#and i was really trying not to be fucked up while painting it

[dumblilb]

I Could Be Enough

Vi x Fem!Reader

(Synopsis: They weren’t super close as children, but running around in the same crowd kept them in the know of each other. But years later she might be all Vi’s got left.)

(Warnings: drunk!vi, alcohol, mentions of physical violence ‘ not towards reader’, it’s mostly fluff, a little bit of angst, no mentions of physical attributes, just she/her pronouns, not proof read)

(Requested: yes)

(Words: 1,585)

* ・゚☆ 。・ * ・゚★ 。・ * ・゚☆ * ・゚☆ 。

You don’t even know how it got to this point. Sitting at the booth in a gross, sticky, and dark club, watching over a girl you didn’t think you would ever see again. And maybe you were right. Cause she’s not the same girl you remember running around the streets of the under city as a child. The one who always had a bright look in her eyes as she tried so hard to live up to her father’s name, and keep her siblings safe.

But one thing was the same behind those, now dark and sad, slate grey eyes. She was a fighter. In the most literal sense. She couldn’t keep her fist off a jaw if she tried. Night after night she would cover her distinct tattoos and red hair with dark paint. Disguising herself from the public who claimed her strength as a prize. Or maybe even hiding from herself. She wasn’t to sure anymore.

But as the nights carried on the paint got messier and the drinks were getting stronger. And it was hard to watch. But here you were. Watching. So hard you thought your eyes might bleed from all the strobing lights and smoke filling the air. Any other night you might have gone to bed. Ignored the aching feeling you had, and left her to party the rest of the night away. But you couldn’t. Because there she was also watching you. As she sloppily got up with a bottle in her hand and started to walk towards the exit, the urge to follow consumed you. Because you knew she wanted you too. She was practically begging. And so you did. Meeting her by the stairs leading to her small apartment.

“Thank god you came, I thought I was gonna have to drink all alone tonight.” She slurred and you sighed resting your hip against the wall, propping yourself up.

“What would you do without me.” You smiled at her. Trying not to be angry with how fucked up she sounds. Slyly taking the bottle from her and helping her steady by the waist you walk her home.

“You know you’re so pretty when you’re mad at me.” She sighs as you push her door open. You just roll your eyes. She’s been doing this for months. Ever since her first pit match. You were hired as a sort of nurse for the ring. Patching up the people who were getting their shit rocked, and the people doing the punching. Making sure they were healed enough for their next match. And the second you saw her step in that ring you knew it was her. Sure she looked a little different. But her deep upper cut. You could never forget that.

So you causally brought up growing up in the lanes while bandaging her fists that day. How you were pretty shy but always friendly with a boy named Ekko. And he had introduced you to his friends a few times. You could tell she remembered you. But she didn’t say anything. Which was okay. You could tell she didn’t really want to be known at that point. But as time went on she spent more time talking to you after matches. Sitting at the bar just trying to figure out how life got both of you here.

But she also found alcohol along the way. And that concerned you. She would always assure you she was fine. And you chose to believe her. Even though it sometimes seemed she would look right through you. Like she wished something else was there.

But even before the alcohol, the casual flirting was always there. Comments about how attractive you looked and how nice you were to her compared to the other fighters. Claiming you made her feel ‘so special’ and not just because it was coming from a beautiful girl like you.

So as you sit her down on her small bed and pull out some supplies to remove her makeup you can’t help but shake your head at her.

“Your dumb fake flirting isn’t going to get you out of this one vi. You’re a mess.” You sigh pushing her hair back with one hand, removing her makeup with the other.

“It’s not fake and you know it.” She rolls her eyes. “I want you. Please.” She says griping the hand with the cloth in it. Rubbing her thumb across your knuckles softly. The difference between her ruff scared hands and yours now glaringly apparent.

“You’re drunk and exhausted, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bit of a concussion after today’s match. I haven’t seen you get hit that hard in a while.” You say ignoring her advances. As you’ve done before.

“I’m fine. You know I’m fine.” She reassures you. But the wavering of her eyes says otherwise.

“I know you think you’re fine-“ you remove your hand from hers and finish wiping her face. “But I see you, Vi. And this isn’t fine.” You say pointing from the bottle resting on her little table to her bruised fists.

She groans tossing her head back. And you gear up ready for a fight about how you don’t know what you’re talking about. But she rubs her eyes a little, her breath slowly becoming unsteady.

“You’re right I’m sorry.” She breathes out looking at you. The small bit of light roaming the room makes the wateriness of her eyes sparkle. “God I’m so tired and I don’t know what to do.” She cries.

You don’t even know how to respond. She’s never really cried in front of you before. She’s always been so tuff. But as she sits before you, even her toned and muscular body couldn’t make her look strong.

“I’m so lonely. All I have at this point is you. And you don’t even want me.” She continues and your face softens. Kneeling down in front of her you softly stroke her hair, pulling her in for a hug. She cautiously wraps her arms around you. Like just her touch might scare you away.

“You have me. You do. I think you have for a while now. I just didn’t think you were serious.” You reassure her. Her head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and you can hear her breathing steady slightly.

“I’m always serious about you.” She says softly, it being a bit muffled by her position. She pulls away from the hug, resting her forehead to yours. “Can you stay please. I don’t want to be alone.” She asks quietly. Her warm breath hitting your lips.

“I’ll stay.” You grin and she moves to get up and grab a blanket. You help get her ready to lay down, removing her thick boots and setting aside the dirty cloth.

She props the blanket in your lap and she lays down. At first you just smile at how dainty she looks compared to how you usually see her. But her strong arm pulling you down next to her snaps you out of it pretty quickly.

Pulling the blanket over you both, you run your fingers through her hair. Analyzing her face one feature at a time. Her eyes seem a little more blue in this lighting. And you can finally see the small freckles adorning her skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me.” She asks with a soft laugh. “Cause it’s working.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas. That’s not happening. At least not tonight.” You say and you could have sworn her cheeks got a little pink.

“Well then you’ve got to stop staring at me like that… At least not tonight.” She jokes rolling over. Making you smile.

With her back to you, you place an arm around her waist holding her firm. You could feel her body stiffen and you try to remove your arm but she stops you. “No wait. This is good.” She whispers. “This is good.” And she holds your arm tight to her. Rubbing circles across it with her fingers. Her whole body relaxes against yours and you smile against her neck.

“You know I’m not that same girl anymore.” She sighs a little out of no where. But you get it, she’s trying to give you an out. A chance to run. You hum in response. “I’m different I think. I’m not as strong as I used to be.” She continues and you know she’s not talking about muscle, or brawn. She used to be a leader. Someone people looked up to. And now… most people didn’t even know her real name.

“That might be true. But that’s okay.” You say pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. “You’ve been through a lot. I think you’re holding on to a girl who didn’t know what life was yet. And you’re grown up. It’s normal to not be the same. Or feel the same.” You continue and she turns to face you. Caressing your cheek softly.

“I think maybe I can be okay. With you.” She muses. Placing a light kiss to your lips. Making you smile.

“Good cause I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t know if tomorrow she would go back to drinking. Or if she would get her ass kicked in the pit. But tonight she was safe. And she was with you. And as she fell asleep to your heart beating against her, you couldn’t help but hope it could stay this way. Cause for you. This was enough.

[moonstruckme]

Like I said- sorry , I'm sending alot but you do what works for you 🪻🪻

Can I request apple pie - Eddie- for - red painted nails

Thank you 🪻

No need for sorries my love! Thank you for requesting :)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 655 words

You knock on the stage door, anticipation crackling in your fingertips. You feel close to bouncing on the balls of your feet. One thing you love about your goofball boyfriend is he never makes you feel stupid for being excited about something small; Eddie is always the most excited.

He sets the bar high even as he opens the door, a grin splitting his face. “Hey, baby. Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

You guffaw, your offense only half feigned. “When have I missed a show?”

“I figure you’ve gotta get bored with them someday,” he says, but he clearly doesn’t believe it, taking your face in both hands to kiss you hello.

Eddie’s always loving on you, but he gets especially wound up before a show. The kiss is passionate, your mouths opening almost at the outset, and after a few seconds you have to restrain him with a hand on his chest. He gives your bottom lip a tiny nibble, but relents.

“I’m not bored yet,” you reply breathlessly. Eddie grins and steals one more to the corner of your mouth, short and sweet.

“I’ll try to keep you entertained,” he promises. His tone is several shades of smug. “I’ve got a surprise for you tonight. New song at the end of the set.”

Your heart zings. “Yeah? I’ve got a surprise for you, too.”

Eddie tilts his head. “What’s that?”

“Where’s your guitar?”

His eyebrows jump, interest thoroughly piqued. “It’s around. Why?”

“Take me to it?” You can’t seem to keep the smile off your face, and Eddie can’t seem to keep from mirroring it, though his is confused.

“Okay, weirdo.” He leads the way. You wave hello to his bandmates, letting him navigate you to where his guitar is standing against the wall in a corner.

Now, you feel a little bit stupid. You hope you haven’t built it up only to get it wrong. But you crouch beside the guitar, holding your fingers up to it, and the match is perfect.

Eddie gasps loud enough to make you laugh. He drops to his knees in front of you, staring at your red-painted nails with exaggerated reverence.

“Are you fucking with me?”

You laugh again, and he takes your hand in his. You keep your fingers splayed as he holds it out in front of him, eyes moving between his guitar and your nails. After a second he brings your fingers to his mouth, biting the tip of one between smiling teeth.

“Eddie,” you plead. You’d known he would love it, known he would make a big deal, but still he manages to make you feel shy.

He lets you take your fingers from his mouth but doesn’t let go of your hand. “How’d you do this?” he asks you.

“I just thought of it the other day.” You shrug, self-conscious. “I already had the polish, but when I was looking at it I thought they might be similar.”

“Similar? You cloned it.”

Your smile peeks out again. “I thought we could do yours sometime if you wanted. Like, before a show or something.”

Eddie makes a tortured groaning sound. He looks like he wants to bite your fingers again, but instead he kisses them.

“You’re too fucking cute,” he says, still beaming. “How did I get you?”

“You probably did something really despicable in a past life.”

“How dare you,” he exclaims, delighted. Kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair and body pressing close to yours. This time you don’t stop him, but after a while a loud cough from one of his bandmates pulls him away.

“Time to go?” you ask.

He sighs petulantly. “Yeah. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you,” he says, standing up and picking up his guitar. “My surprise is never gonna hold up against yours.”

“I only painted my nails,” you say.

“Exactly! How am I supposed to top that?”

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Highway Heat

Summary: Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the trucker you flag down offers more than just roadside assistance.

A/N: Lord oh lord… I tried to be good i swear, i really tried to behave. The thing is my sweet beta reader @hautecouture02 requested a little roadside encounter one shot with Joel, specifically asking for FLUFF, and i swear on everything holy I tried my best to keep it PG… but sometimes things don’t go as I planned. So here, take this absolute filth of a one shot that’s little more than PWOP. ENJOY!!!!

Warnings: As previously stated, this is pretty much PWOP, Trucker!Joel i know nothing about trucks lol, maybe some dub!con at first but the internal dialogue shows hella consent, groping, fingering, a bit of praise and a bit of degradation, pet names like so many of them im not gonna list them all almost too many pet names if you believe in such a thing, grinding, oral male receiving, deep throating

Masterlist

You’re a good person—hell, a great person even. You give your spare change to homeless people, you donate to the puppy shelter every once in a while, you hold your friend’s hair back when they’re throwing up in the back of the club. You’re definitely not the type of person who deserves to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, sweating buckets despite wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap tank and the tiniest pair of shorts you own. This feels like some kind of cosmic punishment.

It is, undoubtedly, the worst possible time for your car to stop working. You’d been putting off the usual checkups on your car for months, knowing full well it was overdue for an oil change, a tire rotation—or whatever men who know their way around a toolbox always say. Your ex used to handle all of that for you, always acting like it was his job to make sure your car ran smoothly. He was that kind of guy who would go out of his way to make your life easier—didn’t mean he was above cheating though.

So now, you’re stuck in your geriatric Honda Civic, the AC busted and the engine refusing to start.

After a few minutes of trying to will it back to life, it’s clear you’re stranded.

You step out of the car, and the heat hits you like a goddamn slap to the face. The road’s deserted, no signs of life for miles, and of course, your phone has no signal. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. You glance down the road, hoping for a miracle, when you spot the rough outline of a truck—a big one, maybe a sixteen-wheeler—coming up in the distance.

Relief washes over you for about two seconds before your brain kicks in, running through every horror movie scenario. But it’s not like you’ve got a buffet of options, so you throw up your hand, waving the truck down as it rolls closer.

It’s a beat-up old thing, paint chipped and covered in dust, but it comes to a slow stop right behind your car. The door creaks open, and out steps a man.

He’s tall, broad, with a face lined with age and tan from long days under the sun. The net cap he wears lets a few of his longer dark curls peek out, the front pieces overpowered by graying hair. He sports a faded plaid shirt and jeans, a pair of well-worn boots kicking up dust as he steps toward you. His dark, intense eyes size you up like you’re part of the landscape he’s used to navigating.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” His voice is deep and gravelly, but the drawl is the star of the show, thick and sweet like honey.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Car broke down. Won’t start. No service either.”

He nods slowly, like this is exactly the kind of situation he expects to find out here. “Well, good thing I’m passin’ through.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes a little at that, but desperation makes you bite your tongue. “Think you could take a look?”

He stares at you for a moment, long enough that you wonder if he’s going to offer any help at all. But then he lets out a low sigh, scratches the back of his neck, and walks over to your car, popping the hood like it’s second nature.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of him tinkering under the hood, the occasional grunt or muttered curse as he checks things out. You stand there awkwardly, feeling the heat bearing down on you, watching as beads of sweat gather at the back of his neck.

Finally, he steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Shit’s runnin’ on fumes. When’s the last time you had it serviced?””

You shift, feeling stupid. “A while. My ex used to handle it, and, uh… I’ve been busy.”

He gives you a look, something between amusement and pity, before shaking his head. He leans against the car, arms crossed. “I can tow you to a shop in the next town, but it gon’ be a ride.”

You blink up at him, surprised at his offer. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah,” he says, with a shrug, “I’m headin’ that way anyway.”

He moves back to his truck, grabbing a few chains and a tow hitch from the back. Within minutes, he’s hooking up your beat-up Honda Civic to the rear of his truck, working with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

“You sure this is safe?” you ask, watching him as he tightens the last chain.

“As safe as it’s gonna get,” he replies with a shrug, brushing the dust from his hands. “Ain’t no mechanic shop out here, so this’ll do ‘til we get to the next town.”

You hesitate, then eye him. “You’re not gonna, like, chop me up and throw me in a ditch, are you?”

He chuckles at that, a nice gravely sound. “If I was, don’t think I’d tell ya, sugar. But no, I ain’t in the business of chopping people up.”

You look at him for a bit longer before sighing. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

He turns, heading back to his truck, his broad back facing you and making it a hell of a lot harder to concentrate

“Name’s Joel, by the way,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say, stepping up into the truck’s cab, the cool air from his AC hitting you like a blessing. Maybe your luck hasn’t run out just yet.

You sink back into the seat as he climbs up on his side of the cab, letting the icy air wash over you. There’s something else prickling at your senses though—something that has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s him.

Joel’s glances are obvious, a little too long, lingering like he’s sizing you up. Normally, it’d make you roll your eyes, maybe even tell him off. Old guy like him eyeing you up is nothing you’re unfamiliar with. But today? With the way your body feels sticky and tired, and the way the breakup has left you all out of sorts… you’re almost enjoying it.

You’ve been craving attention and the shitty one night stands with guys from dating apps have done nothing to satiate that need. It’s been months since anyone has touched you and that rational part of your brain that would be yelling at you to be aware of the sleazy old trucker who just picked you off of the side of the road is sounding real quiet right now.

“So…” His voice pulls you from your thoughts as he shifts in his seat, resting one hand lazily on the wheel. “Where you headed?”

You hesitate, eyes on the road ahead. “Just… trying to get home.”

He hums, slow and deliberate. “Home, huh? Got anyone waitin’ on you there? Boyfriend?”

The word slices through you, sharper than you expected. You tighten your jaw, glancing out the window. “No. Not anymore.”

Joel makes a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Well, ain’t that a shame. Pretty thing like you, all alone.”

You should hate the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker toward you like he’s just waiting for an opening. But instead, there’s a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, your pulse picking up in a way you’re not proud of. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs like it’ll somehow tamp down the growing tension in your body. He doesn’t miss it, his smirk growing a little wider.

“That line work on most girls?” you quip, trying to keep things light.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Depends on the girl. But you look a little… flustered.”

Your cheeks heat up, and it’s not just the sun this time. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure about that, darlin’?”

You glare at the open road, biting your lip as you try to ignore the way his words are messing with your head—and your body. It’s been way too long since anyone’s looked at you like this. Really looked at you.

The silence stretches out as the truck rumbles along the deserted road. You try to focus on anything but the tension in the air and find it’s impossible. His presence feels inescapable, it fills the cab wrapping around you, pressing down on every nerve.

“You never told me,” Joel says after a while, breaking the quiet. “Where’s home?”

“Texas,” you say quietly, your voice a little steadier now. “But I’m not in any rush to get back.”

“Family trouble?” he asks, his eyes flicking toward you again.

“Something like that,” you mutter. “It’s complicated.”

He hums in response. “Don’t I know it.”

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, catching Joel watching you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze lingers a little too long on your bare thighs, and there’s a flicker of something dark passing over his face, but he says nothing.

You want to ignore it—God, you should ignore it—especially since you’re stuck with him for a while longer. But the rising heat in your body and the quickening pulse beneath your skin make it hard to think straight, harder still to make good decisions.

So you bite.

“You gonna keep staring, or is this part of your charm routine?” You cock a brow, trying to ignore the way warmth crawls up your neck.

A slow smirk curls at his lips, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, he leans in closer, his hand resting just near your leg, making the air between you buzz. “You think I’m layin’ it on too thick?”

“Little bit,” you quip back, though your voice betrays you with how soft it comes out. You bite your lip, trying to stay sharp, but his eyes flick down to the movement, and the pulsing need low in your stomach tightens. “It’s not working, though.”

His smirk widens, like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Funny. Seems to me it’s workin’ just fine.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way your heart races when he shifts closer, his fingers brushing against your leg. The touch is light, almost casual, but it’s enough to send a shiver racing up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“You can roll your eyes all you want, doll. It don’t change the fact I can see what you need, clear as day,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you snap back, though your words lack the heat you want them to have.

“Little bit of attention.”

He reads you too well. It drives you insane. “I don’t need anything from you. Just get me where I need to go.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest. “That so? ’Cause the way you’ve been shiftin’ in that seat says otherwise.”

You bristle at his words, but the truth sticks like a thorn. There’s a reason you haven’t told him to stop, a reason you haven’t shut this down. You’re tired, frustrated, and the way his eyes keep grazing over you… you can’t stop wondering how easy it’d be to let him pull you under, to let him take all your worries away.

“You’re losing it, old man,” you shoot back, even though you know it’s a losing game. He sees right through you, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna make it easy.

“Am I?” he purrs, his hand sliding up to rest fully on your thigh. “So, you don’t want me touching you like this, darlin’?”

The way he says it—slow, deliberate, laced with that sweet, thick accent—it’s all innocence, even though everything about it screams otherwise. You know you’ll be hearing that “darlin’” in your head later, when you’re playing with yourself.

You smirk, giving him a little more rope. “I didn’t say that.”

He hums, eyes flicking between the road and your legs. “And I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t say a word if I moved my hand higher, would you?”

Your legs part just slightly, almost like an instinct. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But not to Joel.

“Look at you,” he drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his lips. “Already makin’ it easier for me.”

You’re about to fire back, ready to keep this banter rolling, when his fingers slide higher. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“You ready to stop actin’ up, or we still playin’ cat and mouse, pretty girl?” His eyes lock on yours, dark and unwavering.

Your pulse quickens at the challenge in his voice, your breath catching in your throat. His fingers are still on your thigh, warm and rough, and it’s messing with your head. You know you should stop this now, make him pull his hand back, but you’re not sure if that’s what you want.

“I’m not acting up,” you murmur, trying to hold on to some sense of control, even though his touch is making that damn near impossible.

His grin widens, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “Mhm, sure you ain’t.”

You glare at him, but it’s weak. Pathetic, really, and the worst part is he knows it. He knows how to get under your skin even though he has known you for half an hour, knows exactly what buttons to push to unravel you just enough to keep you hanging on.

“I mean it,” you snap, though your voice wavers. His hand shifts slightly on your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make your stomach twist into knots.

“I wanna believe you,” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that vibrates through you, all the way down to where you’re aching for him to touch you. He leans in a little more, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell that familiar scent of worn leather and something dark and intoxicating. “But you keep lettin’ me touch you. Kinda sends a different message, don’t you think?”

Your heart’s pounding in your chest, the steady rhythm of it loud in your ears. You don’t know how to answer, don’t know if you want to answer. Every rational thought in your head is telling you to stop, but your body isn’t listening.

Instead, you shift slightly, your leg pressing into his hand, just enough to encourage him to keep going. His eyes darken, and a slow, dangerous smile tugs at his lips.

“Thought so,” he mutters, and then his fingers start to move again, sliding higher, testing the boundaries you haven’t set.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the sigh that’s clawing its way up your throat, but it slips through anyway. He hears it, of course he does, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes makes your face flush with heat.

“You wanna tell me to stop, now’s your chance,” he murmurs, his voice soft but carrying an edge of challenge, like he knows damn well you’re not going to.

His gaze shifts between the road and you and it almost seems like every time those eyes are back on you they become darker.

You glance at him, your heart in your throat, and there’s that flicker of hesitation—you should say something, should stop this before it goes any further—but the way his fingers are brushing higher, dangerously close to the ache between your legs, makes it impossible to think straight.

So you just meet his gaze, and you don’t say a word.

His smirk grows, and his hand drifts even higher. “Good girl.” This time he fully gropes your thigh, groaning like he’s been waiting to unleash this. “You wanna take these off for me, sweetheart? Let me give you as much attention as you want.”

He must have some psychic hold on you because you follow his instructions with no hesitation this time. Your fingers eagerly unbotton your shorts and pull the zipper down, lifting your hips to shimmy them down.

He looks at you for a lot longe than he should taking into account he’s currently driving a beast of a vehicle. “Lord above… you’re a sight and a half, darlin’”

He goes back to massaging your thigh, making circles with his thick fingers, going each time higher. Once he reaches your panties he stops and just rests his hand there, right at the edge of where you want him most. His fingers teasingly brush the fabric, enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t go any further.

“You’re gonna have to ask for it,” he rasps, his voice thick with something darker now. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

His words are like a key turning in a lock, and your resistance crumbles. You can’t deny it anymore, not when his hand is right there, so close to what you need, your entire body burning up under his touch.

“Joel…” you whisper, your voice almost pleading now, barely more than a breath.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand pressing a little more firmly, his fingers tracing along the outline of your heat through the fabric. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

Your breath stutters, and your hips shift on their own, pressing into his hand. You’re barely hanging on, the tension between you two crackling like a live wire, but he’s still holding back, waiting for you to give in completely.

“Please…” you finally manage, the word spilling out before you can stop it. It’s humiliating and liberating all at once.

“Please what?”

You let out the shadow of a moan. “Please touch me.”

Joel’s hand slips under the fabric, his fingers finally finding your core, and the groan that escapes him sends a shockwave of heat straight to your core. “Good girl,” he breathes, his voice like gravel as his fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

Your head falls back against the seat, a whimper escaping your lips as he finally gives you what you’ve been craving. “Jesus, Joel…”

“Feels good, huh?” he rasps, his eyes flicking from the road to you, watching the way your body reacts to every touch, every motion of his hand. “Told you I know exactly what you need, baby.”

You’re melting under his touch, your body humming with the pressure of his fingers moving against you, his voice guiding you deeper into the haze of pleasure. You’re not even sure what’s more intoxicating—the way he’s touching you or the way he’s talking to you, that low, commanding tone unraveling you completely.

“That’s it, sweetness, grind on my fingers, make that little pussy feel good” Joel growls, having a harder time keeping his eyes on the road now.

“Fuck… that feels you good da-“ you stop yourself before you’re able to finish the word. Your ex didn’t like you calling him that, so you usually kept that particular kink under wraps, but something about Joel is making it surface back up.

He looks up at you, pupils blown out. “Say it… say wha you wanna say baby.”

You lose all restraint and moan loudly. “It feels so good, daddy.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He moans “Daddy’s fingers make your pretty cunt fucking drip don’t they?”

His words send a wave of pleasure through your body, a mixture of shame and intense arousal surging in your chest. You’re too far gone to stop now, letting the haze of lust pull you under completely.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a confession. “So fucking wet.”

Joel’s fingers move faster, rough and skilled, coaxing you into a rhythm that has you arching your back against the seat. His other hand grips the wheel tight, knuckles white, and you can tell he’s barely hanging onto his self-control, but that only makes it hotter.

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “Been wantin’ to ruin you since the minute you sat your pretty ass in this truck.”

The vulgarity, the way he talks to you—it should feel wrong, but instead, it’s like gasoline thrown on the fire already burning inside you. You grind down harder on his fingers, chasing the high he’s offering, the tension building fast in your core.

You glance over at him, his jaw tight, eyes darting between the road and you, and there’s something so filthy about the way he’s trying to keep it together while driving, the way his control is slipping. You want to push him, make him lose it completely.

“You’re losing it too,” you pant, breathless, pushing your hips into his hand. “Can’t even keep your eyes on the road, can you?”

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and predatory. “Careful. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll pull this truck over.”

The threat in his voice makes you shiver, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re right on the edge, your body strung tight as a bow, every nerve lit up under his touch.

“Do it,” you challenge, voice breathless and wrecked.

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his hand gripping your thigh so hard it almost hurts. Without another word, he swerves the truck off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulls into a secluded spot off the highway.

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline mixing with the arousal as he throws the truck into park and turns to face you fully. The look in his eyes is feral, like he’s done holding back, and you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“Such a little attention whore, baby,” he growls, unbuckling his seatbelt with one hand, the other still teasing you between your legs. “I’m all yours now.”

In one swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, the weight of his hard length pressing against you through his jeans. He is big, a lot bigger than you expected and it makes your mouth water,almost like your body is showing you how badly you need him in a million and one ways.

His hands grip your hips possessively, eyes locking with yours as if daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate. You grind down on him, both of you letting out low moans at the contact. The friction sends sparks flying up your spine, and you can already tell this is about to be the kind of reckless, dirty, no-going-back encounter you’ve both been craving.

Joel’s hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you down to feast on your neck. His lips trail down, biting at the sensitive skin there, and it’s too much, too intense. You feel like you’re going to combust right here in his arms.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your skin, one hand slipping between you to push your panties aside, his fingers slipping through your slick heat again. “Filthy little slut, letting a stranger put his fingers inside you. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name, pretty girl.”

Your hips buck against him, the promise of release so close you can taste it. “Fuck, Joel, please…”

“Try again. You know better.” his tone is firm and commanding, all the previous playfulness gone.

“Please daddy, let me come”

“That’s it,” he groans, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, pushing you right to the edge. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me feel this tight little whole clench on my fingers.”

The way he says it with such authority, has you unraveling in his lap, your entire body trembling as you come hard against his hand. Your vision goes white, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Joel watches you, his eyes hooded and hungry, soaking in every second of your release. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers until you’re shaking from the aftershocks, your body limp and boneless against him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied as he finally pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. “Tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re still catching your breath, head buzzing from the intensity, but the way his hardness presses against you makes it clear you’re far from done. It’s not like those other times when finishing a guy felt like an obligation, when the effort barely felt worth it because they didn’t take the time to get you there first. But Joel? Joel made you come so hard you can’t help but want to return the favor. It’s not a chore—it’s something you crave.

“My turn,” you murmur, fingers already working at the button of his jeans.

His grip tightens on your hips, eyes darkening as he watches your hands move, but there’s a flicker of restraint. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. Can’t have this beast of a truck just parked in the middle of the road.”

You shift back onto your own seat, lifting your leg off his lap to give yourself the space you need. The desire to make him feel just as wrecked as you burns in your chest, so you lean down, your gaze steady on his as your fingers trail lower.

“You can drive,” you say, voice low, teasing. “I’m not stopping you.”

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his jaw ticking like he’s fighting with himself. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you to stop, but then he huffs out a breath, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You’re trouble.”

You smile up at him as you feel him start the engine again, your hand slipping lower, teasing him through his jeans.

Joel’s breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hand tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road, but you can tell he’s losing the battle.

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he tries to keep his cool, but you can see right through it. The way his body is responding to your touch, the way he’s barely holding it together, it only spurs you on.

You undo his jeans and pull the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath stutters, and his hand slips to grip the side of the seat, trying to ground himself as you free him from the confines of his jeans.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling how hard he is, how thick, and the groan that escapes his lips sends a thrill through you. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes flicking between the road and you, his control slipping more by the second.

You lower your head, your lips grazing his tip, and Joel’s entire body tenses. His hips buck up, instinctively searching for more, and you can’t help but smirk as you take him deeper into your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, his hand instinctively flying to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

But even as he says it, there’s no hint of him wanting you to stop. He keeps urging you on in slow, measured strokes. The tension in him is palpable, and you can feel the way his control is fraying with every flick of your tongue, every inch you take him deeper.

His breathing grows ragged, and he glances down at you, eyes dark with heat and disbelief. “You’re so pretty with a fat cock stuffed in your mouth baby, look at you ”

You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again, and the low groan that rips from his throat sends a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through you. He’s unraveling, right in front of you, and you’re loving every second of it.

You pick up the pace, your hand working him in tandem with your mouth, and Joel’s growl turns guttural, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Right there, darlin’ girl, don’t stop…” he hisses, head tipping back slightly as his hips move in time with your rhythm, chasing the release that’s so damn close.

His eyes flick between the road and you, pupils blown, struggling to stay on course even as his focus is being torn apart by you.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last if you keep—” He cuts himself off with a harsh groan, his hips bucking again, muscles taut and trembling as he loses the last shred of his composure. He’s completely at your mercy now, and it’s making him wild, his control slipping fast.

You don’t let up, your hand dropping lower to play with his balls, and he’s right on the edge, teetering dangerously close. His breath comes in ragged bursts, and his body tightens under you, his hips jerking harder, more desperate now.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

Instead of answering you take him deeper down your throat, your nose burrowing in the dark curls at the base of his cock, his smell so musky and intoxicating it makes you dizzy.

“Shit, shit—” Joel’s voice is a strangled growl, and then you feel him pulse in your mouth, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he finally comes undone. He’s barely holding onto the wheel, the truck swerving just enough to make your heart race, but it’s clear he’s past caring. He spills hot and hard into your mouth, the sound of his release drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

You keep going, milking him for every last bit, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breathing ragged and uneven. When you finally pull away, he’s still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough and wrecked. His eyes flick down to you, wild and wide, before darting back to the road. He lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Best hitchhiker I’ve ever picked up, that’s for damn sure.”

As if on cue, the truck finally pulls into the shop, the hum of the engine fading, the weight of what just happened still hung thick between you two. Joel cuts the ignition, his hand lingering on the key for a beat too long, like he wasn’t quite ready to step back into reality. He realizes his now soft cock is still out and starts to zip himself back up.

You try to gather yourself, smoothing your clothes and brushing a hand through your hair as if it’d erase everything that had gone down on that highway. You can tell it’s gonna stick with you for a good while longer though.

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at you with a look that was somehow both satisfied and conflicted. "Well, we’re here," he mutters, but his hand was already fishing in his back pocket for something. "Here." He hands you a crumpled business card, his name scrawled across it with a number underneath. "In case you run into any more car trouble or, y'know... anything else."

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows damn well this had nothing to do with the rugged old thing and everything to do with the heat still simmering between you. You take the card, trying to hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

"Thanks," you reply, pocketing it casually, though the way your heart raced gave you away. "For… you know, all of it."

He just gives you that signature look of his—half-smirk, half-smolder—and with that, you slide out of the truck, legs still feeling like jelly as you walked away. You didn't even need to turn around to know his eyes were glued to your retreating figure.

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Hello :D

I have been following you for the last year or so (a few days after I got my Tumblr lmao) and I absolutely love your art!

I have been wanting to study your art style for a while but don't really know where to start,,,

Could you please show me a small portion of your art process, if it isn't too much trouble of course. Thank you and have a nice day!

hello. oh my god. this took forever to find. im sorry it took 2 WHOLE FUCKING MONTHS for me to respond to this but i wanted to put it off until i felt happy with my art process again, so here it is

my fall 2024 rendering tutorial! (this will be very very long)

FLATS AND WHATEVER YOU WANNA DO WITH LINES GIRL. then make sure to recolor the lineart to better match your base. trust me it helps, bold dark lines are Not your best friend when rendering. wait for that post-rendering

i start off with a doodle or a sketch, and then filling it in with flats and other details such as blush

FIGURE OUT YOUR LIGHT SOURCE. FIGURE IT OUT GIRL YOU CAN DO IT you can make it as simple as possible, make it as big as possible, dont even THINK about the details.........just make it really fucking big so you at least know where the shadows and the light goes THEN add smaller shading details LISTEN TO ME. LISTEN TO ME OKAY!!!!!!!!

my key point with this is for you to learn lighting fundamentals. it's SOOO ANNOYING but alas......they are all correct. it helps a lot.

one thing i also really want to point out is that i like creating a big shadow shape first before fixing up the little details (such as folds and whatever) because it helps me focus on the way the lighting actually works instead of tunnel vision-ing into making the shading make sense on the clothing.

contact shadows (i dont remember if thats what theyre called okay) theyre fucking ugly because im not actually thinking sorry 💔

okay so basically: contact shadows (if that's what they're called) are the spots in shading and lighting where light will NEVER hit.

shadows are still influenced by the colors and lights around it (it's why a blue shadow and a yellow shadow feel completely different, despite both being shadows) so it's not always COMPLETELY dark. BUT! there are small points in shadows where light never hits, and they're almost always super dark or pitch black.

it's hard to explain shadow and light so briefly for a tutorial, but you'll notice it when watching fundamental studies and when trying it out for yourself

YES i unclipped the multiply layer YES its ugly and terrifying but it makes coloring the multiply layer easier okay the colors merged w multiply so now it looks cool and has depth overlaying colors that actually make sense

so basically what i did was color the multiply layer that i used to shade the overall drawing

adding a band of red/orange/yellow around where the light hits, and blue where the shadows get big and wide, gives it a fake ambient occlusion effect in the way that a person would get if they stood under the sun with a clear blue sky

the colors don't have to make sense, especially because i never draw backgrounds, but coloring the shadows really help it give a sense of depth and extra subtle detail and effect that just helps make the painting look nicer

around the end, i also put in colors (in an overlay layer with a low opacity brush) that actually make sense in context of the drawing, which is the lit cigarette and the yellow eyelights mostly because none of the colors were making sense and i needed to actually make use of the lighting that DOES exist in the drawing lol

adding a muddy golden yellow pin light layer (opacity turned down to like 40-50%) to make the light colors less ugly lol

i SWEAR by the fucking pin light layer style. it's so useful and so so underrated.

i used an almost brown-ish gold color on stop of all the layers, and with the pin light layer, it helped make the bright (almost blue-ish) white colors more warm and more yellow. it just helps make things more warm (something i prefer)

i could probably show what it looks like without adjusting the layer opacity to truly show off what i mean (like in the coming section) but i sadly forgot to do that lol

make a layer on top of your drawing with this color in these ranges YES the drawing is fully merged NO don't be afraid, the base was fucking ugly anyway 💔 make this layer into an exclude/exclusion layer style TRUST turn down your exclusion layer opacity from a range of 10% to 40% literally until you're happy with the contrast and the way the color over the drawing. use your eyeballs. i know you can do it im so proud of you

this is pretty self-explanatory instruction-wise, so i'll go into why i do this instead

i really like art that seems like it has low contrast, with almost mid-gray shading and lines. i don't personally use dark and bold lines and shading, unless i find it necessary for the tone of the piece, so using this method helps lower the contrast of the art and make it look "pleasantly muddy" in the way that it's easier and softer on the eyes.

the inverted blue color also helps makes things warmer! the exclusion layer style is still a bit of a mystery to me but i really like the effect it gives, even if i don't completely get how it works lol

if you want an alternative method to this, and if you have access to it (because i primarily use sai and sai only), i absolutely encourage you to play around and experiment with gradient maps. there are so many out there you can make yourself or even get from others that just give the painting an extra amount of depth and color variation. they're SO fun.

personally, if sai2 gets a gradient map update, it's over for y'all it will literally be so over no one will be able to stop me

then i merged everything and actually adjusted the contrast back up because it was looking too muddy for me 💔 but the color adjustments are still there so all hope is not lost here's a comparison of the adjusted contrast in black and white (adjusted on the left) (newly merged layer without adjusting the contrast on the right)

as you can see, i actually turned the contrast back up (despite talking all about how i liked things with less contrast lol)

i wanted to demonstrate that doing adjustments should be done in moderation, and is why i adjust layer opacity often when making color effects you are free to play around with colors to help your style, but don't lose your initial idea and colors along the way. you still need to trust your own colors and intuition!

along with that, i just want to say that it's completely okay to change your mind mid-painting, and it's okay to make somewhat drastic changes. don't be afraid to change things you don't like or change your mind about certain aspects way later on that's basically the whole thing of this!!! don't be scared!!!

now im gonna hold your hand when i say this..........but you need to learn how to render by yourself. it seems like i can teach you but i literally can't, because rendering is different on every piece and depending on how clean your base is. i have to render A LOT because of how fucking ugly my sketches are LMAO to simplify it, think of it as obsessively cleaning up every detail you can see, but with a color picker and a clean, hard edged brush. if you have shit lineart, you don't have to redraw it cleanly over and over, just paint over it. that's basically what rendering is

THIS especially is where you need to be brave and stop being scared. like i said, i can't teach you how to render, and it's something you have to discover yourself because rendering is something that will always be personal to every single piece you make. the way you render on every piece is different. on one piece, you will barely need to render, and on another, rendering is more than half of your ENTIRE process.

don't be afraid to paint over your old art. rendering is a process that's both very perfectionist yet also very careless. find your balance and just go for it.

and then that's it……..u did it………..now yuo know how to paint and render. it's literally just layering shading and lighting knowledge until you think it makes sense and looks okay lol additional note: since i render in only one layer (you don't HAVE to do this, but it'll be harder for you…), i also made slight adjustments with the transform (and liquify, if you have it) tool to make things more proportionate. (i drew the head too big lol)

if you compare the finished piece to the final unrendered base, you can see that a LOT changed, including a bit of subtle proportion adjustment. particularly, the sleeves changed A LOT (because i really didn't like them) but it's also over all cleaner and more coherent, instead of having haphazard colors and shading just thrown about.

rendering is when you finally use all 100% of your brain to finalize and figure out where the shading should go, where to clean up your lines, where to ERASE or ADD BACK in lines, and make sure all your colors look coherent.

it's not as intimidating as it seems, i only use a hard edged brush with a little bit of color mixing and my color picker. it's like dragging and dropping colors to cover up mistakes, it's really quite fun when you get used to it i wish i could explain it clearer but it's hard to describe without visuals!

i hope this helped, and i hope all my yapping isn't annoying (art as a special interest beloved)

have fun studying and trying to render in my art style!

[anonymous-dentist]

Part Ten of the Catboy in the Village AU

Part One | Part Nine

-

The queen breaks the news to them at the breakfast table as soon as she's finished eating. She wipes her mouth daintily with a napkin, pushes her empty bowl away from her, snaps her fingers, and smiles as a guard pulls out a familiar-looking envelope from beneath his cloak and hands it to her.

Roier almost coughs up his eggs. His eyes go wide and his fork scrapes against his plate and he stops breathing and he suddenly breathes too hard while chewing and he doubles over and covers his mouth to keep himself from spitting his food up in shock.

Cellbit immediately drops his own silverware and raises a hand to rub Roier's back. Roier shrugs him off, getting himself under control pretty quickly, but Cellbit's hand remains on his back, and Roier lets it stay there.

Slowly, the queen opens the envelope; its seal has already been broken. She makes direct eye contact as she does so, her face perfectly flat.

That's Roier's handwriting on the envelope. And inside is the princess' notebook paper with a message written in Cellbit's messy scrawl. The message was coded, and the address was encrypted, so there shouldn't be anything to worry about.

...Right?

Unless-

The queen clears her throat, raises the letter so that she's looking at it, and reads: "'As someone experienced with the culinary nuances of human flesh, I have decided that it's absolute dogshit when cooked. I prefer to taste the blood, as it adds a bit of spice to what would otherwise be pretty bland.'"

Her nose wrinkles, her entire face screwing up in disgust. Good. Just as planned.

"'However'," she continues, "'I have discovered the value in different types of meats. Bear meat is still my favorite, but I have grown to like rabbit meat as of recent. Something about it reminds me of my childhood, I'm sure you know why. The taste of cooked rabbit paints a picture of warfare and bloodshed, and the nostalgia makes it taste even sweeter.

'Rabbit cooked in a mushroom sauce is better than you'd imagine, though I know that we both can't really do mushrooms anymore.

'Try it out and let me know how you like it. Was it good? Bad? I can adjust the recipe.'"

Lowering the letter, the queen folds it up and calmly places it on the table in front of her.

Cellbit glances at Roier out of the corner of his eye.

Roier just smiles, closed-mouthed, and gets himself another forkful of egg. The way he's holding his fork, though, and his knife is... dangerous. He's ready.

And then the queen smiles, leaning back in her seat with her hands clasped in her lap.

Cellbit picks up his fork and holds it just a bit too tightly. His knuckles go white.

Suddenly, the queen stands from her chair and picks up her bowl and chucks it clear across the table with a screamed, "What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

Cellbit yelps and falls to the side out of his chair, hand on his head to keep his hat on, the bowl whiffing past his face so close that bits of berries drag across his cheek and leave a mark behind.

He tries to get back up, but he's stopped by a guard rushing forward and putting a heavy armored foot on his back. He hisses and struggles and squirms, ears laying flat under his hat.

He fights twice as hard as he hears Roier shout. His head whips to the side just in time to watch Roier get manhandled out of his chair and forced to drop his makeshift weapons, his arms getting pinned behind his back by four entire armored guards.

"You attacked my daughter?" the queen demands.

On the floor, Cellbit can't see anything of her but her feet as she gets out of her chair and storms over to their side of the table.

Cellbit bares his teeth as she approaches. She does the same in return, ears twitching angrily.

"It was just a little blackmail," he taunts.

"She is a child!" she snaps.

"Yes, and?" Roier asks. "So what?"

Her gaze snaps towards him, and her face darkens.

"You," she spits.

A second guard has to run over and pin Cellbit as the queen storms towards Roier and slaps him across the face loud enough to echo throughout the room.

Roier just blinks and takes it. The side of his face is red and angry, and Cellbit feels red and angry.

"She cried because of you," the queen lowly says, body shaking in anger. "Did you really think that she would keep this from me?"

Roier shrugs. "I mean... yeah?"

Cellbit accidentally lets out a pained yowl as the second guard on him digs their armor into an older wound on his lower back, one that never really healed after prison.

For whatever reason, the queen turns her head to glare at the guard.

"What are you doing?" she huffs. "Don't hurt him."

Cellbit blinks up at her in disbelief. "You just threw a bowl at me!"

"And you have a thick skull. It wouldn't have hurt you."

At that, Cellbit starts struggling even harder. He used to be able to fight off an entire gang of men at once, what happened? How are two people holding him down like this?

"Kids lie," Roier loudly says, trying to bring the attention back to him, the idiot. "Kids suck!"

And it works. The queen turns back to him, face slowly reddening.

"Empanada is an angel," she says.

"She's a fucking stalker!" Cellbit argues, trying to bring the attention back to him. "And you're making her do it. So what does that make you?"

And it works. The queen turns back to him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"What?" she asks.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on. She's been following me for weeks. Basically since we got here! Because you're making her."

He scoffs, "Child labor, really? Even I don't make my kids help in the store."

"I do," Roier comments.

Cellbit nods. "He does. But I don't, and I'm the cannibal here, so..."

The queen just shakes her head. "No... what? First, you aren't, and, second, I haven't told her to do anything but stay away from you, and-"

"Okay, fuck you," he interrupts, "I am a cannibal. Didn't you read the letter?"

"Yes, and that's how I know you're lying. But listen, I haven't told Empanada to do anything to you!"

"Yeah," Roier agrees, "except follow us!"

"Invisible," Cellbit adds. "And her potions aren't even properly mixed! Do you know how dangerous that can be? She's going to wake up dead one of these days, and it's going to be all your fault."

The queen groans and puts her face in her hands. She breathes, shoulders rising and falling dramatic with every breath.

"I told her to stay away from the cauldron," she murmurs, so quiet that it's likely that nobody but Cellbit can hear her. "She's too short. She hates the smells. She can't reach. What the fuck?"

Sensing a weak moment, Cellbit smirks and says, "I knew you think I'm the wrong person."

Lowering her hands, the queen frowns and asks, "What?"

He shrugs. "Why else would you be hiding your daughter, a-k-a my niece, from me unless you think I'm the wrong guy. If I'm supposed to be her long-lost uncle, wouldn't you have introduced me to her immediately? Unless you don't trust me, because you think I'm not your brother, because I'm not your brother."

Roier 'OOOOOOOOOH!'s. As does one of the guards holding him, who gets shut up immediately by another guard.

The queen just stares. She stares for a long moment before sighing and saying, "My daughter asked me to keep you away from her. She said that she didn't want to get cooties."

Roier blinks. "What the fuck is a cooties?"

The queen waves her hand dismissively. "It's a girl thing, you wouldn't get it. But-"

Cellbit cuts her off with a shake of his head: "No, no. She told us that you told her to stay away from us. We aren't supposed to know that she exists. Because you wanted her to spy on me!"

"Why would I want her to do that?" The queen throws her arms into the air in frustration. "Why would I even spy on you? I did that before you even came here!"

"Aha!" Cellbit shouts, wiggling an arm free so he can point at her. "You did spy on me!"

"And you still are!" Roier accuses. "You stole our mail, what the fuck?"

The queen rolls her eyes. "Because you blackmailed my daughter? If you wanted to send a letter, you could have asked."

"Uh, and then what?" Cellbit sneers. "You follow it until it gets to the other person and you kidnap them, too?"

"Oh, I don't need to follow it to do that," the queen simply replies.

She smirks slightly, arms crossing as she leans back against the table.

"Who do you think taught you encryption in the first place?" she asks. "And your code sucked. The cannibalism was a good distraction, but it was too ridiculous. Searching your home weeks ago showed that your youngest child's favorite animal is the rabbit and your other child likes cows. Your children were growing mushrooms in a window garden. There were art supplies throughout the apartment. It was all obvious."

Cellbit's heart clenches.

The queen just smiles.

Her attention quickly moves away from him, though, as a messenger runs into the room out of breath.

"An update, your highness," the messenger wheezes. "The team has completed its search of Mr. Halo's home."

Roier freezes.

Cellbit stops breathing.

No.

"And?" the queen asks, frowning.

After a moment, the messenger answers:

"There are no signs of the children there. Evidence shows that they had never even arrived."

Roier's knees buckle beneath him. The guards holding him all shout and rush to keep him upright as he faints in their arms.

The queen raises a hand to her mouth in shock. She immediately turns to Cellbit, pale, but he doesn't see her. Not really.

He stares blankly into the space ahead of him as the queen drops to her knees by his side and talks. He doesn't hear a thing besides the beating of his own heart.

They had never even arrived.

[thr0wnawayy]

Hello! Been really enjoying your MHA takes especially the aftermath, it had me thinking but what if Hawks and the HC were responsible were for wiping out Izuku's record in the Final War. We know there was people recording Izuku's battle with Tomura but yet people not knowing about Izuku and acting like he is some mysterious legend just didn't sit right with me. But if they knew, OFA was going to disappear and there would be no Symbol of Peace in the short term until Mirio arrived (bleh). Then it would make sense why Hawks and company would delete this stuff for any number of reasons. It would be this weird sort of propaganda where the collective is glorified. While still retaining the status quo until they can find a stronger Symbol because I refuse to take seriously Mirio being number 1 cause his quirk is overrated.

This would help explain why Izuku's role in the war is essentially erased and no one seems to have remembered him despite being the deciding factor, but his depression/guilt means he doesn't care to talk about. It would be overwhelming for Izuku because the propaganda would only assert that his role was meaningless despite it being the contrary. Of course, it doesn't help that nobody does anything to help lift Izuku from his mental problems.

What your saying is absolutely plausible, however there are a few things that conflict with your theory.

No one really knew about OFA in the first place. This is a massive fuck up on Hori's part, as "canonically" only 3 people really know about OFA (5, if you count sheild and Melissa)

The fact is, the general public isn't really aware of what OFA was. To their knowledge Izuku might have been one of AFO's science projects or something of the sort, which could have created problems in trying to reestablish "order".

Thus the Commission thought it best for OFA to just fade into the background and that meant nipping every bud related to it. Including Midoriya.

You see, All Might is covered. He's made a name for himself and even though there was panic after his retirement, he's still one of the only people capable of standing firm. That alone grants him a level of protection and support networks that Midoriya clearly lacks.

The second issue is that the idea of a symbol is so ingrained with All Might (or rather the idea of AM) that OFA is connected to that by proxy.

The Commission needs a hero that doesn't exist anymore, because in a post Liberation War Japan? They can't exist.

Not when people have been exposed to how rotten the current system is underneath and no 'new coat of paint' will ever be enough to change that, no matter how fanciful the lie.

Midoriya by his very nature (and failings) as a hero, cannot become 'the greatest' in this world, because what once passed for the greatest turned out to be a human trafficking piece of shit, who was killed by his victim's own hand.

Izuku's record wasn't so much wiped, as much as he just gave up. He went so went so far off course that he wound up in a worse position than when he started and dragged everyone with him in the process.

The reality is a culture built on "out of sight, out of mind" when it comes to crime. MHA's Japan does this, but far, far worse and that isn't sustainable. Not when you have massive critics like Japan does.

Japan is in a free fall, Toshinori is one of those people, hopefully I'll get around to writing that mini chapter fully.

Hawks doesn't have the brains to lead. As seen in the U.N Meeting, he's a horrible politician (being a child soldier will do that). He's used to taking orders and polishing the boots of whomever is giving them, not sitting down and discussing how they (the nations) can use their power to make the world a better place.

As for the Hero Boards, due to the lack of participation, they fluctuate violently every term due to the smaller voting pool. Mirio's rank is only semi-consistant, with him constantly switching to number one and number three every odd poll showcase.

The portion of the public that still look up to heroes see him as a model person, but not a model hero. As they look for a hero that will never come.

The truth is there cannot be another All Might in the same way there can never be another AFO (Pre Kamio ofc). They were titans of their time, only able to exist because of the circumstances unique to their times.

There's a saying that is often misquoted

"The survival of the fittest"

This is an incomplete version of the phrase, the correct version is: "The survival of the fittest to adapt"

That is what evolution is, an arms race.

There will never truly be another All Might, there may never be another League Of Villains. But it doesn't matter, because some way, somehow.

The pieces will slot into place and then the real fun can begin. So long as their are those who slip through the cracks. So long as the current society stands.

There will always be that child that everyone can see, but choose to ignore.

They can lie to themselves, have them put on a happy face, shunt them to fitting into the current "mold" and then go home and wash their hands of responsibility because "I did my part".

It won't make them any less guilty.

It won't make those children any less adaptable.

[cat-brrr]

Lil guy

[blue-eli]

Skuld in quantum design :)

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[raspberriesandstrawberries]

Lady Ysabella Theer

Based on the portrait of Bianca Maria Sforza, by Giovanni Ambrogio de Predis

[milkweedman]

Trying to finish something I was supposed to do ages ago--spinning a contrast color for this sock yarn. The fleece (southdown babydoll) had a pretty wide range of grays, most of which I blended together. But I intentionally left the darkest gray out of the mix so that later I could spin up just that, and have a dark gray for the toe and heel. So, now I'm doing that.

One thing I did not realize until now (due to intentionally avoiding working with the darker gray locks) is that they are all much shorter than the other colors of gray, and a lot of them are way finer too. That's not ideal, so I might not use it for the toe--it won't be as hard-wearing of a yarn and the toe/ball of the foot is what wears out the fastest on my socks by far, so. It's fine though, I just want some kind of decorative element that uses the fact that this fleece had lots of nice colors.

I'm also not that surprised, I guess. The longest locks were always the very light gray ones. Hard to know why without seeing the sheep though.

[b4kuch1n]

made a mushroom pin that's also the hardest object to photograph on earth. I still have a brick and a half of air dry clay left so I hope to make more :]

[bumblingbabooshka]

"Everything you went through was meaningless." [St Voyager S3 E7: 'Sacred Ground']

[miharuhebinata]

nuggeto

+ original sprite for comparison

[milo-is-rambling]

Today is good I think. My brain isn’t fully happy my body isn’t fully happy but I’m treating myself kindly anyways

[david-box]

Successfully got offline today instead of just scrolling through Tumblr all day. I wasn't really as productive as I planned, but I still had fun and some things can wait :-)

USER WAS PLANNING NEW ART PROJECT WITH TWO TO FOUR TABS OF THE SAME PDF FILE OPEN ON DIFFERENT PAGES, A WORDPAD DOCUMENT OPEN AND PARTIALLY COLLAPSED, SEVERAL NEW CANVASES AND THE SNIPING TOOL USED