#and the fucking paper outlines are so shit. why do they look like that

[ilyghostgirls]

i love how nintendo has set the bar so low that paper mario fans are freaking out over a completely unecessary remake that looks worse than the fucking original 20 years later after its release that literally no one asked for. where's the fucking sequel

[skitskatdacat63]

Please god, can someone give me the strength to write ANOTHER 900 word essay in German, I DON'T WANNA I DONT WANNA PLEASE NO

[togament]

“𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝: ‘𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐬?’”

written in their P.O.V.

pt. 1. (sakura, ume, suo.)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : spicy spicy boyfriends, suo is a FREAK (but we love it), sakura is a precious bean, ume is *incomprehensible sounds emanating from my face hole*, ume’s is longer than the others (hah) i got carried away, swearing ofc i can’t express emotions without them i so sorry i do try, fem!reader, nipple talk.

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

"WHAT-????" I scream into the microphone and it screeches. shit my face feels like it's on fire. I turn my head slightly to catch my reflection in the window beside me--SHIT I'm blushing again. "w-why would you ask me that?!", I try my best to tone it down a little but UGH-I can't help it. She asks the question again, pushing the microphone towards my lips. I angle away as best I can but she's persistent. "n-n-not answering that!" my eyes focus on anything BUT her. darting everywhere, on the chair, the stack of papers on her table, but she's too hard to resist. i turn my head slightly to look at her direction. fucking hell, she's got her chest out slightly, tits practically begging me to look at 'em. god. that shirt looks so fucking good on her. that the new one she just bought? shit, she's coming closer. I can see the outline of her bra--FUCK-WAS I STARING?????

...so boobs?" she asks so smugly. damn it.

"...yeah tits." HER tits, if you want me to be specific.

𝐔𝐌𝐄.

another afternoon, another quick little date with the love of my life — and my girlfriend. kidding, kidding! I was tending to my veggies as I often do after school with my girlfriend helping. noticing her absence (and silence, shocker!) I call out for her, “baby? where’d you run off to?” then I hear a little giggle to my left, a pitter patter of her shoes against the wooden board and a slight ringing. “boobs or butts?” she asks and I turn to face her only to have a mouthful of the plastic microphone. “PWEH-! baby-“ I say as I chuckle, wiping my mouth. “boobs or butt? is this an interview? any cameras around?” looking around playfully, I crane my neck around her. for a sec there I genuinely thought I was on camera. but then I look at her and she’s waiting for an answer. Hmm. Toughie. “This!” taking one of my gloves off, I pinch her cheek with my clean hand but she shakes her head. “Not in the choices, babe. Try again.” she says. gosh she looks so cute when she’s trying to be serious. “Wrong answer, huh? Let’s see…”

I try my damndest to be serious too, pursing my lips in deep thought, giving her a once twice thrice over just to be extra sure. I know she’s squatting there waiting for me to answer but how can I? she’s perfect in every way! shoot. think, ume, think! I drag my gaze from her face, to… her chest, heh. nice. to her tummy, to her… oh. damn. right.

“…yer thighs.” I say almost quietly. Who WAS that? “say that again, babe?” she asks, pushing the microphone closer. she wants me to say it again? maaaan. I chuckle, shaking my head gently at her.

“can I just show you? point at it, baby?”

“nope.”

HECK.

“…yer thighs. I like napping on them after I’m done gardening…” I unintentionally trail off. I clearly got more things on my mind now. My mind’s miles away from innocence. God- I love leaving my mark on them, sucking hickies on them when I’m going down on her. I fucking love it when she tightens them around my head when she’s about to cum. She worries she’d suffocate me but it only makes me want her more. I swallow dryly. damn it-my boner’s tenting in my jeans and I know she can tell.

“and?” she prods and I let out a shaky breath. she’s biting her lower lip, shifting her weight while she’s squatting. she’s worked up too huh?

“—obsessed. when you hold me closer to your cunt when-“ is it getting hotter here? she’s putting her microphone down. I take my other glove off while keeping my eyes on her.

“…when what?”

“can I please show you? pretty please?” can’t help it. I take her free hand to palm me and I let out a soft whimper, eyebrows knitted together.

“yes. yes please.”

𝐒𝐔𝐎.

"oh? someone's curious," leaning close to her, I ghost my fingers along the inside of her wrist just to fluster her. oho, her breathing is staggered now, chest rising and falling ever so slightly. I do have an answer but I just want to toy with my love. Just a little bit wouldn't hurt. "what's gotten you worked up so quickly, dove?" I purr, making sure to whisper it good in her ear. she lets out a shudder, almost melting. goodness, do I adore how she reacts. like clockwork, that earns me a gentle slap on my hand. ah. I suppose I deserved that.

"boobs or butt, huh?" I pretend to ponder, looking up and pinching my chin for maximum effect, knowing full well I have an answer set and ready. turning to meet her eyes, holding her hand that's steadily holding the plastic microphone. and with the most serious voice I could muster, I speak into it, "your nipples."

hm. that must have shocked her. she's silent. taking the initiative, I continue, "I love how.. sensitive they are." cooing, I trace a finger along her jaw and down the line of her neck, featherlike. "I love how I can coax the most delicious moans from you that way--" oh, she's lowering her microphone now. continuing, I push some hair behind her ear, fingers now teasing the shell of it, "--you seem to like it especially when I suck on one while I roll the other between my fingers. fuck, you sound so beautiful when you beg for more." mhm. her breathing's shallow now. she's leaning her head away. "someone's eager." I lean in to press a gentle kiss to her neck, lingering my lips on her pulse. “do you need more details from me? I could always elaborate-“ she’s pushing me back now. I like where this is going.

"screw the interview. just fuck me already, hayato suo."

"as you wish, my dove."

a/n: SCCCCCRRREEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!! first time writing things in the guys’ POV I hope I did each of their individual personalities justice. Sakura’s was the hardest but I was flying off with Ume as you could tell. Also!!!! I forgot who it was but someone reblogged one of my HCs with a tag saying Hayato means hawk and that doves are their natural prey and 😳😳😳😳😳😳 that was purely unintentional but the connection they made was so perfect. I’m making it a permanent fixture for whenever I write for suo. Thank you, user. I would tag you but djjfkdkfkd i hope you see this!!!! Also thank YOU so much for reading all the way to the end btw!!!!!! Ily babycakes. part 2 coming soon! I WANNA WRITE FOR KIRYU I HAVE IDEAS AND I AMDJFJJDJD HE. Ok.

@interstellar-inn ⭐️

[sam-loves-seb]

the bathroom drawer

"Mickey!" Ian yells. "Did you move my cologne?"

"Your what?" Mickey calls back, appearing in the bathroom doorway while buttoning up his shirt.

"My cologne."

"No. I don't even know where you keep that shit."

"In here!" Ian says, shaking his head as he rummages through the drawer below their bathroom sink. "I swear I left it in here."

"Lemme see," Mickey says, nudging Ian to the side. "You're shit at looking."

"I'm not shit at looking, it's just not fucking there."

"Yeah, yeah," Mickey grumbles, moving the junk in the drawer around. "Jesus Christ. How much shit do we got in here?"

"Too much," Ian muses, folding his arms over his chest and leaning his hip against the sink. "But it doesn't matter anyway. It's not in there. I've been looking for--"

"Found it." Mickey holds up the blue bottle with a smug grin.

Ian grabs it from him. "Whatever."

Mickey raises his eyebrows. "Whatever? That's what I get?"

Ian leans in and gives him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," he says instead.

"Better," Mickey grumbles.

Ian spritzes the cologne onto himself while Mickey keeps rummaging around in the drawer. He pulls out an empty toilet paper roll, a broken comb with too many teeth missing, and an old phone charger with exposed wires.

He throws them all in the trash. "This thing is a mess."

"Yeah," Ian says with a sigh, checking himself over in the mirror. He paws at his hair a bit. "We gotta do a deep clean in here one of these days. Closet's a disaster too."

"What the fuck is--"

Ian looks over at his husband when he doesn't finish his sentence.

Mickey's brows are furrowed as he holds up a thin black stick in front of his face. "Is this makeup?"

Ian huffs out a faint laugh. "Yeah."

"Debbie's?"

"That thing's old enough to be Fiona's," Ian tells him, taking it from Mickey. "But no. It's mine."

Mickey raises his brows. "Yours?"

Ian uncaps the tube, twists the end so the little black tip pushes through the end. "Eyeliner."

"Holy shit," Mickey says slowly. "How fucking old is that thing?"

"Old," Ian says, trying to read the chipped writing on the side for any kind of date. "Probably expired."

"That shit expires?"

"Supposedly. But who knows."

Mickey tilts his head, watching Ian examine the eyeliner. "How the hell did it end up here?"

"No idea," Ian tells him. How it survived in the Gallagher house for as long as it did and moved to their west side apartment is beyond him. "Probably got boxed up with some of my shit a long time ago."

"Huh," Mickey muses. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't believe you used to put that shit on every night."

"Me neither," Ian says. "You ever tried it?"

"What, make up?"

"Yeah."

"For a disguise once or twice," Mickey tells him with a shrug. "Never like, just 'cause."

Ian starts to grin. "You wanna?"

"Fuck no," Mickey says instinctively. He bites his lip. "Why? You gonna wear it tonight?"

"Why not?" Ian asks, facing the mirror and leaning in close. "We're already going to a club. Might as well get go all out."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Ian glances over at his husband. "You got a problem with that?"

Mickey shrugs. "No."

"Okay."

Mickey watches with rapt attention as Ian applies the eyeliner to himself. The stick is old for sure, and it takes a few passes to really get the make up on his eyelid. It only takes a minute though, and then Ian's eyes are outlined in black.

"There," he says, blinking and turning to face Mickey. "How do I look?"

"Weird," Mickey says.

"Sure, but like, crazy weird, or hot weird."

Mickey's brows pinch together. "...Hot weird."

Ian grins. "It's kinda doing it for you, isn't it?"

"No. Shut up," Mickey says quickly.

Ian laughs. "You should try it," he tells his husband. "It's fun."

"It looks like it's gonna get in my eyes."

"Maybe," Ian says with a shrug. "But I bet you'd look hot with it."

"You say that about everything you want me to wear."

"And I've never been wrong once."

Mickey makes a face. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"...Can I take it off if it looks stupid?"

Ian's face relaxes. "You can take it off whenever you want," he says softly. "Doesn't ever have to leave this bathroom."

Mickey glares at the eyeliner, his face slowly melting into apprehensive reluctance. "Fucking... fine."

"Really?" Ian asks, perking up.

"How do I do it?"

"I can do it," Ian offers, holding up the eyeliner and his open hand. "Lemme put it on you."

Mickey sighs through his nose, then steps closer. He tilts his chin up and fits his face into his husband's waiting hands.

Ian kisses his temple. "Close your eyes."

Mickey does as told. His eyelashes flutter at the first press of the stick, eyelids scrunching at the new, weird sensation.

"Hold still," Ian whispers, trying not to poke him in the eye.

"Feels weird," Mickey mumbles.

"Yeah, but..." Ian pulls back, smiling at his work. "Open your eyes."

Mickey blinks them open, eyebrows bouncing with it. "So?"

"Damn," Ian says, grinning. "You look good, baby."

"Fuck off with that," Mickey grumbles, turning towards the mirror. He makes a face. "I look like a fucking alien."

"A hot alien."

Mickey gives him the side eye, but he doesn't immediately wipe the eyeliner off. He leans in close to the mirror, tilts his head this way and that. Pulls at the skin on his cheeks and his temples. "Weird," he says quietly.

"So," Ian starts, capping the eyeliner and tossing it back in the drawer. "You ready to go, or what?"

Mickey sighs heavily, taking one last look at himself in the mirror.

Ian slides in behind him, curls a hand around his hip. "Don't overthink it," he whispers, kissing his husband's temple. "If you like it, go with it."

"I don't know if I like it."

"That's okay too."

Mickey leans back against him. "It looks good on you."

Ian smiles softly. "Thanks."

Mickey hums. "Fine," he says, standing up straight. "Let's go. But if anyone says anything about it--"

"I know," Ian says, hands on his husband's shoulders as he follows him out of the bathroom. "You get to punch them."

"I get to punch them."

"Fine." Ian kills the bathroom light. "And we might have to hit the 24 hour CVS on the way home. I definitely don't have make up wipes."

[eyrieofsynapses]

why Aurora's art is genius

It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.

And… y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.

I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. …and then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details… aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.

SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so… I get to be a nerd about pretty things…???

All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3

---

I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly graceful—it is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!

Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.

Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages get—I love watching that improvement over time—but with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hair—which, hello, yes—and thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.

THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)

Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are many—if I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:

Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere else—granted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enough—and it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:

Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs out—a balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd think—and the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.

I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.

If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!

Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that… unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:

Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.

A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the caves—their colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):

(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)

The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing so—Dainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panel—

—where we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.

(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)

Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!

One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like… outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!

And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like this—

—where we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantage—lovely use of visual storytelling.)

Additionally, the misting here:

We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.

A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).

Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):

First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:

The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.

The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.

The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.

A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:

The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentally—almost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)

The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart

The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand

The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)

I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.

Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:

Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.

Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)

And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.

Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.

Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):

It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:

Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.

And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.

One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.

A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.

Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?

Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):

The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across characters—see also Life's typical lines and how they curl:

What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life's—but they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P

Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around like—of course—sparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):

They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be done—the colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.

Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, too—Vash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is… probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.

And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3

...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.

[madamechrissy]

Lucid Dreams

Pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem Reader ( reader is a ghost)

Summary: You died a year ago, and now a really hot Nanami Kento moves in to the apartment you're tethered to. You love to fuck with him, shuffle his papers, knock over his things, but you also love to watch him sleep. One day, he ends up seeing you. And... yep, how do you move on to the next realm? Maybe by getting railed by Nanami!?

NSFW- smut, lovemaking, explicit sex

Word Count- 3.5k- This is just a cute little story I got a request for. (It's literally crack fluff smut) Happy ending don't worrryyy. Just fluffy silly cute shit.🤭

Nanami Kento stepped into his new apartment, it was all redone since you had lived there, what’s it been since you died, a year now? You looked at how handsome this man was, dressed in a suit impeccably, sliding the jacket off to reveal toned, perfect arms. You step closer, and suddenly he shivers, as if he could feel your energy, but there’s no way…

Your energy had been fading lately, perhaps the longer you have been dead the less you have, but something about his presence made it flicker once more. You’d had fun haunting the last couple that lived here, ugh but their love annoyed you, because it’s not like you got any love in the twenty five short years you had on this plane of existence.

You expected heaven or something? Or some other life… but no, you just lingered here, in your old apartment, which looked nothing like it did. You could get down almost out of the building, just enough to stare at the moonlight longingly, remembering what it was like to talk.

You don’t talk, no one would hear you anyway.

Well…

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” You murmur as this blond sexy man rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, revealing toned forearms.

Maybe you do speak?

You watch him every day, for a week, come home and do the same routine, over and over. He takes off his glasses, he sighs, he sets down his briefcase, he sighs, he goes to take off his jacket, he sighs. Yes this man sighs a lot, and pinches the bridge of his nose, exhausted from the long hours he clearly works.

You worked a lot too back in the day, overworked yourself to death, hoping for an early retirement, until someone hit you with a car

Yeah.

Maybe that’s why you can’t leave, you’re still so pissed, when you had to look down at your body, when you had to see your parents cry, before they left and never came back around. You couldn’t see them, no you were stuck here, and you don’t know why, endlessly lonely and bored. But… now?

Nanami Kento is here, and you enjoy his presence. You watched him from the shadows, your translucent form barely outlined against the wall. As the days turned into nights, you observed him with a fascination that flared up deep inside you, watched him as he slept, when his usually stern face would relax. You would always brush his hair back, but then one day you realize something.

His hair moved.

You touched him!? He opens his eyes, and you gasp, hovering over him, and the hazel eyes widen, but then he blinks, and you disappear. Nanami sits up, shirtless and chiseled within every inch of his life, fuck the man is absolutely beautiful, and he’s looking around the room.

“Hey, is … fuck I’m losing it. Is someone there?” You gasp, backing away from the bed then, as Nanami looks around, clearly sleepy and confused.

“Yeah.” You whisper, curious, and he bolts up, and then you see it, the bulge in his boxers, and you flush bright red… can ghosts blush!? Maybe? He was clearly huge, and apparently ghosts can get wet too.

Huh.

“Listen, I need my sleep. Please don’t annoy me.” You’re in shock, at how casual he is, and you laugh suddenly, apparently he notices because he glares. “Seriously, go… do ghost things and let me sleep.”

He’s back in bed, and if your heart still beat, it would thud.

You keep watching Nanami Kento, but now you mess with him, jumbling up his papers, just to enjoy the delight when he would yell at you. You would move his toaster just an inch, mix his spoons and forks, laughing maniacally as he would get so flustered, shifting them back. He is always so meticulous, that throwing him off becomes your new thrill.

On one evening, you watched as he flipped his light switch several times, each attempt to illuminate the living room met with flickering bulbs. You’re giggling as you keep fucking with the lights, clearly annoying this man, and you could feel bad, but he’s so cute when he’s annoyed.

“What now?” He mutters, and your laughter echoed softly in the corners of the room. Nanami’s head whipped around, eyes narrowed in irritation. “You are here again. Can you stop fucking around? Do you need to watch a movie?”

“You’re asking a ghost to watch a movie?” He whips his head again, as the storm outside rages, and the lightning illuminates the room, and suddenly his eyes are dead on you, wide in shock. Your eyes go wide right back. “Fuck… can you…”

“See you. Yep.” You fade away, frightened then, and he reaches for you in a few long steps, gripping your arms. You feel his touch, just like you had when you were alive, hot on your skin. “I’m touching you!?”

“I don’t know how you can even see me.” You whisper, and he just keeps holding you, this six foot something gorgeous man, and you don’t know how you look to him. “Am I ghost like?”

“No, you look like an… alive person. Is this offensive to you?”

You laugh softly. “No, I’m not offended. I know I’m dead. Just didn’t know how I look to you, to me I look the same.”

“You look beautiful.” You freeze, as does he, a blush on his high cheekbones, his lips pursed a bit. “I see you in my dreams. You give me those?”

“No, I wouldn’t know how! Um, you do?” He nods then, and you tentatively cup his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw. “Fuck if I was alive I’d have been simping so hard for you.”

“Simping? You talk odd.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“Not a ghost at least.” Your eyes widen, and he goes to apologize, but you just laugh then, breathless. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe this. Hello, Nanami Kento.”

“What happened to you?” He murmurs and you sigh, looking down, enjoying his touch far too much.

“I was hit by a car.”

His beautiful hazel eyes fill with concern, why can you even feel his warm breath, his body heat? How?

“I'm so sorry. Why are you…”

“A ghost?” He nods. “I don't know. I was a good person, just worked a lot like you. I didn't have anyone too close. I don't think I have unfinished business.”

“That's horrible. Are you stuck here?” You nod. “How often do you watch me. Hmm?”

You giggle at his question. “Not when you're naked. That's not very consensual is it.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your body is beautiful though from what I have seen.” Nanami blushes again, and it makes his cheekbones stand out even more. “Hey don't worry I'm not trying to date, I'm dead.”

He grimaces, he still hasn't let go of you. “Your humor is morbid.”

“Morbid? I'm dead. Duh.”

“Dear lord. Listen how can I help you move on?”

“Tired of me knocking your cups over?” You smirk and he glares down at you. Fuck he's hot.

“I'm very tired of it, yes. But also I'd like to help. What's something you wish you did before you died?” Nanami asks softly and you hum, touching his chest then, feeling the heart pumping blood in his veins, his hard muscles under your palm.

“Wish I worked less and relaxed more. Wish I had a life. Wish I had loved. Fuck my life was depressing…” you frown as you speak, and Nanami studies you seriously. His hands are sliding down your little shoulders, down your slender arms, making you tremble.

“I know how that feels. I could say the same. Well what do you-”

“Can I try something?” You whisper, cutting him off. He nods. You tiptoe, because no you can't float, that's so bullshit by the way, and you press your lips to his, feeling them hot on yours. You moan softly as little sparks float, making you feel alive. He is tense, unmoving. “There, a perfect kiss. Have I moved on?”

He shakes his head, and your breath catches when he yanks you to him by the waist, pressing you up against his hard body. “You're still here,” his voice is husky now. “I've had some interesting dreams.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“Where you're on top of me in my sleep… where you're sucking my cock and I can't see you.” You blink rapidly, as his words fill you, and he's caressing your lower lip as he talks.

“Oh yeah?” Your hands trail down his perfect abdomen then, feeling it tremble. “Ghost head, huh?”

“In another dream I get you to manifest long enough to return the favor. And you dissappear once you cum all over my face.”

Now you are soaked.

Wait can you still fuck!?

“How rude of me not to ghost cuddle you afterwards.” You grin then and he moans softly, as you feel how hard he is against your tummy.

“How long until you disappear again?”

“I don't know, this is all so weird. Fuck I'll try though.” He snatches you up then, and your legs wrap around his narrow hips, then you're slammed into the wall, and somehow you don't just go through it, your physical form is there, as he holds you up. He kisses down your throat and you cry out, hands in his silky blond hair.

“Nanami!” You whine out, and he kisses down your chest, as you eagerly grind against him.

“Even better than the dream…” His words make you ache, yearn for more, to be real to not be dead. Fuck the life you could have had.

“Nanami I can't. I can't do this. It'll hurt too much having a taste.” He looks at you then, lips parted, big hands sliding your top right off your head. Huh, that comes off?

“Why shouldn't you. It's not fair what happened. How long have you been alone?”

You're crying, and yeah ghosts can cry, those tears are falling and disappearing as they do. “But what if I move on and can't see you again?”

Your eyes lock, as you realize what you're saying. “If it's your time, darling, it's your time. But for now, I'd love to fuck the reason I'm constantly hard. If I fuck you well enough, would you please stop shuffling my papers?” He pouts then, and you giggle, fuck you’re a ghost but you’re giggling, in his arms.

“I promise.” You brush his hair back, as you had so many nights, having watched him sleep, having watched him just existing so beautifully, and now? He could finally see you.

Your lips meet in another kiss, and then he’s sliding a hand to cup your breasts, nipple rising against his hard palm, fuck he’s just so warm, and alive… you errantly wonder if you feel weird to touch. What does a ghost feel like? But when he sinks two fingers up under your skirt (Yep you died in a skirt) and groans-

“Fuck you’re so hot.” You figure you feel pretty good. And fuck if he doesn’t make you wetter than you’d ever been alive, he makes you feel alive almost. But you’re still not tethered to the Earth, you’re only tethered to Nanami.

“Please…” You whisper, and he eagerly lays you on his bed. “Oh shit, I was scared I’d fall through!”

He chuckles. “You’re kinda bad at being a ghost you know.”

“What!?”

“Yeah, you aren’t very sneaky.” He slides your skirt off, kissing up your thighs, and you feel his hot breath where you’re soaked, making your hips rock up. “I saw you a lot of times but I wondered if I was hallucinating. I work too much.”

“You really do. Nanami promise me… you’ll… oh fuck!” He licks you then, right up your slit, groaning against your pussy.

“Promise what, Darling?” He murmurs, and you struggle to remember.

“Oh… promise you won’t- ah - work so much. It didn’t do me any good, Nanami… now I’m dead and-”

“You feel alive to me. You feel perfect.” You’re crying, your little glittery ghost tears, as his eyes, seductive and lidded stare up at you, and he grips your thighs. He laps you up and you fall apart, like nothing you’ve felt before, yanking on his usually perfect hair.

“Fuck, worth dying for a taste of this.” You whisper out, and then he’s got two fingers in you again, working spots you have no clue are there, his mouth sucking in your clit, and you shatter, cumming all over his handsome face.

“Good girl.” He murmurs, and you cum again as he scissors his fingers into you. “Should I say Good Ghost?”

“Both work, shit, shit you’re so good. I wish I’d had you around.”

“I wish I could have met you.” He murmurs, leaning above you then, and your thighs wrap around his hips, as your little hands run up and down his body. Somehow this feels perfect, this feels right. “This is insane, isn’t it? Are you just a dream?”

“No, Nanami… you’re the dream. Maybe there’s something good for me… mnh! Oh fuck.” He’s rubbing his tip along your folds, and you soak him. He’s so huge, and thick, bigger than you had alive, but there’s no pain, just ridiculous pleasure when he slides inside your entrance, his brows together, lips parted.

“Oh fuck… Darling.” You cry out then, gripping him so tight, so afraid how quickly this would end, as he’s kissing you, as he’s entering you, stroking faster and faster, the bed creaking and the headboard smacking the wall. “You feel so perfect. You’re just so, so beautiful.”

“Oh my god!” Was there a god for you? Maybe Nanami was it. As he works over you, as he tears you apart, until you’re spasming around him, sobbing against his neck, as he keeps making you cum, fucking you from one orgasm to the other. “Nanami… mnh.. Nanami!”

“Don’t even… what was… your name?” He whispers, grunting as he fucks into you, and you struggle to remember, what was it? Oh. You tell him, and then he whispers it in your ear, as his cock is steadily slamming into you, against your cervix, so deep you felt you two were one.

“Kento… call me… Kento…” He huffs, slowing now, your thighs are pressed up, and if you weren’t a ghost? You’d let this man get you pregnant.

That’s how good it is.

“Kento! Oh Kento… it’s so good I- ah!” He’s pressing your thighs against your breasts now, groaning as he fucks you so hard, until he slows, and his eyes catch yours in the night.

“Darling, can I-”

“Can’t get a ghost pregnant- ah- do it!” He’s moaning now, and he fills you with a few more pumps, before hot liquid shoots inside of you, and you cum right with it, clinging to him like he’s your life line, rubbing your hips up for more. He kisses you, so sweetly, over and over, and you fall into it, into his arms.

“I don’t want this to just be once. Don’t go.” He murmurs then, and you’re crying now, as he leans down, easing out and making a mess of your cum and his, and you feel yourself fading. “Darling, please.”

“I don’t wanna go either. I don’t.” He’s holding onto you, and you feel it, some odd pull, like you’re being split in a million directions. “I wish I could have known you, Nanami Kento. Please, don’t make my mistake. Just live, okay?”

You see his own eyes glittering with tears. “I feel like I should have known you… you look so familiar…”

“Maybe we’ll meet in another life?” He just sighs, holding you close, and you hum, eyes fluttering shut. Ghosts don’t sleep, right? Why were you… sleepy?

He’s caressing your cheek, and you hum happily. “There were more dreams. Maybe… stick around? We can try them all?”

You smirk a bit, looking up at this beautiful man, one you wish you could have known in your short life. You brush his tear aside, smiling. “You deserve more than a ghost, stuck in the apartment.”

Then you fade.

It was a beautiful time with…

******

You wake back up, in your body and you’re… alive!? You rush to the mirror, realizing you’re in your apartment. You check the phone, and it’s the next day, the day after you died. No fucking way…

You rush out, and bump right into him.

Nanami Kento!?

You look up at him, wide eyed, and he’s staring at you curiously, a little smile on his face, he looks not as tired as the Nanami you knew, is he the same, you wonder? You realize he’s stepping out of the apartment next to you, and your mind goes insane, have you been in a coma, was it a horrible dream?

“Hey there, I’m Nanami Kento, just moved in.” He holds out his hand, and you take it, trembling, and he frowns a bit. “Sorry, are you all right?”

“Uh… no. No I’m not. Do I look familiar to you?” You ask then, softly, and he nods just a bit, a blush decorating his cheeks. Yours joins as you remember vividly, his tongue on you, his cock inside you.

“Very familiar. Do you work at the same building as me maybe?” You shake your head, sighing, and you realize he has his briefcase. “You are familiar but I just can’t really place it.”

“Huh… sorry I’m being weird huh? Should I let you go?” Then you wonder, can you leave this apartment? “Actually. I gotta go somewhere to.”

“Well, come on then.” He tilts his head, pushing up his green framed glasses, and you touch your chest, feeling your heart beat steadily. Was this heaven, was this another dimension?

Then as you all are outside, a car zooms toward you, careening off the busy streets, and you remember, this is when you die.

“Fuck!” Nanami has thrown both of you out of the way, onto the sidewalk, and he’s on top of you, breathing heavily. His eyes go wide then, as do yours. “Oh my god… you were dead in my dream.”

“I dreamt of you… that I was dead… I…” You’re trembling, and he eases off you, helping you stand on shaky legs. “Was it some prophetic dream? Was I supposed to meet you? This is fucking weird. I’m not dead!?”

He chuckles then. “You’re so not dead. I remember it all. It’s like a fuzzy dream though isn’t it?”

“Oh my god. You saved me!” You’re sobbing, and he holds you close, and you feel it all crashing, everything together. You can’t explain shit, except you are supposed to be in this man’s arms. Your neighbor.

“Should we get you checked out? I knocked you on that concrete hard.” He brushes back your hair, inspecting it then. And you just giggle.

“Do you remember fucking me too?” He’s bright red, his nostrils flaring just so, and then he’s dragging you back into the building. “Hey!”

“Fuck work.” He slams you against the wall of the elevator, pressing one too many buttons, as he cups your face, sighing. “You told me not to work to death, I remember it all.”

“This is fucking crazy.” He nods, but he’s kissing you, and oh god it feels even better, as your own heart thuds against his.

“I won’t let you fade away again.” You hear the emotion in his voice, and your arms wrap around his neck. “You were a really annoying ghost.”

“I was good in bed though.” He moans, your tongues are entwining, teeth clinking as you messily kiss, and then you’re in your apartment, ripping each other's clothes off, in a maddening state.

Both of your phone alarms go off, and you laugh softly.

“I was gonna wait a year to relocate.” He murmurs, and your eyes fly open, as you realize what changed. “Something made me leave.”

“I’m so happy. Fuck… do you think ghost pussy is better by the way? I need your expert opinion.” He’s chuckling now, yanking at his cheetah tie, and you stop him, shaking your head. “Oh no, leave that on.”

So you died… but then you didn’t? And Nanami Kento saved you, and he already knows you, he knows where to touch and where to kiss. You all both don’t go to work that day, no, you are going to get some R n R. <3  Somehow, and some way you were supposed to always end up in his arms, it feels like heaven.

[hyewka]

warning: not proofread, perv!gyu in all his realness 🙂..

beomgyu as your best friend. someone who genuinely cares for you, someone who taught you how important it is to upkeep your platonic relationships because they are just as important and valuable as your romantic ones. there's just something about him that makes you guys almost inseparable, ever since meeting him at your freshman orientation. you guys just...clicked.

which is exactly why beomgyu thinks you're on the same page, or at least somewhat, when it comes to the supposed sexual tension he'd feel is there when things get weirdly intimate. he's tried it out, asking you jokingly if you guys should just fuck, it's not like he hasn't been upfront about how sexy he finds you, admitting it upfront the first day he met you--but maybe that was the issue, the joking nature of his voice, even when he's 100% serious. the exact reason why you laughed your ass off, saying "could you imagine?"

beomgyu would scoff lightly, an embarrassed smile as he plays with the drawstrings of his sweats before eventually laughing along, returning your energy with no fail.

because, hell fucking yeah he could.

it's a little embarrassing how fast things turn from platonic to a quick trip to the bathroom, biting down on his lips, sighing from pleasure, eyes shut closed just imagining how you'd look slipping off the new bodycon you were asking his opinion on. the guilt pooling in his chest is what ironically fuels his speed, frantically jerking off his dick, his eyes rolling back his head when he's close to cumming-- that was his signal to finally imagine your face just one more time, just one more time and he's trembling as he makes a mess into the toilet paper he crumbled in his hand.

whenever you'd spin around, doing those cute little fashion shows that you routinely do before leaving for a party, that was when he'd subconsciously take in every detail he could catch, your curves, the way the top would cup your breasts, god--your breasts. a lucky day is when he could see your nipples outlined through your dress.

its been a tortue for beomgyu, having to quickly pull your pillow laying on your bed, the one he was sitting on as he waited for you to come out your room's bathroom and show him the third outfit option, attempting to hide his boner laying it on top of his lap. but he's so dumb, he's dirty, so disgusting...would you find him disgusting?

what would you think of him if you knew he was bucking his hips ever so slightly, trying to be as discreet as possible, into the pillow the was only meant to hide the stupid erection of his. he can't help it, he can't. especially when the dress you come out wearing is the one he picked out for you a few weeks ago, the one you refused to buy when he took it off the clothing rack--it was a gem to him, but you said it was a little too skimpy, and he snapped out of it, god what was he thinking?

but here you were, the exact dress he recommended, on you. "what do you think?" you asked, examining yourself on your wall mirror. what did he think? he was currently fucking your pillow, going crazy, his hand gripping onto the softness-- he...thought a lot to say the least. but mostly how he definitely did not want you wearing this to yeonjun's party.

beomgyu hasn't ever been possessive of you--he never minded it when you dated people or hung out with other people more than him, but you couldn't wear this out. he can't let other men have this, the bright red complimenting your skin so fucking beautifully, shit, the intricate design of the cuts in all the right places--he just couldn't.

"i don't really like it..." he managed to say normally enough, that it wasn't weird.

you furrow your brows, turning to him, "you're the one who begged me to buy it though?"

"just think the other one was better," he tried to smile, but the ends of his lips were trembling, he couldn't stop ruining your pillow, even when your eyes were directly on him.

thankfully you didn't notice, your attention more on the dresses. "fuck...you're right...you're right! the green one was pretty fucking hot, right?" with a nod of his head, you quickly pick up the discard green dress on the floor, immediately in the bathroom again due to the restraint of time.

beomgyu as your perverted best friend, going back to his dorm after a long shift, opening his computer to relieve his stress and like any man in his early twenties, choosing porn as the tool to do exactly that. clicking on the genre he'd usually get himself off to, until his eyes find themselves staring into a thumbnail--a pov video. beomgyu was never really into this, not ever getting the hype. but it wouldn't hurt to watch one, just for a change of routine.

before he knew it, his eyes bored into his computer screen, on his ninth video of the pov shots. he only watched intently, before the next video autoplayed, the tenth one. he was about to call it a day, shutting off the tab but something caught his eye, halting his movement, slight sweat breaking out on his forehead--why was this girl remind him so much of you? the eyes, the mouth, fuck--right down to the expressions, she resembled you.

suddenly, he gets it. he gets the appeal, imagining the random porn actor behind the camera the girl was sucking off, to be him, it was him and you--and fuck, now he was shifting on his gaming chair uncomfortably, watching every movement of the girl, so engrossed, his brows closely knitted together, slightly chipping down on his nail as he observed.

he hadn't noticed his hand moving on its own, hesitantly going down his sweatpants, once again jerking off in his sweats, like a crazed sex addict, a sore loser, not even having to hide his whispers, quickly turning into whimpers, of your name slipping out his lips like a mantra, a chant, the more he got close, his breathing getting heavier, eyes never leaving his screen, feeling his dick twitch, and finally, one last silent scream of your name when he throws his head back on his chair, eyes still looking down at his screen, still watching, spurting cum all over the insides of his favorite sweatpants. he couldn't even last two minutes of the 12 minute long video.

he's definitely going to have to start collecting.

needless to say, after that day, his friends who often hung around his dorm knew to not ever touch that cursed gaming chair--everyone had a...slight hint of what he'd do on it.

or alternatively, where you'd visit his dorm like usual, choosing to plop yourself down on his comfortable desk chair, unaware of all the times he'd cum all over it--spinning on it mindlessly as you scrolled on your phone.

he comes back to his dorm after fetching the bucket of ice cream he promised to go quickly get for the movie marathon night after horrifyingly seeing that he was out-- coming back from a short trip to the nearest convenience store. "hey!" he shouts out, loud enough for you as he slips off his shoes, excited to start the movie marathon, "i got your favorite flavor, you have to thank me, it's the mint...one..." his words die down, mouth drying.

catching you on that chair. on that chair with your grey shorts, your bare skin touching it...it was unfortunate for beomgyu, that it took one simple thing to ruin his three day streak.

beomgyu who's been on his best friend mode pretty well, but now here he was, sitting straight up on his bed, laptop playing the movie eventually far down his lap to make space for his movement, silently jerking off under the shared blanket. you had dozed off after the third movie, your head comfortably on his shoulder, something so innocent.

but there he was, craning his neck shamefully, trying to get a look down your tank top, your cleavage sending his brain to overdrive, frantically going up and down his length, whimpering, trembling, so quietly, tears forming in his waterline both from the shaming of cumming so quickly--ruining the sheets you were literally sleeping in, and the overwhelming pleasure he had felt from the shame.

he was so so so disgusting, he knew it, he definitely knew it--but he couldn't help it, deciding to change his position a little, rubbing his dick back and forth on your thigh, so slowly as to not wake you up--his previous semen making a mess on your skin.

movie marathons, yeah, hes got to clear his schedule more often for them.

############################################

a/n; omg this was originally something so short lol, i got carried away. anyways..perv bestfriend gyu agenda..phew...i need requests like this in my inbox, i begggg

[loveinhawkins]

Up until recent events, Eddie hasn’t really put much thought into flashlights—save for that time he had to take out the batteries in the T.V remote to get his to work, back when the power went wonky last summer.

But now? Oh, as soon as he’s through with this whole nightmare, Eddie’s gonna find out whichever saint invented the damn things and start a petition to get them a federal holiday. That’s gonna be his whole… raisin something, something—he thinks it’s French, Buckley will know.

Fucking wondrous creations.

… Okay, he might still be a little jittery.

So sue him. It’s either run with his increasingly stupid train of thought or have a thoroughly justified panic about—well, there’s just so much to choose from: the ash in the air, the apparently sentient vines on the ground, how it’s so fucking cold and dark—

Jesus H. Christ, calm down.

It’s not all that dark anyway—or at least, it’s not as dark as it could be. Steve’s lighting the way, flashlight in hand. Honestly, Eddie thinks he should get it preserved, like in one of those glass cabinets in museums, complete with a plaque: This bulb somehow survived a journey from the depths of a lake into an alternate dimension, and all for the low, low price of…

Well, Eddie doesn’t know how much it cost. He’ll workshop the whole plaque thing.

In his reverie, he stumbles carelessly, nearly pitching over right into Hive Mind territory.

“Ah, shit,” he whispers.

Steve’s hand must move because the light drifts over—ends up illuminating much more of Eddie’s path than Steve’s.

“Thanks,” Eddie says—glances sideways to find Steve already looking at him.

“Think I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Steve replies.

His hand flexes, as if he’d gone to twirl the flashlight before catching himself; Eddie has a very faint memory of Steve doing the same with pencils in class and fights a private smile.

“You gave me it,” Steve continues. “I would’ve just… gone right in without thinking.”

It’s said self-deprecatingly, but Eddie would argue that Steve’s impulsivity (his courage) is an admirable character trait, even if it sets his heart pounding.

His own problem is that he thinks too damn much, until the window of opportunity has almost been and gone.

He was the only one to hesitate before diving into the lake: he knows all too well how that could’ve made its way onto the increasingly long list of moments that haunt him.

He could’ve been too late, could’ve not found the Gate at all—and then, would only have been able to pathetically swim back to the kids and tell them that their heroes were gone.

The light skips onwards just a little, encourages Eddie to look up from his feet. He blinks a few times to try and adjust to the darkness looming ahead. There, the indistinct outline of trees, and he’s drawn back to a classroom again, to the soporific noise of chalk on a blackboard, to…

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

“The hell is that from?” Eddie wonders, and he doesn’t realise he’s also said the quote aloud until Steve speaks.

“S’a poem. Robert Frost.”

Eddie clicks his fingers. “See, that’s why you actually passed English.”

Steve rocks his hand back and forth, so-so.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t play coy now, Harrington.”

“I’m not, I passed by the skin of my teeth, dude.” Steve looks into the distance as he walks, like he’s being drawn back to some place, too. “I was meant to, um, submit a portfolio thing, and I just… didn’t.”

“Like stories and shit?”

Steve smiles. “Mm-hmm, and shit. Poems, too.”

“So why didn’t you…?”

Steve just shrugs in reply so Eddie changes tack—rolls his eyes expansively, but only at himself.

“Fucking Frost. Ugh, why can I remember that shit now, but when a paper’s in front of me, it’s just…” Eddie mimes an explosion in the back of his head, gone.

“Well,” Steve says, chuckling, “if the, uh, lovely atmosphere of this place jogs your memory, we’ll make some time, get you to write an essay.” He grins at Eddie, teasing and charming in equal measure. “We’re nothing if not productive.”

“Sure, that’s one word for it.”

Joking aside, Eddie finds that the mention of school calms his heart somewhat: to think of the foreboding sights around him as part of a story. Maybe it’s a control thing, like his campaigns. Dress shit up, put a film on top, then you don’t have to look at it directly.

He suggests as such to Steve in a longwinded ramble, and gets a thoughtful look in response.

“Like the Shire? And Mordor?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, exactly.”

Steve nods slightly. The movement dislodges some particles in his hair—and yes, it helps, Eddie thinks, to believe it’s just freshly fallen snow.

“Yeah, that sorta never really worked for me?” Steve’s voice goes up at the end, almost apologetically, although for the life of him, Eddie can’t work out what he’s apologising for. “Like, when the kids ran with all the D&D stuff, the uh… analogy? Metaphor?”

Eddie gestures at himself with one hand, I failed English.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, whatever. Dustin and Lucas keep hashing that one out. Anyway, it didn’t exactly… help. Help me, I mean. Just made everything more…”

He sighs heavily.

Eddie thinks he understands. All his bullshit is just a veneer, after all: it doesn’t truly mask the fear.

“Hey, maybe you could give it a shot,” Steve adds. The light dances for a second, like he’s just barely resisted twirling the flashlight again.

“What?”

Steve smirks—juvenile, light-hearted, almost like he’s about to challenge Eddie at the school gym, like, bet you can���t make that shot from center court, Munson.

“You could write a poem. Make sense of…” Steve gestures around them.

“Harrington, as I keep reminding you, I failed English.”

“Yeah, so? I’ve heard Henderson go on about your campaigns, dude, s’not like they come from nothing.” Steve looks Eddie up and down in exaggerated scrutiny. “You look like the kinda guy who loves a theme.”

“Oh, really,” Eddie says flatly. He can’t hide his smile even if he tried.

“That’s what I thought, every time you’d come into class late: oh, here he is. The symbolism.”

“Jesus Christ, Harrington, shut up.” Eddie steps into Steve’s space just to shove him away (just to touch). He thinks that if he were to try his hand at poetry, it’d be horrendously self-indulgent—something about how he might not be the one holding a flashlight right now, but he’s certainly carrying a torch.

“I don’t work for free, Steve. You’ve gotta do one, too.”

“A poem for a poem, huh?” Steve says. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

And yeah, they might just be saying anything to pass the time. But Eddie chooses to believe otherwise; there’s still a pensive flicker in Steve’s eyes that makes him think he might just get lucky, that Steve might even dig up some old stuff from his abandoned portfolio.

It’s a nice thought—something to look forward to, at the end of all this.

He considers Steve, and even though he knows it’s not snow, he can’t help but turn the particles into flakes in his mind again, into something prettier, safe—almost as if Steve’s presence has softened the danger.

He wants to stop here, suddenly. Linger. It doesn’t make sense. But it feels like time is…

A gentle nudge—a warm elbow to his side.

“C’mon, daydreamer,” Steve says. “You can write down whatever you’re thinking later.”

Eddie snaps out of it with a breath of a chuckle, follows Steve’s light again. Keeps moving forward—past the ash, and the vines, and the trees.

The woods won’t be forever.

After all, he’s got promises to keep.

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

thinking about tattoo artist!draken giving me you a tattoo in between and under my your tits im so unwell i want him to suck on my titties so bad HNSKSGDJKHGK okaybye

Hi Mack! Thank you for entrusting me with this awesome ask! I hope you like it! Proofed as much as I could.

WC ::: 2230 (HEY! It was 8 pages and I got it down to 5. So, you're WELCOME!)

C/W ::: MDNI, TattooArtist!Draken x F.reader, unprotected P->V and some other funsies.

You sat in the booth waiting for the artist to come in and start working on you. You'd met him a few times before while going over the finalized print of your design but why hadn't you noticed how sexy he was? He was like some mythological creature.

He walked in backwards and slid the screen all the way to the edge so the small booth was completely shut off from the rest of the shop. "Ok, ready when you are." Draken said as he turned to start getting the ink ready.

"Oh! O-ok, yeah. So, like," you hesitated with your words not wanting to seem like you were too inexperienced. You have tattoos, just not on this part of your body.

"Take your shirt and bra off and lean back and enjoy the ride." He is so fucking cool, you thought.

"Right, enjoy ... enjoy the ride." You began lifting your shirt over your head, watching yourself in the full-length mirror the whole time. Kicking yourself for wearing such a shitty bra (but really what else were you going to do? Wear your best one only for it to get ruined with blood and ink? No. Absolutely not.)

You put your clothes on the extra stool in the corner and wrapped your arms over your chest waiting for his next instructions.

"It's ... heh ... you gonna enjoy the ride or do I have to tat you up while you're standing by the wall? Come on, I'm gentle, I promise.

"Yes! Right right right. Sorry. I'm just a little shy I guess."

I've tattooed much stranger things than tits, trust me. Now sit down."

You moved to sit on the tattoo chair and leaned back. The cool leather made you shiver. Draken placed a paper towel on your chest and told you to relax. He leaned over you to grab the ink and needles. He was so close you could smell him. He smelled like leather, cologne and cigarettes. It made you feel high, breathing him in like that.

He pressed the needle into your skin, making you wince in pain. He pulled away for a second to apply more ink and then went back to work.

After a while, he was about halfway done with the outline. "You doin' ok, y/n? Needa break or anything?" You had zoned out so much that he had to nudge your arm to get your full attention. "Hey! You good?" He laughed.

"Oh shit. Yeah, I guess I just kinda got into a trance. You're very ... rhythmic. It's oddly soothing." You blushed.

"Told you I was good." He beamed. "So you want me to keep going?"

You nodded and put your arms back to your sides where they'd been.

"For this next part, I need you to put your arms above your head. Can you hold them there for a while while I work on the underside of your chest?"

"How long are we talkin' here? 30 minutes? 45?" You couldn't read his face because you didn't know him well enough to. But the look he had was less than comforting.

"Ish? I don't know, honestly. But it's going to be a while. I have a lot of detail to do here. Look, don't ask. Ok? But I can - *aheh* - fuck. I can tie your arms up if this is going to be a problem?" He made a point to look away when he suggested that to you.

And good thing too because the expression that washed over your face would have embarrassed a porn director. You're so proud of yourself for not moaning at the offer.

"YES! Yes. My arms get tired easily. Tie me up, Draken." Your eyes fell to his crotch and the bulge that was presenting itself was nothing short of delicious. You don't know what came over you but you let them roam the length of his chest and met his gaze.

He walked over to a cabinet in the corner and grabbed a few ties. "Which one do you want?" he asked, holding up a few options. You pointed to a soft-looking black one and he tied your arms above the chair. "How's that? Not too tight?"

You shook your head. "No, it's good. Just tight enough." He walked back over to the counter to get the ink and needle ready again. And you know he adjusted his dick. You've seen enough men do that to know what that little dance looks like.

He pressed the needle back into your skin and started on the underside of your tits. He was close enough that you could hear his breath hitch every time he accidentally touched your nipple. And you were certain he was doing it on purpose.

You don't know if it was the drilling of the needle into one of the most sensitive expanses of your body, if it was Draken being so close to you that he could stick his tongue out and flick your nipple with the tip of it. His shallow, labored breathing. His big hands doing such delicate work. But you were getting so fucking wet. And you couldn't help but imagine him sticking his fingers into you. Fucking you with them.

"You're um, doing great. Almost done with this side, are you hot? Do you want some water or something? Want me to crack the window?" he said, breaking the silence.

You nodded, not sure how to respond. "No, I'm uh, I'm doing great, thanks."

He walked over to the window and opened it just a sliver. The air was still warm but it was better than before.

"Thank you." You sighed.

"You're welcome. It's fuckin' hotter than hell in here." He took off his jacket and tossed it over onto your clothes.

You couldn't help but stare at the way his arm muscles flexed as he moved. The tattoos on his right bicep were beautiful and you wanted to trace every inch of them with your tongue.

"SO!" He shouted, startling even himself, he pulled the gun away from you. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say that so loud." His cheeks were burning. You wanted to reach out and smooth your fingers over his face. You wanted to sit on it. But that's just crazy, you thought. Draken continued, much quieter this time, "You got a boyfriend? Or ... or girlfriend. Sorry. I forget about that shit sometimes." He chuckled.

"Nope, no boyfriend. No girlfriend either." You said, looking down at his crotch again. You were so horny you could hardly stand it. "So, just me, my shitty bra, and my soon-to-be tatted tits."

He laughed and leaned over you to start on the other side. He was close enough that his breath was hot on your ear. You closed your eyes and let yourself just enjoy the feeling of his weight pressing against you. You were so close that you could have turned your head and kissed him.

But he beat you to it. He stopped what he was doing, sitting the gun down on the tray next to him and he trailed his fingers up over your belly. Lifting them up long enough to skip over your freshly inked skin and he put them down at your collarbone, skimming them to your chin and tilting your face toward him. You tried to put your arms around his neck but you forgot you were all tied up. Literally.

He smiled at the new light of this situation. "You're tied up." Draken's demeanor changed.

You looked into his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You wanna be free or do you like it?" He said, tracing his fingers up and down your jawline.

"I like it." You blushed. "But I can't touch you. And that's kinda bumming me out." You laughed.

He leaned back, grabbed the scissors from the counter, and cut the ties, but he left them around your wrists. "You wanna touch me, y/n? You wanna play with my hair? My dick?"

You nodded and reached down to his pants. You cupped your hand around his bulge and squeezed it lightly. He moaned and you loved the sound of his voice. "I wanna do so much more than that, Draken. But … am I crazy for wanting this?" You laughed.

"Oh, you're definitely crazy, baby. An' that's just how I like it." He pushed you back against the chair and softly wrapped his lips around your pointed nipple and dragged his tongue over it.

You shifted in the seat and let out a small whimper. "Fuck that feels so good. I don't know if it's because you've been drilling on me all day or if I just really - I really want you, Draken." You pulled on his hair and he moaned again. He moved his hand up your leg and slipped it into your jeans, feeling how wet you were.

"Well, I guess I was right about something today, huh?" He laughed and unbuttoned your pants. He pulled them down just enough so he could get his fingers inside of you. "You wanna fuck me, y/n? Right here in my booth? You gonna let me fill you up - make you cum all over my cock."

You nodded, unable to form words.

He pulled his fingers out of you and unzipped his pants, pulling them down and sitting back on the edge of the table. He stroked himself a few times and looked back at you. "C'mon kitten, need this dick?"

You sat up and straddled him, holding your weight up enough so that he could slide himself into you. You let out a low moan as he filled you up, your pussy clenching around him. "Holy shit, you feel so fucking good," you moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your breath all but stopped it's exchange with the space around you.

He started to move his hips and you rode him, rolling them and bouncing up and down on his cock. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, feeling him moan into your mouth. His hands were at your waist, guiding you up and down and you felt so fucking good.

"Fuck, y/n, arch your back, stick your tits up, wan' 'em in my mouth." He said, his voice muffled by your chest. You leaned back, he pushed your breasts together and he latched onto them. Massaging them, sucking and biting on your nipples. You felt like you were in a dream, your body humming with pleasure and pain from the abused inches of your skin.

You slowed your movements to feel him better. His cock was hot and dragging against your walls so perfectly that you almost didn't want to cum. You didn't want this to ever stop. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and he moaned, his body tensing up as he came inside of you.

"Fuck, y/n, cum for me, cum all over this dick, baby." He moaned as you ground your hips against his, rubbing your clit against his abdomen. You let yourself go, your body tightening and releasing with the orgasm that washed over you.

You breathed heavily and leaned forward to rest your head on his shoulder. "Wow, Draken. I ... that was..." you trailed off.

He laughed, "It was, huh?"

You nodded, smiling. "Yeah. It was. But I really like your work." 

Your work? You thought. Why did you say that.

"My 'work'? That's what you like? Heh, well, I'm glad?" He chuckled, shaking his head softly. "I'd say the same for you but, I think that'd be weird since I just fucked you and you're still sitting on my dick." He pushed your hair away from your face and kissed you gently on the forehead. "But, you know, I do like your ‘work’, too. It's beautiful. And you're beautiful. And I can't wait to see the finished product." He said, smiling.

You smiled back and leaned in to kiss him again, this time on the lips. "Me too. I'm excited to see it." You blushed and slowly lifted yourself off of him, wincing as he slipped out of you. "God. I hate this part." You pouted.

"Me too, but I think I can make it better. I wanna take you out, y/n. Let me take you out?" He asked, getting up to put his pants back on.

You nodded, smiling. "I'd love that." You grabbed your bra and shirt and held them against your chest as you watched him walk back to the sink and start washing his hands.

"Deal. We should wait a few days after your tattoo has healed up before we go out. Don't wanna get it infected or anything." He laughed, drying his hands on a paper towel.

You laughed too and nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. I guess that gives me time to plan what I'm gonna do next." 

“Do next?” he asked zipping his black jeans and fastening his belt.

“Tattoo ideas … orrr …?” He spun you around by your shoulders and tipped your face up with his fingers.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got more ideas.” You turned your back to him and he helped you fasten your bra around the wrapping.

“Would you laugh if I said both?” 

“No. I wouldn’t laugh. I’d say ‘when’?”

[tiddygame]

hello im sorry i wrote more for @myriadblvck ’s streamer au ghoap

I time travelled and around 4,000 words magically appeared in a document titled: "you didn't juju on the fucking beat soap" I think I was possessed by something. anyways here’s that:

tw: is it a panic attack? is it just typical ghost angst? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ just be careful it's mostly fluffy (ghost is mean to himself cause he almost kissed soap on the forehead)

also i just realized after i wrote this whole thing, this is based on my general knowledge of dog tags… as an american. writing about the british military. so if you know your shit about the british military, uhh sorry in advance. my bad. from a very brief search i think a lot of it’s the same or at least same enough but this might hurt for people that know a thing or two. whoops!

fun fact: did you know for a brief stint (iirc, >40 years from around 1960s to 2010ish) the american military was printing soldiers’ ss numbers on their tags? yeah can’t imagine why they switched back to serial numbers.

Ghost had been pacing outside of his office for three minutes before he actually entered. When he did, he didn’t say a word. Just sat down in one of the chairs, fidgeting. It wasn't that uncommon of an occurrence, he was normally either gathering his thoughts before talking to Price about something more personal or hiding from what/whoever he didn't feel like dealing with.

When it came to mission debriefs, he was clear and concise. However, personal matters were a different story, and based on the way he anxiously opened and closed his hand, he'd guess this was a personal matter.

Price didn’t ask. He knew that whatever it was Simon needed to say would come out eventually. For now, he continued filling out paperwork and trying to figure out what it was that had Ghost so worked up.

Honestly, there wasn't much guesswork involved. Chances were, it was probably yet another leave request. He knew from Gaz (who was such an awful gossip he sometimes wondered how the man made it through interrogation training) that Simon had been visiting some social media person he had taken a liking to.

(Look, yes, Price knew about Twitch and live streaming and everything. He’s not actually that old. However, as long as he kept up the front of the old man who complained about the keyboard on his phone being too small, he didn’t have to deal with social media. Sure, it caused all of them to joke that he was geriatric and on his last legs, but he was able to convince Roach that he doesn’t know what TikTok is, meaning he wasn’t in charge of reviewing all the bullshit he and Gaz posted. A fair trade if you ask him.)

He also knew that Gaz was convinced the two were in love to the point that he and Roach had a bet going to see when they would get together. Price thought it was rather stupid, but he had to admire their ability to keep it under wraps; if the lieutenant found out they’d been placing monetary bets on his love life, he had a feeling he would need to find replacements for the 141.

Regardless, Price hoped that one day Simon would tell him about the friend but, until then, he was happy to fill out any paperwork that would get the poor man off base. God knows that idiot needs a vacation.

Simon was bouncing his leg, messing with his fingers, and staring off into space.

Three of his nervous habits at once? He must be even more worked up about this than Price thought. But, he was a patient man. It was about seven minutes of companionable silence before Simon spoke.

“I need replacement dog tags. I seem to have lost mine.”

Price looked up. He could see the chain around his neck and the outline of them still under his shirt.

"You do?" Price shuffled his documents around, eventually finding a blank piece of paper he could write on.

"Yes sir."

“And do you know what happened to them?”

“I believe they were knocked off during the fight from the last mission. I didn’t notice until later that night when we were back at base.”

Price paused and looked up from where he had been writing.

The last mission had been an odd one. Ghost normally stuck further away, their eagle-eyed lieutenant typically stayed at long to mid-range, watching for hostiles and making sure whoever else was in the field wouldn’t get caught off guard by someone they hadn’t seen.

During the last mission, he decided to engage at close range, a far cry from his usual approach of sniping hostiles from the shadows.

At one point, their lieutenant had been tackled and almost strangled. The fight had pretty much ended, his attacker was the only one left there. Ghost, being The Ghost, dispatched him with ease, but it stuck out to Price. Ghost may prefer to stay further back, but that didn’t mean that his hand-to-hand combat skills were lacking by any means.

He remembered thinking at the time that it was a clumsy mistake, that Ghost would have had to be intentionally trying to fuck up to get knocked down. He assumed the man had just been caught off guard, but he knew that theory wouldn’t hold up to any scrutiny. Ghost isn’t one to get caught off guard.

What was stranger yet still was Ghost specifically pointing it out in his mission report, calling even more attention to it.

Price set his pen down and leaned back in his chair.

“You planned this?”

“I plead the fifth,” said the British man.

Price just continued to stare, curious to see if this was actually going where he thought it was going.

“Is this off the record?” Simon eventually asked.

“Of course,” almost everything the 141 did was of dubious legality. Not reporting a conversation about possible wasted assets was far from the worst thing that had been swept under the rug.

“Then yes.”

“Why?”

Simon didn’t answer. Price waited, giving the man time to gather his thoughts, but based on the way his mouth opened and closed before he slumped in his chair, it seemed he didn’t know what to say at all.

Price had an inkling he might know what this was about.

“You know, Gaz likes to keep me informed,” Ghost looked up at him, somewhat panicked yet resigned, like he already knew what Price was going to say.

“He tells me you have a certain someone you’ve been visiting?”

“Yes.”

“Is this person a friend or…?” Ghost once again paused, calculating the potential consequences of his available responses.

He didn’t answer.

“Hmm,” Price paused, wondering how far to push before he continued, “You want to give this person your old dog tags?”

“Yes.”

Of course he would pre-plan “losing” his dog tags. Price mentally chuckled, leave it to Simon to be such a sap that he wanted to give someone his dog tags yet still make sure to follow protocol so he never actually risked going without them.

He had to hand it to him, it wasn’t a bad plan.

Price had a smile now, knowing his grumpy hard-ass lieutenant had a sweetheart he wanted to be sappy with.

“Romantic or platonic?” Price tried again.

“… I don’t know,” he’d never seen Simon look quite so… forlorn.

Hmm… That would explain his hesitancy.

He was pushing how much Simon was willing to divulge.

“And does this person know the significance of you giving them your dog tags?”

Well, curiosity killed the cat…

“No, they don’t.”

…But satisfaction brought it back. How interesting, the plot thickens.

“Do you plan on telling them?”

There was a long pause, after which it dawned on Price, “You want to give them your dog tags because they don’t know.”

It wasn’t a question, he already knew. Simon somehow slumped further, attempting to hide his face as if he weren’t wearing a balaclava.

His grumpy hard-ass lieutenant. Absolutely smitten with someone yet too shy to say anything, deciding on a quiet confession, one they likely wouldn’t pick up on.

Price chuckled, jotting down the necessary information he would need when he got his hands on the right paperwork, polishing up some of the details of Ghost’s story to make it more believable, before reading off what he had written to Ghost to make sure he got everything right. Ghost nodded once, and that was that.

“Replacement tags will probably be here in two to three weeks.”

“I would like to request leave for two to three weeks from now.”

Price handed him the form, having already grabbed it. He noticed how the man seemed to calm at just the thought of getting to visit his mystery person.

Oh, he thought to himself.

I am definitely joining Roach and Gaz’s bet.

<><><><>

They were lying on the daybed in his streaming room, or, well…

No, that’s not quite right.

Simon was lying on the daybed.

Johnny was lying on top of Simon.

His computer was still softly playing quiet (non-DMCA) music from where his stream had just ended. Instead of turning it off, he had decided to unplug his headset and leave it on, the music just loud enough to be heard.

Simon was sleepily scrolling through his phone, trying to pretend like he hadn’t almost dropped several times while dozing off, desperately trying to stay awake. Johnny had watched his struggle and decided to lay down right on top of Simon, not even trying to pretend like he was trying to fit on the remaining space on the daybed. Why would he when Simon was right there?

It was meant to be a joke, having thrown himself on top of him to annoy the man into sleeping on an actual bed (he claimed he wasn’t tired but the comically loose grip on his phone and the waking world said otherwise.) However, unfortunately for said sleepy man, Simon was very, very comfortable.

His head was resting on Simon’s chest, arms under his back like he actually was just a pillow, one hand reaching higher to feel where Simon’s hair had begun to grow out slightly.

I wonder if he would let me help him cut it…

Simon had said he was like a clingy cat, his free hand running through his hair in the same manner one would pet a cat to prove his point. The joke's on him though, he likes it.

Simon had tried to stop but Johnny didn’t let him, threatening to tickle him if he did.

(“I’m not ticklish, I just don’t want you throwing a tantrum.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say,” he was definitely ticklish, and one of these days he was going to prove it.)

At some point, Simon had given up on keeping a grip on his phone, letting it drop to the side. They would probably have to go digging through the cushions to get it out of whatever crevice it had fallen to. As of right now, the idea of ever leaving his spot was comical at best.

The sun had begun to set, orange and pink tinted light filtering through the sheer curtains, making everything look more like a dream. Or maybe it was just the proximity to the man below him that was making him feel so serene.

Johnny took a second to inhale and exhale slowly, appreciating the moment. He hoped that this memory, this beautiful tranquility with Simon, would be something he cherished for a long time to come.

He knew that they had things to do. Soon, Simon would be catching a flight at some ungodly hour, headed back to save the world yet again. But for now, he was happy to nap away in their own little bubble. He never was a religious man but here in the arms of Simon Riley, he was tempted to think heaven was real, and that it was right in front of him.

“I almost forgot,” Simon mumbled, not sounding any more awake than he looked, reaching up for the collar of his shirt. Thankfully, the hand that was running his hair remained. He didn’t like proving the cocky bastard right, but he probably would have thrown a tantrum had he tried to remove it.

“They had some fuck up along the line or something and accidentally printed me an extra set of dog tags. I was just gonna toss ‘em but thought you might want—”

Johnny was now wide awake, sitting up and yanking the chain out of his hands.

“Don’t you fucking dare throw them away, of course I want them!” Simon’s face reddened, a frequent treat for Johnny now that he had gotten more comfortable going without the mask. Simon might have been good at keeping a poker face, but without his mask, he was a blushing mess.

He wondered if the blush was from his obvious jubilation at the gift or if it was because he was now straddling the man. Such pesky details, however, (even ones that would keep future Johnny awake at night) were far less important than examining the necklace in his hands.

It was obvious this was the older set, the metal worn and dented in some spots though the writing was still clearly visible.

“Calm down, I’m not going to take it from you,” the gruff tone was severely undermined by the aforementioned blush. It was hard to sound tough while half asleep on a daybed and being used as another man’s pillow.

Johnny stared at them for a little bit longer, feeling every dent and wondering the story behind how they got there, before putting them on.

He smiled at the man under him, “How do I look?”

He was going to joke, asking if he looked like a rough and tough soldier ready for war, but something in Simon’s eyes made him stop short.

He was looking with… with… Reverence was far too intense of a word for the softness of the moment but it was the only word that came to mind.

Simon reached up with his hand, grabbing the tags, his knuckles grazing his chest.

Well, that’s just fucking unfair.

Simon was supposed to be the blushy one. Not him, goddammit!

Though, he thinks when they make eye contact, they end up tied for who is blushing the most. They stare for a while, maybe it should have felt awkward but it was too adoring for either to feel any form of uncomfortability.

Neither moved.

It was Johnny that broke first, smiling at him, yet again tracing all of the scars he could see. It was his new favorite hobby, especially when Simon would blush making the scars on his face all the more visible.

He took one more second to sleepily appreciate the man before him, then went back to using him as a pillow. His hands went back to where they were before, one under Simon’s back and one playing with his hair. His head, however, did not fall back to his chest, instead resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Simon’s hand returned to running through his hair, his other now coming up to rest on his back, rubbing up and down a few times before the sleepiness from earlier fully returned with his hand stopping somewhere around the small of his back.

Johnny leaned up slightly and gave a chaste kiss to the part of his neck that he could reach, then settled back to where he was. The hand in his hair paused.

“Thank you, Simon.”

A second of delay, and then the hand continued.

“You’re welcome, Johnny.”

Simon shuffled slightly, getting comfy before—

A kiss, on his forehead.

He couldn’t stop the blush and smile if he wanted to. He snuggled closer before drifting off to sleep.

When he woke, he was in his bed, practically tucked in. His window had been opened slightly, blackout curtains that had been drawn closed now swaying slightly with the breeze. When he focused, he realized he could smell petrichor and hear heavy rainfall outside with the occasional grumble of thunder.

There was a note on his nightstand. As he expected, it was Simon’s handwriting, apologizing for not waking him up before he left. It said that he had made breakfast for him (pancakes, with enough for when his sister would inevitably try to steal them), that he made sure to lock the front door, and left the window cracked.

He giggled sleepily at the last line. Regardless of the context, it always made Simon anxious to have the curtains open, much less to leave a window open. But, he also must've known how much Johnny loved the rain and set his worries aside, just this once, so he could wake up to the rain.

He set the note down and flopped back onto his pillows, his hand felt something cold and he remembered.

The dog tags.

John MacTavish is no stranger to crushes and heartbreaks.

He's had high school sweethearts, been in and out of love, he knows his way around the world of dating. Which is why he most certainly does not squeal and kick his legs while holding the tags like some kid with their first crush.

He did it like a grown man, thank you very much.

He grabbed his phone and sent Simon the worst pun he could think of; it was tradition at this point to send him some god-awful joke before his flight.

Simon has probably already forgotten about the whole exchange. He probably woke up and assumed he threw them away when he noticed he wasn't wearing them. It was probably stupid, an insignificant gesture with no meaning. But to Johnny, it felt like everything.

He sighed dreamily at the ceiling and felt the cool metal once more. Thunder roared outside. He thought about how he had felt in the man's arms. Thought about how much he wanted that again.

God.

His phone dinged and he immediately reached over to grab it.

I'm fucked, aren't I?

<><><><>

Elsewhere, Ghost was in an airport terminal, having far too much time to think.

Over the weekend, it was almost impressive how many times Ghost had talked himself into and back out of giving Soap his dog tags. He really hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

Simon felt the spot that Johnny had kissed and wondered if he remembered it. Wondered if he had meant it.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked cradled in his arms when he carried him to his room, the way he had reached out for him when he laid him in bed. The way he had grabbed his wrist and clung to it, grumbling when Simon tried to pull it back.

If asked, he'd say that he had woken up late and that's why he was so far behind schedule. He'd keep the part where he sat there, kneeled in front of Johnny's bed, waiting for him to fall back into a deep enough sleep to pull his arm away all to himself. After all, it would have been rude to wake him up, no?

He had made sure to plug up his phone and, upon seeing the forecasted weather, hesitated before opening the window. It was only barely cracked, just enough for the sounds of the outside world to shamble in, but not so wide as to worry about water damage. He stared at it, convincing himself not to worry and that Johnny would like waking up to the fresh air.

He turned back to make sure the man was still asleep, still comfy, but stopped for a moment. He approached the bed and hesitated before running his fingers through his stupid haircut, almost wishing the man would grab his arm and give him an excuse to stay.

He didn't. Simon did, however, lean in to give him one last kiss on the forehead as some stupidly sappy goodbye, before his brain turned back on and he ripped himself away.

What the fuck is wrong with you? What? He grabs your arm in your sleep so you feel entitled to be able to kiss him?

Simon backed away, staring at the hand that had just been in his hair. He felt dirty.

For fuck’s sake, relax. It's not that big of a deal, you did it earlier; the man fell asleep in your arms, a forehead kiss isn't too much of a stretch.

He went to the kitchen and scrubbed his hands for a while, only stopping when he thought about how much water he was wasting. He still felt dirty.

Not a stretch? You don't get to decide that. How would you feel if someone tried to kiss you while you were unconscious? If they said that they felt they should be allowed to do so because you fell asleep?

He had started making pancakes. Something quick, easy, and reheatable for when Soap woke up. Like making him breakfast would make up for trying to kiss him in his sleep.

Why can't you just be normal?

Eventually, and after a run-in with Soap’s hell-spawn of a twin, he had to leave. The time on his phone showed that he should probably already be halfway to the airport by now but he has always been a selfish man.

He had snagged some paper and left Soap a quick note, hoping the apology would make him feel better about worse sins than not waking him up. It didn't.

He stared at the man for a second, admiring him, before he reminded himself that he was a fucking creep and left.

The storm left the flight delayed by 1.5 hours. Ghost had sat waiting, wireless headphones on and connected, but not playing anything. He had far too much time to think.

Simon thought about how Johnny had looked, his dog tags around his neck, silhouetted by the fading light, the sun behind his head as if even the stars knew they could never compare to him.

He stood and started pacing. Amongst the screaming children, feuding families, and people who think they're entitled to listen to their music without headphones, one middle-aged man having an existential crisis didn't stick out.

He thought about how he had never understood weighted blankets so well until Johnny had thrown himself on top of him. It should've hurt. He should've been annoyed. Instead, Simon selfishly hoped he would never get up.

It took him a while to put his finger on what he had been feeling exactly. Finally, he realized.

There, in that moment, he had never been so happy to be alive. It was a startling emotion to discern amongst the swath of negativity he normally felt. It startled him so much, he had snapped out of his reverie and stopped short in his pacing. When he checked the time, he saw he had one missed text from Johnny.

Soap (art streamer): i was trying to think of an airplane joke but none of them landed

Simon chuckled and sat down; he almost forgot about their dumb little tradition.

Ghost: Disliked.

Soap (art streamer): everyone is so mean 2 me 💔

Ghost: It is not my fault your pun was so Boeing.

Soap (art streamer): well i thought i could wing it

Ghost: Did you look up what giving do-

Ghost: About the tags, you

Ghost: I think you make me want to live

Ghost sighed and fell back further into his seat, coming to a conclusion that his subconscious had long ago discovered.

I'm in love, aren't I?

Soap (art streamer): speechless huh? finally, the Wright reaction to my comedic genius

Ghost: Absolutely awful, Mactavish.

Soap (art streamer): :D

Took you long enough, dumbass.

<><><><>

Soap’s twin spent a good bit of time staring at her brother's new accessory.

“Is something wrong?” he challenged, hoping she wasn't in a bothersome mood.

She failed miserably at hiding her shit-eating grin but didn't care.

“Nope!” she replied.

She had run into Ghost early that morning before he left.

"Detergent."

She was pretty sure he never even learned her name, just jumped straight into calling her detergent.

"Ghoul," she greeted, glaring at the man.

Being required by law to not trust him, she checked on her brother as he was still gathering his things and noticed the necklace.

“You gave him your dog tags,” she accused, like she was framing him for murder.

“Yes, I did,” he replied casually, as per usual robbing her of the fight she so desperately wanted to pick.

“Did you tell him what it means?”

“...What does it mean?”

Damn, he was good. If she wasn't convinced that he was the devil incarnate, she might have fallen for his feigned ignorance.

“100 bucks and you buy my silence.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“200 then.”

“It doesn't even mean anything.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose you might be right… JOHN!” their neighbors were probably going to complain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” ooh he was getting panicked now.

“If it doesn't matter then you won't mind me telling him to look it up,” she started walking to his room, “JOHNSON!”

“Fucking Christ, woman! Just— Fucking— Here.”

He pulled out his wallet and started counting bills. Damn, that was easier than she thought.

“What did you say? 100?”

“Nope! That was before inflation. Now it’s 300.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You said 200!”

“So you admit you tried to scam me?”

“Just take the 100 and g-”

She didn't even get to yell, he reached for more before she could finish taking a deep breath in.

“Just shut the fuck up! Here! Three fucking hundred!”

She was tempted to raise her price further, but she was no gambler, she was a strategist. She knew a defeated man when she saw one. If she played this right, she could extort money out of him for a long time to come.

Something, something, vampires not fully killing their victims and all that.

She took the money, counted it, and then held out her hand to shake.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wraith!”

He didn't shake her hand.

“Christ, both of you are awful.”

He packed his stuff and left, broke, broken, and defeated.

She ate as many pancakes as she could, rich and victorious.

She thought about how much power, how much blackmail she had in this moment.

“I’m fantastic actually,” she walked to her room.

I am going to be so fucking rich by the time they get their shit together.

[sleepingdeath-light]

when she’s moved on from chucky hcs ; tiffany valentine

requested by ; anonymous (posted on 14/07/23)

fandom(s) ; slashers / child’s play

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; tiffany valentine

outline ; “Ooh so could you do a Tiffany x gender neutral reader where at the scene when tiff had chucky in his cage, she mentions how she got over him and is now dating reader who Tiff just rabbles about them?

And please take your time on this I don’t wanna seem like one of the impatient readers so do your best!”

note ; this is a repost from a now deleted blog, so apologies if you’ve already read this lol

warning(s) ; allusions to sex, suggestive content

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

she hadn’t thought about her ex in a long time — mourning him for more than long enough when he’d initially passed away before making a point of trying to move on

she’d had plenty of flings over the years — tiffany was incredibly attractive so there was no shortage of men and women ready to hop in bed with her — but nobody ever stayed for long

not until you, that is

you, who was able to make her laugh without any effort

you, who didn’t judge her for her past and helped her take the steps she needed to fully detach herself from chucky

you, who kept a photo of her in your wallet/purse and who would proudly introduce her as your girlfriend to anyone you met

you, who watched all her favourite films with her and who would get wrapped up in the plot without complaining about them being ‘unrealistic’ or ‘silly’

you, who loved her for her mind and her humour and not just her body

you

just you

and yet despite all of that she still couldn’t seem to get away from charles for long because here he was, miraculously not dead and a hell of a lot shorter and more plastic-looking than she remembered

she’d seen his death reported on in the paper

she’d been going to therapy to talk about their relationship and how she was dealing with his loss

she’d moved on and was happy with you — even looking at wedding venues (even if you hadn’t been together very long, but when you know you know)

she’d done everything right and still he’d managed to come back into her life like nothing had happened

it made her angry

it made her sick

so she trapped him in a baby cage and went out for a smoke, ranting with the front door of her trailer open as she made some very pointed gestures and remarks to her ex

how dare he do this to her! how fucking dare he!

who the fuck did he think he was?

why couldn’t he just let her live her life in peace?

couldn’t he see that she was finally — fucking finally — happy after all of the shit he’d put her through?

the sheer audacity had her tonguing the inside of her cheek and reaching for her lighter — she didn’t have enough cigarettes to deal with his shit right now

frankly there weren’t enough cigarettes in the world at all to help her deal with his bullshit, but that was besides the point

she takes a drag from her second cig and now she’s stopped pacing — leaning on the doorframe and facing him head on with more disappointment and sadness that outright animosity

and somehow that scares him more than when she was ranting and raving and screaming at him

she asks why he can’t just let her have one good thing — but it’s not really a question and he knows it and he doesn’t even get to contemplate answering and manipulating her before she continues

she talks about you, about how she’s finally happy for the first time in forever and of course he has to come in and turn it all to shit (she spits the last word like it burns her tongue and continues in a dreamier voice, the ghost of a smile worming its way onto her lips)

‘they’re real sweet, ya know?’ (he doesn’t and she knows it but she continues), ‘they make me happy. we have fun together’

he says that they did too, jumping at the opportunity to reel her back in, but she chokes out a laugh and kicks his baby gate, causing his plastic body to stumble back

she scoffs at him and reaffirms that ‘fun’ doesn’t just mean being an adrenaline junkie — but even then that you don’t put her down or discourage her from doing what she enjoys

you let her have real hobbies, not just ones that benefit you — you even watch cheesy chick flicks with her and, pray tell, when did he ever bother to do the same?

never, that’s when

chucky tries to reel her back in again, recalling the fun they used to have — but he’s already lost

he lost before he even turned up at her front door because tiffany valentine has moved on

she doesn’t just want kinky sex and excitement — she dreams of domesticity and marriage and love

her days of bloodshed and murder are (mostly) over and have been since she settled down

since she fell in love with you

you with your smiles and your gentle touches and your humour that makes her laugh so hard her cheeks and sides ache

you who reaches out first and who doesn’t leave her high and dry and wanting like charles did

you who she loves, really truly loves, and who she’d never even dream of leaving

so she grabs a bottle of wine and tells chucky to keep on talking — because he may not have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning her over, but by god is it cathartic to watch him beg

… maybe she’d even call you up and give him a live show of every single reason, position and sound why you’re a far sight better than he ever was

[purecommemasolitude]

Okay so re: Darry as the captain in a sound of music AU. This is just one possible route that I thought up last night and typed out while I couldn’t sleep

It’s the type of AU where we steal beats and plot points from TSOM and transfer them into the outsiders, because not being rich is very important to why Darry is the way he is (also for reasons I outline below I made Two-Bit Maria and that man is never even going to think about becoming a religious career man)

And also I don’t actually know when he and Two-Bit would end up together because with some of the changes I made I couldn't make it work within the main plot, so it would have to be in an event bit taken from TSOM. So it’s not in the bullet points

anyway I'll put the bullet points I typed up in an hour at midnight yesterday below the cut because it’s long but I will admit. this one kind of got away from me

- okay so Darry is the captain. Obv

- High school & football take the place of the navy

- Racked my brain for a bit and I think Two-Bit is Maria?? Like I said I don’t really go in for outsiders ships anyway so I cross-referenced usual Darry LIs and general characters and he was the only one who was age-appropriate and also could have a Maria vibe (is able to find the light in life, willing to poke at a cold figure until it shows emotion, gets along with the brothers in canon)

- Soda & Pony are aged down because otherwise this wouldn’t make any sense — Soda is 14 going on 15 and Pony’s 12

- (Steve and Johnny are also aged down to match their respective buddies so the boys can still have friends I think. I haven’t decided what to do with Dally yet in this AU — I would put him as Max with a personality transplant but I don’t know if I can see Dally being chill with Darry’s attempt to. Play into respectability politics essentially)

- Darry’s infinitely more stressed supporting two more needy kids on his meagre income alone. Soda does odd jobs but nothing full time

- This manifests in him being colder / less outwardly affectionate than in the book to Soda as well as Pony

- Furthermore he’s desperately trying to ensure their futures, which means he disapproves of them being too outwardly greaser, both for separation reasons and for respectability reasons down the line

- However being 12 and 14 means they’re less able to control their emotions and understand Darry. So the guy from the state comes down and sees them and says you need to spend more time with these kids man. They’re not loved

- Shit.

- Two-Bit, meanwhile, is living an unluckier life than the book

- After his father left his mother was only able to choose one kid to be able to support, and because he was older and more self sufficient, Two-Bit had to go

- He grows up bouncing around from orphanage to foster home to foster home to orphanage etc, erasing his family out of his mind because it hurts too much and Two-Bit Mathews does not like to dwell on things that hurt him

- Upon turning 18, he’s out of the system and despite his nature is forced to get a job to survive

- He does odd jobs around and scrounges enough money to pay for a shitty shitty motel

- Meets Marcia through these jobs, and they strike up a friendship

- However most of these odd jobs are a lot of labour and very unstable so he’s looking for better & easier work

- He starts thinking and he thinks of his own childhood. If there had been someone else around to watch him, maybe his mother wouldn’t have had to give him away

- And then he has one too many encounters with the bugs in his motel and decides fuck it. I’m putting an ad in the paper

- Darry’s reading the news as he does one night when he sees what may very well be God’s gift to the Curtis family

- There’s someone willing to work for — well, he can’t afford that, just like he can’t afford any of the other prices he’s seen on nannies and babysitters and watchers — but he’s also willing to work for pretty much nothing if he gets lodging

- Soda & Pony are still bunking together for nightmare reasons, and Darry’s sleeping in his own room, so he sits Soda down and asks him if he’s okay with someone else using his old room

- If he’s not, Darry will have to move into their parents’ room, but thank God he is

- So Darry contacts Two-Bit who is surprised that he’s a man and not a single mom but agrees readily

- Darry’s wary of Two-Bit’s manner but monetarily he’s desperate

- Two-Bit meanwhile takes one look at the Curtis house and is like damn no one ever has any fun within these walls. I’ve gotta change that

- Instead of making new clothes for them, Two-Bit teaches them how to grease their hair

- (Darry was away working on a house a little out of the city — it’s a placing he’d normally have had to decline because of the kids, but because of Two-Bit he’s able to accept and get a slightly higher pay)

- Darry is of course furious but Two-Bit argues back, saying that kids need self-expression and haven’t you noticed how happy they are about their hair, and besides, you know damn well grease is more than just what you put in your hair, Curtis. You think Socs can’t take one look at those boys and see exactly what they came from? Exactly what they are? You’re out of your mind.

- We probably tie Maria’s impassioned “please, love all of them” speech to here — then again it’s been a while so maybe somewhere else is better we’ll have to see

- Two-Bit especially throws accusations at him about how Ponyboy thinks his brother doesn’t even love him, and if he’s not going to prove he cares about them then maybe they all would be better off without each other

- He thinks Darry might punch him for that but instead he staggers back like he’s been hit

- Darry remembers what this whole thing was for and resolves to be better

- In showing more of his love for his brothers he also shows more of his personality to Two-Bit, who wasn’t expecting to like this guy as much as he does

- He looks at how hard he fights to keep his family together when his own fell apart for very similar reasons and his heart hurts

- Also Sandy is Rolf (Ralf?? Whatever Liesl’s nazi boytoy’s name is)

- Except we are cutting the nazis because there is no not-grossly insensitive way to do the nazis

- We might have to cut the music theme too? Which is a SHAME, but none of Darry’s hobbies work. So we may just make him dig out his dad’s old guitar or we’ll just ignore that because the music theme, as far as characters go, isn’t as important in this AU. Or maybe music = the greaser lifestyle

- Anyway, life continues and it’s as good as can be, bla bla, somehow Dally is there, without realizing Two-Bit and Darry are catching feelings for each other

- One day, Ponyboy and Soda make some innocent remark about Two-Bit being in love with their brother, and he bluescreens

- Because. Oh shit. He’s in love with their brother.

- And the class difference & pre-existing engagement as reasons they can’t be together in the original is replaced with good old fashioned homophobia in this one, and Two-Bit denies and gets the hell out of there before anyone, let alone Darry notices

- He uses his meagre savings to return to the shitty motel, until finally he talks with Marcia and she’s like what the heck. Why did you leave a dream job to go back to the crummiest motel imaginable

- He dodges and denies but one of the things that drew him to her in the first place is that she’s sharp

- Marcia figures it out, or at least something very close to the truth, and while she’s too aware of 60s homophobia to actually urge him back, she does half-convince him through sneaky means like calling him a scaredy-cat who can’t even tell a few lies until the situation passes

- He goes back to the motel and thinks hard about the situation and remembers how much happier the kids were with someone to keep them company when they were done running around before Darry got home

- He thinks about how Darry was able to get better pay with him there and how much that helped give the family breathing space

- He thinks about how it really didn’t even feel like a job, which is a big draw to someone as disinclined to work as Two-Bit

- And he also thinks about how truly shitty the motel is. And decides to go back

- It’s for the good of the family, he convinces himself, telling himself he does not miss them at all

- He returns, no one says anything about him being in love with anyone, because the boys have learned that when they point it out their new brother leaves, and they’re not about to risk that again

- Darry & Two-Bit have a reunion with a lot of unspoken feelings and they do NOT get together because neither of them are willing to risk outing themselves for the sake of a one in a million chance

- Instead they do a lot of prolonged longing eye contact and are too busy looking at each other to notice Soda and Ponyboy sharing confirming glanced themselves

- So things continue kind of like they were before but with more pining, and also Austria is replaced by the Curtis house, which they’re in danger of losing

- Both Darry and Two-Bit are terrified the boys are going to end up following their respective paths, and they end up having a lot of talks about their futures that turn into co-parenting discussions that turn into heart-to-hearts about themselves

- Darry learns that Two-Bit never found his family again, and does some digging and asks some old school friends and lo and behold, they’re still in town, and here’s their address.

- Two-Bit, who has managed to convince himself that he made up being in love with Darry, sees this man who has every right to drop all three of the people in the house like a hot potato and chase the dreams he’s determined and ambitious and intelligent enough to get, pouring every ounce of his being into care for others, who takes hard times and instead of drinking them away or giving up pushes himself past the edge and comes out swinging, and realizes that he is still in love with Darry. And maybe he will never not be in love with Darry.

- Unfortunate!

- He came back determined to never run away again, and he’s sticking by that, even though it’s never been harder to live under the same roof as Darry and not Do something about his feelings

- (Also, at some point Soda gets jumped, and together with Two-Bit he fights them off. When they all talk about it later at some point in the Curtis home, someone makes an offhand comment about how Two-Bit is basically family and then he really resolves to not leave unless Darry chases him out with a broom)

- Maria and Liesl’s Sixteen Going On Seventeen Reprise is replaced with Two-Bit and Soda having a talk about Sandy, during which Two-Bit talks about being in love like he’s experienced it, which of course he has, but Darry overhears and it puts a lot of stupid hope into his heart because to his knowledge Two-Bit’s never gone steady with someone, and some of his descriptions sound awful familiar…..

- But he crushes those thoughts because he’s learned by now that Darry Curtis does not get lucky breaks

- And if he does confess and it goes wrong, which it will, it could mean his brothers getting taken away

- But he watches Two-Bit joke around with his brothers and sees someone who takes everything life throws at him and inexplicably grins back at it, who is just as intelligent as Darry is but in a way that takes its time to make itself understood, and who cares about his brothers as much as he does, and it’s stupid and hopeless, but he wants. Heaven help him, he wants so badly

- Meanwhile, he’s gotten a job offer. It’s a good job offer too, it means they could maybe afford to spend extra money on new clothes or nicer groceries

- And it’s an office job, someone who heard of him through the bookkeeping he does as his second job for his roofing company, which means fewer hours and more time with the people he cares about

- There’s a recreational football league in the area he’s never had time to join, or Two-Bit’s suggested coaching a younger team too, so he can return to workouts he likes rather than workouts that make his body ache like a man of 40 instead of 20

- It’s pretty much perfect. But it’s halfway across the city and it means they’d have to move out of their parents’ home

- (Yes this is Switzerland. It’s a lot harder to replicate without pre-WW2 Europe)

- He’s conflicted, Two-Bit thinks he should go for it but is also convinced he’s going to be left behind in the move

- Soda & Pony don’t want to leave but they do want Darry to work less so they’re also conflicted

- Two-Bit is listing out reasons for the move and one of them is that they’d be able to cut his cost since Darry’d be home more

- Darry looks at him and carefully says, “you wouldn’t be coming with us?”

- Two-Bit, with a raised eyebrow masking his heart starting to hope, says “well, do you want me there?”

- Darry is too stressed and tired and conflicted to mince his words when he replies, “of course.” like it’s a given, like they’re maybe something more than what they pretend

- But he still doesn’t want to move, until one day they have no choice: if they don’t get out of there, they’re going to lose the house. It’s just not in suitable shape for growing boys, says the state. They don’t have enough money to pay for renovations but Darry is going to rebuild the entire thing himself if he has to, damn it all, until Two-Bit asks him to talk and convinces him to move on

- “Your parents live on in your brothers more than in this house. Your parents live on in you more than in this house. You want to keep their memory alive? Start by doing what they would want you to do, and let yourself have an easy break for once.”

- And so they pack up and Darry takes the offer, but before they leave, Two-Bit visits his family

- It goes… well. Sort of. After seeing Darry run himself into the ground he’s forgiven his mother, and his sister is open to the idea of having a brother

- Their lives were better off than they would’ve been if he’d stayed but his was not and that hurts

- But he remembers the three people who now view him as their own like he was always there, and somehow the pain eases, and when his mother makes him promise to visit again, he actually means it when he agrees

- They gather to say one last good bye to the Curtis home, and despite facing the most unknowns since any of them can remember, they’re together, and that’s enough

The end <3 this is just one possible route that I thought of, I truly have no idea if this is cooking or if the kitchen is burning down

[confused-wanderer]

Soap desperately wished Simon would put the mask on again.

Words he never thought he’d say out loud.

But the man was an angel incarnate. The angel of death, and how was he so fucking perfect?? Who the fuck gave him permission to just be more gorgeous than the Gods themselves??

And his scars, bloody hell his scars.. they made everything stand out about him. The curve of his lips, the tiny dip on his nose.. the way it traced and stretched above his muscles was so addictive all Johnny wanted to do all day was explore and kiss every single one of them.

Which was becoming a problem.

It was taking every ounce of willpower for him to not keep staring at Ghost and trying to catch a glimpse of Simon. And worse, everytime he was lost in thoughts his hands would sketch outlines of the man’s face, and thank god Soap stopped there.

“Are you ugly under there sir?”

Soap desperately wished to go back in time and beat the ever loving shit out of himself for saying that. The universe was probably enjoying watching him suffer right now wasn’t it?

“Soap.”

The scots’ eyes snapped up to his lieutenant.

“You put on the mask.”

He could see Ghost tense at the question, before ignoring it.

But then the mask was on more times than it had been the past month. While drinking, eating or even hot days that would make the devil cry, out the mask stayed on.

“Ghost..”

It had been a few weeks, and his lieutenant had been acting very odd. And Johnny was too tired today to listen to his common sense begging him to leave the man alone.

“Why’s the mask on?”

The silence stretched on, and Ghost kept avoiding his eyes. Finally, after it was apparent Soap was not going to let it go, he mumbled.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Soap stared at him in horror.

“I beg your fucking pardon sir??”

“Johnny.”, Ghost grunted, “I can feel your eyes staring holes at me. Everytime I come in the room or take the mask off you don’t look at me and I never really liked my face anyways. It’s better this way.. for both of us.”

All Soap could do was stare at him in shock.

“Are you fucking blind?-“

“Piss off MacTavish don’t lie-“

“NOT LYIN’ YE FUCKIN’ ARSEHOLE-“

“I DISGUST YOU-“

“HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT YE BASTARD YOURE PRETTY FACE DISTRACTS ME!”

Ghost blinks before locking eyes with him and Soap can feel a warm red slowly spread across his face.

Had he really just said that.

No, not said that. Yelled that. Like one of those fucking soap operas.

“.. pretty face?”

Soap buries his face in his hand, feeling it burning red.

“No.. I.. meant preeny face”

“The fuck is even that Johnny-“

“Yes a pretty face!” Soap exclaimed. “A face that I can’t stop staring at because everytime I do I can’t fucking breath. A face that looks like Gods finest creation, and one that no matter who tries, can’t capture your beauty on paper.”

“You’re a pretty boy Simon.. and I almost accidentally shot myself in the foot looking at you last week.”

Soap didn’t dare look up to see Ghost’s reaction to it.

He was so fucking dead wasn’t he? Ghost would just leave him here, walk back to base and declare Soap had gone rogue. Yep.. here lay Soap. The man who called the deadly sniper and feared lieutenant “pretty face.”

“Johnny..”

A gloved hand brushed against his, and Soap looked up at the touch. Ghost was right in front of him, eyes wary and scrutinising.. but there was also another look he couldn’t quite place.

But he’s overstepped by a mile. He’d crossed every boundary there was, so the least he could do was leave the man alone.

“Sorry sir.. I’ll take my leave.”

“Stay.”

The command was low, but it still sent shivers down Soap’s spine. He’d already begun walking away, but hesitated before turning around.

Wordlessly Ghost raised his arm, and when Soap realised what he was going to do he turned around and started walking faster.

“I said stay, sergeant.”

A gloved hand found his and spun him around, with Soap’s back slamming the door shut while Ghost placed one arm near his head, the other holding his balaclava.

Feeling his heart hammering, he knew there was only a matter of time before his face flushed red again and he tried to cover his face with his arms, only for them to be pushed down by Ghost.

“Look at me Johnny.”

How the fuck had he end up here??

Soap gulped before opening his eyes, and his breath hitched in his chest as he took in the man in front of him.

Ghost was barely two inches away from his face, so Soap was able to fully explore every part of his face. The way his eyes looked, the curls of his hair, the lips that were just begging to be kissed, and-

Ghosts eyes, searching for something in Johnnys reaction finally softened as he got his answer. His face felt like it was on fire, and going by Simon’s reaction, they both knew he was blushing.

[laswells-ashtray]

Hello, I adore your art, your cat and your personality (tell Orca I said привет, киса, please).

For that writer ask thingy, maybe questions 1, 8, 15, 18?

Have a nice evening!

This was Orca's reaction which for her is very kind.

Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

I'm a big fan of reading and writing a simple couple moment with one who beats themself up and the other who loves them like breathing and proves it. I adore it and I refuse to think too hard about why.

Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

This one's difficult because I'm noticeably better at description than dialogue, I overthink it a lot because I have a very distinct [autistic as people like to say] way of speaking and I'm afraid it shines through a lot but I'm immature so this dialogue between Kate and John in a stupid oneshot I wrote in which Kate has a son, he's toddler-aged and speaks in bold.

“I think they look quite decent.”

“With eyesight like that you should be forced into retirement.”

“You’re one to talk - no wonder you’re rarely on the field if your hands are that unsteady when you’re icing a fucking cupcake.”

“Fucking.”

“Eli, stop it. And you- stop saying ‘fucking’ in front of my son.”

“You say ‘fucking’ in front of your son.”

“I’m his mom, I’m allowed to. Besides, I don’t say it with that ridiculous fucking accent.”

“Big words for someone who calls football ‘soccer’ like a bloody stereotype.”

“That was a lot of syllables for you, John.”

“You’re a right bitch when you feel like it.”

“Bitch.”

“Shit.”

“Fuck.”

If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Okay, that's a fucking question to think about. There's one I wrote on AO3 which isn't great but it's kind of a journey of one John Price being forcibly cared about despite his protests and he goes through the process of realising that he's a person, one with people who care about him and it'd be a good like idk how to describe it but journey of self-love.

Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

I don't and I respect anyone who does but my brain can't function with it, even with exams and stuff in English in school and we got given an outline of how to format things I couldn't follow it. My brain spouts out nonsense and it's my issue to make sure it translates well on screen or on paper but I struggle with a set outline or instruction.

[isackwhy]

Hey!

so i just recently got a first tattoo!

(shit hurted badddd)

so my request is isaac x chubby!reader

where reader is getting her sternum tattoo and isaac is there to hold her hand an soothe her. And maybe later some nsfw when isaac wants to see it closer? 😌

UR FIRST TATTOO WAS A STERNUM?? UR BRAVE BRUH. mine was on my forearm omg

isaacwhy x chubby! first time tattooed! reader hc’s

sfw

“are—are you sure you want a sternum for your first?”

you sigh, looking up at him as you sign the papers letting the artist drill a needle into you, “yeah. fuck it. why not? get the worst one done first, right?”

he just looks at u like ur crazy but supports u so

u get called over and it’s one of those private rooms so no one can see ur chest

“okay. i will be right back,” your artist announces and walks away to get the needed supplies

ur sitting in the chair, leg shaking and isaac notices

he gently grabs ur hand w out u asking, running his thumb along the skin, “hey, you’ll be alright. it’s fine. you’ll look hot after!”

“do i not look hot now, isaac?”

“wha—no—no—u do—“

ur nerves got the best of u but u take a deep breath and he continues to hold ur hand

once the tattoo starts it’s like u see stars

like someone is repeatedly just dragging ur chest across like tree bark until u bleed

ur holding isaacs hand so tight u fear u might break it but he keeps assuring you it’s fine

u take a break after a bit and let out a deep breath

“it’s almost done baby,” isaac says, eyes glued to ur chest

u scoff, “perv”

“ur the one holding MY hand.”

nsfw

isaac has been antsy for days since u got it done

he keeps asking to see it

or it’s an excuse to see u shirtless

after a few days u say the cover off and begin to aquaphor it

which isaac offers to do….a lot

ur sitting on his bed, looking at ur phone when he crawls on top of u

“i think i need to check out the tattoo, baby,” he whispers, big hands crawling up ur shirt

u don’t stop him, breath hitching, “yeah? wanna make sure it’s healing. you’re the one that had tattoos beforehand.”

isaac beams, “yeah. so i’m the expert. can i see it?”

you roll ur eyes playfully and take off your shirt

his eyes light up, staring at the tattoo

his fingers trace the outline of it causing goosebumps along the skin

his other hand finds your love handles, squeezing as he leaves soft kisses around the tattoo

“you okay?” he whispers, looking up at u from his lashes

“isaac. just—fuck me already—“

u can barely finish the sentence before ur pants are down to ur ankles

[maren-gvf]

Good

Jake One-Shot

jake kiszka x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDI, smut, cursing, a little bit of drinking, general foreplay, !protected! p in v sex, teen Jake (18 give or take) (I know this isn't what teenage Jake looked like, but I don't feel comfortable using those pics)

Lemme know if I missed any warnings 😙

A/n: writing bc of writer's block! anyways, I really love this type of Jake fic so I wanted to make my own. I hope u enjoy!

Your phone buzzes as you pull into the Kiszka's driveway.

Josh: are u almost here?

You take out your phone and text him back.

You: Yeah I just pulled into ur driveway

Josh: k u can just come inside

Josh: the door's open

You: kk

You get out of your car, grabbing the Walmart bag full of supplies and your backpack. He was right, the front door was unlocked. You felt weird just letting yourself in, but it's whatever.

Josh is sitting at their dining room table when you walk into the foyer. He's drawing something on the huge piece of white poster paper he got for the project.

"Hey!" He greets you, looking up at you.

"Hey!" You say back, setting the bag on the wooden table. You start taking out your computer.

"How's the research coming along?" Josh asks, continuing to draw what looks like plants.

"Well," you start, pulling up the shared Google doc, "I found a lot out about the different organisms you'd find in a rainforest, but that's about it," you say, letting him scroll around.

"It looks good," he compliments. "Very informative."

"What about you?" You ask, grabbing a blue marker and walking over to the other side of the table to start on the fonts.

"I've done a couple things," he says.

"By that you mean you've done nothing," you say, giving him a look.

"Okay it's not my fault," he starts, putting the cap on the green marker he was using, "Jake needs me to sing for his band, so I haven't really had the time to do anything."

"Jake has a band?" You ask, looking up at him.

"You talking about me, Josh?" That familiar voice says. His familiar raspy tone crackled through your ears.

"I was just telling Y/n about your band," Josh says, grabbing another marker, "and how I never have time for school because of your ass."

Jake laughs to himself which makes you go momentary blind. You breathe in deeply, trying to ignore him even though his presence looms over you like a thick blanket.

He's not wearing a shirt, only some long pajama pants. He pops the cap of his beer on the edge of the table and takes a seat which makes his bicep muscles come out a bit. He wasn't very muscular, but leaner. You could see a faint outline of abs when he walked over to his seat.

Fucking hell.

"You interested or something?" He asks you, his stare burning into the side of your head.

You knew Jake only because of Josh. You weren't necessarily close with either of them, but your parents were good friends. You saw Jake around school and only had one class with him in Junior year. Josh was in your biology class which got you paired up together.

"I didn't know you played," you say, continuing to write, unable to look at him.

"Hm," he takes a swing of his beer, "well maybe you could come watch us some time."

"Maybe..." you say, nervously coloring in your letters.

Josh's phone dings, "Oh shit! I'm supposed to go pick up Sam from Danny's," he says. "Are you good to hang here by yourself and work on it?"

I have to stay here with Jake?

"Um, yeah, I'll be fine!" You say, watching him gather up his keys.

"Okay, and Jake leave her alone!" He yells, exiting the house. The front door slams and you're left there alone with Jake.

You continue your work, ignoring Jake who's very obviously looking at you as he drinks his beer.

"Do I make you nervous or something?" He asks.

"Why would you think that?" You ask, finally making eye contact with him which was a clear mistake.

"Well for one, your face is all red, and two, you're obviously trying to avoid me," he says, leaning back on the chair. His legs open a little.

"You definitely don't make me nervous," you say, your voice a little bit shaky because he does actually make you nervous.

"You're such a bad liar," he says, laughing to himself once again, a stupid smirk on his face.

"What are you doing here anyways?" You ask, now looking into his eyes.

"Uh, this is my house," he says, crossing his arms with a slight tilt of his eyebrows. You ignore his comment, feeling a little embarrassed.

He gets up from his chair and walks over to you. He's standing so close you can smell his body wash and the slight lingering scent of his shampoo. You feel like you're going to faint any second. He's so overwhelming to look at, you wanna burst into dust or flames or something!

"I've always had a thing for you, you know?" He says, reaching across your line of sight to grab a red marker.

You stand up, looking directly at him, "What?"

"Yeah," he leans on the table, twirling the red marker in his hand, "I've always thought you were beautiful and you have a cute personality." He tilts his head towards you a little bit.

He's so casual about it, you think you're dreaming. He moves a little closer to you. Your heart races uncontrollably. Your hands instinctively land on his chest. His eyebrows raise in satisfaction like that was his plan.

"Can I?" He says in a low voice, putting his hands on your waist as he walks you backward out of the dining room.

You gulp, nodding your head as you maintain eye contact with him.

He stops you in the dark hallway, pressing you gently against the wall as his hand slides up your shirt. His other hand holds your jaw, lifting your chin up slightly.

Please don't let this be a dream!

He brings his lips down to yours, kissing you gently before adding more pressure. His lips are so soft, you melt right into them. His tongue parts your lips, slowly sliding into your mouth. He tastes incredible. The kiss slowly becomes more needy, your hands going into his hair.

His lips disconnect from yours, traveling down your jaw and latching on your neck. He gently sucks at the skin enough to give you pleasure but not enough to leave a mark.

"Fuck me," you barely say, your hands traveling down his warm, tanned skin to reach the waistband of his pajama pants.

"I will, baby, I will," he breathes, kissing your lips again.

He moves you down the hall and into a room that you could only assume was his. He strips you of your shirt before you lay down on the bed. He takes your shorts off, tossing them to the floor, leaving you only in your bra and underwear.

What am I doing right now?

He separates your legs as he lays himself in between them. He kisses your lips before undoing your bra and adding it to the pile of clothes.

"You're gorgeous," he says, breathing heavily. "I need you."

"I've needed you more," you breathe out.

He slides your underwear off, leaving you completely naked under him. He slides two fingers into your wetness. He slides his fingers inside of you. You immediately hold onto him, your mouth open a little bit. He pumps them in and out of you.

"Holy shit," you moan, connecting your lips to his. His tongue distracts you from the amazing feeling he's building up inside of you.

"Jake-" you tilt your chin up.

"Come for me, baby," he says, continuing his motions as he plants kisses over your breasts.

Your orgasm hits you like a truck. He takes his fingers out of you.

"Jake, I need it, I need you to fuck me," you say, breathless.

"I know," he says, opening his nightstand and taking out a condom. He strips himself of his pajama pants, slipping the condom around his dick. He crawls on top of you, your legs wrapping around his waist. He situates himself in front of your entrance before slipping inside of you.

"All this for me?" He smirks, lightly thrusting in and out of you. Your arms wrap around his back, your fingers digging into his skin. Your breath hitches as he pulls in and out.

How'd I go from doing homework to being fucked?

He rests his head on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbone.

"Fuck, Y/n," he sighs, "you feel so good."

Your hands wrap around his biceps as he continues thrusting, "I'm almost there, Jake." You tightly shut your eyes, your hand flying down to grip the sheets. Both your bodies produce moans of pleasure that surround the room.

Your second orgasm approaches. Jake fucks you through it as his own takes over him. He releases himself, “Fuck,” he moans into the crook of your neck.

He pulls out falling to the side of you.

“Holy shit,” you laugh, covering your mouth. Both your breathing is rapid.

“Y/n!” You both hear Josh shout from the living area.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you say, scrambling off the bed and getting yourself dressed. Jake puts his pajama pants back on.

“Wait,” he says, holding the door closed, “I meant what I said in the dining room. I do… really like you.”

You smile, tucking some hair behind your ear, “I really like you too, Jake.”

“Good.”

“Good.”