, your calves are flexed, your back is arched, and your teeth have left Suguru's neck with spots of blood.

“Please...do..don't stop, Daddy,”

“I won't baby, you've been so good. We've got all night.”

“Night?! How long were ...uhh..were you gone?” You pant.

“6 hours."

Suguru looks at himself moving in and out of your plump cunt as his long hair tickles your breasts. It makes his cock twitch and harder inside of you. He pushes your knees back and the ropes dig into your lower back. He grabs your hair and bends your head to your stomach.

“Look at me moving in and out of you.”

The sight turns you on even more. You didn't know that getting so hot amd bothered was even possible. It seems like you've been cumming for a while now and you're overstimulated.

Suguru pulls out. You gasp and your head rolls back. He turns you around and spends a moment to admire his rope-work, and, of course, your plump and throbbing slick cunt that he's going to fuck again.

“Look at how gorgeous you are," he gently holds your chin and pulls it up. You can see yourself, your face is flushed a deep red and you're bruised everywhere. Suguru towers behind you, holding his cock that's glistening with your cum. You can't believe how good he makes you feel. You wiggle your hips at him, inviting him.

He positions his cock to enter you but starts to rub it on your clit instead. Sensitive from all the edging before, your clit blooms from the rubbing and the warmth. You moan.

"Fuck, I love how noisy your cunt gets."

“Oh, oh, please don't stop. Let me cum all over your cock again."

Suguru bites his lip and doesn't take his eyes off you in the mirror. He can't help but admire how sexy you sound and look. He continues to rub his cock slow but hard against you and you collapse on the futon again, cumming. You've squirted all over the base of his cock and stomach and your screams are drown out everything else.

”Such a good girl. Cumming all over Daddy like that."

He thrusts his cock inside of your swollen cunt and continues to move inside you for what seems like an eternity.

"Daddy's gonna paint you so pretty, love," he whispers as he pulls out, grunts, and cums all over your back, on the ropes, in your hair.

He collapses on your side and looks up at the ceiling and then at you. He's out of breath as he gently plays with his drained cock.

You're completely spent and about to pass out when you feel him untying all the knots quickly. His face is tinted with concern. When you're finally free from the ropes, he tries to massage you lightly and helps you lie down properly. He brings you a bottle of water right away and kisses your forehead.

“I'll run you bath, princess. And then I'll get you something to eat. Okay?"

"Hmm," is all you can manage.

You hear the bath running and he comes back, picks you up and takes you to the bathroom. He bathes you and shampoos your hair, kissing you everywhere with sweet pecks. When you're both finally in bed, you snuggle up close to him and dare to ask -

"When will you tie me up next?"

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: junhui x reader ⚬ word count: 8125 ⚬ warnings: none! ⚬ genres: secret relationship, some slice of life uni moments, FLUFF, very light angst, spice, roommates!wonhui.

✧✎ synopsis: you’re friends with junhui - but also, not really. it’s friends and a little bit more than that. it’s difficult keeping your relationship a secret, especially when you’ve never loved someone the way you love him.

✧✎ a/n: NOBODY MOVE! I WROTE A JUN BDAY FIC ;_; this is really just me projecting all my years of love onto a word doc. enjoy!!

It was midnight, and the apartment was dark, unmoving. No one had bothered to clean the blue cereal bowl left in the sink and there remained bread crumbs on the countertop from lunch. As you flicked through the strange glimpses of late-night television, yawning in an outrageous width, there was a hunger pang, accompanied by an immediate craving for some sort of sweet candy.

So, you did what seemed best: fit into your sneakers and a windbreaker and push open the door to Jun’s bedroom while he was curled up on his side watching his drama. Wonwoo would usually be occupying the adjacent bed, though he had stayed over at Joshua’s dorm to study for his next history summative. Yet he’d left his beat-up, decaying textbook on his pillow.

“Put on your slippers or something, we’re going to the convenience store.”

Jun didn’t say anything, rather he continued holding out his phone, the bedsheets pulled taunt to his nose. Looking at Jun’s desk that sat next to the door, you picked up the rubber band ball he’d been adding to since his twelfth-grade year and threw it at his shoulder.

“Ow!” He squeaked dramatically. His head then poked over his shoulder as he attempted to see where the ball rolled off to.

“Put on your slippers,” you reiterated, “I want strawberry tangs.”

Without much effort, Jun quickly gave up looking for the elastic ball and returned to watching his drama, establishing his comfort while somehow still persisting to ignore you. He was very much so a homebody, and if it weren’t for you guiding him out the apartment like a grandchild taking their elderly for an afternoon walk, then he might’ve never left his bedroom apart from his class schedule. Yet, you knew exactly how to persuade him, weaken his heart that was already soft and golden.

An immediate whine rumbled in his throat when you jumped on the bed, pulling at him until he finally rolled onto his back, at last pressing pause on his phone. You tossed a thigh over each side of his silhouette and gripped the boy’s wide shoulders, gazing unflinchingly past his black fringe and into those big, glistening eyes.

“Come with me to the store,” you weren’t sure if you were offering or demanding, “please?”

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

“Walking around alone at night? Hello? Do you have no concern for me?” Came your joking counter.

He tossed his head back, the black fringe bouncing from his lashes. His capitulating yelp of, “fine, fine, I’ll come” was satisfactory enough for you to remove yourself from the boy’s tiny waist, where you stepped on the floor and nearly sprained your ankle due to that dumb, elastic ball. At least you found it. While you returned the toy to his desk, Jun quickly threw a worn jean jacket over his black long sleeve and didn’t bother bending down to fix his sneakers, his heels jutting out the back.

At the convenience store, the only shoppers were you, Junhui, and this lady wearing a huge pair of sunglasses, though you figured she was far from the strangest of the midnight stragglers.

It was rather quiet, even with the fluorescent lights buzzing and the battery-powered fan keeping the cashier cool at the register. You grabbed the first package of strawberry tangs while Jun sorted through the other flavours very meticulously.

“What about blue raspberry?” He said. “You don’t want that?”

“I don’t know, I just really have a craving for strawberry.”

Jun detached a bright green package from the rack. “Sour apple? What about that?”

“Not tasty at all. Pass.”

He grabbed another package and quirked his eyebrow. “Sweet cherry? Come on. That sounds good.”

You lightly hit his arm with the strawberry candy, your laughter echoing over the shelves, “I just want strawberry! If you think the sweet cherry sounds good then you buy it!”

But Jun just shook the black fringe from his playful gaze, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tangy zangys are the bottom tier of gummy candy. No way.”

“So shut up then.” The words were harsh, yet your smile was no more menacing than a butterfly.

Since it would be impossible for Jun to leave the store without stocking his snack collection, you shopped for longer than expected, filling a basket with spicy chips and hard candies and a few chocolate bars. Heading home down the nighttime street, beneath the moonlight, the infinite expanse of a blackness that felt like a cocoon, you had already ripped open your strawberry tangs while Jun tore the corner off a tiny pouch of bubblegum poprocks.

They crackled loudly on his tongue, in which he made sure to hover in close proximity to your ear, ensuring you could detect every small fizzle. Each time it warranted you to shove him away, muttering a cheap laugh about how it wasn’t required that he lean in so generously, though you couldn’t evade that one nervous thought ticking at the back of your head: you wanted to kiss him, wrap your palm around Jun’s neck and taste the electric bubblegum from his heart-shaped mouth.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me?” You asked, suckling the sugar off a red candy strip.

Jun swallowed his poprocks. “I guess you can word it like that.”

Standing at the living room fish tank, you opened the tab to the flake box and shook the food into the water, your pink guppy who you had so fittingly named, Princess Pebble, swimming toward the surface in order to nip at the flakes. Wonwoo observed you from his seat at the kitchen table, dragging his spoon through the remainder of his cereal, scooping out the last soggy pieces.

“I feel good about it,” Wonwoo hummed, referring to the history test he wrote yesterday, “I think I might’ve left out some information on the essay question.”

You closed the fish flakes and returned to the table, where you left your cup of tea.

“Eh, who cares,” you mumbled behind the rim, “you’re gonna get like a ninety-five anyways.”

The boy shrugged, pressing a fingertip to his glasses, moving them higher up his nose. He had always been diligent with his studying, though he often left the apartment to write notes at the library or a classmate’s dorm. It was difficult to accomplish much when Junhui would distract him, and rather than reading his textbook, Wonwoo would always end up playing computer games with the latter.

“Did you hear Jun come home last night?” You asked, gulping the rest of your tea.

Wonwoo set his bowl into the sink and filled it with water, smiling. It irked you somehow. You were only curious about whether or not he heard Jun return from his dance practice.

Joining him at the sink to clean your mug, you bumped his elbow. “What’s so cute over here?”

“Nothing,” he hummed dismissively, “I heard him crawl into bed, that’s pretty much it.”

“And that’s funny or something?”

“You ask about him quite frequently.” Wonwoo turned to you with a suspecting glance, one that made you subtly desire to dump a cup of water over his head. “You know that, right?”

The morning air was cool, yet your face felt immensely heated, almost prickling.

“I ask because we’re fri—”

“Friends. Yeah, yeah.” Wonwoo huffed, the omniscient smile creeping back toward his mouth, to which you could do nothing apart from gawk at your roommate despite his reiteration of a musing that wasn’t at all unfamiliar. “I’ve always loved you for your innate sense of comedy. It’s priceless.”

It’s what everyone assumed anyways. You and Jun fought tooth and nail to articulate your friendship, to paint with the colours that would lead everyone to believe it was true. Most often your explanations worked, yet there remained some who were particularly stubborn. Wonwoo was an evident case. But he was too close, too eagle-eyed, and he saw that you and Jun behaved in a manner completely beyond friendship. Despite the likewise feelings, something unbeknownst kept you apart.

“I know exactly what that means, idiot!” Echoed your shout as Wonwoo disappeared down the corridor, hoping to take refuge in his bedroom.

“I’m glad!” The depth of his voice reverberated into the kitchen, and you heard his door quickly shut.

No less than a few seconds later did Junhui reveal himself from around the corner, clean and freshened up after a steamy shower, one he desperately needed upon immediately passing out, sweat-soaked and exhausted in his bed the night before. Soonyoung definitely hadn’t taught their lesson with any degree of ease. Pretending you weren’t just quipping at Wonwoo, you smiled.

“Were you two fighting?” Jun asked, pulling out a frying pan from the cupboard. He usually whipped together an omelette for breakfast.

“No, not at all. We never fight, remember?”

Jun scoffed while opening the fridge, removing an egg carton and a plastic wrapping filled with vegetables. Still hungry, you started peeling open a tangerine from the fruit basket and stood next to him as he organized the produce onto a cutting board. Ever so faintly, you could smell the crisp scent to his aftershave. It was peculiar how a bit of foam could render your chest that cottony.

“In fact, when’s the last time you even remember an argument Wonwoo and I had?” You prodded.

“Two days ago,” Jun laughed, “when Wonwoo wanted to watch that exploration documentary on King Tut, but you changed the channel so you could finish the last season of Home Makeover.”

Pressing his rose lips together, Junhui casted you an innocent glance. “So there’s that.”

Separating a small slice of tangerine, you gently pushed the clove into the boy’s mouth. He smiled softly as he began to chew. With the gentle tang of citrus in the air, you set a hand on Jun’s shoulder and buried your face against his warm neck, whispering, “yeah, and it was definitely worth it.”

Quite frankly, neither you, Jun, Wonwoo, or Joshua were fairing optimally at the library. While Wonwoo sat on the opposite side of the table helping Joshua organize his economics presentation, you were neglecting your biology packet, instead choosing to sketch a tiny Princess Pebble in the paper’s upper corner. Jun had been tasked with reviewing his latest theatre script, yet he hadn’t even flicked through it. He was intrigued by one of the numerous mangas he’d saved to his phone.

“Take the last point off here,” Wonwoo said, peering over Joshua’s shoulder at his laptop, “there’s too much text, and this isn’t a major branch of your topic anyways.”

Joshua sighed as he made a few clicks on his keyboard. “Dude, I don’t think I can edit another word. This class is so boring.”

“Mr. Canning is just a boring professor,” Wonwoo sympathized, “it would be best if it were someone who weren’t so… dry. I guess is the right word.”

Slumping back in his chair, Joshua huffed, “he’s like a human chalk stick.”

Desperate to discuss something that wasn’t related to his lacklustre econ class, Joshua spared a glance at Jun’s unopened script. “Shouldn’t you be learning that?” He asked.

Jun didn’t look away from the phone in his lap. “I can’t do it here.”

“That means he’s going to open it for the first time at one in the morning, the day of his performance.” You chuckled, outlining the sketch of your guppy using Wonwoo’s pink gel pen.

Harshly, Jun’s hand smacked your knee under the table and you couldn’t help but laugh, garnering an over-the-shoulder glare from a student in the corner who’d been trying to focus on their colossal textbook. Wonwoo smiled at them apologetically while Joshua feigned as though he were typing something on his laptop. However, Jun’s hand didn’t leave your knee, and your laughter became an immediate drought, to which the sole thing you could feel was his palm creeping higher up your leg.

Attempting to be subtle, you turned your head slightly and looked at the boy with a bit of a warning expression, though Jun simply continued to scroll through his manga.

“I’m going to check the world history section,” Wonwoo announced, rising from the table, “anyone want to come with?”

Joshua pushed out his chair. “I’ll come just so I don’t have to stare at this shitty powerpoint.”

As soon as the boys walked beyond earshot, you pinched the edge of Jun’s ear. He finally tossed his phone onto the table, though he didn’t exactly appear compassionate, rather he was smirking, for he knew if you truly didn’t want his hand touching your leg then you would have bumped it away.

“You can’t do that.” Nonetheless, there surmounted a need to establish some insignificant boundary, one that neither of you were going to follow through. “Not when they’re so close.”

“But they didn’t see.” Jun replied, squeezing your inner thigh. “It shouldn’t matter.”

“It does. What if Joshua saw?” At that point, Wonwoo was fairly conditioned to your lingering fingertips, grazes and stares. He usually pretended not to notice them. However, Joshua was a risk.

Jun shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you worry too much? I always touch your leg.”

That was the problem. People trying to convince other people that their relationship was wholly platonic didn’t linger in such an intimate way. They didn’t creep fingertips up the other’s inner thigh beneath a tablecloth, or possess a gaze that traced the other’s lips like a delectable piece of candy when they spoke. There shouldn’t be any whispers pressed quickly against the other’s ear when no one else was looking, or the dire urge to climb into the other’s lap when their legs were wide open.

Both of you were afraid. Neither of you wanted to break the question that would thrust your relationship into the light. You kept waiting for the right time, but it always seemed one step ahead.

The movie theatre was nearly empty as the longwinded credit screen continued rolling, the last few congregations throwing their soda cups and empty packages into the garbage on their way out. Still, the floor of practically every row had been scattered with butter popcorn or melted m&m’s, shiny chocolate wrappers left crinkled in the recliners like the employees were supposed to take them home as gifts. Wonwoo put his hands on the back of his head, examining the disastrous rows.

You sensed he was feeling rather lucky about not being scheduled that night. Jun forced himself from the recliner and picked up his cup of fruit punch, jammed with way too many ice cubes.

If no one else was going to comment, you might as well. “That wasn’t the worst.”

“Agreed.” Wonwoo said, pushing up his glasses. “The murderer’s ploy was difficult to follow at times. I started getting confused when he left his car in the woods.”

“What?” Jun gawked. “That’s when you got confused? I didn’t even know what was happening after the first half hour.” His eyes gleamed in astonishment.

“Same.” You admitted. “I guess you’ll have to explain in the car.”

Reaching into the cupholder, you pulled out the package of strawberry tangs with nothing but a tiny amount of the powder-like sugar left inside.

“Thank you for picking up your trash,” Wonwoo sighed, taking the lead down the stairway while the credit music still played, “I’d hate to be working tonight.”

The wide corridor was completely vacant by the time you exited the theatre. Ever so slightly you could hear the galactic sound effects from the arcade machines. That buttery scent of popcorn seemed to waft no matter where you stood in the cinema. Wonwoo announced that he was going to check the concession counter to see who was on cash, but assured he would meet you and Jun at the back exit. Jun hurriedly downed his fruit punch in a large gulp before you emerged into the night.

You were confined to the small overhang by the doorway, for a hard rain was pelting against the concrete and turned the night air considerably cooler. Not one of you had checked the forecast beforehand, and you would undoubtedly get drenched straight through to the flesh in your thin long-sleeve.

“How are we going to make it to the car?” You groaned.

Pulling up his hood, Jun only laughed. “Now is a good time to be able to teleport.” He then stuck out his hand for a moment, the raindrops hitting his palm.

“Does it feel like bullets?”

“No. It feels kind of nice actually.” He remarked.

Curious, you rolled up your sleeve and extended your arm into the downpour. Jun was right, it felt satisfactory as each of the brisk droplets splashed your skin. However, you prematurely discovered the rain wasn’t so appealing when Jun suddenly shoved you from beneath the overhang.

“Hey— what the hell?!” You squealed upon the immediate repercussions, the cold water already leaking through your top while Junhui slapped his thigh, cackling.

Wanting to erase that luminous grin of his, you attempted wrestling the lanky boy into the weather, but no more than a few harmless drops skimmed his shoulder. Yet, with another brute shove, Jun stumbled, feeling the silver needles of rain pour down from the night sky and swirl at his dampening sneakers. He was laughing as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you hard against his chest before you were even cognisant that an immense wetness was soaking through your every article.

You wished it had been indignance drumming in your heart rather than affection, because it was taking every single fibre of your being not to kiss him. As the droplets beaded down his skin, he was like a springtime flower caught in the morning dew, and when he carded back the wet, black hairs plastered to his forehead, you thought it was possible to fall into him and never feel that concrete scrape your knees. Gently, his hand touched the small of your wet back, his breaths deepening.

He urged you in tighter as his tongue ran along his bottom lip, tasting the rain.

You were shivering, frigid, though your blood was far too warm to let yourself take note. Instead, you moved your head closer, closer, Jun’s cold palm cupping your cheek and your eyes fluttering shut and your soft mouths just brushing together— until Wonwoo appeared from inside.

Instantly, you two pushed away from each other. With his eyes widening, Wonwoo stuttered.

“I-I’m… I’m going to pretend as best I can that something weird didn’t almost happen.” He stated, swallowing thickly. “Just… Why did you two have to get soaked? You’re sitting in my car, y’know!”

At last, you felt that icy shiver trickle down your spine.

“S-Sorry.” You hummed, teeth chattering.

“I guess it’s fine,” Wonwoo sighed, “I have some towels under the passenger’s seat.”

Not long after returning to the apartment, Wonwoo gathered his laptop and slipped into his pyjamas. He proceeded to flop onto the couch to edit his research paper, though it didn’t take much for his eyelids to start weighing down, his dense paragraphs blurring together on the screen. More often than not you would take advantage of Wonwoo’s midnight crashes in the living room.

After exchanging your damp, terribly cold clothes for a warm t-shirt and sweatpants, you found yourself cozied beneath Jun’s comforter for the umpteenth night. The boy’s head rested against the crook of your neck, where his slow breaths were cool to your skin, though they occasionally became heavier when your fingertips stroked at his smooth hair. He was much like a kitten who loved a thorough scratch behind the ears. You swore that he purred whenever you rubbed the right spot.

Holding out his phone, he’d been finishing an episode of his drama before bed. You tucked some of the black locks behind his ear, noting how much it’d grown over the months. Then your gaze wandered over every detail that shaped his face, as though he were a textured oil painting.

His eyes were always glimmering, seemingly innocent and curious, yet you knew just how much that earthly shade could darken when he fell into his professions. When Jun acted on stage, his gaze lost its untainted nature. It moulded into the role of the sinister characters he preferred playing. When he danced in blazing lights, those eyes were sharp enough to consume, to cut, almost like a razorblade.

But then you studied his lips, his heart-shaped cupid’s bow, the small constellation of moles that dotted his skin like kisses from past soulmates. You thought back to the mist and the rain, his hand resting against the small of your back, how close you were to tasting the flavourful, fruity mix of his drink. In fact, you wondered why you didn’t just kiss Junhui whenever you wanted. What was stopping you, in that moment, from turning his head toward you so that your lips could press to his?

Suddenly, the boy laughed at his phone screen, to which you felt the brassy reverberation erupt in his chest, his eyes glinting and his mouth stretched into a box-like smile. You pulled a few strands of hair from his forehead as he seemed to be glowing, his cheeks rosy.

Jun mewled in surprise when your fingers threaded rather tight through his black locks, feeling you tilt his head up until his gaze was burning into yours.

You didn’t hesitate. Leaning forward, you kissed him sweet and slow.

Jun’s eyes fluttered as the pressure warmed his mouth, a small whine getting caught in his throat upon the gentle sting of your hand tugging at his tresses, his scalp tingling. His phone sunk into the bedsheets, and instead he was gripping your t-shirt, moving his head with yours as the kiss deepened. He tasted like mint, and his small whines were silky.

How on earth could you have ever shied from kissing him when it felt so relieving? Nothing else held any significance to you apart from making his pretty lips shine.

However, you needed to catch your breath. Releasing the firm grasp on his hair, you detached your mouth from his, your chest rising and falling in great lengths. The boy’s eyes couldn’t be more glazed, his lips shimmering, flushed garnet and slightly swollen. Neither of you uttered a word. The blankets fell from Jun’s shoulders as he straddled your waist eagerly. Again, his mouth slotted with yours, and your hands slid up his caramel thighs, imprinting his flesh with the curve of your fingernails.

If you kept quiet enough, then perhaps Wonwoo would remain asleep until morning.

Standing amongst the crowd in the cramped performance hall, it was inevitable that you would get bumped around like a tiny, flying pinball. After rutting into Wonwoo’s shoulder for the third time, he seemed dauntingly close to losing his indolence and snapping, though he realized it wasn’t your fault that others were pushing toward the front of the stage and bit his tongue.  

It became tradition for Soonyoung and his students to rent the downtown performance hall and host a fundraiser. The event typically lasted a few hours, with a few short interludes where the dancers would retreat backstage to catch their breath. Being Jun’s roommate, you and Wonwoo were always granted access into the small dressing room, and though you never admitted it, you loved experiencing that small flash of pride whenever the moonstruck audience watched you slip away.

The next interlude was closing in. Despite the different dancers on stage, you really, truthfully, only watched Jun. Each time he captured the centre position, you couldn’t help but cup your hands around your mouth, being one of the first to cheer overtop the deafening music as he moved so fluidly, with poise. He was a completely different person when he performed. Somehow, his tender-hearted nature would peel back and he’d emerge a domineering beacon.

As soon as the stage ended, an uproar rippled from the audience and resonated deep in your ears, to which you couldn’t help but slightly bury your head against Wonwoo’s shoulder to muffle the cacophony. Nonetheless, you were clapping, smiling, staring fondly as Jun grabbed his collar and fluffed it out, welcoming a slight gust of humid air. His skin was dewy with sweat, and yet he glowed beautifully, even when he was breathing so heavily through his nose.

Soonyoung was speaking into his microphone, but you missed half his speech, and before you knew it you were being dragged by Wonwoo through the crowd toward the backstage entrance. The room was at least big enough to accommodate the dancers. Jun was in the corner, gulping down his water.

“Only three more songs,” Wonwoo smiled, “you guys really stepped the level up this year.”

It took a moment before Jun replied, the column of his neck glittering as he completely crushed the plastic bottle in his hands.

“Yeah,” he burst out, “I’m freaking dying.”

“It’s for a good cause at least.” Wonwoo reasoned, ignoring how you stepped on his foot.

After Jun rolled his eyes, he was staring at you.

The air grew much too thick, and you had to clear your throat. “S-Seriously, you’ve improved so much. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” Jun replied, scratching his nape, “it’s nothing special, really.”

“Uh? Nothing special?” Wonwoo quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t Soonyoung say you’re one of the best in the class?”

When Jun innocently flitted his gaze toward a distant spot and pressed his lips together, Wonwoo merely huffed, announcing he was going to the lobby for a drink of water. You watched him wind between the busy dancers, either wiping down their sweat or fanning themselves, until he disappeared out the door. When you faced Jun again, you looped your fingers through the satin collar of his stage outfit and kissed him quickly, knowing everyone was too occupied to take note.

He squeaked, “what happened to being careful?”

“This is your fault.” You eagerly pinned it on him. “Try being less hot.”

“That’s horrible advice. And also not possible. Which makes it worse than horrible.”

You weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to feel his mouth again or whack the side of his head with his deflated water bottle. Opting for latter, you stole another kiss, though you tensed in surprise when Jun wrapped his arm around your waist to secure your body firm against his. Hastily, you pushed at his toned stomach, your heart drilling manically as you looked over your shoulder toward the dancers. It didn’t appear as though anyone had seen and you breathed out in relief.

Suddenly, Soonyoung poked his head through the doorway.

“Ten minutes!” He shouted before disappearing.

Jun was staring at you with the most ingenious twinkle.

“That was your fault.” He purred, tapping your thigh with his water bottle. “Try being less hot.”

You did feel a small sliver of guilt. After all, Wonwoo had been waiting back at the apartment for approximately an hour, twiddling his thumbs, wondering why you and Jun required so much goddamn time just to buy some hot fudge sundaes. The molten taste of the chocolate, the vanilla ice cream, cold and sweet, was completely stolen from your lips by the boy whose lap you were occupying. Wonwoo’s sundae sat on the dashboard, dripping slowly beneath the evening sunlight.

And yet, that infinitesimal sliver was plucked straight out when Jun latched onto a sensitive patch of your neck, softly digging in his teeth and swirling his tongue. Your fingers sheathed through the black hair and pulled up at the roots, knowing how much pleasure he took from the dull sting. Button by button, Jun started to simultaneously open your shirt, to which you questioned if this was really happening, if you were really going to sort of out the complications of intercourse in his car.

The device abandoned in the passenger’s seat buzzed. You already knew the name to the text. As Jun kissed his way down to your collarbone, licking and suckling, you reached for your phone, feeling it buzz again with another impatient text. The guilt from earlier began to resurface.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] This is suspicious now. WHERE ARE YOU? >:(

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] Actually screw that. WHERE IS MY HOT FUDGE SUNDAE?

The screen blipped with yet another message.

[ wonwoo | 7:49pm ] I know you’re reading these… Answer me or I won’t feed Princess Pebble!!

“J-Jun,” you piped up, hearing his low, husky mumble while he continued to mark your collarbone, “I think we need to go home now.”

The boy splayed a few more open-mouthed kisses against the skin before peeking up at you, his eyes wide and glimmering, lips flushed a deep magenta. With half the buttons of your shirt hanging open and your heart blazing, you had to snip the venereal longing in its bud.

“What’s wrong?” Jun hummed, pushing his fingers through the loops on your jeans. “Who’s texting?”

“Wonwoo. He’s been waiting for almost an hour, and his sundae is gonna be a puddle at this rate.”

He blinked a bit cluelessly, though still in musing. “There’s no way to be quick about this, is there?”

Rebuttoning your shirt, you shook your head and laughed. “Let’s wait before we ruin the car. I’m sure there’ll be a better time in the future.”

Jun nodded in agreement and relaxed back into the seat, a ray of sunshine that bled golden slanting through the windshield. Somehow, Wonwoo’s sundae wasn’t a complete pool sitting in the plastic cup, but that didn’t negate the fact he was still going to start his theory on responsibility and trust the moment you stepped onto the welcome mat. As you finished clasping the last buttons, something had caught Jun’s eye out the window, for he immediately panicked and tightly gripped your waist.

“Oh my god, g-get off my lap,” he grunted, to which your head bumped against the ceiling during the hurried shuffle and your knee whacked the gearstick.

“Ow! Okay, I’m going! Jeez, could you not give me a warning?”

“No,” Jun remarked, looking quickly to the rear-view mirror to straighten out his hair, “it’s Jeonghan and Soonyoung. They just came out of the store.”

When you glanced out Jun’s window, you noted the duo making their way across the parking lot, some plastic bags filled with groceries hanging from Jeonghan’s hand while Soonyoung appeared to be texting someone. To both your dismay, Soonyoung immediately recognized Jun’s car. You watched as the blonde bumped Jeonghan’s shoulder, how they took a slight detour on their way over.

“We have to talk to them?” You whined. “Are you kidding? Lock your window.”

Jun’s brow pinched together. “How is that going to help? They already saw us so just relax.”

“You’re telling me to relax? You practically threw me off your la—”

“Shht,” Jun snapped as the two boys drew nearer, “just shhhhht okay?” And with an incredibly large gulp, he plastered a happy-go-lucky smile to his mouth and let the window slide open.

“Jun?” Soonyoung called, leaning down slightly to peer inside the vehicle. “What’re you doing out here, huh? Back from shoplifting?”

Jeonghan bent down too, grinning snidely. “You looked a little frazzled or something.”

“Me?” Jun pointed at himself. “No, I’m fine. Just – we have to leave. Wonwoo is waiting.”

“Wonwoo?” Jeonghan seemed excited. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Hey, tell him I’m still appreciative for writing my World History paper on the Persian Empire.”

You knew it was best to stay quiet, but you couldn’t help your slight choke. Wonwoo had come home one day saying that one of his classmates offered him seventy-five bucks if he’d write their history paper. He wasn’t going to oblige originally, but cracked after listening to his classmate type out their introduction in the library, that it was just so bad Wonwoo felt piteous and decided to pitch in.

Gaping at Jeonghan, you exclaimed, “that was you?”

“Yeah. I mean, I still dropped that class. And Wonwoo definitely thinks I’m a dumbass. But I didn’t have to do a spot of work, and now I’m getting smooth nineties in English. You just have to make up some shit and do a couple fancy indents and you’re set.”

Jeonghan paused, then leaned in a little further to look you up and down. “Y’know, I’ve never seen you before. How easily do you give out your numbe—”

“We really have to go,” Jun interrupted, already clicking the button to roll up the window, “see you at practice, Soonyoung. Bye Jeonghan!”

The two boys didn’t really have any other option apart from stepping back, allowing Jun to exit the parking space and turn onto the road. Not that it would help much, you turned on the air conditioning until it felt like the wind was pure ice, hoping that you’d be able to preserve Wonwoo’s melting fudge sundae. You made sure to text him on your whereabouts, that you were heading home, and churned up a white lie about how you ran into Jun’s friends who held a persistent conversation.

It wasn’t entirely false. And yet, Wonwoo still managed to see through it.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Just say you were making out.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: Btw, I fed Princess Pebble.

[ wonwoo | 7:54 pm ]: I’m not a sinner. Unlike you guys.

Later that evening, after delivering Wonwoo his melted cup of chocolate ice cream, after Jun quickly threw some extra clothes into his backpack and ran to his late-night dance practice, you were standing at the fish tank with some new plants you bought for your guppy. As the bright lights of the tank reflected across your face, there was a strange feeling inside you. It seemed like turbulence, confusion, your heart experiencing one sentiment but your brain thinking another.

You hadn’t realized you were absently standing there until Wonwoo came into the dark living room, holding a crumpled tube of toothpaste and his toothbrush. Watching the pink fish swim in between her new seaweed arrangement, he asked you if there was an extra tube stored in your bedroom.

“Don’t think so. Text Jun and ask him to stop at the store when his practice ends.”

“I’ll do that…” Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, you know I already fed Princess Pebble?”

He accompanied you at the tank. For some reason, you refused to look at Wonwoo. You felt unusually vulnerable, like a fragile shell that could be cracked open even by the gentlest hands, and the more you thought into your emotions, the harder your heart started pounding.

“I-I know,” you smiled weakly, “but I got her some new plants today. I just put them in.”

Wonwoo could always tell when something was off-kilter. You almost hated how sharp his senses were, that he was able to detect with such accuracy how you were being eaten up inside. Softly, he touched your shoulder, urged you to turn toward him so he could see the honest colour in your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

You felt terrified, but there was no sense in pretending.

“How do I tell Jun that I’m in love with him? That I don’t want us to be a secret anymore?”

It was a weighted question, and you knew that. But it was also the truth. As much as it could be invigorating to maintain a secret relationship, you were beginning to feel the brittle side effects that came with keeping such love behind closed doors. You didn’t want Jun to push you from his lap just because his friends might’ve seen you, nor did you want to keep an eye out for whether or not you should knock his hand off your thigh in public. The secrecy had been fun, but it wasn’t enough.

Scratching the blue collar of his shirt, Wonwoo appeared uncertain.

“I’m not sure, honestly. I just think you shouldn’t repress this. You need to be upfront.”

“How?” It sounded like a desperate plead. “I don’t know how, Wonwoo.”

“Stop overthinking it,” the boy advised, grabbing onto your shoulders and giving your frame a small, grounding shake, “you know Jun. You know he isn’t a rash person. You know if you tell him he’ll hear every word of it. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re all he thinks about.”

Wonwoo  brushed at the side of your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t hurt yourself like this, okay? The next time you’re alone, just say how you feel. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re hypothesizing.”

You inhaled a deep breath and nodded. Overthinking was a poison to you. It shouldn’t be that difficult to be honest, especially when you knew how attentive Jun was, the manner in which he always adapted himself to be of a comforting presence.

“Okay,” you attempted to draw together some confidence, “I’ll do that.”

“Good.” The boy grinned, still fiddling with his empty tube of toothpaste. “It really doesn’t bother me that you guys run around together. Just… please… never do anything weird in my bed.”

The next time you were alone with Jun, it was all but a desirable circumstance. Once you came home from work and heated up some leftover dinner in the microwave, you decided to feed Princess Pebble, though your jaw unhinged as you noticed something a little unorthodox about her tank: a pink blotch floating against the surface of the water. Immediately, the tears welted hot and stinging against your eyes. You had to use the small net to scoop your guppy out from the water.

Remarkably, Princess Pebble had lived a long life for a fish. You remembered walking with Jun to the pet store one summer afternoon, after you two finished your last day of eleventh grade and had just escaped a brutal chemistry exam. Rather than studying beforehand, you spent ample time researching different types of fish, and would often send Jun pictures asking him to choose which one he thought was cutest. Yet, at the end of it all, you chose a guppy with the prettiest pink scales.

“Don’t most people want a puppy? A kitten? And you choose a boring fish.”

Jun had teased, sounding awkward and a bit lisped through his braces.

Somehow, Princess Pebble had managed to live a five-year lifespan. Wonwoo told you most guppies live for two years, three years if the owner takes good care. Sitting at the kitchen table, you placed her body onto a piece of paper towel, the thick tears dripping down your cheeks while your sinuses grew wet and congested. You didn’t know if it was petulant to be your age, crying over a pet fish. In fact, you didn’t even possess the heart to rise from the table and discard her body.

It wasn’t much longer until Jun returned home after his theatre class, to which you heard his key rattling in the lock. Wonwoo was scheduled for a shift at the cinema, most likely handing out overpriced popcorn and chocolate and having to reject every person who asked for his number.

“Hey,” he called, shouldering off his backpack, “Wonwoo texted me. That weird thriller we were looking at is playing next week. We should—,”

Jun paused the moment he heard your runny sniffling. He didn’t realize that your fish was sitting on the paper towel until he took a few steps closer. You felt embarrassed Jun had to see you like this. If you were crying, it had always been over something with a little more gravity, like the time you were distraught about flunking your laboratory practical, and Wonwoo couldn’t persuade you to open your bedroom door no matter how frequently he stood outside, pleading.

Plucking at the collar of your shirt, you used the fabric to clear away the tears. Without a word, Jun grabbed another chair from the dining table and pulled it next to you, scooting in close. As soon as you felt his arm drape around your shoulders, it was like someone had pulled the plug on a bathtub filled with water, to which you pressed your face against his neck and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry.” Jun whispered, hugging you tight to his comfortable chest. “It’s okay to be upset. I know how much she meant to you.”

He drew soothing strokes down the back of your head, and he sat with you until those wet pearls ran dry with salt. You knew it wasn’t wise to keep her body out in the air, that you would have to discard her somehow, yet the thought of having to flush her away seemed too cruel. Jun wiped the soft glisten from your cheeks with his sleeve, his fingers then tracing up and down the side of your face.

“I-I don’t want to flush her.” You blubbered.

The boy shook his head. “We won’t do that. We’ll find a good way to handle it.” His thumb brushed tenderly below the fragile skin of your eye for a moment, and he seemed to be in musing.

“Wait here.” He announced, suddenly running into his bedroom.

You could hear Jun shuffling through his closet, moving around clothing hangers and pushing aside boxes still filled with some of his old belongings from homelife in Shenzhen. When he remerged into the living room, he was holding a particular tissue box, one that you hadn’t seen since twelfth grade biology. You, Jun, and Wonwoo had painted and decorated the box as part of an optional project, to see if you could grow any plants from the packets of radish and tomato seeds your teacher had.

Nothing ever grew. Wonwoo claimed there had been some green sprouts when it was his turn to look after the makeshift garden, but that his cat snuck into his room and ate them all. Jun always kept a multitude of random things that dated back to your adolescence. As awkward and bumpy as those times were, seeing the tissue box reminded you that there had been precious moments too.

“Why do you still have that?” You laughed, even if your chest was aching.

“Because that was the first time us three did something together.” Jun said, returning to his seat beside you. “It was one of the first memories I made after moving away from home.”

You fondly looked at Jun while pulling the tissue box toward you, slathered in old, chipping acrylic paint and obnoxious, starry glitter.

Licking the dry salt off your lips, you smiled. “Princess Pebble would love this.”

“It can be her shrine. When Wonwoo comes home, we can find a good place to bury it.” Jun explained. “I know I called her boring five years ago, but I didn’t mean it. I loved her too.”

In the pensive silence, you thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo, recalling his firm grip on your shoulders as he reiterated the importance of freeing your heart, of not bogging yourself down with too many untold truths. Then, you glanced at Jun. You thought about that fluttering feeling when you kissed him, when you ran your fingers through his hair, listening to his deep-chested laughter whenever he gleefully buckled over into your lap after telling one of his hit-or-miss jokes.

The boy tensed slightly as you pulled him into a hug, though he quickly came to ease and warmth. You thanked him, because it just felt like the right thing to do for his compassion.

And then you told him something else.

“I love you.”

Without missing a heartbeat, he murmured against your hair, “I love you too.”

It was late, unreasonably late, the past-midnight late where the entire world falls still like an unperturbed pond. Downtown was completely hushed. Every so often the wind picked up, though it inevitably withered away in between the buildings and emerged a pitiful whistle onto the street. And yet, despite the fact you should be tucked in bed while the moon protected the silence in her silver hands, you were pushing outside the convenience shop with Jun close behind.

He took the end of a straw into his mouth and slurped at the sweet, cherry-flavoured slushie that was beginning to empty. Immediately, he crinkled his forehead and his face contorted.

“How many times have I said not to do that?” You laughed as he passed you the slippery cup.

“I don’t know. Three?” Jun replied with a grimace. “I can really feel it. Wait, I need a moment.”

You stopped next to the traffic post at the end of the street. Jun grabbed at his hair and squeezed like it was some miraculous remedy for curing a brain freeze. Directing the straw into your mouth, you sucked up the cherry syrup and crushed ice until you felt the distant ache thrum inside your head.

“Okay…” Jun concluded, brushing the long, black fringe from his eyes, “I’m good now.”

Thrusting the drink back into his hands, you couldn’t help but huff: “you’re such a baby.”

As though to prove your point, Jun started whining. “My head is so, so cold. It’s freezing.”

“So put this up or something.” You teased, reaching around the back of his neck to pull the boy’s hood over his head. Giggling slightly, you grinned at him as he shot you a questionable glance.

The streets remained quiet, and the sky was remarkably clear, no more than a few ragged and thin clouds drifting over the stars. The last time you had been on this corner, you were licking the strawberry sugar off your fingertips while Jun crumpled his last packet of popping candy. You remembered tracing the rose tint that warmed his lips, each fibre in your muscle twitching because you just wanted to wrap a hand through his locks and kiss him like he was your last breath.

You didn’t understand how you could love one person so much. Why love often fused itself into your bloodstream more than functionality. Your heart knew how to beat, yet it stumbled whenever you gazed at him. Your lungs knew how to filter the air, yet they closed up whenever you caught his eye. Your tongue knew how to articulate, yet it tied itself in a knot the moment he’d touch you.

“Hey,” you mumbled, patting his arm, “can I ask you something?”

Jun looked away from the stars, sipping at his drink again. He nodded.

The moon probably wanted to crush your heart in her hands for how loudly it was thumping.

“What if I told you that I want people to know we’re together? What would you say?”

Despite your anxiousness, you weren’t as afraid as you anticipated. Maybe it was because Jun didn’t immediately sour or attempt to disparage your sentiments. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he blinked at you, but it didn’t matter. When it was most important, Jun picked his words carefully.

“I’d tell you that I want the same thing,” he admitted, his tone deepening and the amber in his cheeks sparked with pink, “that I want people to know how I feel about you… That I’ve always been in love with you.”

You smiled wide, like a kid who just got their braces off. Unable to contain such a rapturous energy, you stepped in close to Jun and held onto his shoulders, dotting the corners of his mouth with small kisses before you pressed your lips against his. You felt him smirk, though it seemed too devious. Jun had suddenly wrapped his arms around your lower back, pushing you in chest-to-chest. You melted as he kissed you, your fingertips ghosting along the soft hairs at his nape, the moonlight on your skin.

When you arrived back at the apartment, you could hear a few of Wonwoo’s gentle snores echo from behind the bedroom door. Just before you slipped away into your own room, Jun left a goodnight kiss to the top of your head, his hand thoughtfully squeezing your hip.

“I-Isn’t it a little late for that?” Jun stumbled through his laughter. “Why do you need me?”

It was a surface-level question really, but nonetheless, your heart still skipped a beat. In only a second or more the silence was bearing down too heavily and it felt like your heart was a book with all its pages out. Jun’s eyes were twinkling as he blinked up at you.

You finally knew what you should have said.

“Because I love you.”

✧✎ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SWEET PRINCE!! never would i have imagined that someone who’s on the opposite side of the globe could mean so much to me ;_; mr. moon has been such a healing presence, and it’s bc of him that i have found so much happiness these past five years! whenever i see him smiling and laughing and have good ol times just being himself, all my worrisome thoughts somehow fade away and i feel only joy!! 

anyways, i don’t want to ramble for too long (i could really fill a page with my cloying sentiments r.i.p) but i hope this was a wholesome fic!! the stars aligned and for once i was able to write a fic for a member’s birthday :_) 

[maemi324]

Mafia

Hey there friends! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve actually posted something. 

Let me just say, Happy Holidays! I hope you are having a wonderful and safe holiday. 

This fic was inspired and written for @butterscotchbaku​ and @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku​ based on some requests I had written in, as well as just ideas passed back and forth. 

I hope you two are having a wonderful day and may that continue into the new year! Thank you for all you’ve written and done!

Pairing: Izuku/Fem.Reader

Warnings: mentioned beatings, mentioned assault but nothing described in detail. all very vague. uhh violence, or hinted at violence. Edited only by me, so i may have missed something.

 I think that’s it. 

I hope you two enjoy this! 

Cigarette smoke hung heavily in the room, walls filled with generic knickknacks and warm colored walls gave the meeting a false sense of pleasantness. To any unsuspecting person, this was any other meeting room, one long table with rounded edges and somewhat padded chairs, the head of the table having the one most plush. 

Hell, even the people occupying them would have anyone turning up their nose in disinterest. Nothing but business men and women in dark, smart looking suits.

But you knew better. Sitting at the head was the infamous Izuku Midoriya, known under the name of Deku, direct descendent of the greatest Mafia leader Japan had ever seen; All Might. 

And here you sat, comfortably in Izuku’s lap, your temple pressed against his neck as you listened to his voice rumble on towards the other members. You were hardly paying attention to what was being said as you glanced around the room to the others.

Katsuki Bakugou- Dynamite, or TNT if you were feeling particularly cheeky. He was head of interrogation, finding out who knew what and definitely had too many ways of making people talk, and only one sure fire way of keeping them quiet. 

Todoroki Shouto- Bakugou’s counter in interrogation. He was mainly there to keep Bakugou from killing every target. He could control his temper, sure, but Todoroki added a sense of cold unease to their targets. He was effective against the folks who didn’t rise to Bakugou’s jabs and threats. He tapped the ashes of his cigarette into the small dish provided.

Kirishima Eijirou- Red Riot-another strong man and a third in the interrogation squad. He kept Bakugou from grousing the entire time, as well as leveling the two tempers in the group. Though he was a strong man, he was also incredibly sweet. You recalled that, while dealing with some unsavory characters that had children- typically rescuing the children at the other parents pleading- Red Riot was a favorite with them, his bright smile and charm keeping them distracted as Bakugou and Todoroki dealt with the problem.

Iida- Ingenium-was the getaway driver, best out of the best. He somehow always managed to get them out as quickly as possible while still following the law. It made losing the police all the easier. Ochaco Uraraka, or Uravity, was the treasurer, in charge of keeping account of all of the mafia’s funds, who owed them money and why. For more problematic clients, she was a stickler down to the very last penny. 

There were others, but those were just the ones in the room at the moment. You sighed softly, adjusting in Izuku’s lap. Someone at the end of the table was pleading for something. You could tell by the unimpressed glare on Izuku’s face that it was going south for whoever this was- a blond man with an inferiority complex for certain.

You glanced down at your left hand, engagement ring shimmering brightly despite the warm fluorescent lights. It wasn’t very large, an emerald surrounded by diamonds. He’d only given it to you a few days ago. On a rare day, you were able to go out with him in public-the benefit of a mask and some contacts while on the job- you had decided to flit about a few museums. The ring caught your eye immediately, the prized possession of some rich so and so, dating back who knows how long in their family.

Maybe it was because of how brightly it matched your lovers eyes, but the ring called to you. You didn’t mention a peep to your lover however. You knew he would have taken it right then and there. You rather liked coming to this museum, with added security after a robbery, you would have to frequent it less.

Your lovestruck fool of a man decided to do it anyway. He’d said that the plan went off without a hitch, though the smudges of dirt and a bit of blood- not his own- said otherwise. At the time, you had to question why, sure he’d robbed plenty of other places, gifts for trips that took longer than expected, but a place that you favored going?

“I’m just crazy about you doll, You deserve the best of the best. The way you eyed that ring, I knew there’d be nothing else that would be more perfect for you. But, it’s not just because you fancied it that I got it for you. We’re together, we always will be...but I want to make it more official. I wanna be yours forever, and I want you to be mine. What do you say doll? Marry me?”

You couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A gentle nudge to your shoulder brought you out of your daze. You looked up to the love of your life.

“What do you think dollface? What should we do with Monama?” 

You sat up in his lap, watching as the blond shivered in his spot, a smirk on your fiance’s face hidden by his fist as he leaned against it.

“Monama, what is it he did again?”

“Well Doll, he owes us money. He swears he’s good for it, but this is the third time he hasn’t been good for it.What should we do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Monama...ah yes now you remembered him! A little wanna be Mafia leader who went under when he ran out of money. He placed bets with other rival gangs against Deku, proclaiming that not only could he and his group get it done, but get it done better. 

There were times when they had, though just barely. It was hardly enough to keep a betting pool aimed against Deku however. Everyone but him seemed to know it. The overconfidence in his group and underestimating Deku lead to his downfall when Deku pulled off an impossible mission without even having to undo his tie.

When these gangs came to collect, he begged Deku to allow him and his group safety, help paying off the debt. Deku agreed, but in return, he had a year to earn the money back, only adding interest when the blond began getting too cocky. 

“I just need a little more time! A day, give me a day!” he pleaded, voice shrill and desperate. 

You winced, brows scrunched in annoyance.

Honestly, you didn’t care for Monama, and weren’t all too excited for his continued presence in the gang. You looked down at your nails idly.

“Have Dynamite follow him for a day then. If whatever magic he seems to think he can pull off, doesn’t in fact pull off, then he can have fun beating the change out of him. Or, whoever he’s seeing to get the money can pay it” You figured, even though he’d be annoyed at the idea of tailing that worm, Bakugou would have a good time beating it out of him.

Izuku gave Bakugou a look, who only snarled in response. A tilt of his head and Bakugou got up from his chair, footsteps heavy as he grabbed Monama by the arm, “Let’s get this over with you pathetic extra,” rolling his eyes as Moana sagged in slight relief, gratitude spilling from his lips.

Izuku held up a hand, “Let Red Riot escort him out for now. We have some business that you’d like to be here for I’m sure”

Bakugou’s eyes widened a fraction, a grin making its way onto his face as he shoved Monama towards Kirishima.

As Bakugou took his seat and Kirishima exited with Monama in tow, another man entered the room, a small man with purple hair. You recognized him as Mineta’s father. His son’s invention, a sticky substance that rendered anything in its grip as good as stuck, was what kept him in the group. What had him on thin ice however, was his treatment of the women in the group, all things he learned from his father. Izuku left Iida to beat it out of him however he saw fit. All it would take is one more strike. 

His father, however, was all out of strikes. The way he leered at you and the other girls had you all walking on eggshells around him. You only came forward to Izuku about it after you and the others had confided in one another. He had groped at you after a party the gang had thrown. It was the first and last time he’d ever made a physical move towards you.

You could feel the man's lecherous eyes on you, making you lean into Izuku, his body blocking the man's gaze. 

While you told him your story, Izuku’s face had remained calm, though the cup he had been holding shattered into thousands of pieces. He knew there were rumors about the senior, but to have it be found out as fact, and not just rumors from other gangs... He was furious, you knew that, and you knew somehow, someway, that Minoru senior would pay.

“Doll, why don’t you go talk to YaoMomo about wedding dresses, hm?” You nodded your head, though hesitant to leave the safety and comfort of his lap. You knew you were safe with Izuku by your side, but that didn’t mean you were comfortable passing by this...Disgusting being. His gaze softened and he hooked his arm around yours, escorting you personally towards the door.

Izuku tilted your head into a sweet kiss, his thumb rubbing comforting circles onto your side.

Izuku opened the door for you, but before you left, he kissed you again, deeper, sweeping away the sickly feeling of being watched with his tongue as it danced with yours, one hand cupping your jaw to pull you close.

He pulled away all too soon for your tastes, hand leaving your jaw, “Actually, maybe talk with her about the cake too, this may take a bit...” he turned away from you, eyes turning cold and jaded as the door closed.

“It’s about to get ugly in here”

[hankwritten]

Hofstadter’s Law

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for MinnesotaMedic821, Drunk

“You sure this best way in, Jane?” Demo muttered quietly as he gazed up at the looming concrete spires of BLU base.

“I am very sure!” Soldier said, not quietly at all. Practically yelling actually. Right in Demo’s ear too, what with his arm slung around the RED’s shoulders as the only thing keeping him upright.

“Shhh!” Demo hushed him. “You want me to go half-deaf as well as half-blind? ‘Sides, the last thing we need right now is the other BLUs hearing us.”

Soldier’s head, lolling like a pad of butter sliding around a hot pan, took a long and winding trip from one side to the other. “…Why?”

“…Because I’m a RED in the middle of a nest o’ BLU corn snakes?” Demo raised a brow. “Ach, you really did have a number done, didn’t you? Remind me not to let you near the Everclear again.”

“Okay! I will definitely remind you!”

Demo eyed him dubiously. “Remind me what, Jane?”

The grey shell of the helmet stared at him for several seconds. “…What?”

“Let’s just get you in, aye? We can do all sorts of filling in each other’s memories when your toesies are tucked safe under your covers.”

But in order get the Soldier safely in bed, they’d need to first traverse the minefield of potential termination that was the center of BLU operations. No problem at all really. It was late—even if some of the mercs had hit the town like Demo and Soldier had, they’d certainly be back by now, fast asleep, no chance at all of waking up and discovering a very difficult to explain situation in the form of an enemy merc carrying around their Soldier. As long as they were quiet, they’d be perfectly safe.

Demo guided Soldier towards the back doors, at which point they promptly ran into the enemy Demoman.

The BLU, spread out on a fabric lawn chair surrounded by dust, desert, and least a half-dozen bottles, blinked wide-eyed at the pair who’d just come around with the low-speed but high-inertia gait of a drunk couple. He shook his head slightly, as though to dispel the ‘ole three am fog and ascertain that yes, that truly was his teammate being helped along by the RED demolition’s man. Demo, for his part, froze like he’d been staked to the ground.

Soldier, as heavy things are want to do, kept going at his expected velocity. It nearly took them both over—Demo had to abandon the arm under his shoulders, lunging to haul Soldier up the waist and folding him in half like a Panini.

“Well,” the BLU in the lawn chair said, “you two look like you had fun.”

His face was a mish-mash of raised brow and, perplexingly enough, a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he bore witness to the two truants. Most shockingly of all, there wasn’t a trace of surprise on his face now, just those shades of smug amusement you put on when watching a particularly entertaining drunkard. The fact that Demo was used to having that expression leveled at him was neither here nor there.

“Er…” he said eloquently.

The flash of dread that’d shot through him when he’d caught sight of the BLU was the worse case scenario of course: reported on, fired, dead in a gravel pit somewhere, all rendered in gory detail by his mind’s eye. (His overactive imagination a bloody menace sometimes.) But as the BLU continued to sit there, not sounding the alarm, not even looking particularly worried, Demo’s fear for his own neck slowly morphed into confusion.

“I was just er-”

“Oh, hello Demoman!” Soldier chimed in. “We have been out. Drinking alcohol!”

“I’ve heard that’s a fun pastime,” his teammate commented mildly.

“Don’t tell him that,” Demo complained, hauling Soldier to an upright position. “Jesus, this er, isn’t what it looks like, honestly.”

“Sure it isn’t,” the BLU said, wearing what could now be identified unmistakably as a smirk. He gestured with his bottle. “Back entrance ‘s that-a-way.”

A little ball of defensiveness, not matter how unjustified, rolled around in Demo’s gut to the point he wanted to stop and give the other Demoman a piece of his mind. Which would probably involve lying. And then consequences to lying since Soldier had already given away this wasn’t a one time thing. He shut his gob and took the out.

Until the hum of the BLU’s resumed tune was far behind them, until the curving architecture of the base would keep them from being overheard, he didn’t dare start asking questions. Only when he was sure that the corner they’d rounded was at a significant distance away did he accusatorily hiss, “what was that about?”

“Hm?” Soldier asked pleasantly. He fixed a dopey smile on his friend, a second ago which had been the responsibility of a beetle crawling a tuft of bullheadidly tenacious grass.

“Your Demo, why’d you tell him where we were? And why didn’t he flip out?”

“You’re my Demo,” Soldier hummed unhelpfully.

“Ach,” Demo said, realizing he’d get nowhere with the security lights and a whole herd of horseflies bearing down on them. “Fine, lets get you inside first. But I’ve still got some bloody questions.”

They’d arrived at the unassuming little door cut into the base’s thick concrete, welded metal gushing haphazardly from its size as though its very addition had been an afterthought. Demo motioned at Soldier.

“Pass me your keycard, lad.”

“M’what?”

“Keycard.” Demo’s heart sank. “You keep it in your wallet or something, right?”

Soldier stared at the card reader. He stared at long and hard, so long and hard that Demo was starting to wonder if the question had made it through his ear canals at all when he concluded, “I forgot it.”

“You for- Oh for the love of Pete.” Demo took the hand that wasn’t supporting his mate and rubbed it long suffering across his face. “Well that’s great. Bloody great, risk my arse hauling a drunken fart back to his base cause he can’t hold his bloody liquor, and we can’t even get in to the fecking-”

The door hissed, layers of dust shaking loose like with a sci-fi swish as the vacuum seal was opened to the desert night. Demo gawked, watching it shake away grit like it was built into the surface of Mars instead of a dead-end town in the middle of New Mexico, and letting out a wash of air-conditioned oxygen.

When it was partially ajar, it unveiled the BLU Sniper, arms folded and leaning on the inner wall.

“How…what?” Demo asked. Soldier was too busy looking at the beetle again to be perplexed.

“Heard you guys arguing from the roof.” Sniper jerked his thumb upwards. “If you were sneaking ‘round, might want to think about keeping your voice down in the future. Probably could’ve heard you all the way at RED.”

“I wasn’t- We weren’t-”

Sniper waited. When no adequate explanation was forthcoming he said, “you comin’? Cold air’s getting out.”

Demo grimaced, and began the arduous processes of lugging the Soldier inside.

Chill ran up where his t-shirt had sweated to his neck, Soldier fairing no better since they’d spent the past half hour (every moment since Demo had realized Soldier would be going nowhere on his own) with their sides pressed together. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until the cold ai) brought the slightest suggestion of relief to his (admittedly also not terribly sober) body.

“If this is going to be a running thing for you two, maybe don’t get so munted next time, yeah?” Sniper offered. It was neither reprimanding nor conversational, like this was a totally normal exchange happening here with a RED in a BLU hallway.

“Who said anything about a ‘running thing’?” Demo demanded. “You didn’t overhear that!”

Sniper raised a brow. “Soldier said you were his new best mate. I assumed that meant you’d both be out and about more than once.”

Demo grit his teeth, the pieces clicking into place. “Did he now.” He leveled his best attempt at a glare from his blindspot at the disoriented Soldier who, unsurprisingly, was more interested in resting his head on Demo’s shoulder than being reprimanded. “Well that’s good to know. Any chance you can point me to his room?”

Sniper took one gloved hand and shoved a thumb over his shoulder.

“Thanks. Cheers.”

“Goodbye Sniper,” Soldier said belatedly, a good three minutes after he’d disappeared around a corner. “Oh hey! My room!”

“Jane, is there anyone you didn’t tell about us?” Demo demanded.

Soldier thought for a moment. “…I didn’t tell any REDs.”

“Jane,” Demo groaned. “This is supposed to be a secret. What if one of them tells the Administrator? You want that? Going to be hard ever meeting up again if we’re both six feet under.”

For the first time, a bit of shame managed to reach the Soldier through the woolen mesh of his inebriated state, and he looked at his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just got really excited. Wanted everyone to know I was hanging out with you.”

Demo sighed heavily, not up bullying his friend when he was in such a pathetic sate already. “I know you were. Ach, it’s fine. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.”

Later being sometime after he’d managed to deposit Soldier onto a four-poster, though with the way the night was going it seemed like that moment would never arrive. His outlook wasn’t improved when he opened the door of Soldier’s room and found that not only was it Soldier’s room, but the occupancy of the entire Offense division.

“Whzzat?” Scout said, rolling to his elbow just in time to be bombarded by the hall light. “Ahg, dammit Sol. What the hell man?”

Demo didn’t bother freezing this time, successfully desensitized to literally every BLU on the planet stumbling across his ill-advised trip through the enemy base. Instead, he walked over, dropped Soldier on the bed, and began helping him unlace his boots.

“What the-?” Scout said when he finally lowered his arm. “Oh right. You. Jesus, how ‘bout a little consideration for the sleeping guy?”

“Mmrrhaunna,” came from the bundle in the corner.

“Yeah, what they said.”

“You don’t got the right to be begging consideration from anyone, jackrabbit,” Demo said hotly as he frees the military-grade combat boots from Soldier’s feet. He threw a blanket over the man’s form, who sighed appreciatively and said something about how this would earn Demo a medal. “‘Sides, don’t need to worry about me no more. I just came to drop of your sergeant and get out of here.”

To prove it, he backed out of the room with hands raised. Mission complete. Time to get out of here and bring this mortifying night to an end.

He might have gotten away with it too, if Pyro hadn’t shot straight up and pointed an accusing finger at him. “Mrrhaha! Hudda hah ha hoo.”

Demo reared back slightly from the Pyro who was still very much in their rubber suit, now with added nightcap. Whatever the hell they were saying, they were very impassioned about it. He looked to the Scout for help.

“They want you to tuck them in too,” he said, and the light flooding in from the single open door was good enough to see that he was smirking as he did so.

“Wha- I’m not bloody tucking anyone in,” Demo said hotly.

“Hudda ha. Mrra haa hur ha.”

“You tucked Soldier in,” Scout translated. “Only fair.”

“Gurrhaha.”

“…Otherwise they’ll tattle.”

“I cannae bloody believe this,” Demo groaned, rubbing his face.

Grudgingly, he made his way over the giggling pyrotechnician, absolutely giddy to have gotten their way. Thankfully boots weren’t part of the pajama equation, and Demo had only to tuck in the blanket’s edges ‘round a pair of socked feet and a squirming, suit-clad body. When he tried to leave it at that, a keening noise stopped him, and he was forced to repeat the process for Mayor Balloonicorn. All the while, he could feel the Scout staring smugly at the back of his head.

“D’awww, ain’t that adorable. Going to be hard to be scared of you now, though. Y’know, after you swung by to give us goodnight kisses and all that crap.”

“Just for that, I’m going to have a sticky trap with your name on it, boyo,” Demo pointed an accusing finger in Scout’s direction. He just shrugged.

“But uh,” Scout added, just as Demo was finally about to make his escape. “Glad you turned out to be cool though. He was really gung ho about tonight. Its nice he has good friends besides us.”

Demo cast his gaze to Soldier, who’d fallen fitfully in the short while it’d taken to get Pyro off his back.

“…That’s good. It was a fun time.”

“Oh yeah?” Scout wiggled his eyebrows. “How fun?”

Demo took one of the pillows he’d used to burry Pyro in and flung it at Scout’s face.

“Sticky trap. Your name.”

He could still hear Scout snickering all the way out into the hall.

[ahlis-xiv]

journal 50.4

G’raha sat alone, semi-hunched over a piece of parchment as he worked. Although he did not show it, the drafting he ambitiously began was nothing short of a place between fascinating and downright tediousness. The solution to tempering that nestled within his mind and finding a proper way to convey it into some sort of physicality that others could understand took time and a level of focus that brought him back to his Studium days.

He did not mind the effort, really, yet part of him couldn’t help but feel he could be applying himself to something else...namely figuring out why his dear friend decided to depart in such a hurry without so much as a word.

G’raha sighed, and scratched out part of the formulae he attempted to use as a proper proof. It wasn’t correct or, rather, not good enough, and he knew it: it almost felt like he had to somehow invent a whole new notation and he was second guessing every attempt. That, he knew, was as strong a sign as any that he needed a break.

Abandoning his work for the more welcoming sight above Mor Dhona proper, he took to his usual perch and leaned over the ledge to watch the activity below. Ever since he arrived there—since waking up, really—G’raha found the habit of people-watching a welcome one when it came to clearing his head. It had also been an old habit as well from his time as the Exarch. It was difficult at times to not be reminded of it when he went there to be alone--not that it troubled him, but rather his thoughts inevitably wandered to those he had to let go. To old friends and, naturally, to her.

What would Lyna think, he wondered. Of everything? Despite assurances, both given and told to own self, he knew it was a question not quite answerable. He was unfettered, free—free to live the life he wished. A second chance. Yet something gnawed away at his heart that only grew in the wake of what occurred in Ala Mhigo. And the Warrior of Light was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t wish to admit it, but that this point most of all prickled his thoughts. She had been wounded in the confrontation: not severely but enough to warrant considerable healing, namely for her arms. She berated herself for not properly handling the situation, that it was foolish to not deal with Fandaniel and his summoning there and then somehow. When the dust settled with wounds seen to and mended, she slipped away and out of his reach.

G’raha’s hands clasped together in front of him, fretting as his anxiety swelled. Ahlis said many things in the aftermath at the menagerie; much of which he knew was said in a fury he rarely witnessed. He also knew he ought to not dwell on it, as it was not directed towards him—but it felt personal, watching the anger and the walls that suddenly erected around her, forbidding his approach. Surely she knew, she must’ve known that he cared—that they all cared? G’raha understood what it meant to seek solace, to lick one’s wounds after a poor bout in battle, yet to shut him out? Why?

He huffed a frustrated growl, and pouted to himself. This is not about you, G’raha, his more sensible self spoke in his mind. It did little to help when he knew naught what to do with his...feelings, with no soul to utter them to. For the moment, all he had in certainty, was himself.

Looking above to the darkening sky, stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep blue, the gloom weak and unable to hinder their shine. He hoped that wherever Ahlis was, and however she felt, that her safety was sure and her healing swift.

---

Ahlis suddenly grasped the pillow within her bare arms as a sneeze escaped her nose and immediately regretted it.

“Bless you, dearest,” Aymeric spoke above her, his hands gently working her back’s aches and pains into a soothing massage.

“Augh, no,” she said, voice muffled by soft cotton where she shoved her face into it. The great debate of whether she should lift her head up or not kept her in place, lest she reveal a potentially not-so-graceful mess. “I think I ruined it.”

Wordlessly and only with a soft chuckle of amusement Aymeric rose to retrieve a handkerchief as if reading her mind in her current discomfort. When he returned Ahlis was already sitting up, the pillow still pressed to her face. He did not know how to assure her that there were far worse things that could ruin one’s bedding, but seeing the flushed look upon her face while she cleaned herself as discretely as possible encouraged him to say nothing.

“Are you feeling better?” Aymeric asked, once she seemed satisfied to show herself, the pillow and handkerchief no longer covering her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Ahlis spoke, relief entering her voice. “I am sorry, about this, though.” Her hands still held onto the pillow until he reached for it himself, lightly tossing it aside and back onto the bed.

“It is of no consequence. My home is yours, including the aforementioned pillow.”

That made Ahlis laugh, as he hoped it would, and Aymeric took this moment to join her again, sitting side by side upon the edge of the bed. It was useless however to ignore the wrappings around both her palms and forearms, both of which had been kept out of sight when lying on her stomach. Catching his glancing eyes, Ahlis took that moment to adjust her bandages.

“The pain is mostly gone. Now it’s just itching,” she spoke, more annoyed than in any sort of true discomfort. “New skin takes some getting used to and breaking in, imagine that.”

“May I see it?” Aymeric asked after a moment’s pause, his voice careful in its near-whisper like intensity.

For a second, she hesitated. Unraveling them didn’t hurt much anymore, so when she did reveal the newly healed burns that rested beneath she didn’t hold back in extending her arm in front of him. If only her heart that thumped heavily in her chest agreed! Nerves, however troublesome they proved to be, would do little in assuaging his concern.

“There you are,” Ahlis said with an exuberance she hoped sounded sure and confident. “It’s not so terrible now, aye?”

It was not her intent to fool him, rather, it was better than the ire she felt deep within at how it happened, and better still than to appear caught off-guard or foolish to have been struck at all by such an injury. It had been a mistake, one that could’ve gone even more horribly wrong in an instant if not for…

“Oh, Ahlis...”

Her thoughts stopped, everything stopped. She was helpless as she watched the shock that touched his eyes turn to despair, to pain that flowed into the tenderness that came with his touch as he cradled her wrist to his cheek. There was a knot of scarred tissue just below where his lips met her skin; the first kiss was given there, then another just above it towards her palm.

Such sensations, intensified against her freshly healed wounds, rendered her voice frozen within her throat. It was almost too much; she released a heavy, shaky breath that gave him pause, and Aymeric turned to look upon her so intensely, so painfully, she dared think she might cry herself.

“It’s fine,” she found herself saying, finally, unsure if it truly was after all.

---

Later, long after they had gone to bed, she would wake to see the stars out in the beyond just outside the window, the silhouette of spires cutting across the dark. A rare, clear night in the city. Gripped by the sight, she stole herself away to find a place to write...

Evenings have proven to be the best, and only time, to write clear-headed these days. As if I do not need sleep.

The itching has finally subsided enough to carry on without thinking about it and now I can finally sit for half a bell to write while at the same time not wishing to scratch my skin off. I’ve had lacerations, all manners of bruising and concussive injuries. I’ve even been shot at! But note to self: never get fucking burned like that again.

I’m going to kill that bastard with his own medicine, and I will enjoy it

[there is a drawing here of a figure in a robe with a sword skewering it all the way through, who is also on fire]

The healing has progressed as it will, and I trust Krile and Alphinaud’s hands more than any other—although granted my sourness over it all could have been a little less scathing, I guess.

But what can I say, a lot of bullshite has been happening these days. I’m getting a mite bit enraged that these Ascian arseholes aren’t leaving me alone, and yet I am not entirely surprised. It’s not over until it is over.

gods when will that be never ah ha ha ha

In the meantime I have made good on my own promises to make my own self comfortable as best I can, heal as best I am able, and spending what time I can in Ishgard. The others are probably wondering when I’ll return to the Stones but until G’raha outlines our approach on implementing proper protocol on the tempering solution I honestly don’t want to hear about anything else. Alisaie should be helping, I am sure, as is Alphinaud too I think. It’ll be fine! And fast too.

I mean I would help more too but I don’t have a crazy as all hells academic background as they do seven hells I’d love me a curriculum found in the Studium within those stupid halls and their even stupider “zero involvement” stance on bloody everything

share your goddamn science you twits

I am far more tired than I thought. But! I am also finally able to think about the impending reconnaissance we’re bound to have soon once Thancred and Urianger return.

if something happens with them I swear to ever loving shite I am going to boot them back to the First with my fist

Without my Stupid! Arms! Annoying me!

OH is that little

[the writing stops here with an ink blot, as if the pen was dropped and left there, the smeared and distinct shape of a cat’s paw crossing part of the page]

[vancafreader]

Fine Art Comics of Canada: Sixties to Seventies - Heart of London, Snore & More by Robert Dayton

Part One: The Heart Of London

There was a time where artists were making vast ripples away from Toronto and other outsized hubs. London, Ontario was such a place, all eyes were on it in the late 60’s and not Toronto. The Heart Of London comic book from 1968 was actually an exhibition catalog, an overview of the art that was happening there at the time. Organised by The National Gallery of Canada, this exhibition traveled from London to Toronto, Kingston, Edmonton, Victoria, Charlottetown and, of course, The National Gallery H.Q. itself in Ottawa.

This catalog/comic book consisted of fumetti, comics done using photos for the images. Fumetti was most prominently used in the 60’s by Harvey Kurtzman in Help and Playboy, prolifically in numerous Mexican comic book melodramas, and in Italian comics featuring the masked master criminal Satanik. Heart Of London’s particular fumetti is further stylized by heavily contrasted processing causing colours so bright that they make everything heightened artifice, buzzing as if emanating from a higher plane of being.

Cover of the Heart Of London catalogue

The Heart of London logo in Pepto-Bismol pink is rendered somewhere between Archie and underground comix titles. Above it, The Comics Code of Authority symbol -a comic book mainstay of the day implying that the work is of safe moral quality- has been altered to “National Gallery of Canada”, the institution that made this comic book and exhibition happen. The cover features what appears to be London public workers, perhaps? These men in yellow hard hats casually stand in front of a store with a Coca-Cola logo also coloured Pepto-Bismol pink, Pop Art style, at the city’s main intersection in what very well may be the heart of London.

The comic opens with a quote placed above a looming Brutalist parking lot, huddling various small businesses below it. This quote contains the phrase “heart of London” but it is rather self-deprecatingly not about London, Ontario but London, England in World War One. Sharing a name with London, England has often made this Ontario city the butt of many a joke, ie. “I live in London… (long pause) Ontario” with its population being just over 200,000 in 1968. Named in 1793 by Lord Simcoe, Upper Canada’s first Lieutenant-Governor known for starting the abolition of slavery, he was also fervently British, his vision for Canada was for it to be like England which he looooved, desperately (but stiffly) wanting this particular London to become Ontario’s capital. Alas, Toronto was chosen instead. Related, always related to everything: the term “cosmic consciousness”, the higher state of consciousness, was coined in London in 1872 by Richard Bucke, a psychiatrist and head of The Asylum For The Insane, after he received a blinding vision, illuminating him. Besides being active in asylum reform, Bucke was heavily involved in the arts -the vision occurred after an evening spent reading Romantic poetry as well as poems by Walt Whitman, who he later befriended. Yes, London, Ontario is an eccentric place.

The artists involved in the Heart Of London show were part of what was known as “London Regionalism”, a loose-knit movement of artists who were adamant about residing in London, away from Toronto or New York. Artist Greg Curnoe helped establish some of the very first artist-run centres there. He was an early member and huge proponent of CARFAC, a Canadian organisation that fights for artists to get paid and paid fairly for their work. CARFAC was founded in London by Heart Of London artists Jack Chambers and Tony Urquhart -along with Kim Ondaatje.

Besides Curnoe, Chambers, and Urquhart, the eleven artists in Heart Of London included John Boyle, Bev Kelly, Murray Favro, Ron Martin, David Rabinowitch, Royden Rabinowitch, Walter Redinger, and Ed Zelenak. They are all profiled in fumetti form talking about their practice through speech balloons and captions, along with quick biographical details. Many of these artists were known for their inventiveness, they were influenced by a variety of subject matter -including comic art- without falsely delineating these influences into false boxes of high or low art. They didn’t just make work in the visual art field either. Along with a Hart Of London work-on-paper, Chambers made an experimental film with the same name in 1970. This film intensely shows brutal shots of an abattoir in Spain interspersed with London scenes; it has been described by Stan Brakhage as “one of the greatest films ever made.”  Both Curnoe’s Heart Of London painting from 1967 and Jack Chambers’ 1968 work-on-paper Hart Of London are in the show.

Noted curator and historian Judith Rodger told me that Curnoe’s Heart Of London piece depicts The Forks Of the Thames downtown, “arguably the heart of London” near many of the artists’ studios with Greg’s studio as the main hub or heart of it all. As for the idea of a comic book catalog, it was a mystery until Rodger guided me to Katie Cholette’s PhD thesis Memory and Mythmaking: the role of autobiography in the works of Jack Chambers and Greg Curnoe which states that it was the idea of William Bragg, assistant to the director of The National Gallery’s extension services. Cholette’s paper quotes Bragg from the Sept 29, 1968 New York Times’ Arts Notes column, “…The idea was to make a kind of scrapbook, to talk as a group, not individuals. Their work is kind of echoed by the comics—it’s really their bag […] Everyone likes to read comics once in a while, anyway.” Due to its uniqueness, the catalog garnered a lot of press for the show. Beverley Lambert (Bev Kelly in the show) says, “I think we all thought it was pretty neat and it was funny. It got people’s attention.”

When I talked to artist John Boyle about this comic book catalog, he said right away, “It’s too bad that Greg Curnoe isn’t with us anymore, because he was really interested in comic books. And he always did comic book or comic-like drawings from the time he was a little kid.” In the book Greg Curnoe Life And Work, author Judith Rodger’s description of his 1963 painting Myself Walking North In the Tweed Coat could be ascribed to many of his works. “The flat, vivid colours; schematic outlines; and text all come from his love of the comic book.” As well as the inclusion of the name of the newspaper strip Mary Worth in the piece. Another colourful painting casually inserts Dick Tracy into the frame as a representative of one of his interests. Curnoe’s series of cut-out collages were often shaped into cartoony and anthropomorphic forms.

Curated by Pierre Théberge at The National Gallery, Boyle readily notes, “Both Curnoe and Chambers talked up all the other artists who were around in London, and ended up persuading Théberge to have a group show to get a sense of the whole London art scene.”

The comic book itself doesn’t give William Bragg’s name at all, nada. The designer is credited: Roger Duhamel, FRSC, Queen’s Printer and Controller of Stationery, a federal government official, as well as the design firm: Eccleston + Glossop International. All of the photos, however, were done by the late Don Vincent, of whom Boyle says, “He was a friend of ours, of all of us. And a really terrific photographer. And he documented the whole London scene as it unfolded taking photographs all the time of everybody in this show and just of London, his whole life was photography.” Vincent’s work also appeared in 20 Cent Magazine, a delightfully scrappy local art magazine started in the mid-60’s with many of the people in the show, including Boyle and Curnoe, contributing writings and drawings. 20 Cent Magazine sold for 25 cents, ha! Vincent also photographed The Nihilist Spasm Band who are regarded as the first noise-rock band; this amazing, mind-blowing, intense and milk-spurtingly funny act was founded by the late Greg Curnoe, with Boyle and Favro (playing unique guitars that he builds himself) as still very active members over fifty years later. They are unique cultural ambassadors bringing such songs as “No Canada” to the world, having performed in Japan and in Vancouver at The Western Front with poet George Bowering guesting on guitar, and have had a documentary made about them by the late noise artist Zev Asher.

In one of Heart Of London’s comic book panels about Boyle an early issue of the four color MAD sneaks its way in. I asked him if he read MAD, “Yeah. Although that is from the designer. I read MAD, although not madly.”

A very young Boyle states in one of his panels, “The day I can truly defile myself in public, I will have accomplished everything, and I will no longer have a need to paint.” Reflecting today he says, “I still think that actually, and I think I may have succeeded. Because I do still have the need to paint. But I don’t have the need to show it anymore, or to get applause or approval from anyone. And I don’t know how that arose in me. But I kind of had a fair amount of attention and approval and acceptance and shows in fancy places and meeting important people and pleasing art administrators. And I kind of reached the conclusion that most of them aren’t worth pleasing and their opinion was not as good or not as important as the opinions of other people that I happen to know. And I thought they made a lot of mistakes and people that they chose to support. And also, their approval was very fickle. They were very fickle about it because as soon as fashions would change, their eyes were directed elsewhere and the people they thought were geniuses today were no longer geniuses tomorrow. I did kind of lose my enthusiasm for the art world, but not for painting. So, I was mistaken.”

The final pages of this catalog feature a few reproductions of pieces from the show itself, including Bev Kelly’s window paintings which, with its window panels, adapt quite easily to the comic book form, comparable to an ornate and mysterious painted comic page. The layout, however, was a bit fast and loose with one of her works being printed sideways. In her fumetti section she says, “These windows aren’t ‘real’ windows, they are still paintings. They don’t have sashes and you can’t see through them. A real window is to look through, these are to look at.” Painted on canvas, the window pieces used lumber to make the frames of the paintings, carved to look like the ribbed mouldings of window frames.

Bev Kelly was the sole woman in the show and when I asked her about this she said, “I’m very happy that they didn’t concentrate on this issue that I was the only woman. I didn’t want to be known as an artist because I was a woman.” Having recently moved to London from Saskatchewan with her husband, they were warmly welcomed by Curnoe and she would go see The Nihilist Spasm Band play every week at The York Hotel. Her first solo show was at The 20/20 Gallery in London.

She spent the first two years of her life in Biggar, Saskatchewan where the signs read, “New York Is Big, But This Is Biggar.” Being in London changed her notions of places like New York being the absolute cultural mecca. Beverley says, “There was a really vibrant cultural community there. You know what a regionalist Greg was. He really believed, as a lot of writers do, that you should write about what you know, or you should do your art about what you know, including where you live and so on. And, of course, when I started on the windows that was right out where I was living. The first ones were of my house and then I walked around and took pictures of various houses that I thought looked interesting. When I got a studio in London above one of the businesses downtown I used some of the windows there as inspiration for my works. And then when I went back to Saskatchewan, I was very into that, looking around at what is there where you live. I even got a grant to travel around small-town Saskatchewan and look at the local -in air quotes- ‘folk art’ or untrained artists, let’s say, just painting odd things on their house or their property or whatever. So, I went and I did interviews, took pictures of them, and I imagine I must have produced some kind of a report on it because I probably had to for my grant. So that led me into being more observant and looking more at where it’s from and what is around you and that you don’t have to go to some huge, big place to find art.”

Bev Kelly was her married name and she returned to using her original name, Beverley Lambert in the 1970’s. Lambert did a series of three large lithographs for International Women’s Year in 1975 on women’s issues dealing with real news stories that happened on the prairies. Many of these prints were donated to many women’s centres across the country. She has also worked in clay doing an entire main street based on the fictional Saskatchewan town in the humour book Sarah Binks by Paul Hiebert. Beverley Lambert currently resides in St. John’s, Newfoundland where she makes art and is active as a conservator.

Flip the comic over and it is the same but in either French or English depending on where you first started reading!

Boyle comments, “Last night, my wife and I were looking at the Heart of London catalog. She was amazed that this was a National Gallery touring show with a lot of artists who became major artists in the country. And it looked like they were trying to spend as little money as possible by making this skinny little comic book-like thing on newsprint and I think there’s a large measure of truth in that. Because, again, I remember when Greg Curnoe had a big one-man exhibition retrospective at The National Gallery and the catalogue that they did for him was kind of a minimal thing. It was like a paperback book with one colour reproduction and a number of inferior black and white reproductions and basically a list of artworks in the show. And in the same year, The National Gallery did a big one-man exhibition of Donald Judd, the American sculptor, and his catalogue was a huge coffee table book that weighed about 15 pounds and was three inches thick and loaded with colour from beginning to end. And that just, I think, represented a specifically Canadian problem.” When I mention this to Hairy Who member Art Green he responds, “Well, of course, because they’re trying to impress their betters in New York, so you get a job at The Whitney or The Museum of Modern Art. Canada has been an incubator for museum directors since forever.”

Hairy Who catalog page by Art Green, courtesy of the artist

This style of catalog for Heart Of London corresponds nicely with The Hairy Who, another such grouping of artists around that time who were part of “The Chicago Imagists.” Their three Chicago art shows starting in the mid-60’s were accompanied by comic books that also doubled as exhibition catalogs. The Hairy Who weren’t very aware of the underground comics scene then just barely getting started, they chose this method out of creative necessity, printing a glossy catalog was cost prohibitive. Green explains, “And the printing was expensive and not very good. And we didn’t want to have a show that was called ‘Six Recent Graduates’ or something unexciting like that. And so, we realised we all liked comics and we all knew how to do colour stripping because we’d taken silk-screening courses, we figured out we could do it. And it was cheap.”

Delineating further, The Hairy Who made playful art inspired by a wide range of neat stuff. The London artists were well aware of The Hairy Who. In fact, The Hairy Who were even going to show in London at The 20/20 Gallery. Boyle notes, “20/20 was kind of a precursor to the art in the so-called artist run centres, most of which aren’t run by artists anymore. But anyway, it was one of the first and it was all sponsored by local people in London. And I don’t think it lasted longer than a couple of years, but it was a terrific gallery while it lasted.” Many of the artists in The Heart Of London show were active in 20/20, which lasted from 1966 to 1971. Greg Curnoe discussed the show with Hairy Who artist Karl Wirsum, who in a letter to Art Green wrote, “Well, if they go ahead and publish a comic book, that would be all right.” Green notes, “He may have thought that the 20/20 Gallery was more well-funded than it probably was. But it was on, we all agreed to do it. We were looking forward to it.” Green himself left Chicago for Canada in 1969. The 1968 Democratic Convention had transpired and as Green puts it, “Everybody was angry at everybody.” He was dissatisfied with his teaching job there as well, so when offered a job at NASCAD, the art school in Halifax, he leaped at it.

Alas, the show didn’t happen. In a letter to Art Green, Curnoe writes, “We had to cancel The Hairy Who show and a lot of us were disappointed.” Boyle notes, “I suspect that it got caught up in the death throes of the gallery. And they would have had to cancel whatever exhibitions they had coming up.”

Green notes that both London and Chicago are far enough away from the more major centres that artists can, “…be free to go their own way because there’s not much at stake partly and nobody’s paying attention. And I remember the first time I had been in London, we were driving on our honeymoon to Halifax where I got the job. And I thought, ‘I’m gonna stop here and get a Canada Dry.’ I’m driving down what’s the main street that runs north south and pulled into a corner store. And I said, ‘Do you have Canada Dry?’ ‘No, but we got America Dry.’  I have never before or since seen a bottle of America Dry. I bought it and it wasn’t as good as Canada Dry. And, and that’s not a dream. I mean, I have never seen it ever again. But that made me say, ‘Wow, this is a weird place.’”

While Green was teaching at NASCAD, Curnoe came for what Green calls, “One of his annual excoriations, if that’s a word, he would rip them up one side down the other in public, for being a Canadian art school with no Canadians teaching, hardly any, and all yanks -and it was true! And so anyway, they would invite him and it was almost like a ritual. He would be in the public, there’d be 400 students there and Greg would just rip the place apart. I had known Greg, I heard about the show and so on, and we got along fine. And afterwards he’d come up to me and say, ‘Well, how did I do?’ ‘Greg, you’re doing great, but you do realise I’m a yank’, but I agreed with him 100%.” Both Curnoe and Green commiserated on how Canadian art was neglected at the school. “If he had been in Chicago, Greg would have been a member of The Hairy Who or maybe started it. But he was more political, he had to be, and Chicago, the politics were so acidic that you wouldn’t have wanted to be to be involved in it, unless you went in full immersion. And we were decidedly unpolitical. Although we all agreed on the politics of it. We were a collective in the sense that we wanted people to collect us.” On this, Art Green is a tad glib, having made art responding to and criticizing Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. Both Art and Greg would visit with each other in various Canadian cities: Halifax, Vancouver, Toronto. “Nobody appreciated Greg in Toronto, they went out of their way to un-appreciate him. And luckily, they did put a put up a pretty nice retrospective after he was safely gone.”

Of London, Green notes, “I think that for a period of time. I don’t know how long it was maybe a few minutes, maybe a few hours, maybe a few months? Maybe a few years. London, Ontario was most interesting art scene and literary scene in the whole world.”

The propensity for great art still ran in the water there, the stream flowed, there was a continuum and a recognizing of that history. London has some great galleries including Forest City Gallery, founded by Jack Chambers and Greg Curnoe, where The Nihilist Spasm Band plays every Monday night.

In 2013 The London Museum held the group show L.O. Today with artists Jason Mclean, Marc Bell, Jamie Q, Billy Bert Young, Amy Lockhart, Peter Thompson, and James Kirkpatrick. Many of these artists are a part of the Canadian Psychedooolic art comic movement that began in the 1990’s, captured and collected in the book Nog A Dod, edited by former Londoner Marc Bell and released by Conundrum/PictureBox. Much of the work in Nog A Dod occurred in Vancouver with a couple of these London artists relocating there, immersing easily, doing a lot of collaborative drawing and art books with other Vancouver based artists. Yes, ‘Canadian Psychedooolic’ was named after the fact by Bell, but we weren’t thinking of ourselves as a movement or a group at the time. Yet all of these art books had an unfettered comic wildness, funny, and expansively playful. And Nog A Dod got out there, impacting and influencing a lot of artists the world over. Furthering the connective tissue, in 2003, The Western Front in Vancouver put on an art show featuring ‘documents and ephemera’ from musical acts The Nihilist Spasm Band, The All Star Schnauzer Band (a somewhat fake band as mail art project involving Bell, Mclean, and Thompson) and July Fourth Toilet, a Vancouver based group that often involves many Nog A Dod and Nog A Dod related artists, including yours truly occasionally wearing outlandish semi-functional semi-nude costumes specially designed by Jason Mclean. The show was curated by Jonathan Middleton, who is now Executive Director at Art Metropole, a Toronto based artist-run centre dealing primarily in artists’ publications.

Getting back to Greg Curnoe. Released in two parts in 1970, The Great Canadian Sonnet contained numerous images by Curnoe. Described as a “Beaver Little Book”, the format was modeled after the popular Big Little Books, distant cousins to comic books so named for being small, square and thick. Big Little Books were marketed to children and featured popular comic, cartoon, radio and film characters of the day in text-based stories with illustrations on every other page. Some Big Little Books had flip-it cartoons in the top corner so one could make the character move. With its second volume The Great Canadian Sonnet does this as well, stating “See ‘em move – just flip the pages” on the cover and, sure enough, in the corner a spot rolls up a hill-like abstract shape transforming into a medley of human faces.

Written by poet David McFadden, Curnoe riffed off lines in his text creating a great many detailed pen-and-ink drawings for the book with titles that included “Proud Possessor Of Meaningful Pain”, “One that will be Truly Loved by the Prime Minister”, and “The Empty Universe” which featured a drawing of a tin of apple juice and a packet of bird seed -the book’s drawings contained many such absurdist pairings. The Great Canadian Sonnet was published by Coach House Press who were -and still are- known for releasing all manner of experimental works including poetry, prose and beyond. Both volumes together weigh in at over 400 pages, with every other page being a drawing by Curnoe.

Many thanks to Jason Mclean, Marc Bell, and Judith Rodger for their immense help with this piece.

Thanks as well to Art Green for use of his respective artworks.

Part Two: Scraptures, Snore and More coming tomorrow, Friday, August 20!

Robert Dayton

www.robertdayton.com

www.patreon.com/CanadianGlam