#anyways his outfit is UP THERE on the hardest ones to draw what the FUCK

[babymagi]

this is the face of a bish who KNOWS they have pretty privilege and uses it for evil

Stickers!!!

[aioliravioli-69]

Detective Noir AU

Alright, this au has been sitting around, waiting for me to finish it but chances are, I never will :((

So instead, I'll just post what I have so far

This was inspired by that one comment on the au post the author made(at this point you could consider me a stalker for the amount of hours I've scrolled through her feed💀)

First things first, none other than our main character himself, Detective Hollow!

I made him the detective in this one mainly because I was basing it off of the theory that if there was no heroine the keyholder would simply become the hero instead(don't remember where I read this but I'm guessing it was the webtoon comment section).

I also my have just really wanted to draw him in an overcoat

gonna be honest, I did little to no research going into this AU, the thing I most tried to learn about was the femme fatale so I could get a good view on how to design Buddy

Speaking of the femme fatale:

Seems like someone got caught in the spotlight!

And before you ask, yes, those are pants. Weird ones, but pants nonetheless. I swear, I hate lighting when it's from the front. Frontal lighting can go fuck itself. Please ignore the little help lines I put in

Honestly, Buddy's outfit was probably the hardest part of this one. I wanted him to look slutty, but I didn't want to make it TOO slutty, but I feel like I may have added WAYY too many folds in his pantsuit and I kinda messed up on the overcoat lol. The diamond on his chest was inspired by the diamond on the villainess key more than anything and I tried to incorporate that into his gloves too.

Anyway, have some potential outfit sketches I made:

the two I thought might come off as too slutty and

the ultimate winner of the outfit ideas

As you can see the diamond chest window and fur coat were a mut in this outfit and I'm pretty happy with the end result

Y'all know how the femme fatale usually has to seduce the main character a.k.a. the detective?

Well, y'all know me so have an extra just for you <33

But I'm not done just yet!

Remember how I said that I made Chase the hero because of the lack of a heroine in the story? Well...

I did some more surface level research(and I mean very surface level) and decided to adapt the trope of the girl-next-door archetype for him!!

Don't think it suits him, since they usually just sit pretty and wait for the detective to notice them, but they do have badass roles once in a while and I live for those!!!

The one Chase has taken on doesn't though sadly :')

I decided to go with Charlie Hollow for this one because it sounded more like something the timid and 'pure'(yuck I know, but sadly film noir movies often prop up comparisons between the femme fatale and the girl-next-door, this being one of them) girl next door would have

Overall I tried to make this one as cutesy as possible because, why not lol

Lastly(I apologise, I made this in a rush because I was running out of motivation)

The distance between Buddy and the detective sure did close QUICK-

Originally I was planning on adding Deacon as a police officer and now that I think about it I could technically fit Prunella in here as well, but I just don't have any willpower left to keep this thing alive

My art blocks been acting up recently and I can't even pick up the pencil without immediately wanting to put it down :((

I wish I could have continued this and maybe I will someday, but until then this'll just stay in my drafts

[livecharliereaction]

manga ep2 big post part 2/?

this art style is kind of crazy ANYWAY. Ughhhhh. Somehow this too is about yasuda gender. Its so. Endless gender for the endless witch

Made jessica cry. Jessica im so sorry

completely forgot this is like A Rosa Episode lowkey ouhhhhh In the end. I love her too. But thats just because i can see...

COLOREEEED PRETTYYY oh shannon kanon counter but its just them and genji too

she said witch beatrice shes so fun i love her another fave-since-ep1 for sure

Keeping an eye on her and genji as well. Ugh. And nanjo too.

Hardest two in all of life <- i typed this sentence then looked away from the puter to talk to family for 2 secs and looked back and realised it doesnt make any fucking sense but i agree

Whys this art style making him look crazy cool well hes cool in ryukishi too but its like lame-cool this is like well i dont know

most normal girl ever

thank god for the love that i can see with because she is so evil. maybe its pretty privilege too Oh but rosas pretty and yet i hated her at one point. Idk something about eva is just. Ughhh

NOT sure about her btw im interpreting it as yasuda playing with her and marias fun and kanon here is kinda just hoping to get a perspective But also could be a lot of her doing play-pretend based on like A few interactions. I have to take a big look at mariage sorciere when its more relevant i mean itll be talked here but other eps too

BADDIE. Why i kinda like this style so much?!!!? Anyway easy to explain why rosa can see her (yasuda felt bad for little maria and dressing up. ill have to look but that might be the distinction between the two outfits)

Study door handle burned her hand i guess its because kinzo shouldnt be seen right now

SHES MENTIONING HOW KANON DOESNT HAVE TO BE FURNITURE ANYMORE I FORGOT ABOUT ALL OF THAT SHE KEPT PROMISING IT BUT I NEVER REALLY UNDERSTOOD. OH MAN

Exact same rank...

Lol gohda is so. Such an inoffensive character all in all? He does NOTHING for us. Or maybe i just dont have the love to see it. Like what his role is in the big picture. Hes just there. I dont think thats a bad thing though

Its so fucking good. Makes you wonder though. About genji kumasawa and even nanjos motivation to let her do her thing... Because kinzos supposedly already dead, are they really so loyal to give him his "redemption" despite that...

He says he never met her though and he doesnt think they had a child. Ugh.

maria keeps saying crazy things shes so funny light of the party

sayo. Ohmmmmm. I think the translation team changed cos the other one had her tell him her name is kiyo no? yeah i checked she definitely told him that. thats interesting

shes so funny i love her sense of humor its so great. Anyway one of the most iconic scenes in this ep commence

shes sleeping guys no shes meditating

girlslove

u crazy

I FORGOT ABOUT THIS BEING HERE OH MY GODDDDDD OK OK OK OK

i remember being a little confused when i first read on why tf they were focusing so much on the locked rooms but thats the thing now. and besides how else would u approach it well i dont know

its all about the closed rooms and the closed (cat)boxes etc

i need her . When her demeanor and appearance are partially specifically tailored for battler to like her Well call me battler cos it works. It does make u feel a bit bad though doesnt it

he doesnt like the rule though hes all zen zen dame da about it

shes got the gun and shit shes taking chargeeeeee.... queen

oh hell show UP ALRIGHT seriously one of my fav scenes to this day and this is like what ep 2

eughhhhhhh ughhhhh uhghhhhghghh well Yyeah To be fair with the truth and all im still not sure how it was done something something kumasawa or whatever its conceivable

they draw her so strange (good)

Omg its just like ep6

GIRLSLOVE

battler asked rosa how she can prove shes not a wolf Ohhhh girl. Hey maria. Im going to be the father that stepped up

[endofthelinegang]

𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ eddie brock x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ what it's like to have children with eddie brock

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ cursing, sexual things (obviously not towards the children), and lots of fluff.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i loved writing this so much it made my heart happy

join the gang!

Eddie Brock's Children:

Vickie May Brock (4 years old)

Jamie Allison Brock (2 years old)

Vickie is Eddie Brock’s girl. She will not sleep, will not stop acting up, and be all over her dad constantly. But Jamie is the exact opposite, she cries when it’s just the two of them, will not eat for him, and most definitely will not go to sleep for him. Obviously the four of you can exist together and be happy. It's more of a “that parent better be here.”

Just imagine Vickie having a little dance recital, like it’s her first one and Eddie is like so hyper. Checks her hair and makes sure her little ballerina outfit is absolutely perfect. Is super fucking excited and so is Venom. They’re both just super hyped and ready to see it. Getting there like an hour early and getting the best seats as if this was the same as getting on an airplane. Eddie makes you hold Jamie so that nothing goes wrong, loves both his daughters but does not want anything to be messed up. Eddie is filming the entire thing whilst also looking up watching so Venom has to like help him film and watch. Then once it's over he stands up hooting and hollering like the superbowl just happened and since he is so happy he is not paying attention when Venom comes out to clap for the little girl. Everyone else starts freaking the fuck out but there’s Vickie smiling, giggling, and waving at the giant monster in the crowd.

No one on the damn planet better tell him that his little girl’s are going to be hot when they’re older or a catch because he will not hesitate to lose his shit. The idea of them getting older is scary enough but the idea of boys is even worse.

By the way the children love Venom, and absolutely adore him. Vickie pretends to play dead just so he will pick on her. She also finds most of the things he says hilarious even when she has no idea what he is talking about.

Jamie on the other hand has a problem recognizing that the white parts of his face are his eyes and pokes him in the eyes a lot and she also likes to pull on his tendrils whenever he is doing anything for Eddie.

Eddie is wrapped around both of his little girls fingers though, if Jamie so much as coughs, she is seeing a doctor as soon as possible. When she does choose to sleep through the night he will constantly be up and down anyway making sure that she’s alive even though she is healthy.

Eddie is the hardest person to wake up once he is asleep though so most of the time you just make the kids do it. Which would include pillow fights, cups of water everywhere, pinching his nose, or sometimes if they’re also tired they’ll just curl up and hide with him asleep even though there are things to do.

For some reason I imagine another carnage situation breaking out and he has to decipher clues and his four year old figures out stuff before he does when she’s supposed to be asleep. Just like standing behind him and scaring him half to death when she speaks. Then he puts her on his lap to try and aid him further whilst also having Venom trying to help him as well. You come out in the morning to see them both asleep in the desk chair.

Eddie trying to fix hair is the funniest thing because it’s both Venom and Eddie trying to figure out how to work a single hair tie. Like nothing else, just the arguing “No you’re gonna get it stuck if you do that,” “WELL THE WAY I SEE IT YOURS IS JUST GOING TO FALL OUT.” Then eventually the focus moves from that to name calling and Vickie just walks out the door with her hair done by herself.

So at one point you had a problem with your kids drawing on the walls because well they’re like Eddie. To remedy this without having to get after them he put up a chalk wall for them to draw on. So, the four of you will just sit in the hallway sometimes and draw pictures or yknow some really pretty scribbles.

TEA PARTIES. You have a work emergency and obviously you trust him with the kids so you leave. Only for them to get their dad who doesn’t say no to have a tea party with them on the floor using the coffee table. But it’s such chaos like trying to make real tea not realizing that's not the point as in almost burning the house down. Then once that is settled there are stuffed animals there as well. So they’re all talking around the table when Venom pops up and is like “I DO NOT LIKE THE WAY THAT BEAR IS LOOKING AT JAMIE.” Eddie is just confused about what he’s talking about, “It’s just a stuffed bear, it's not alive.” But then he starts looking at the bear and just silently agrees with what Venom is saying. So Eddie kicks the chair slightly to get the bear to stop being faced towards Jamie but then Venom starts screaming again “NO! NOW IT’S FACING US.” Vickie is just kind’ve watching them and sticks her leg over to the chair and kicks the bear over but neither of them see it and Eddie jumps out of the chair. So when you return hom you get told “daddy is scared of stuffed animals.”

Playing destroys the city, as in all of your building soft block towers and letting Jamie kick or maul them over. But then she helps build them back up, well kind of helps. Before running them down again laughing and screaming.

Eddie puts Jamie on his shoulders all the time in public to walk around and when you or Vickie are talking to him and he doesn’t hear you she bops him on the head. She also likes to wrap her arms around his neck, lay her head on his head, and take little naps because she knows he won’t let her fall.

Family Halloween costumes per Eddies request. Let his daughters pick the theme and then make all of you dress up together and walk around. After getting home he makes sure that the candy is actually completely safe for them. “Eddie, how are they going to get a razor blade in skittles?” Just looking at you like you’re crazy, “Psychopaths are more creative than you think.”

The girls shared their chocolate with Venom because he didn’t get to go trick or treating technically speaking. Also not knowing that to get him to shut up Eddie had already given him some whilst he was checking it.

Venom got angry when people gave the girls apples or pretzels for trick or treat “THEY DID NOT WALK AROUND THE CITY FOR FRUIT GROSS PRETZELS! THIS IS RIDICULOUS.”

If it’s under 60 degrees Eddie has those kids looking this Eskimos, speaking of Eddie dressing the girls he cannot match them at all. He dresses them like little versions of him on important occasions because he knows trying to match their little skirts and tops is not his strong suit at all.

Reading books as a family every night, like there are two totes in each girls room of their favorites and each night they pick two a piece and you all sit in your and Eddie’s shared bed to read them bedtime stories before putting them in bed.

Friday night pizza or takeout movie nights. You would think like Disney movies, but those are always Eddie’s pick. The two children always pick scary movies that make Eddie feel sick. Giggling like crazy at his reactions to the grossness.

He loves taking them out on motorcycle rides, just to sit one of them in front of him and run them around town. When Vickie was the only child you would sit her in between the two of you leaving a space between the two of them so that she could hold onto her father and not be crushed.

But most of all you love when neither of them will sleep or stay in bed (meaning you cannot have sex because your children keep needing things) so you all end up having a group sleepover in your guys’s bed.

[moldisgoodforyou]

insufferable

warning: it’s just smut. like a tiny hint of plot. but tiny.

because I reblogged this and was inspired:

______

“I’m not letting you pay for it, and that’s final.” Sophie stated, turning her back on Rafe.

They’d been arguing for a good half hour over breakfast after Rafe casually offered to pay for both the tickets for her sorority formal. It was expensive, admittedly, as her sorority sprung for the fancier venue at the botanical gardens downtown, along with hotel rooms and a stacked bar.

(‘Offered’ might be a generous way to put it - he had just handed her a signed, blank check, and told her to write in how much it turned out to be, along with the cost of her dress. Entirely caught off guard, she ripped it up and handed the shreds back to him.)

When they started drawing looks from their hissed arguing, Sophie abruptly changed the subject, refusing to talk about it when he tried to bring it up again in the restaurant. The rest of the meal was fairly tense, but they both did their best to keep it civil.

He’d driven her home, only for them to argue more in the car and again when he tried walking her to the door. “Sophie.” Rafe huffed, calling after her. “Sophie! Come on!”

She didn’t respond, just stalked off and let the side door of her sorority house slam shut behind her. She had to laugh, however, when her phone immediately chimed with a text from Rafe.

Rafe: Am I still coming over before we go out tonight

Sophie: As long as you don’t try to sugar daddy me again

Rafe: Don’t start

Sophie: I’ll see you at nine  

The argument stuck like a stubborn thorn in the back of both of their minds all day, but they didn’t text each other and bring it up again, knowing it was useless. He kept his promise and came over exactly at nine, drinks in hand and ready to go meet her roommates at a house party. She wasn’t ready yet - running late, like always - and had him come up to her room instead. He sat on her bed as she changed, drinking a White Claw while he waited.

Rafe grumbled, seeing her outfit. “You’re gonna wear that?”

She wore a sheer black square-necked top with a black bra underneath, not hiding much. She paired it with a black leather skirt that flared out a little, just under her ass. Sophie paused, looking at herself in the mirror, then unclipped the bra and shimmied out of it, keeping her top on. “No, you’re right, this is better.”

He shut his eyes, taking a slow, dramatic inhale. “Sophie Flint.”

She put both hands on her hips and turned to face him. “What.”

He glared at her, knowing she was just trying to test his limits. “Put the damn bra back on.”

“No. I look good.” She walked over to him, stepping in between his legs.

Rafe shook his head as he looked up at her, setting his drink aside. “You’re insufferable.”

She quirked her brow, holding back a smirk. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.”

He reached up and palmed her breast, satisfied when her eyes fluttered shut as he brushed his thumb over her nipple. “You did this on purpose.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, look, we have a fucking genius here.”

That was enough to set him over the edge and he grabbed her around the waist, swiftly pulling her down to his lap. Their lips crashed together and she straddled him right away, rolling her hips over him. He cursed and bit her bottom lip, not being gentle in the slightest.

She gasped, her hands finding her way to the hem of his shirt right away and she tugged up. “Off, I want this off.”

“Demanding.” Rafe quipped, but pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He flipped them over easily and caught both her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. “Will you be good?”

A little caught off guard by his commanding nature, Sophie blinked up at him with wide eyes. “You’re gonna leave a mark.” She murmured.

He immediately loosened his grip on her, sitting up a little to give her some space. “Shoot, sorry, am I hurting you?”

“No, um. You don’t have to be gentle all the time.” She pressed her hips up into his and shook her head quickly, cheeks burning red as she clarified. “I like it.”

“Fuck, Soph.” He cursed and leaned back down to kiss her hard, bruising. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” She moaned quietly as he kissed along her jawline and down her neck, keeping her wrists pinned in place. “You can’t die, I don’t like fighting with anyone else.”  

“That’s all I’m good for?” He nipped at her collarbone, enjoying when she squirmed under him. “Sometimes I like you better when you’re moaning.”

“I like you better when your mouth is occupied.” She snapped back, pushing her hips against him again to try and find any friction. He let go of her wrists, only to fiddle with the clasp of her skirt. Sophie reached to pull off her top, but he knocked her hands away. “Keep this sad excuse of a shirt on.”

She lifted her hips for him to tug her skirt down her legs. “Thought you didn’t like it.”

“I like it just fine, I don’t want other people seeing you in it.”

Her next sassy response died in her throat as he grabbed her panties in both hands and ripped them clean in half. He kissed up her thighs, using one forearm across her hips to pin her in place.

“You’re buying me a new pair.” She breathed out, only a little delayed.

“Oh, so now you’ll let me buy you things?” He kissed everywhere but where she wanted it, feather-light, and she whined, trying to move her hips toward him. “A ten-dollar pair of underwear is not the same thing as what you were trying to do.” When he nipped teasingly at her hipbone, her shirt now pushed all the way up her stomach, she huffed. “Rafe, please.”

“Patience, angel.” He admonished, but brought two fingers up to her anyway, teasingly stroking around her entrance. She let her head fall back when he slipped them inside of her and he reached up and grabbed her chin with his free hand, ultra commanding. “Eyes on me.”  

She nodded quickly and bit her lip hard to stifle her next moan, trying her hardest not to let her eyes flutter shut at the pleasure.

“I want to hear you.” Rafe pressed his thumb against her clit, smirking when she gasped. “Can’t. You’re not - fuck - not allowed up here.” She bit out, having trouble speaking with the way he was moving his fingers against her. When he withdrew his fingers just as she was on the edge, she whined, reaching for him. “Wait, no, I was close.”

“Always so fucking whiny for me.” He grinned and pressed his fingers to her lips. She opened obediently, sucking on them until they were clean. “Good girl.”

“I want you.” Sophie told him meaningfully, reaching for his belt buckle. He stood just long enough to kick his pants to the floor while she reached over and grabbed a condom from the nightstand, handing it to him. He wasted no time in rolling it on and nudging her back to lie down. “You okay?” 

“Yes, fine, shut up.” 

He laughed, lining his hips up against hers. “That’s no way to talk to someone you love.” 

“Had to remind myself I’m still mad at you.” She informed him, but gasped sharply anyways as he pushed into her unexpectedly. He waited for her nod to start thrusting into her, gripping her hips hard enough to leave a mark. “Just let me pay for my half. At least.” 

“You’re not seriously -  ohh.” She breathed out, letting her head fall back. “This isn’t fair.” 

He stopped abruptly, though it pained him a little. “I can quit and we can keep arguing.” 

“No, no, please don’t stop.” She whimpered, wrapping an arm around his back to pull him closer to her. He nodded and kept going, bringing one hand in between them to play with her clit. “My half and your dress.” 

“Rafe, fuck, please.” 

“All of it, then.” He groaned, trying his best to keep himself fairly quiet (though her creaky bed was a dead giveaway). 

“Just half.” She bit back a moan, squirming under him. “You’re evil for bringing this up now.” 

“Devil to my angel.” He smirked. 

“Don’t stop.” Sophie mumbled against his shoulder, arching her back as he hit the perfect spot. “Shh, shh.” He soothed. When she finally came, biting against his shoulder to keep herself quiet, he came shortly after, hips stuttering against hers. The two lay in silence for a moment, breathing heavily against each other. 

“I think we’re late to the party.” Rafe quipped. 

She laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “We’re not going to the fucking party. We both need a shower.” 

He whined, letting his head fall to her shoulder. “But I can’t shower here.” 

“No, you’ll have to go home.” She agreed, combing her fingers through his long, floppy hair. “Wanna sleep with you.” He mumbled, always extra cuddly after sex. “Maybe you don’t deserve to sleep with me, trying to sabotage me in a fight.” She pointed out. 

He lifted his head quickly, kissing her cheek. “No, c’mon. Not fair, let me stay.” 

She laughed at his near-whiny tone. “I’ll shower here, you go home and shower, then I’ll come over and stay with you. Deal?” 

“So inconvenient.” He grumbled, but reluctantly stood, pulling on his clothes. “Promise you’ll come over right away?” 

“Promise.” Sophie smiled, leaning over to meet him in a quick kiss. “Get out of here.” 

“Wait, Soph.” He paused just at the door, giving her a goofy grin. “Will you bring that soft blanket?” 

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”  

“You just fucked me like that and now you're asking me to bring over a blanket for you to sleep with?” 

He grinned, sheepish. “Exactly. See you soon, love you!” He waved quickly before leaving, sneaking out of the house. He had barely left before seeing a text from Sophie - 

better not fall asleep before I’m there. love you too.

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

Can you write a imagine for Historia Reiss x fem reader where historia has a room where she chains the reader up and fucks her with a big strap and reader calls her mistress while historia slices her lingerie with a pretty little knife and after she carries reader to her room and takes sweet care of her

*takes long, drawn out swig from wine glass* lol bottom

Three Doors Down

(Historia Reiss x Reader)

AU: Canon

Warnings: None

Category: Smut

Summary: After Historia has a particularly stressful evening, she turns to her s/o for some well needed stress relief.

Words: 2.7K

The guards of the castle knew the interior inside out—as would be expected of their career. Whether they were stationed in that part of the building or not, they knew the ins and outs of each and every room, and when it would and wouldn't be occupied. Except this one room.

It was three doors down from the master bedroom—the queen's bedroom. It had been a simple, seldom used guest room during the prior monarch's rule, but queen Historia had requested it was completely cleared out upon her coronation. They did as they were asked, and just as they had finished their job, they were given stern and clear orders to never enter the room—even for cleaning—without her express permission.

Rumors and speculation spread throughout the staff of what could be kept in this mysterious room, even going so far as to accuse scandal, but, if they wanted to keep their jobs, they must never enter to confirm for themselves. So, they tried their hardest not to question or assume whenever she entered the room with you, her lover, on her tail.

And they never questioned it, either, when you came out limping.

You were the only one, besides Historia herself, that knew of the contents of the room, and boy, did you know it well.

Luckily, though, you were usually given indication in advance whenever you would be spending your time in there. Which happened to be the case tonight.

A small note left on your desk, written in neat, precise penmanship, which was in direct contrary to the contents of the letter, reading;

"Y/n dear, I have an outfit picked out for you on the bed. Put it on and wait for me in the room. I'll be out of my meeting a little after 10."

First you glance at the clock. 9:58.

Next is the bed. You could already assume what would be there, but it still didn't stop a chill to run up your spine at the skimpy lingerie. It was lacy, but plain black. A simple, but elegant looking piece of clothing. Too bad that it would be completely unwearable by the time the night was over.

You quickly changed out your undergarments for the piece laid out on the bed, hastily putting your shirt and pants back on to cover the lace. Even if it was only a ten second walk, and there likely wouldn't be any guards around, you still didn't want to risk being caught.

Luckily making it past the door without drawing any suspicion, you let out a sigh of relief, stripping yourself of anything but the lace garments. It was a little bit past 10, yet Historia was yet to show up.

Taking a seat on the table, you gazed around, cheeks flushing at all the memories of what's gone on in there before. There was a bed in the room, but it was never used—Historia much preferred the table. And, above the table were the handcuffs, drilled into the wall to ensure they never budged, even as you pulled and yanked on them with all your might in desperation.

Laid on the table was a small knife. It was Historia's favorite, clearly, since she never used a different one when she decided to tear your clothing to pieces.

After a short minute of inspecting the knife—as if there were anything new to discover—the door slowly creaked open from behind you. You jumped at the sound, instinctively worrying if it was a staff member, but relaxed when you turned around and locked eyes with Historia, donned in nothing but a plain white button up and a light pink skirt—uncharacteristic dress for a queen, but she never minded those sorts of thoughts.

"A-Ah, hey Hisu, you scared me. How was the meeti-"

"You know better than to address me like that." She spat. Your eyes widened in realization, she was clearly in one of her bad moods. And whenever she was stressed, it was always you, and this room, that she turned to for relief.

"Wh-" You had no time to speak to her, her hands already finding your shoulders and pushing you down onto the cold wood of the table.

"I don't have the patience for this today." She spoke, lining your hips up to the very edge of the table, taking a long time to forcefully press the pads of her thumbs into your hipbones.

You breathed in a suction of air through your clenched teeth, already bracing yourself for the inevitable onslaught that was followed. Yet, no matter how much it hurt, you could never bring yourself to hate it—something Historia often teased you for in the heat of the moment.

She leaned forward, kissing you and slipping her tongue into your mouth as one of her hands pushed your shoulder into the table, the other one holding onto your face with an iron grip, forcing your lips to stay glued against hers.

She pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath as she reached over to pick something off the ground, and fear immediately struck you at the sight.

"Historia, you can't! Tha-" Her hand, previously gripping your face, moved to grip around your throat tightly, leaving just enough margin to allow you to choke out a wheeze.

"I told you," She sneered, tightening her grip. "Don't call me that. What's my name, baby?"

"M... Mistress...!" You managed to squeeze the words out of your throat, and content with your answer, her grip relaxed, and it left your throat, allowing you to gasp in a breath of air.

Her hands, both of which now free, adjusted the straps around her waist, giving it a firm tug to confirm it's security on her hips. Attached to the straps was a pretty pink silicone cock. The only problem, see, was the size.

Typically, Historia had a few favorite strap-ons, ranging in size from 6-8 inches. But, the one she had put on was brand new, and a good 10 inches. Girthier than normal, too.

"His- I mean... mistress, that's not gonna fit!" You cried out. Though undeniably aroused, nervousness and fear worked its way through your body at the intimidating size of the cock.

"It'll fit, trust me." She smiled, picking up the small knife from on the table. "Now hold still, this is really sharp."

You did as you were told, stilling your body against the table as she leaned forward to kiss you again.

While her tongue explored and assaulted your mouth, you accidentally jumped as the tip of the knife glided against your collarbone. Historia anticipated this, luckily, drawing the knife back a little. Despite that, she still hissed into your mouth.

"Hold still." She warned, pressing the knife back to your skin. You did your best to fight off the unease in your stomach, both arousal and fear, as the sharp tip danced lower.

It reached the small line of fabric that connected the two cups of your bra, stopping at it momentarily. Historia bit your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

"We don't need this anyway." She sighed, slicing through the fabric easily, leaving the cold, sharp edge of the knife to push back into your bare chest.

She took one breast in her hand, squeezing it a little just to gauge the way you flinched into her. Once satisfied with your reaction, she leaned down, taking the other one in her mouth.

"M-Mistress, hurry up!" You whined, realizing your mistake only seconds later when her mouth, previously swirling around your nipple, bit down, causing you to yelp.

"I go at my own pace." She hissed, leaning back to gaze at you. Pressing the tip of her finger to your core, she felt around a tiny bit to gauge your arousal. "You really are eager, huh?" Your face darkened at the comment, trying to resist pleading for more.

"You know the deal. Arms up." She instructed, waiting for your arms to shoot up before cuffing them into the shackles above your head, securely locking them in place. Next, she moved lower, forcefully spreading your legs to chain each ankle to the table leg, ensuring that it was impossible for you to close your legs.

"I can hardly wait anymore..." Historia muttered, pressing the very tip of the knife into your clit, causing you to squirm in both pleasure and fear.

She pressed on with a little more force, dragging the knife down to cut a wide slit down the middle of your lace panties, just wide enough to slip the silicone cock through, she noticed.

Discarding the knife, she gripped your hips, lining the head of the cock up with your entrance, lazily starting to finger you, loosening you up for the strap-on.

"Are you sure it's gonna fit...?" You muttered, still not being able to settle the nerves in the pit of your stomach.

All Historia provided was a quick nod, adding an extra finger in you to stretch you out further. You groaned in pleasure, squirming against the clinking chains as you craved more stimulation.

"F-Fine, just... be gentle at first." You shot her a pleading look, and, for once, she looked back with a bit of empathy.

"Just so you can get used to it..." She agreed quietly, using her hand to guide the bulbous tip into your entrance, slowly pushing it in to about halfway before stopping.

You let out a whine at the sudden feeling, the size stretching you out more than you were used to, causing a small bit of pain to mix with the pleasure.

She pulled out gently, before pushing back in at the same distance. Slowly, she started to rock her hips in and out of you, finding her rhythm as you sighed in pleasure.

Historia's hand made its way down to your clit, rubbing lazy circles on it to add to the stimulation.

"A-Ah~ Keep doing that, please!" You pleaded, enjoying the feeling of the slow pace and short distance. You knew it would be short lived.

Historia grit her teeth, gripping your hips harder as she started to move faster almost involuntarily. Your head tilted back, pleasured moans leaving your lips at the feeling, the knot in your stomach already materializing.

A sadistic thought crossed Historia's mind, and she stopped her thrusting, causing you to gaze up at her with a pleading expression.

"Hurry up, why'd you st—!" You let out a sudden yelp as Historia snapped her hips into you with brutal force, bottoming out the full ten inches. Historia didn't pull out, leaving you squirming desperately at the feeling of the cock, pressing mercilessly against your cervix. "Mistress, wait, that hurts!"

"Enough," She barked, pulling her hips back, then snapping them back in, quickly picking up speed until she was fucking you with a brutal pace. "You're my toy, and I get to choose what I do with you."

Your head leaned back, a mixture of moans and yelps falling from your throat as she continued to fuck you mercilessly, the tip prodding at your cervix each time.

Historia looked down to watch the smooth, pink silicone slide in and out of you, splitting you open, and coming out each time covered in wetness. A groan left her lips at the sight.

As she fucked into you, she put her hand on your stomach—heaving from all the pleasure—pressing down on it enough to feel the bulge where it moved in and out of you, smiling with pride every time she felt it up against your walls, rubbing your insides over and over again.

You felt completely stretched thin, being left with no other option to lay back and take it as your orgasm grew closer by the second. despite the pain, it pushed through your sensitive cunt again and again and again until you started to feel numb, only feelings of intense pleasure filling your body.

"Historia, I'm so clo— Ngh~!" You were cut off by a particularly hard thrust, angling upwards to hit just the right spot, a wave of pleasure shooting up your spine.

"I told you not to call me that, how many times do I need to remind you." She spat, unchaining just one of your ankles to throw your leg over her shoulder, pushing forward to get as deep inside as she could.

You threw your head back, staring up at the ceiling as your vision started waver, thighs shaking and tears brimming at the corner of your eyes. Fuck, you were so close.

"You know, you always say it hurts," Historia ponders aloud, moving her thumb down to circle your clit. "But you always seem to love it so much, don't you..."

"M-Mistress, I—!"

"Shh," She cooed, cutting you off with yet another hard thrust of her hips, "It's okay, you can come."

Suddenly, your back arched off the table, the chains straining and pulling as you squirmed against her, both needed to get her to go deeper and to get as far away from her at the same time. Historia was content with helping you through your orgasm, pushing the cock deep into you while keep a bruising pace. Your fists balled up and grasped onto thin air and your mouth hung open, no longer able to let anything coherent pass by as those tears finally fell from your eyes.

Your high died down inevitably, but Historia was still pumping into you, a coy smile on her face as she waited for you to start wincing from overstimulation.

"A-Alright Hisu, that's enough!~" You cried, trying desperately to move your hips away from their fixation on her cock. Eventually though, she stopped and pulled out, but not without one final, deep thrust of her hips.

Once pulled out, she leaned over you to unshackle your ankles, giving you a perfect view of the now soaking wet toy, coated in your arousal and dripping slightly from the tip. More prominently though, you stared at it, being able to truly gauge its size for the first time that night. How the hell did that even fit... You wondered in your head, not sure whether to be impressed or ashamed.

Historia had finished unchaining both your arms and legs, giving you her hand and pulling you to sit up as she went to go collect your clothes.

---

You laid down in the plush bed, much more comfortable as compared to the hard wooden table from not ten minutes ago. Historia had helped you back into your clothes—since you were far too sore already to do any of that—and let you lean on her to hide your limp from the staff as you walked through the hallway.

But, now in your nightclothes, you watched as Historia grabbed the candle, the only source of light in the room, and gently blew it out.

"Are you okay, darling?" She immediately asked, turning around to face you, already cocooned in the warm blankets. She picked up a glass of water from her nightstand, slowly bringing it up to your lips and allowing you to drink.

"A bit sore." You swallowed, "Scratch that, a lot sore."

"I'm sorry..." She cooed, turning to face you and press your face into her chest. "I got carried away. I should've given you more time to get used to it."

"It's okay," You assured, wrapping your arms around her back to pull her closer. Your cheeks flushed in preparation of what you were about to say, swallowing your pride, for once. "It, uh... felt pretty good, actually."

She smiled at your embarrassment, running her fingers through your hair absentmindedly. "That's good to hear. I was just really stressed out 'cause of the meeting, I really needed that..." She admitted, face also flushing at the intimate confession.

"Mmmm, well I hope your day is a little better now." You smiled.

"Oh, it definitely is." You two both laughed softly, before your noises died down into a yawn.

"I'm tired. G'night Hisu, I love you."

She sighed pulling you closer to her and planting a kiss on your forehead. "I love you, too."

This may be the filthiest thing I've ever written hello what nope nobody saw me here I do not claim this filth

Also sorry if it seems a little rushed, there was lowkey a lot I wanted to do but I have word counts for a reason lmaoo

[dirty-urie]

Little Brendon

Second Person

Brendon x Female Reader

PFTW Era

Fluff(ish) Oneshot

PG-13? R?

3.6k Words

Warnings In Order of Appearance: real person fic, language throughout, arguably slight smut, minor dirty talk

Author's Notes:

1. I don't know how I got this idea or what possessed me to actually write it, to be honest, but I had fun, so I guess that's all that matters.

2. Posting this in honor of the anniversary of the show I went to on the first leg of the Wicked tour, which was technically yesterday, but this fic wasn’t done yesterday, so here it is now.

“Awww, little Brendon,” you gush at the computer screen.

“Please tell me you aren’t looking at pictures of my penis,” Brendon says, walking into the room.

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Not that your ego couldn’t use a little bruising, but no, I’m not cooing at your nudes. Merch wants you to sign off on the final photos of the Beebo plush, and look how cute he is!” You shift the computer monitor so he can see what you’re looking at.

“Why are you going through my email?”

“You always ignore emails from Merch, and I like looking at all of the new Panic designs!”

“Babe, I work ten hours a day; I don’t want to do anything I don’t have to. Merch will use whatever designs they think will sell well. They don’t actually need my approval. Those sign-off emails are just a formality.”

You pout. “I know, I know. I won’t go through your email anymore.”

“Good,” he says, relieved. "I wouldn’t want you to discover all the messages from my mistresses.”

“You’re a jackass,” you call, flipping him off as he leaves the room with a smirk.

***

“I’m gonna miss you,” you pout, leaning against the door frame to your bedroom.

He kisses your forehead and puts another pair of sweatpants in a suitcase. “You can’t wait for me to leave. You get to have the girls over, watch all your shitty movies, and you won’t have to deal with my dirty underwear or noisy video games in your nice living room.”

You take the t-shirt he’s about to pack out of his hands and throw it on the bed, pulling him into a kiss. You slip your hands under the waistband of his pants to grope his ass. You pull away. “Mhm, that’s what I thought. I don’t ever have to deal with dirty underwear because you never wear any.”

“Hey! Don’t slut-shame me! You love having such easy access to this body.” He gestures to his body with a strange flailing arm motion.

“You know what? You’re right. I can’t wait for you to leave.”

He side-eyes you. “Well, in that case, you won’t want the present I got you.” He shrugs, refolding his shirt.

Your eyes light up, and you go kiss him again. “Have I ever told you how much I love you? Because it’s a lot. Enough to justify a really nice present,” You say after he pulls away.

“That’s what I thought. I guess you’ll get your present after all. Close your eyes,” Brendon says.

You close your eyes, and he hands you something soft. You open your eyes, and it’s Brendon’s likeness in plush form. He’s wearing Brendon’s tour outfit with a gold jacket over a black tee and black leather pants.

“Little Brendon!” you exclaim, seeing the toy in your hands. “Aww, it’s even got your lips and little eyebrow scar! Thank you, babe.” You kiss him and then Little Brendon. “Now I have someone to keep me company while you’re off getting bitches on tour.”

“Oh, come on, babe,” he says, putting his hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes, “they’re not bitches, they’re groupies.”

You smack his arm affectionately and then push him onto the bed to crawl on top of him. “Maybe you should practice for the groupies. Wouldn’t want you to kill their rockstar fantasies because you’re out of experience.”

He flips you over and rolls on top of you, nipping at your neck. “Out of experience? What, pray tell, have we been doing every day for the past two weeks, if not building my experience?” he asks with disbelief, punctuating each point with a bite or kiss. “Remember when I made you come twelve times in one hour before I let myself come? Or when we fucked on the roof of my studio when the neighbors were out of town? Or when you fucked my ass with that new toy, the one that vibrates?”

“Shit, shit, point taken,” you moan, grinding up against him while he bears down on you.

His phone pings, and he slows his hips to grab it from the side table. “Fuck, Zack’s out front. I’ve gotta go.”

You grab the front of his shirt and yank him down for a deep, dirty kiss.

He’s reluctant to pull away, but his other love is calling. Tour, that is, not Zack.

���Okay, let me up, loverboy. I’ll help bring your stuff out to the car,” you tell him.

“Thank you. Most of my instruments and stuff are already with the guys, but I’ve still got two suitcases and a backpack.”

You both stand up, and he grabs the suitcases, leaving you with the backpack. “You’re not gonna readjust, rockstar?” You ask, eyeing his tented sweatpants.

He shrugs, “My hands are full, and it’s nothing Zack hasn’t seen before.”

“You just like showing off,” you accuse, and he smirks a little and winks because you’re not wrong.

You walk him to the car and give him a final goodbye kiss. “I love you to death. Knock their socks off, babe.”

***

Without fail, the one-week mark hits you like a truck. You’ve had your fun with girlfriends, and you’ve enjoyed the peace and quiet, but your bed is empty, and it’s weighing on your chest. Even the puppies seem a little more glum without Brendon.

You feel silly, but finally, after two nights of crying yourself to sleep, you give in and grab little Brendon from your dresser and cuddle up with him.

***

Two weeks later and you and the real Brendon are half-asleep, snuggled up against each other in the nicest hotel room in Houston. You can only spend two nights with him, and you refuse to let him go for even a second more than you have to. Which he did not appreciate when he had to use the bathroom, but it’s his fault for leaving you for so long.

“Baby, I’ve got an interview, but I’ll bring back breakfast, and we’ll eat in bed, okay? I’m really sorry,” He whispers apologetically, peeling away from you.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s what you have to do to pay the bills. Can you hand me Little B? He’s in my purse,” you ask, and Brendon obliges without comment, probably just happy you’re not crying.

You fall back asleep with the little guy in your arms.

Brendon knows it’s irrational when he comes back three hours later at 8 am, and he feels a tiny twinge of jealousy at the plush you’re cuddled up with. However, he feels it is not irrational that he’s upset when he climbs into bed with you, and instead of immediately clinging to him like always, you just clutch Little Brendon harder. Almost as if protecting the toy from Brendon.

“Y/N, I’m back,” he whispers in your ear, half-hoping you’ll throw the doll on the ground and roll over to make burning hot love to him for 12 hours straight. That’ll show Little Brendon. Well, no, it won’t, he has stuffing where his brain should be, but it’ll show him on principle.

You do roll over to throw an arm across him, but you still have little Brendon tucked under your other arm.

Brendon decides to call this one a draw.

“Did you bring food?” You mumble.

“Of course, darling. I’ll do anything to spoil you. That’s one of the perks of having a driver’s license and sentience.”

“…What?”

“Nothing. I’ll get your food.”

He insists on feeding you and rubbing your feet, and letting you watch whatever you want on the hotel TV. And it’s just because he wants to take care of you while you two are together. Definitely no other reason. He certainly feels no joy at the sight of Little Brendon lying discarded on the nightstand. Point Real Brendon.

After the day of pampering, it pains you when you check the clock, and it’s time to leave. “Alright, I’ve gotta head out, B. I can’t miss my flight,” you finally say, changing from Brendon’s T-shirt into real clothes.

Brendon thinks about protesting, but he knows better. You have your own life apart from him, and he respects that.

You cram your stuff in your overnight bag and give your goodbye hugs and kisses to Brendon. Then you kiss Little B before throwing him in your purse. You think you see Brendon scowl at your new companion, but you were probably just imagining it.

***

“Surprise!” Brendon shouts as he opens the door.

“Babe! Thank god I sent the strippers home early,” you joke as he sits next to you on the couch.

“Shit, I missed the strippers?”

“You fucking goof,” you laugh, playing with his hair. “What are you doing home early?”

“Nicole needed to come home for some emergency with her house, so I figured I’d charter the plane and zip down with her and Zack to spend the night with my beautiful wife.”

“God, that must’ve cost an arm and a leg, B.”

He shrugs, “Nah, we were only in Portland anyway, and it’s easier than finding a new bassist on short notice. This way, Nicole and I can be back for the San Jose show tomorrow night, and I get a whole twelve hours at home with my girl and my puppies.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad it worked out for everyone. Especially me,” you say, shifting to sit in Brendon’s lap.

You two finish up the episode you were watching before you insist that he comes to bed because he’s overworked and jetlagged. He’s sleepy and doesn’t need that much convincing, but he tries to put up a fight anyway.

“I only get a little bit of time with you; I don’t want to spend it sleeping,” he complains.

“This is the hardest I’ve ever had to work to get you in my bed,” you respond, yanking him to his feet.

His eyes light up, and you shake your head. “No, sir. We’re not having sex. You’re getting at least seven hours of sleep in your own bed with the love of your life, and then you’re going to take a shower, make me breakfast, and give San Jose the show of their lives. You’ll literally see me again in two days when I come to the LA show.”

He bites his lip, still trying to lay the seduction on thick.

“No! Bed! Or I’m making you sleep in the guest room!”

He sighs, trudging along behind you to the bedroom.

“Um, babe, I think you forgot to kick out your mistress before I got home,” he says, gesturing to his side of the bed where little Brendon is tucked into the comforter.

You scowl playfully. “Oh, shush you. Where else should I put him while making the bed?”

“I don’t know, but letting my replacement sleep in my spot feels a little on the nose.”

“He’s not your replacement, baby.”

“Really?” Brendon asks, picking up Little Brendon and getting into bed, “because” he sniffs Little Brendon’s head, “I’m pretty sure Little Brendon is wearing my fifty dollar cologne.”

You blush, “Okay, well I take him everywhere, and I didn’t want him to smell, and it’s not like I could use any of my perfumes…” you taper off, realizing that you may have given yourself away with the ‘take him everywhere’ line.

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything else before clicking out the light.

“Hey, Brendon?” You ask quietly.

“Mm?”

“Um, what did you do with Little B?”

Brendon clicks on the light. “Ah-ha! J’accuse! You’ve replaced me!”

“I just don’t want the dogs to rip him up and then leave me to clean up stuffing all morning!” You defend yourself.

“Well then, you won’t mind me putting him up on the dresser.”

“Of course, I won’t mind.”

Brendon puts Little B on the dresser and goes back to bed, so imagine his surprise when instead of waking up tangled in your arms the next morning, he’s not even touching you on the king bed. Instead, you’re hugging Little Bastard with your nose buried in his fabric hair.

Little B’s smirk taunts Brendon as he storms out of bed to make his damn wife breakfast. His damn wife.

***

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you whine, rubbing your hips frantically.

“Come,” he commands. “Let me see that pretty mouth fall open as you come all over our bedsheets, pretty girl.”

The angle on your clit is perfect, and the image of him getting off on your phone right along with you pushes you into bliss, and your orgasm rocks through your core. You know you’ve affected him when you hear him grunt as come rolls down his fist.

“God, babe, you’re incredible, from a completely different country, fuck, a completely different continent, you still turn me on like crazy,” he admires.

“I could say the same about you. I came so hard just from getting to hear and see you.” You tell him before accidentally dropping your phone. “Shit, sorry, my fingers are a little wet.

Brendon would normally just be admiring the soaked panties he’s getting a glimpse of, but instead, his attention is drawn between your thighs for a different reason.

“Were you getting off by humping Little Brendon?!”

“It’s not what it looks like, okay?” You say, picking up the phone. “He’s the perfect firmness, and he’s way easier to manage than a clunky pillow! It’s purely physical!”

Brendon scoffs, “I’ve bought you thousands of dollars in sex toys, and you turn to him? In our marital bed? I’m being cuckolded by polyester!”

“Brendon, it’s a stuffed animal, not the pool boy. You come back from England in three days, and you can fuck me however you want. Y’know, because of your functioning dick, tongue, and fingers?”

“Just as long as I don’t come back to find you rimming the stuffed tiger from Calvin and Hobbes,” he teases with a smile.

“Hm, is degrading Winnie the Pooh out of the question, too, then? because if that’s the case, then I’ll need to find different plans for tomorrow evening.”

He gives you a pointed look, feigning seriousness before cracking a grin. “Alright, alright, thank you for the orgasm. I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he says before blowing you a kiss before hanging up.

“That plush better count his days,” Brendon mumbles to himself before falling asleep.

***

“Do you want me to go with you to the store?” He offers.

“No, baby, enjoy some of your time at home. I’ll just bring my other husband for emotional support.” You toss Little Brendon in your purse.

“I remember when I was your emotional support at the grocery store…” Brendon starts, looking off into the distance.

“Yeah, me too, and you were terrible. You hated it. Rest assured, I’ll make you come back to the grocery store another time, but right now, I’m being nice because you just got back from tour. And you still have the dishes and the vacuuming to do.”

“Aye, aye, captain. Don’t let the paparazzi catch you smooching Little Brendon while I’m at home doing your dirty work,” he calls as you leave.

“No promises! He’s very tempting!”

***

“You never snuggle with me anymore,” Brendon pouts after you reject his advances in bed.

“It’s August, and you’re hot,” you complain, and he gives you a suggestive look. “Not that kind of hot, Casanova. I mean two minutes in, and you’re sweating all over me. It’s uncomfortable.”

“You snuggled with Little Brendon when I was gone!” He accuses.

“Yes, because I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping with something in my arms, and Little Brendon doesn’t sweat, or snore, or wake me up in the morning with his cock pressing into my thigh, or bicker with me about how I choose to sleep,” you explain, annoyed. Brendon looks genuinely upset, so you soften your face. “When the temperature isn’t in the triple digits, and we don’t literally stick together when we touch, we can cuddle. Okay?”

“Fine.”

***

“Bogart, hey buddy, look at this toy for you to chew on. Bite, bite, bite, kill,” he says, throwing Little Brendon to Bogart.

Bogart sighs and rests his head on Little Brendon like a pillow.

“First my wife and now my dog,” Brendon shouts, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Okay, this has gone on long enough,” you tell him, alerting him to your presence in the doorframe. “Sit,” you order, pointing to the couch. “Brendon, you’re jealous of a toy,” you state bluntly.

He blushes and grabs his stuffed enemy. “It’s not about the toy,” he finally admits.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“It’s just,” he struggles to find the right words, “I love touring. I love seeing all the different cities on my days off, meeting fans, partying with different bands, and most of all playing shows.” He takes a deep breath. “But I also love you. I love waking up with you, going out to dinner, watching you get off on my thigh, and just getting to be near you. So when I have to be away from you to tour, sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, and seeing you do the things I want to do with you with the stupid Beebo plush instead, kept bringing all of those feelings to the forefront” he confesses.

“Oh, B, of course, you made the right choice. I love you, and I miss you when you’re gone sometimes, but I love our life. I love getting my independence when you’re gone, visiting you on-tour, watching you do what you love, having super hot reunion sex. So yeah, sometimes I just wanna squeeze you and smell your cologne and kiss your little face, but I’d never want you to sacrifice your career for that,” you say. “You wanna know why I like Little B so much?”

“Because he’s so good for humping?”

“No,” you laugh, “well, yes, actually, he is. But it’s because he reminds me why I spend some nights alone and hop on dreadful red-eye flights every few weeks and have to hook up with my husband on a fucking bus. So you can put on this dumb gold jacket,” you fiddle with Little Brendon’s jacket, “and perform the songs you worked so hard on for hundreds of thousands of people, and then sell thousands of these dumb little dolls so we can live in a multi-million dollar house with a home studio and a heated pool.”

“So you’re not replacing me with the puppet doll?” He asks.

“Well, maybe a little, but sometimes you feel so intangible. Even when you’re here, I know you have other, more important obligations, so it’s nice to have something constant,” you laugh, “and I think Bogart feels the same way,” you say, pointing to the dog who is curled around his new friend protectively.

***

“You’ve created a monster!”

“Have not!”

“You were the one who gave him Little Brendon!”

Brendon’s eyes dart to the floor because you’re right.

Bogart grew attached to Little Brendon faster than you did and now gently carries the toy with him wherever he goes. If you try to reclaim Little Brendon, Bogart growls and snarls.

“It’s kind of cute, I guess. He’s protecting his daddy,” you say.

“Then it’s your fault for putting my cologne on him,” Brendon retorts.

“Ugh, fine,” you concede.

“Oh look, he’s dropped it,” Brendon points out.

At first, you think it’s a good thing, but you both recognize the look Bogart’s giving.

“Go, Bog! Get it!” Brendon cackles as the dog pounces.

“Oh no, you don’t, bad dog,” you scold, snatching the toy away. “If you wanna hump something, I think Zack’s coming over tonight, but we don’t do that to mommy’s things.”

Brendon’s still laughing his ass off, and you shoot him a dirty look. “C’mon, babe, you’ve blue-balled him,” Brendon says, pointing to the sad-looking dog.

“Bogart is fixed and doesn’t have balls, a characteristic you two will soon have in common if you don’t stop giggling like a ten-year-old,” you threaten, and he, wisely, shuts up. “That’s what I thought. And if anything, this is just vindication for me because I told you Little Brendon was good for humping, and you dismissed it,” you tell him.

“Okay, fine, there was a brief period of time when I was irrationally jealous of a toy,” he admits. “But I think you should get another taste of the real thing before you decide who’s the better lay once and for all,” Brendon says, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom.

“Brendon!” You lightheartedly protest in his arms.

***

You’re lying on his chest contentedly as he strokes your arm. “You wanna know what I miss the most about getting to cuddle with you when you’re touring? Something Little Brendon doesn’t give me?”

“Hm?”

“Your heartbeat. Feeling it under my head or under my palm. Especially if we’re lying together for a while. I love how it slows and steadies the longer we’re with each other. So comforting.”

***

Little Brendon is sitting on your bed with a card that says, “Squeeze me!” on the front. You squeeze the plush, and you immediately recognize Brendon’s heartbeat coming softly from the chest of the toy. You smile and pick up the card.

Hey, baby! It reads, I’m no doubt missing you on the second leg of tour right now, but if you really need some comfort, I hope this’ll do. The recording lasts about an hour, and I made sure it got down to my resting heart rate before it stops. I’m sorry for being a jealous dick about a stuffed animal, but even my possessive lizard brain wants you to have something to make you feel better if you’re ever stressed or upset. (And now that the Beebo plushies are officially for sale, you can rest easy knowing yours is special)

xoxoxo,

Brendon

[touchmycoat]

I LOVE YOUR PORN AU!!!!! LIKE SO MUCH - and i'm just. if you don't mind me asking, how - the way you flesh out the characters, their motivations, and feelings in every scene in such an eloquent way, and just little things here and there, a habit or an activity that adds dimension to who they are, and - your prose is wonderful. you achieve this addictive, engrossing narrative space that readers just absolutely melt into, and i have to ask - how did you develop your writing style? 1/2

what books did you read that formatively shaped the way you write? or you know, what did you do to improve your writing? i'm so in awe of how you world-built and established the porn au - like lqg & hc being national taolu champions?? how do you come up with that stuff? i cannot comprehend the amount of research and effort that must've gone into porn au, and i'm just so deeply thankful that you decided to share that with us. i apologize if i'm coming on too strong, but wow. thank you 2/2

--

oh my god please don't apologize, when i saw your ask i rolled on the floor giggling hysterically for a solid 15 min, bless your heart

part of the answer to your question—i've taken like, 8 years' worth of creative writing classes/workshops! there was also a transnational literary component to my degree so whenever possible, i took literature classes fksjdfksd so whatever you see and like is definitely the result of a lot of work. My writing from not even 10 years ago but like, 5? horrid, ridiculous, wild, cringe. The Porn AU itself is the second draft of a MUCH more lackluster piece.

about my writing style. gosh, you really know how to make a writer blush. "I like your writing style" is literally an instant kill LMFAO okay okay, the useful answer: my primary criteria for choosing what to write is, don't be obvious, be interesting. Fiction tells us to show, not tell, right? Poetry is about concretizing the abstract. Screenwriting says cut all useless lines. A lot of writing rules and advice—never start with the weather, avoid detailed descriptions of the characters, don't use adverbs, etc.—are all really about this exact sentiment.

I once took a seminar on writing for horror movies. The golden rule of the horror genre is Never Show the Monster, because whatever the audience is imagining is always going to be scarier than what you actually show them. There are obviously exceptions to this (to all writing rules), but in my mind, it's all the same principle.

LONG answer under the cut

So you start with building a scene. I approach it like essay-writing—I state my thesis for the motivations/main propulsion of the plot. "In this scene, LQG and SY are motivated to save Cang Qiong's porn production, so they have sex on camera." Then you build the sub-motivations: "LQG is also doing this because he's pining after SY."

I learned this "thesis-writing" from theater, specifically from writing 10-min plays. Theater is all about characters being driven by their wants and needs, and the reason I say 10-min plays in particular is because longer forms of writing will give you more leeway, but in 10-min, you pretty much need your character motivations established from their very first line. That's why you need that very clear thesis for yourself—if you don't even know what the character wants from the get-go, then you can't establish who they are, what they want, and where they're going to go in a dynamic and interesting way.

So this thesis drives EVERYTHING that happens in your scene, just like an actual thesis for an essay, just like topic sentences for your paragraphs. Once I do this, I have the emotional direction & narrative scope of how much this scene will cover, I have a sense of where it begins and ends. "Begin with the dynamics of their sex. LQG starts showing signs of his feelings. Reveal LQG backstory for exactly what those feelings are and why he isn't telling SY. The rest of the scene implies that LQG's feelings may not be so unrequited, but also sets up the fundamental problem at the heart of the whole fic—SY's inability to comprehend his own feelings." This is kind of my new thesis now. They're having sex; LQG pines; SY doesn't know he himself is pining.

Now it's time to manifest. This is the "storytelling" part, and the hardest lmfao.

Personally, my approach is largely shaped by my very cool screenwriting teacher, who hammered into us: don't fucking waste lines. The Golden Rule of screenwriting is that every line should reveal something new. I found my old writing kind of repetitive, especially on the emotional front, so this is kind of my editing mantra now—is this line either propelling the story or revealing character? If it's revealing character, is it a revelation that has to happen right now, or is it slowing the momentum of the scene?

But these aren't rhetorical questions! "Momentum" doesn't just mean tumble forward as fast as you can, it also means taking the time to draw the bowstring back further, so your next move has even more propulsion. That's why you get the little "LQG has been in love with SY..." cut scene in the middle of the fucking (at least, that's my reasoning for putting it there). Every line has to bring a fresh revelation that "proves" your thesis further.

That brings me to the details. You said you like the details I inject into the world-building, and honestly that's so gratifying to hear, because that means I'm successfully manifesting my intentions, y'know? "Every line has to bring new info" kind of sounds like a tall order, but the most effective way I've seen it done in books and onstage/onscreen is with these hyper-specific details. If you're writing a scene in which someone feels dirty, never have them just say that—have them say they want to take a shower. Show them running out of bleach again as they scrub down the stall after they wash. Begin the scene like "Steve always washes his throat first now." Then pack the scene with even more revelatory details: "Soap in hand, he heard the pipes above his head groan for a half note on adagio, and readied himself for the blast of icy water that always followed." Shitty shower, probably not rich, is likely a classical musician.

By the same token, I want to build LQG's character. The "Liu Qingge has been in love with Shen Yuan" section is the first insight we get into his background and perspective, right, so: I need to establish LQG's emotional context for filming this scene -> I can characterize him as a nut for martial arts in the same stroke -> so this takes place at a gym, beating up sandbags is a classic way of showing manly emotional distress -> so give me more details on this gym -> Puqi Gym, XL the martial god is obviously the owner -> how do I have XL & LQG a relationship beyond gym owner & client? They spar together -> I want XL & HC's position in this AU to mirror their god/ghost king statuses in TGCF canon -> how can I concretize their fighting prowesses in real-world details? -> they're martial arts champions -> what's an actual competitive martial art form that involves weaponry? -> wushu -> wikipedia Wushu, find taolu weapons sparring

(I just realized that in my songxiao daycare AU, Hualian are Olympic gold medalists by the same narrative logic laksjdnflaksjdnflsd)

So, that's the flow of logic behind my world-building lmao. It's all in the details. Leverage is one of my all-time favorite TV shows and the way they build their stories is super inspiring. If their thesis is "the rich and powerful take what they want, we steal it back for you," they manifest it in the most specific and concrete narratives: mine workers who like the work but are fighting for workplace safety vs. the money-grubbing mine owner who will blow up their livelihoods if it means a bigger payday; the little girl from Iraq with refugee status forced to be an accomplice to antique smuggling vs. international smuggler with a fetish for British royalty.

Last pieces of writing advice I've gotten: pay attention to the real world. A writing exercise we did was just sit in a public spot and make concrete observations on our surroundings. There are stories in everything!!! I learned to observe things like weird holes in the concrete (earthquake? drilling accident? bullet mark?), odd patches of moss or bird shit (look overheard: it's an AC unit dripping water for the former and nesting swallows for the latter), ladies in flipflops walking alongside ladies in high heels (excited mother walking her antsy daughter to the bus for the daughter's first job interview—the daughter's shirt collar is unfashionable and she's taking the bus, so there's a good chance the shoes were passed down, maybe from an office lady aunt. Maybe she's even overdressed for the interview, so will her outfit be an unintended source of tension once she gets to the interview? Is it a group interview, to make the comparison more stark?).

Also, write what you know. You know why SY is a video editor in porn AU? Because I'm a video editor. One of my more popular MDZS fics is set in a plant shop 'cause I worked in a plant shop. SL was First AD in Bachelor!AU 'cause I was First AD on a set once. Concrete details like the editing software having a split-screen, always answering questions about how often to water plants, and being up until 3AM editing call-sheets are the ones that will fully immerse your readers.

And if you can't do the actual things, just watch someone who is, listen to them talk, pick up lingo, and fake it. I watched like a 15-min vox video on fencing for the fencing!AU and a 45-min music theory video on the hospital pianist!AU (also I started learning piano sklfjnlsdjlfkjsd). Of course, I just finished reading a wangxian fic that had me going, "holy fucking shit, the author is literally getting their masters in a music program" so my 45-min youtube video ain't shit, but if you just need a little bit of character establishment, then it's enough to do the trick.

Anyways, tl;dr. Find the details, find the tension. Never tell outright what the tension is supposed to be, manifest it instead. Make the manifestation as interesting as possible, and if it's meant to be funny, make it funnier.

Sorry this turned into a fucking lecture lskjnflskdjnflskd but last thing, someone asked me before if I had formative authors, and this was the list I wrote at the time:

Angels in America (play) by Tony Kushner

The God of Small Things (novel) by Arundhati Roy

The Penelopiad (novel) by Margaret Atwood

“Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out” (poem) by Richard Siken

Night Sky with Exit Wounds (poetry) by Ocean Vuong

Giovanni’s Room (novel) by James Baldwin (and then Go Tell it on the Mountain and then his essays)

Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger

And, ooh, now that I have this list I think I can even roughly sort it as such: Kushner, Atwood, Siken, and Salinger I really latched onto for their dialogue and very present narrator voice—same is true for Go Tell it on the Mountain. Roy, Vuong, and Giovanni’s Room, I think, are texts more representative of the kind of saturated figurative language I like, and emulate. Of course they all do imagery and voice and overall structure amazingly, but that’s the rough dividing line I’d draw.

But yeah James Baldwin is my fucking hero.

[fuckinuchihas]

hi! this is an emergency request, sorry to bother.. it's my birthday now, but I feel like I haven't gotten as far as I should by now and I can't help feeling like I've failed. do you think you could do hc's for kuroo, bokuto, oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, and/or the miya twins (separate or together) cheering their s/o up for her birthday? also p l e a s e don't do all of these if you don't want to. thank you so much. (also i'm 18+, so whatever you think suits the characters works)

I plan to get to Iwa and Mattsun soon but on the off chance your birthday isn’t over yet I wanted you to have these two to start!

I don’t know the twins well but if I can get something I’m okay with out, you’ll have one or both of them too!

Kuroo:

As hard as it would be to take, Kuroo would understand when you say you don’t want a party. He wants to show you off and let everyone in his life, in both your lives, celebrate the person that means the most to him. You don’t want the attention though, so he nods and promises not to make a big deal out of it.

But he draws the line at leaving you alone for it.

He refuses to give in and eventually you relent and promise to let him spend the day, just the two of you together.

He shows up at your doorstep at 11:58 two minutes before the day officially starts and you’re half asleep ( he woke you mid nap) staring up at him in a shirt that’s just a little too big and he goes soft at the sight of you being so absolutely adorable.

You rub your eyes a little while asking what he’s doing there and he rolls his eyes at you before pushing his way into the small, comfortable apartment you’ve rented for yourself.

“Like I would miss a minute of it,” he says, arms laden with bags that he sits on the counter.

“What is all this?” you ask, wide eyed and slightly more awake now that you’ve noticed the bags.

“Well some of it is your favorite snacks, and some actual groceries so I can cook you breakfast and a romantic dinner later tonight…”

“Tets...this is all, it’s too much.”

He stops, turns to you and puts a hand on your shoulder to make sure you’re facing him directly before lifting your chin up until you can look in those big, bright eyes of his. “I’m grateful, y’know…”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I want to celebrate your birthday because I’m grateful you were born. I’m so happy that you exist in the world and that I can love you. Please...please let me do this,” he says, eyes a little glassy as he searches over your features.

“Oh…” you whisper softly, heart racing as your gaze flicks down to his lips. “Okay I guess.”

He smiles softly at you, using his thumb to brush against your chin before he leans in and presses a warm, quick kiss to your lips. “Thank you, for being born and for being mine.”

Bokuto:

So everyone knows that Bokuto is so full of life and fun and energy and you’d think this big fluffy himbo owl boy would want nothing more than to throw a party for his amazing partner. But while Bo is a bit, okay maybe a lot clueless about some things, he’s noticed how you’ve slowly been crawling into yourself as your birthday approaches.

He’s not sure how to fix it but he does realize that a big party isn’t the way to go. For him, maybe but not you. As much as he would love to show you a good time and have everyone together, he figures for the first time in his life a more subtle approach is necessary.

Okay you got him, he asked Akaashi for advice and Kaashi told him not to be an idiot and draw attention to the fact that you’re not feeling your best.

Still...it was his idea not to throw a party so he should get bonus points too he thinks.

He finds you in an oversized hoodie and pajama pants despite it being mid afternoon when he comes over with your favorite dessert in hand.

He melts.

“You’re so cute, babe.”

“Bo, I’m a mess. What are you even talking about?” you ask, a small chuckle leaving your lips though. He has a way of making you smile even when it’s hardest.

“Here, eat one of these, or five I don’t care,” he says, handing over the pastry box. “Then you’re gonna get ready and we’re going out.

“Ko, I don’t really feel-”

“Just us… I promise,” he says, and you hesitate.

“Fine…”

“That’s my baby,” he says, patting the top of your head.

You scrunch up your nose but ignore the feeling of being patronized because Bo would never and also the promise of sugar is far too appealing.

When you’ve stuffed yourself full on dessert, you change into your favorite seasonal outfit. It’s warm and soft and it fits you like a glove. Bo gives an appreciative whistle despite the fact that he’s seen you in it several times before.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head but you chuckle anyway.

“What? You’re hot...I’m not gonna let you forget it, not for a second.”

You feel your face warm up a little but you duck your head to hide it away.

He pulls you by the hand toward the door and then out to where his truck is waiting.

When you get to the passenger side he opens the door for you like a proper gentleman and then you start to climb up but instead he lifts you up like it’s nothing and eases you down onto the seat despite your slight flailing.

“BO!” you squawk.

“What?,” he says, adding a huff of your name with a wide grin. “I was just trying to be romantic!”

You see a bit of mischief spark in his eyes and you huff out a disgruntled noise.

“No you were just being mean,” you say, shaking your head but you can’t stay mad at him.

He’s too cute, honestly it’s kind of unfair.

Ignoring your fake pout he jogs around to the driver’s seat and hops into the cab beside you, pulling until your pressed up against his side where you belong.

You start to look at him a bit strangely when the road goes from blacktop to gravel and then again when it changes to just sand and a little mud from the rain yesterday.

He pulls into a grassy field and you look around skeptically. “Are you...hiding a murder cabin out here somewhere or something?”

“What? No!” Bo says, shaking his head. “We’re having a picnic.”

You start to open the door but he flies across the cab and pulls the door shut.

“Uhh.. just give me a minute first okay?” he says, and you quirk an eyebrow at him but agree easily enough.

He moves back to his side of the cab just as quickly but you feel the warmth of him leave and you have to pull back a whine. There’s a chill outside and now that the engine has been cut it’s not nearly as comfortable. Thankfully though, you don’t have to wait long before Bo comes back with a wide grin, offering you his hand to help yourself down.

You chuckle but follow along with his guidance.

When you get around to the side of the cab you realize both why he lifted you into the cab because there’s no way you would have missed this.

The bed of the truck is covered in soft fluffy blankets and pillows and there’s a gorgeous wicker basket in the middle and you go a little weak in the knees but Bo just puffs his chest out and grins. “So you like it, eh?”

“No, shut up-” you lie, but he knows the truth so you don’t bother to correct yourself.

The food is amazing, he picked up your regular meal at the place you guys went to on your first date and he takes pleasure in watching you eat as he digs into his own plate.

When the food is gone he stretches out, props himself up on the stack of pillows against the back of the cab and motions for you to join him.

When you cuddle into his side he starts.

“I really like your smile, especially that sleepy soft one you get in the mornings before you’ve forced yourself out of bed…” he grins, and you blink up at him.

“And the way you laugh when something is really funny, not just a little funny but like hilarious. Like that one time with the peanut m&m’s, I still can’t look at a bag without laughing…”

You chuckle too because it’s a fond memory just between the two of you. Still..this feels strange so you poke him in the side gently and ask, “Kou, what’s this about?”

“Oh it’s nothing-”

“Bo…”

“Ugh fine, I was trying to give you one thing I love about you for every year you’ve been alive. I found the idea on the internet but it seemed really nice and stuff.”

You melt a little further into the blanket pile with Bo. “It’s very nice, thank you. But this is all I need.”

“Well I could still say em’ though.. Right? I made a list and everything,” he says, pulling the paper out of his pocket to show you. “Those were the only ones I remembered without looking though.”

You chuckle. “It’s okay...thank you by the way, for all of this. It was exactly what I needed,” you add and he looks so fucking proud of himself that it’s almost hard to look at.

You lay there together for a while as he continues to read each and every item off the list and you smile up at him with a look of true awe in your expression before you pull his neck a bit until his lips press against yours and it feels like you’ve come home again.

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Here’s the next chapter! Hope you enjoy. Also a big thank you to @edward-or-ford, as always, for his invaluable feedback!

Chapter Five: Into the Night

It’s three AM, I’m outside your window. Jump the fence; dad will never know. And then you took control of the radio, turned up all the songs I know. I’m risking everything, and that’s alright with me. - The Summer Set, Passenger Seat

Mabel Caroline Pines, age seventeen, five foot three (and a Virgo, for interested parties) was positively average. As in, she was perfectly fine. Reasonably acceptable. Nothing to gawk at, sure, but certainly not a goblin or in any way repulsive.

Her face was average, her boobs were average, her hair was average, her butt was average. Even her feet were average-sized. There was nothing inherently wrong with Mabel’s appearance. Sure, she’d change the odd thing here and there if given the chance to do so (the length of her eyelashes, for example, or the natural shape of her eyebrows).

Of course, Mabel would never admit such things out loud. How could she? It would ruin the confidence she pretended to have, and that simply wouldn’t do.

To be fair to herself, which she always tried to be, Mabel was quite skilled at creativity-driven tasks. However, no amount of creative proficiency could have prevented the required sleuthing, as well as pre-sleuth planning and timing, that one particular evening required in order to be pulled off.

Mabel didn’t deign to share with Candy and Grenda exactly whom she was meeting (“I’m sneaking out to meet my brother in the dead of night” hardly warrants a forty-five minute shower where she spent the majority of the time shaving parts of her body that didn’t strictly need shaving as they wouldn’t be seen, thirty minutes of blow drying and styling one’s hair, thirty more minutes of makeup application, the nervousness, not to mention the outfit-picking-out process), but she did say she was meeting a boy she might’ve sorta kinda had a teensy bit of a thing for. Her friends knew her well enough to know she was understating her feelings a great deal, of course, but they didn’t pry. Okay, they did, but they didn’t pry too much.

In any case, Mabel was quite pleased with the results of her hour in the bathroom mirror. She’d drenched the ever-loving crap out of her hair in glitter spray as she brushed it, and the hot air of the hair dryer made the spray set in so it didn’t get on Candy’s fingers while she began a partial French braid at the crown of Mabel’s head.

Y’know, the sort of hairstyle that, to the untrained eye, didn’t look like it took a whole lot of time and effort, when in reality, it 100% did.

“Why can’t we use bright red lipstick again, or wing your eyeliner?” Grenda complained.

“Because,” Mabel said emphatically. “If Di-“ Cutting herself off and pressing her lips together tightly, collecting her thoughts. Candy raised a slender eyebrow before Mabel continued. “If he sees winged eyeliner and bright red lipstick, he’ll think something’s up! I don’t want him to know I’m interested!”

“But you want him to look deep into your eyes, and the eyeliner will draw attention to them,” reminded Grenda.

“Yeah, and bright red lipstick will draw attention to your lips, which means he’s more likely to think about kissing you,” agreed Candy.

Mabel sighed and held up a tube of lipstick that was just a few shades darker than her natural lip color.

“The pink will do that same thing without being too obvious about it. If he’s interested, he’ll notice my lips and my boobs, and if he’s not, then, well… then he’s not, I guess.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Grenda conceded.

Candy was silent for a moment, staring searchingly at Mabel’s face. “Who did you say you were meeting again?”

“I- I didn’t,” Mabel stuttered briefly, covering her discomfort by turning her attention to applying the lipstick. This was just as well, as if she had seen Candy’s highly suspicious expression, she would’ve been even more nervous than she already was, and it should be noted that that was no small amount by any measure.

Perfect. Just the right amount of “LOOK AT ME” vibes from her lips.

Grabbing a bottle of perfume, she sprayed a bit on her wrist, rubbing it against her other one, and then on her neck and under her ears.

“You guys sure this outfit isn’t too much? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to impress him, and the heels, I dunno...”

Both girls shook their heads furiously. “No, it’s perfect! And we already coordinated your makeup and jewelry so no way are we changing it up now!” Grenda exclaimed.

“Mhm,” Candy agreed. “And the heels are perfect! They make your hips sway extra when you walk and they make your butt stuck out a little bit! They’re not even that high, he probably won’t even notice you’re wearing them.”

Right. Nobody wore jeans when they were trying to impress somebody. Well, not when they were being obvious about it, anyway. And Mabel was certainly trying her hardest not to be obvious.

And she was 100% trying to impress Dipper. She wanted Dipper to see her and wish she wasn’t his sister, wish they shared a soulmark. She wanted him to ache so badly for her that it felt like his bones were trying to escape his skin.

She ached for him that way, after all. It was only fair she made him ache for her in return. Even if it was only once, only for a split second.

When Mabel’s phone chimed to signal she’d gotten a text, she snatched it up before either of her friends could sneak a peek at the screen.

I’m outside read Dipper’s text. Then a second one came in with a whoosh from her phone’s speaker. Lights are off so nobody can see my car but I’m here.

Mabel wasn’t sure where her heart was. It might’ve been in her stomach, or perhaps her throat, or maybe even Candy’s basement, but it most definitely was not in her chest.

“He’s here,” Mabel said quietly, standing on shaky legs. God, why had she worn heels? What had she been thinking?

“Are you ready?!” Grenda demanded excitedly.

“Nope,” Mabel squeaked out.

“Yes you are!” Candy said firmly. “You are absolutely ready! You look hot, girl, you’re gonna make him jizz his pants just from looking at you!”

Mabel seriously doubted that, and she would most definitely laugh if it happened. But yeah, it wasn’t gonna happen. Because no matter how much time Mabel spent on making herself look her prettiest, Dipper would only ever see her as his sister.

Still, though. A girl could dream, right?

Mabel has never really considered Candy’s first floor bedroom being an asset before, but it most certainly had become one. Climbing out a window was far easier if that window was on the ground floor.

Still, staring out into the blackness of the cold Oregon night as Candy popped out her window screen and set it to the side, Mabel wondered how she had gotten there. Thirteen minutes before midnight, done up like she was going on a date, about to climb out her friend’s bedroom window and tiptoe through the front yard to secretly meet her twin brother whom she just so happened to be in love with, praying to every deity she’d ever heard of that he hadn’t found his soulmate.

Not yet, she pleaded silently, staring at the outline of his car, just a shade darker than the trees and the night sky, barely visible at all. Let me have him to myself just a little longer.

She wasn’t ready to share him with another girl. She never really would be, but in time, she’d come to accept it. She had to, right? There was no other option. She wanted him to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her, even if it made her feel like her body was consuming itself from the inside out, she wanted him to be happy.

“Mabel?” Grenda asked cautiously.

“I’m fine,” she assured her friend. She couldn’t mess up her makeup by crying.

Mascara and eyeliner were a bitch to fix.

Bracing herself on the windowsill, she put one jean-clad leg over and out the window, then the other.

Looking back at her friends in the light of Candy’s bedroom one last time, second guessing herself for half a second (she’d never snuck out before, after all), Mabel smiled shakily. Both her friends beamed back at her. Candy leaned down the couple of inches required to be at Mabel’s eye level.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

Grenda nodded enthusiastically. “And tell us everything when you get back!”

Grinning, Mabel hopped out of the window only to immediately realize that heels and frosty grass were not a great mix, and thus struggled to maintain her balance.

“Wait!” Grenda whisper-yelled.

Whipping her head around to look at her friends staring out at her through the window, Mabel smiled as Candy hastily squashed the essentials (phone, lipstick, tampons, breath mints, makeup remover wipes, and a compact mirror) into a purse before shoving it into the hand Grenda had stretched out behind her and was flailing about wildly, signalling to hurry the fuck up, Candy, time is of the essence here before finally tossing it at Mabel, who caught it with minimal fumbling and put it over her shoulder.

“We’ll leave the window unlocked. Let us know if you aren’t gonna come home tonight!” Grenda informed Mabel with an exaggerated wink and closed the window.

Mabel rolled her eyes affectionately and did her very best to hobble over to Dipper’s car with as much dignity as she could muster.

Heels and grass did not mix, and they extra-dextra didn’t mix when the grass was wet and very, very cold.

Reaching the curb, she perched her feet on it, and reached slowly, ever so slowly, towards the handle, and heard the click of the lock being undone from the inside. She couldn’t see in the windows; it was too dark.

The chill of the winter night bit into her fingers as they brushed the silver door handle, and she exhaled as she grasped it, her breath visible in the cold air.

Grasping the handle, Mabel opened the door slowly, and the overhead light in the car switched on automatically.

“Hurry!” Dipper whispered urgently. “Don’t want anyone to see the light.”

Mabel moved to sit in the passenger seat of his car as quickly as she could with the amount of shaking her limbs were doing, and settled in, closing the door behind her.

“Where are we going?” She asked, too afraid to look at him in the dim light of the streetlamp. She’d have to strain her eyes a great deal to see him, anyway.

“The woods. Not far from here. Just… somewhere nobody will see my car and recognize it.”

“Awfully recognizable, are ya now?” She tried to joke, but it came out stilted and awkward. Could he tell how nervous, no, how terrified, she was?

She could almost hear the shrug in his voice as he started the car, not turning the headlights on until they turned a corner.

“I mean… it’s a really small town. I don’t think there’s anybody here whose name I don’t know. So yeah, they all know what my car looks like,” he said it quietly, and it occurred to Mabel just then that he hadn’t turned on any music. The silence was suffocating.

Not knowing what to say, Mabel remained silent for a bazillion years, watching the trees pass them by. It was nothing like California, where the activity never stopped, just changed. It was quiet. Peaceful. Suffocating.

Okay, so it wasn’t actually a bazillion years. More like ten minutes. But hell if it didn’t feel like a bazillion years.

Dipper pulled into a clearing and put the car in park. It wasn’t a road, but it had clearly been driven over many a time.

The light came on again as he switched gears, and he turned the headlights back off. Turning to look at each other, really look at each other, for the first time since that afternoon, they found themselves speechless.

Dipper was, in a word, breathtaking. The soft glow of the overhead light lit the shadows on his face in such a way that his eyes almost seemed to glow, and his hair fell over his forehead in the most adorable way, and his lips were slightly parted and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

It was warm in the car, but what else could his cheeks be flushed from?

“You look…” he coughed, looking at his lap briefly. “Nice,” he finished weakly.

“Thanks,” she managed to force out. Even a syllable was a struggle. God, how had she never been alone with him before? Why was the atmosphere so incredibly different? She didn’t even feel like herself!

“So… here’s the thing, Mabel…” he trailed off.

“The thing?”

“Yeah, the thing I wanted to talk to you about. Y’know. The thing,” he held his hands out and accentuated the last word with a movement.

“Errr… sorry, no. I don’t know what you’re talking about, bro-bro,” she shook her head. “You literally just left me a ultra-mega cryptic note saying you had to tell me something and that’s it.”

He nodded, ran a hand through his hair, and when he turned his head just so his jawline came into the light and- good god why? Why must the gods torture Mabel thus?

“Right. I guess…” he blinked rapidly, staring determinedly off in the direction of absolutely nothing. “I guess you wouldn’t, huh?”

“Is… is everything okay?” She asked him softly. “It’s gotta be pretty important for you to want a one-on-one meeting like this, so…”

“Yeah, I mean, no… I mean. Ugh. I dunno.” He ran a hand over his face, clearly agonizing over something.

What in the actual ever-loving fuck was going on?

“Dip,” she said, forcing a sternness she definitely didn’t feel into her voice. “What’s going on?”

“Right,” he said with a nod that appeared to be more to himself than to her, and then looked at her. There was something in his eyes. Mabel didn’t know what it was, but whatever was in his gaze, she knew in her very soul that it was the exact opposite of the frost on the grass outside the car.

Not that that made any sense, of course, but that was the only conclusion she could come to without at least forty-five minutes of analysis.

“Right,” he said again. “I guess… I guess it would probably be easier to just… show you, maybe…”

“Uh. Okay?” Mabel blinked. Show her what now?

Dipper held out his arm, palm up, except his fist was clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were shut, too, and in much the same way, and then…

And then he took a deep breath, held it, and yanked his sleeve up.

Mabel’s eyes were fixed on the inside of his wrist. Dipper’s soulmark was a shooting star with the outline of a tree in the center.

Exactly like hers.

[tomiyeee]

9& 16 for the ask!

under cut cuz long lol

9) Thoughts on the redesigns?

vert with a goatee feels fitting. it’d be hard to change the main character much more than that and i’ve already long been warmed up to goatees on characters since, what...ffxv? so i like it. wish they had made his surferness more apparent, but his design is too sexy as is to fit that anywhere without destroying the aesthetic. the tank top’s good enough and it’s cute as hell anyway. 9.5/10

kadeem is vastly different, but both versions look good, tho Acc does have more recognizable features (primarily the hair) which makes that version easier to draw. that’s part of the reason i haven’t drawn much banj/kadeem since they are the hardest for me :( there’s just not much to ‘em. 7/10

lani is certainly a lot more unique in Acc. the hoop earrings are a nice touch, even if they may not be practical as a mechanic. i applaud her for being confident enough to work with large machinery and cars without ripping her ears off. i appreciate that they didn’t go overboard with her hawai’i background, though they very easily could have; she’s just someone who happens to be from hawai’i and i love that bc same hat. wish she couldve been more differentiated from karma, tho that’d probably be better solved on karma’s side than lani’s. blue girl w/pale skin and black ponytail is already taken, make karma a red head or smth. also my friend mentioned giving lani a more neutral, less teku-themed color scheme, like purple and yeah. also ditch the bug eyes, they’re always unsettling to look at on her, tone, and taro. 8/10

markie has an excuse. 1/10

kurt got more boring in both aesthetic and personality. street breed had the coolest uniforms and overall theme, but in Acc kurt has the messiest outfit on teku--everyone else has pretty coherent outfits that u can kinda get the gist of and draw from memory with one glance. his just looks like a mess of colors and graphics slapped onto a skin-tight jumpsuit. what is that shit on his legs. haircut bad too. he’s at least recognizable. 5/10

taro...honestly i think i’ve built up an immunity to acceleracers proportions enough to not have a visceral reaction to seeing him anymore. a lot of it really is just amplified by his disproportionately sexy WR design. i wish they had kept some semblance of his original design for consistency’s sake, but on it’s own it’s not really any more or less fucked up than any other Acc designs. purple lipstick bad. that outfit? burn it. sir you are a millionaire, stop digging in the trash for clothing. go buy urself something nice and buy some clothes for ur friends too while ur at it. 3/10

WR tezla looks marginally better than Acc (or what is the other way around? dont remember) but his full body cast is stupid. chin pistons??? moon shoes??? giant metal mickey mouse gloves??? what are you doing old man?? 4/10

gelorum got worse but more iconic. her WR design looked cooler and fit her vibes better but looked generic; if you saw fanart of her w/o context it’d prob be hard to recognize what she’s from. Acc is much better in that regard but the hair style is weird and the green face lines are cool in concept but could’ve been done better. collar feels out of place, would replace with just a higher collar on the dress. design overall feels very off-balance, with most of the details and non-black colors only at the top and left (with her arm) and the bottom 80% just being a plain black dress. most of the robot parts don’t make sense no matter how you look at it--why just the one robot arm? why the green face lines/forehead plate? why the collar?--and just feel slapped on for the hell of it. good concept, poor execution. 3/10

16) Any crossover/AU ideas?

so many...gonna dump em all here since i realize i dont think ive put these anywhere outside our discord

httyd - i’ve actually posted designs for synkro, bassline, and nightlife as well as a drone as dragons. there’s also a power rage nadder that i never posted anywhere. it’s not a finalized design, just the first iteration that i never bothered to go back n refine at all.

tf2 - ...yeah

overwatch - not much thought put into this beyond vague similarities, but still fun to think about :)

(incomplete) pokemon teams - never got the chance to go thru n find 6 for each of em, but some do have types/themes. asterisks are their aces.

[francoiserenaldt]

good things come to those who wait...

summary: there’s a boy and she doesn’t quite know what to do… (alternatively: melisande devereaux has really done it this time)

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none

note: would it be a fic written by me if the moon didn’t make some kind of appearance? probably not. takes place after a few weeks at vancross.

Vancross is silent when she sneaks out of her dorm. 

Melisande took extra precautions to make sure that Tatum would be firmly in REM sleep—measuring his sleep patterns without looking like a stalker was easily the hardest thing Melisande had ever done and she once climbed a tree in heels for a photo op—and Murphy was a nonissue as long as Dionne was none the wiser. 

The one thing she hadn’t accounted for was guilt. The possibility of Tatum being punished for her actions had only occurred to her in this and it made her stomach ache, but she swallowed it and continued to walk. She had already made it this far.

This whole situation was his fault, anyway.

She eventually finds herself in the gardens. The sole light hanging from the top of the gazebo blinks to life at her arrival—she couldn’t even avoid the limelight in the wee hours of the morning, apparently—and she sits under the light and takes a breath. 

The speech she wrote sits in her back pocket. It’s awful even by her standards, but it’s the product of rushed scribbles in between classes and right before she went to sleep. She’s loath to imagine what would happen if any one of the numerous people surrounding her found out about this, but her mind wanders anyway. 

Blaine would, no doubt, tear it apart with a smirk, giddy with the realization that she knew Melisande was nothing but a sheltered puppet for her mother all along—Blaine wouldn’t say it that way, of course; despite a rivalry that spans over centuries and defies common sense, she’s oddly insistent on getting into Melisande’s pants.

Ayna would be concerned but supportive; the historian in her probably reckons that it would make killer supporting evidence in a collegiate thesis. Dionne probably would find it odd; parents controlling every aspect of their children’s lives was normal and resentment only hurt you in the end.

(Maybe she’d have a point.)

And Tatum...if Tatum got a hold of this, she would probably cease to exist on the spot.

Regardless, it doesn’t matter what everyone else would say if they saw it because they never will. Her reputation, her life even, depends on it.

She chuckles at that; it’s the most authentic speech she’ll ever write, but there can be no audience to receive it. She can only laugh to stop from crying.

The moon at Vancross is stunning this time of year, cool and quiet and drawing an odd feeling—too warm to be sadness, but far too cold to be wistful—from her. The scene was perfect, but it didn’t change the inevitable: Tatum would kill her if he knew she was out here.  

She almost wants him to; anything is better than this torturous dance they’ve been doing since he appeared in her dorm room. Everything about him was “job description this, job description that” until she could get him alone; even then, he would only drop the act for a few minutes before it was back to wishing he had never been assigned to her.

(Her heart only broke a little bit when he said things like that, of course. She’s an adult.)

(If only she actually felt like one.)

She stands and quietly clears her throat. If her calculations are good, she only has 20 minutes until someone notices that she’s gone. 

“I’m alone for the first time in a long time, so maybe I can finally put this weird feeling into words.” Melisande begins, just barely resisting the urge to fall into public speech mode. “I’m completely and utterly unsure of what I’m supposed to do with my life. Everyone has their own ideas about what I should be doing here. Mom wants me to come here and make the country proud by earning all of my marks, Dionne wants me to date, and Blaine...ugh, I shouldn’t even be speaking to her right now. I’m a grown woman and yet I’m letting everyone else tell me what’s good for me. The only person who’s fully respecting my decisions right now is...Tatum.”

She cuts herself off with a groan, crumpling the paper in her hands. “Fucking Tatum. I’m midway through articulating my quarter-life crisis and all I can think about is him.” She slumps down onto the bench, burying her face in her hands. “And I’m not even thinking about him, not really. The Tatum that wanted anything to do with me died overseas. The real Tatum is sleeping in his bed, probably dreaming about being literally anywhere else.”

A street light flickers on several meters away. A group of her peers chortles on their way to their dorms, no doubt drunk from some house party. She sighs, lifting her head.

“What did I expect, anyway? ‘Lisa and Tate against the world, like when we were kids?’ I barely want to be here and I’m actually getting something out of this.” She scoffs, sniffling. “God, I’m an idiot.” 

The wind picks up then, pulling her waist-length braids to the side. The night is still quiet and there’s no sign of life anywhere near, but she’s never felt more exposed. “I don’t even know him anymore. And he doesn’t want to know me. He’s just doing his job. It shouldn’t hurt this much to see him again.” She purses her lips as the heat behind her eyes swells once again, but she blinks it back. There’s still too much to say before she has to go back to bed. 

“But I have a job to do here, too. My mother is counting on me. Winston is counting on me. All of Rutherland is counting on me, so I won’t give up on them. I can’t. It’s out of the question.” She shakes her head violently. “But I won’t give up on him either. Not when I’m getting a little bit closer to seeing the real Tatum, my Tatum, in my life again. I can’t afford to screw this up. I can’t lose him again.”

Melisande tilts her head back and stares directly at the moon, letting the light reflect the pool of unshed tears in her deep brown eyes before she shuts them completely and lets the tears fall. “What the hell am I going to do?”

Off in the distance, a bell tower rings and the long hand of the clock beneath it settles on 4. She’d been out for far too long. It was only a matter of time before-

“Melisande.” 

(Shit.)

“Lecture me in the morning, please. I’m exhausted,” she sobbed.

She hears him clear his throat, probably out of awkwardness, before he speaks. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be out by yourself right now?”

“I think I could have handled myself against the flora and fauna, Tatum.” Melisande snaps, wiping furiously at the tears running down her cheeks. “Besides, late-night escorts aren’t in your job description.”

“It’s literally a part of my job description that I need to be near you or aware of your location at all times, especially for ‘late-night escorts.’” Tatum pinches the bridge of his nose. “What were you doing up this late anyway?”

“Writing a sonnet.” 

“This is not the time for you to joke around.”

“So it’s only okay to switch up when you do it. Got it.” She huffs, brushing past him and speed walking in the other direction. “I’m tired. Let’s go back.”

He’s quicker, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. He takes her face into his hands, the fury (concern?) in his already intense eyes setting her ablaze. “You can never do anything like this again. Am I clear?”

“Tatum, you made yourself perfectly clear when you told me that you never wanted to be back around me the first time.” Melisande scoffs, meeting his glower with one of her own. “I’m the last person that's going to endanger your cushy government job, alright? Can we be done here?”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

“Good. Now let go.”

The morning after is rough, to say the least. There isn’t enough caffeine in the world to make Melisande a functioning human being on 3 hours of sleep or enough outfit changes in her closet to wait Tatum out. 

He’s not good at waiting—never has been—and he paces outside her door, as if he’s ticking down the seconds until she has to stop hiding. She can’t help but scoff; his method is questionable but the message is clear: I’m not letting you off the hook this time.

She eventually settles on a light blue blazer set and rushes out of her bedroom, making a beeline for the kitchen. Naturally, a toned arm blocks her way. “I need to get to class.”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but fine. We can talk now.” She drawled, ducking under his arm and turning on the coffee maker.  “You wanted to know why I left last night.” 

“As your bodyguard, I think you owe me that.”

“I needed time to think.”

“Don’t you have a room for that?”

“I wanted to be alone,” Melisande replied nonchalantly, only managing to resist the urge to shrug when she sees his nostrils flare. “It’s hard to do that when you have a shadow.”

“What are you doing?”

“Talking to you,” she allows the shrug this time, turning her head to meet his eyes as she pours her coffee. “Should I be doing something else?”

“Let me rephrase that: why are you acting out?”

Acting out? 

If Melisande was acting out, she’d have made herself a staple of the numerous house parties happening at Vancross. If she was acting out, she’d find Blaine Hayes and give her mother a scandal worth calling about. If she was acting out, she would have never agreed to come to the Vancross Institute to begin with. 

She didn’t deserve this.

“You can’t be serious. I leave the dorm once to clear my head and you’re treating me like a child.”

“Melisande—”

“This conversation is over.” 

“Like hell it is.” Tatum snaps. “In case you haven’t gotten the memo yet, you’re the daughter of a world leader, which means that you can’t leave in the middle of the night to clear your head on a whim without telling me. If there was even a one percent chance that someone who wanted to hurt you came here and I didn’t know where you were, I…” He pauses, then takes a breath. “I can’t do my job. It’s—”

“—your job to protect me. I know that.” 

“Then don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”

The earnest look in his eyes—definitely concern now—is enough to make her drop the act. “Alright. I’m sorry.”

He grunts, blinking the moment away, and she curses herself for the disappointment that courses through her veins. “Don’t be sorry, be careful.” 

“It’s too late for that.” Melisande shakes her head, too frustrated to cry and too tired to argue. “Far too late.”

It’s clear that he doesn’t understand what she means and she decides, then and there, that he would never know. The fates had aligned and made his position clear: she was an assignment to him. He could never know that she wanted more.

(It was far too late. For both of them.)

[someone-always-cares]

[image description: a q&a for the webcomic someone always cares. full desc under the cut because its long and wordy sorry]

post chapter 3 Q&A

first - previous - next

thanks for yalls questions!! it was fun to answer! if anyone still has questions feel free to ask whenever i am always 100% down to ramble. even if i did go slightly off topic in some answers

additional: went off topic with the hair question a bit. their bright hair is all part of the transformations. regular hair dye does exist though. best way to tell is that if the eyebrow matches the hair its probably not dyed. also, quartz’s hair is naturally ginger.

also for more on ages, check out the character bios here

also was gonna keep this in the tags but thought i might as well actually try to answer it: the question i found it hardest to answer was someone the song one. my taste in music is. a mess really. ive been listening to like the same 5 songs on repeat all day. more under the cut because i was rambling again and now its uhhh half 1am

if it helps at the time of answering that specific question i had home by cavetown on repeat, and that song reminds me of both rami and lewis. but that may be because i project onto those two a lot, and as a aro trans dude. who sucks with people skills, yeah of course i love that song.

specifically the vibes of like not knowing how to communicate (rami is fine with his friends but other people are different), the lines “ Turn off your porcelain face, I can't really think right now and this place, Has too many colors, enough to drive all of us insane” idk what the porcelain face line is supposed to mean but im picturing it as like. a mask. that you need to take off and stop hiding and rami does tend to hide when hes feeling upset, and the next two lines kinda could tie into that, like the feeling of when youre overwhelemed and just want the world to stop so you just hide somewhere. also the colours could go with chapter 3 with the chromatic abberation.

also the bit with “ my eyes went dark, I don't know where, my pupils are, But I'll figure out a way to get us out of here” just kinda sums up ramis whole hero thing with his powers and all. anyway this has turned into less what songs rami would like and why this particular song reminds me of him and lewis (lewis specifically has the hair cutting/chest hiding, [big transmasc mood], and also messy haired trainwreck who doesnt know who he is yet. also the ghosts bit)

i did end up picking upbeat songs because ramis a dude who like to try and be upbeat even if things arent. even if hes not really feeling it he will pretend to.

[full description: Anonymous said to someone-always-cares: “hi ily!!! do characters like quartz who have colored hair have that naturally or did they dye it?”

“its both natural and not! while most supers can do a magical girl ish transformation, including a change in hair colour, there are some exceptions.”

theres two small full body drawings of rami, one in civilian clothes, one fully transformed.

“if a superhero were to have a biological child, the child will inherit the powers of the parent(s). however, the child will not inherit the full transfromation. they do inherit any physical transformations, but not the outfit.”

theres a drawing of a woman in blue, quartz’s mother, fully transformed, holding her mask in her hand, smiling down at a much younger quartz as a child. hes smiling back up at her with the same blue eyes, pointy ears, and blue hair, but hes still in normal clothes.

“in the case of quartz, both of hisparents had superpowers, and he inherited those powers and the physical transformations.he can also pick and mix whatphysical traits to change.“

next is a headshot of adult quartz, his face split down the middle with one side having hair and eye like his mother, the other like his father. theres a list of traits from each parents, blue hair and eyes and pointy ears from his mum, and purple hair and eyes and pointy teeth from their dad.

 “Anonymous said to someone-always-cares:  Are all the characters the same age? If not, how old are they? Are they irl friends or just superhero friends?”

theres some headshots of rami and his team lined up with ages labelled: cam is 15, rami himself is 17, lin, mateo, and dante, are all 18, and cap is 20.

“rami and xandra were somewhat friends before she got superpowers, so when, after the incident with her old team, she found rami had developed powers, xandra stuck close to him. their other teamates started off as superhero friends but soon turned into irl friends too”

theres a headshot of lewis and jade. theyre both 17

“when lewis first decided to start being a vigilante,jade quickly found him and decided to help train himand offered to be a mentor of sorts, as they both have similar powers. that quickly derailed.”

“ cinder5555 said to someone-always-cares: How long does it usually take to make a comic page? I'm curious because they're so freaking good that they must take FOREVER”

theres a drawing of myself, a fluffy hair tired bastard in a hoodie, smiling

“Thanks! Ive been doing this shit since like 2017 and i still have no idea how long it takes me. i can get a page done in a day if i have nothing else to do or if its a simple page, but if i have work then maybe 2-3 days? i spend like, most of my free time doing this.“

another drawing of me, now looking frustrated muttering “how the FUCK does time work”

“but i can never do it all on one sitting.i will inevitably get distracted and zone out daydreaming mid drawing so its very hard to get an accurate read on how long it takes. so however long a piece of string is i guess“

the only qustion not from tumblr is a discord message from RuneStone Cabin:

“Q: Can you talk about the incidence of superpowers in this world? Like many people are supers, which powers are more or less common, how long they've been a thing for, stuff like that. Also does Omen know I'd die for them “

theres a drawing of omen pointing at a date circled on a calender marked “decembuary”, theyre saying “i know. i already wrote your death in my calender.”

then a giant wall of text reading: “Supers have only existed for a relativly short time, since the early 1940s. momento mori was the second person to have ever gained powers.

Only a small number of the population are supers! the chances are higher in more populated cities, but unusally london has oneof the higher percentages of supers. while nobody in universe has any idea of the origins of superpowers, it does seem that powers are more likely to occur in people who would actually use their powers.

as for what powers are most common, after making a badly catagorized spreadsheet of every superpowered character ive made for this world (70% of which will probably never even be seen), turns out that elemental powers are the most common. although not all elemental powers manifest as the straight up 'controling this element' as seen in characters like lin or tsunami. for example, iris's powers would fall under shadow elemntal powers, but theyre a lot more weird that just controlling shadows.there are some abilities that have never been seen before,such as ressurection or full on time travel (aka anything that could bring a character back to life), but powers are certainly allowed to toe the line eg healing, powers involving undeath, immortality, pausing or manipulating time.

aside from that, anything goes. you could get plain old superstrength, but you could also get the ability to create dogs with your mind. other not quite rules, more guidelines are that supers are immune to their own powers hurting them (unless they were pushing themselves too hard), although the way the imminuties occur may be inconvinient to the super.

while some powers may be 'more powerful' than others, powers dont really get to be way underpowered or overpowered in comparision to others. sure being able to talk to animals may feel a bit useless compared to someone who can lift 4 tanks at once, but nobodys going to end up with a power like 'can turn into a goose but only once' or 'can grow toenails twice as fast' or 'if i sneeze i can change my hair colour'. at the same time, youre not going to get someone with the power to snap their fingers and level a city, or instantly blow up the moon or whatever.

“Anonymous said to someone-always-cares: I love rami PLEASE tell me his favorite song(s) and why. I will die for you”

a drawing of rami saying out loud “i dont really have any specific favourite song, really? i just listen to whatever sounds catchy and then listen to that on repeat for hours until i hate it. i guess i do like upbeat songs? ones that make you feel happy even if the lyrics are sad”

“ un1c0rnhh said to someone-always-cares: tell me,,, please,, cam,,, are they a cat person or a dog person?? ily"

theres a drawing of cam a metre away from a cat lying down. she has her arm out and is making ‘psspsspss’ noises at it. end id]

FUCK i am so glad i didnt hand write all of that, it would have been a major pain in the ass to write it all and then have to transcribe all that next. but nope i could directly copy paste the asks and word answers. cheers if anyone made it this far down. if anyone wonders why this is uploaded late, you know now.

[dontmindthefangirling]

Save Me {p.p.}

Summary: Peter Parker has been your best friend for as long as you can remember, so you were able to tell when he started acting very distant from you; not answering your texts, blowing off plans, not inviting you to hang outs with Ned. You planned to confront him - but then something horrible happened. 

Warnings: Kidnapping, swears, angst??

gif by hollands-gf

-

You walked into school with MJ, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Homecoming posters were plastered on every wall, but every time you looked at one you wanted to tear it down. 

Ever since Peter started acting like he didn’t want anything to do with you, you hadn’t been excited about anything. He was your best friend, and you were hoping that maybe he would ask you to be his date to homecoming. Now you doubted he would even ask if you wanted to sit with him at lunch.

“Hey, you okay?” MJ asked. You shook yourself out of your trance and faked a smile. 

“Fine.”

-

Walking into chemistry was the worst part of your morning. Peter sat three rows back, but he was always the first person your eyes went to. He had his head down and he was scribbling something in his notebook. His lab goggles were perched on the top of his head, and his fawn hair was falling in his eyes. You noticed he let it grow longer than usual. 

You took your seat next to him. Since lab partners were assigned at the beginning of the year, you weren’t allowed to switch. At the beginning of the year, you were best friends. Now you weren’t so sure.

Peter looked up for a mere second when you sat down, but instantly went back to his scribbling. You had no idea what he was writing or drawing or whatever it was, but you had to force your curious self not to look.

“Hey,” you grumbled. You wanted something, some sort of reaction out of him. 

“Hi,” he responded without looking up from his notebook.

“What are you doing?” you asked. 

“Writing.”

You rolled your eyes. The bell rang and your teacher entered the room and began lecturing. You tried your hardest to focus, but Peter’s scribbling continued well into class. You had no idea how he could not pay attention at all, and then get called on and know the answer.

It made you beyond annoyed.

The ringing of the bell at the end of class lifted every amount of tension off your shoulders. You grabbed your bag, without saying a word to Peter and scurried out of class.

He didn’t say a word. 

-

Peter hadn’t spoken to you, not even a text, since you forced a “Hi” out of him in chemistry on Monday. It was now Wednesday, and you stopped going to the cafeteria to eat lunch. It hurt too much to see him and not talk to him. 

You didn’t know what you could have possibly done to upset him so badly. You tried talking to Ned about it, to see if he knew why Peter didn’t want to be your friend anymore, but Ned didn’t an answer either. 

Peter had always been your person. He was always there whenever you needed him, and you were always there whenever he needed you. You two were inseparable. You spent your afternoons at his apartment and he’d stop by yours to walk with you to school. 

The walks to school stopped about a month ago. 

Texts became less frequent, and soon he stopped saying hi to you at your locker after first period, when you had overlapping classes.

You shut your locker, more forcibly than you had intended, and looked out at the hallway of students. You spotted Peter with his head down, walking quickly past you. You stared at his back as he walked further away. 

You let out a sigh and walked in the opposite direction to your class.

-

Homecoming was tomorrow and you still didn’t have an outfit. You planned on going shopping with MJ after school to find something to wear, but you didn’t particularly care about what you wore anymore. You didn’t even want to go, and you probably wouldn’t be going if MJ hadn’t convinced you to try.

Besides, Peter was going with Liz. Apparently he had asked her earlier this week.

It made you bitter to think about. 

Peter was shoving you out of his life, for what? Liz?

You were sitting with MJ at lunch, on the opposite side of the cafeteria from where Ned and Peter normally sat. MJ coerced you out of the library and to eat with the rest of civilization, much to your protesting.

“(Y/N), you have to eat,” MJ said, pointing to your untouched sandwich.

“I’m not hungry,” you replied. 

MJ gave you the glare the one that says, “Eat or I’ll kick your ass.”

You took a nibble of the side of your sandwich and MJ rolled her eyes.

“Why don’t you just go and talk to him?” MJ asked, her tone softer than before. You looked up from your unappetizing sandwich and spotted the back of Peter’s tousled hair. 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” you mumbled. 

MJ sighed and looked at you with a slight frown. She couldn’t even say anything to comfort you because she knew you were right.

-

It was the end of the school day on Friday and everyone was buzzing with excitement for Homecoming that night. You had picked out an outfit with MJ and you were somewhat excited to wear it. MJ was going to come over to your apartment before the dance and help you get ready, and then you were going to go together. 

You were gathering your things at your locker, putting things in your backpack when you spotted Peter talking to Liz across the hall. He said something to her with a smile and then waved goodbye to her. He started walking away, when an anger was lit inside you.

How could he just dump you aside? 

You slammed your locker shut and followed him outside of the school. 

“Parker!” you spat.

Peter froze at the bottom of the steps. You marched down the steps behind him and grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pulling him away from the crowds.

“(Y/N)-”

“Shut up.”

Once you were farther away from the rest of the student body leaving the school for the day, you let go of Peter’s sleeve and glared at him. He stared at the grass, as if it would make you disappear. You wanted him to say something first, to apologize for how he had been treating you, to say that he missed you too, to say something- anything.

He stood there in silence.

“What the hell is your problem?” you finally exclaimed, exasperated by his silence. He remained quiet, shifting the weight on his feet. 

“We were best friends, Peter. For God’s sake, you’ve ignored me for the last month, as if I suddenly just wasn’t important to you anymore! Do you know how badly that hurt? How alone I’ve felt? I miss you, Peter. And it breaks my fucking heart to think that you don’t miss me-”

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I said stop.” Peter looked up, finally meeting your gaze. His gaze was cold, and it made your stomach twist. 

“We can’t be friends anymore, (Y/N).”

You blinked, staring at him. You should have expected coldness from him. It was all you got from him anyways.

“Why?” you said bitterly, through gritted teeth. Tears stung the back of your eyes, threatening to spill over. 

Peter looked taken aback, like he didn’t expect you to ask why he was dumping you as a friend. You held up your hand. 

“Actually, I don’t want to hear your lame excuse. Don’t ever talk to me again, Parker,” you basically spit. Peter looked like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. It didn’t matter anyways, you were beyond hurt, and you walked away from your best friend.

-

“(Y/N), we can still have fun!” MJ pleaded. “I hate these stupid dances, but even I want to go.”

“See, you just said they’re stupid,” you said.

“I know, but we should still go,” MJ said.

“Peter will be there.”

“So? Don’t talk to him.”

You huffed. You were dressed and ready for the dance, but everything in you wanted to stay him and curl up in bed.

“What do I always say?” MJ asked. 

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t miss out on your youth cause when you’re old you’ll regret it.”

MJ nodded. “That’s right. So we’re going.”

She nudged you with her elbow, and you smiled weakly. 

“Fine.”

-

The music was loud from outside of the gymnasium. You could hear every beat of the songs playing inside, and you felt your stomach twist in knots. You looked down and smoothed out your outfit before walking with MJ. Once inside, you took in all of the decorations; the balloons, the streamers, the pieces of confetti that seemed to rain down from the ceiling. 

“(Y/N)! MJ!” Ned called. You and MJ spotted him standing near a drink table. He was waving happily. 

“Hey Ned,” MJ greeted. You smiled softly at him. If Ned was here, that means Peter wouldn’t be far behind. 

As if right on schedule, two people appeared at your side.

“Hey guys!” Liz said cheerfully. She looked beautiful in her dress and heels, and her makeup looked as if it were done professionally. Peter stood next to her, looking extremely handsome in his suit and tie, but he refused to even look at you. You didn’t look at him for longer than a second. You wondered if he would take your instructions and never speak to you again. The truth was, you did want him to speak to you, but you were so angry that he would just act like you weren’t his best friend for years.

“Peter, Liz,” MJ greeted. “Nice to see you both.”

“(Y/N), I love your hair!” Liz exclaimed. “Did you get it done?”

“Thanks,” you responded, almost coldly. ���MJ did it.”

You could feel Peter’s eyes on you and it was too much for you to handle. He was here, standing next to Liz, no longer your best friend, and you knew that you had a flame for him all this time, that you always suppressed to keep your friendship alive. Look where that got you.

“Excuse me,” you said softly. You stepped away from the group and walked towards the doors. You needed some fresh air. 

The door shut behind you, the music still blasting inside. You took a long, shaky breath. 

“(Y/N),” a soft voice said behind you. Peter appeared at your side, startling you.

“What do you want?” you hissed. 

“I know you’re mad at me, but you don’t have to be rude to Liz, too,” Peter said. 

You stared at him in shock. He couldn’t be serious, could he? 

“You’re joking.”

Peter shook his head. “She hasn’t done anything-”

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” you laughed bitterly. “Stop talking to me, Peter.”

You started walking down the steps, your back to him. You wished he would say something to make you stop, but he didn’t. You heard the door shut, signaling that he went back inside, and that’s when the tears started to flow. 

Too bad you didn’t see the guy approaching you from behind.

-

Peter’s heart had never felt so heavy. He knew he had to make you hate him. It was the only way you would be safe. If any of his enemies found out that he was in love with-

He couldn’t even think the rest of that sentence. 

He tried to comfort his conscience with the idea that he was protecting you by acting this way, but he didn’t like the type of person he was becoming. The truth was - he missed you like crazy. He hated saying those words to your face that you could no longer be friends.

He took a shaky breath and smiled at Liz, trying to act like he was at least enjoying the night. He had to fake it.

“Help!” someone screamed suddenly. “Someone help!” 

The music stopped almost instantly as MJ came barreling through the doors with tears streaming down her face. “Call 9-1-1!”

Peter rushed over. “MJ, what happened?”

“It’s (Y/N)! I went out to check on her, and-and this man- he knocked her unconscious and-”

MJ didn’t finish her sentence by the time Peter was already running out the door, throwing off his tie. 

-

part 2

[crispinos]

pairing: keith/lance rating: T word count: 1.7k summary: lance is a fortune-teller. keith really needs to study.

this @voltron-ss gift is for @trash4bechloe. i had actually planned a proper fic incorporating more of the tropes you gave me, but i am an awful, awful procrastinator and ended up writing something short but hopefully sweet because i wanted you to receive something on time. stay tuned for your real gift in the future, but i hope you enjoy this in the meantime!

There is a bounce house in the middle of the green. It’s red, yellow, blue, and inflatable, straight out of the fair that used to come to town every year and draw suburban upper-middle class kids like moths to a flame with their SUV-driving soccer moms in tow. In fact, now that Keith tears his eyes away from the primary-color beast dominating his view, it appears that the whole quad has been decked out like the fair just came to this school; there’s a line for fried dough that wraps around what has to be at least half the perimeter.

Well, Keith doesn’t know what’s going on and he doesn’t particularly care to find out, so he just puts his head down and tries to push through the crowd. For all that it’s a sunny Sunday afternoon, he has the test of his life coming up tomorrow, and he needs to shut himself into the top floor of the library for at least the next twelve hours if he wants to stand a chance at passing.

It’s slow going. No one gives a fuck about Keith’s issues and no one has any clue how badly screwed he is for this test, which is totally understandable but still infuriating when he tries to cut through the line for cotton candy, accidentally elbows a girl in the nose, and receives a death glare for his efforts.

“Sorry,” he says, or tries to say, “I’m just trying to get through—need to study for a big test—” but another group of people closes around the girl before he can finish explaining himself, and everything is just so loud that his voice is drowned out by the noise, leaving him mouthing at the air like an idiot. Which, granted, he supposes he must be, if he’s trying to cram all the review he should’ve been doing for the past two weeks into the last sixteen or so hours before the exam.

Farther away from the food, the crowd thins out slightly. The other end of the quad is blessedly calm compared to the clusterfuck that Keith’s just managed to survive. Scattered around the perimeter are game booths offering raffle tickets for prizes—apple-bobbing here, a ring toss there—and Keith is just about to make his escape when a heavy hand lands on his arm. It catches him off guard, and he flinches away.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” says the boy on the other end of the hand, hastily letting his arm fall back down to his side. Puffing himself up, he clears his throat and continues, in a reluctant attempt at a theatrically deep voice, “Um. How would you like to have your fortune told by the one, the only… Lance the Clairvoyant?”

Keith blinks. “Uh, no thanks.”

The boy—Hunk, his name tag reads—deflates. “I told you it wouldn’t work,” he calls over his shoulder, and Keith follows his gaze to the purple tent behind him. Its curtains are drawn too close for him to make out anything inside, but propped up against it is a sign that proclaims in Sharpied letters, LANCE THE CLAIRVOYANT: HE SEES ALL… HE KNOWS ALL.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t do a convincing voice,” someone yells back from inside the tent. The voice is vaguely familiar, but Keith can’t place his finger on where he knows it from. “Just do what you gotta do to get them in here.”

Hunk turns back to Keith with big, pleading eyes. “Please let him tell your fortune,” he says.

“I have a test,” Keith begins weakly. Hunk’s eyes are so, so round.

“We’ve only had three clients,” he says.

“Big test,” Keith tries.

“We’ve been out here for five hours,” Hunk says. “He was really excited about doing this booth.”

“Twenty percent of my grade,” Keith elaborates, a little desperately.

“Three minutes,” Hunk promises. “Just tell him to make it quick. Three minutes is all it takes.”

“Three minutes, and three minutes only,” Keith says. “Wait, what?”

Hunk’s face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and Keith is suddenly inside the tent.

“Have a seat,” someone says. It’s the same voice from before, only now it’s gone all spooky, like they’re trying their hardest to sound mysterious. As Keith’s eyes adjust to the dimness, he sees the outline of a folding chair a few paces away from where he’s standing, and he complies.

The boy behind the table is wearing a hooded cloak, but there’s a crystal ball on the table, the only source of light inside the tent. It scatters eerie shadows across his face, but it’s glowing brightly enough for Keith to discern his features. It’s also glowing brightly enough for Keith to catch the way Lance the Clairvoyant’s eyes widen ever so slightly when their gazes meet.

“What would you like to know, O Curious One?” Lance asks, expression falling neutral. “My crystal ball will show me all.”

“The answers to Iverson’s test would be nice,” Keith says. “Aerodynamics?”

“No, I mean about yourself,” Lance says in his normal voice, before realizing his slip-up. “My crystal ball will only show me what lies in the futures of my clients.”

“Okay,” says Keith. “How will I do on my test tomorrow?”

Lance closes his eyes and waves his hands over the ball, brow furrowed in concentration. Keith briefly considers leaving while he can get away with it. Then he feels like a jackass and decides not to do that.

“I see,” Lance says dramatically, “a… fall. A fail?” Keith’s heart plummets into his stomach, and he swears he feels his digestive juices splash. “No, not a fail. Just a fall. A fall… from grace.”

“What does that mean?”

“The top of the class,” Lance says. More vague hand-waving. “Someone will take your place. Someone… a rival. Your biggest rival.”

“What?”

“Does no one come to mind?”

“No,” Keith says. “I don’t have any ‘rivals.’” He really doesn’t have any idea what Lance is talking about. He minds his own business, works hard in class, gets good grades. He doesn’t go out of his way to step on other people’s toes. There’s no room for competition because he barely knows who his classmates are.

“Ah-ah,” Lance tuts. “Arrogance is never a good trait to have.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Your hubris will be your downfall,” Lance proclaims. His eyes are still closed, what the fuck, that’s not how crystal balls are supposed to work. There is definitely the ghost of a smug smile playing on his lips.

“You’re full of shit,” Keith decides.

“I assure you that I am not.”

“No person in their right mind would actually believe a prediction from a college kid who just got dressed up in a hood for some fair. You’re bullshitting.”

Lance ignores him. “You may be more gratified to hear that love is coming your way,” he says, moving his hands around some more. “Sometime within the next week. Perhaps… perhaps even tomorrow.”

Keith scoffs. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

“All will become clear in time.” Lance opens his eyes. “Is there anything else you would like me to reveal?”

“No,” Keith says. Belatedly, he adds, “But thanks, I guess.”

Hunk smiles at him on the way out. Keith can’t bring himself to smile back in good conscience.

-

The test is shit. It’s a steaming pile of horseshit, and Keith handles it as such as he passes it in, dropping it on top of the pile with the biggest shudder that his soulless husk of a sleep-deprived body can muster.

When he turns to go back to his seat, it’s to collide nearly head-on with the person behind him.

Not just a person. A boy.

Not just a boy. Lance the Clairvoyant.

What the fuck, Keith tries to say with his eyes.

Fuck you too, Lance says back. Or, well, he wiggles his eyebrows and kind of smirks a bit, and Keith has no idea how to interpret it but figures that fuck you too is a safe bet.

He’d done a pretty good job of pushing the fortune-telling incident to the back of his mind yesterday in order to effectively cram, but it’s all coming back now. The fall from grace, the love coming his way, whatever the fuck those things are supposed to mean. Keith frowns on the way back to his seat but resolves to forget about it again by the time he’s on his way out of the lecture hall.

He’s maybe five steps away from the door when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Hi,” says Lance. “Keith, right?” He looks slightly nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and only Keith’s curiosity keeps him from walking away. That, and the fact that Lance’s face is actually not half-bad without the fake psychic outfit and weird psychic voice.

Keith crosses his arms. “Is this the part where you tell me you totally predicted that I would fail?”

“I didn’t necessarily say you’d fail,” Lance says indignantly. “I bet you did better than everyone else, just like you always do. And this was actually supposed to be about the other part of your fortune.”

“Ah. The part where you told me that love was coming my way.”

“Yeah. Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

“Excuse me?”

Lance may possibly be blushing. “I said, do you want to get dinner sometime? Maybe? If you don’t completely hate my guts?”

“I don’t hate you,” Keith says, bewildered. “I’m just confused. You insulted me yesterday and now you want dinner.”

“I didn’t insult you,” Lance insists. “I’m a legitimate clairvoyant. I only tell the truth about people’s futures.”

“You were planning to ask me out all along,” Keith realizes.

Lance is definitely blushing. “Look, is it a yes or a no? ’Cause if Mr. Prodigy thinks he’s above me, I won’t waste my time—”

“Sure.”

Now it’s Lance’s turn to be taken aback. “Excuse me?”

Keith does his best to hide his amusement, but it sneaks through his smile anyway. “I said, sure.”

“Holy shit,” Lance says. He looks genuinely flabbergasted, and it’s cute. “Really?”

Keith shrugs. “Yeah. But only because you saw it in my future.”

“I guess it was inevitable,” Lance concedes.

“You free tonight? We can celebrate the fact that we survived another Iverson test.”

Lance’s grin is slow and blinding. “Oh, you bet I am.”

[nolightsinthedark]

SOOO- I finally finished that big secret project I had hinted to you guys about! I drew every character as the Disney character I thought they best represented. Now I do have some explanations XD So bear with me, but this whole project was hella fun and some where a challenge, that was for sure, but here it goes!

 Devotion: Hercules(Hercules)

The mirroring between this move and devotion is honestly a little surprising.  It starts with him being in not human, which powers and attributes that make him an outcast in his home town, then shit happens™ and he leaves the town he’s known all his life to go on this big journey, which involves finding a teacher to help him train and harness his powers.

I’m not going to say too much more, but I’ll leave you with this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aqpF-MwyUs

 Cylivren: Mulan (Mulan)

Obviously, she just had to be Mulan. Honestly, other than her military history (and propensity to set things on fire, which I mean, Mulan also does), I don’t know a whole lot about her other than her being a total and complete badass, and Mulan is totally the most badass Disney character I could think of.

 Ivan: Moana (Moana)

Stick with me on this one! Okay, so he this guy that is saved by an angel (the ocean) who then, after some weird mumbo jumbo of trying to figure out what the hap is fucking, discovers that this angel (the ocean) has as quest ™ for them to complete because they can’t do it themselves…

Also, originally, I had him in a skirt, but with the tube top, he looked way to famine to have participated in what will hence forth be known as “the penis incident,” so the assless chaps stay. No, I don’t know why Ivan feels the need to highlight his crotch in blue, that was not my design decision.

 Vidna: Jim Hawkins (Treasure Planet)

First, I want to apologize for this horrible drawing, she has some hella grape-in-vacuum-seal-boob syndrome  but damn this was probably the hardest drawing in the bunch XD

But yes, Vidna reminds me a lot of Jim because she this awesome tinkerer! I also think teenage angsty life trips are very similar to midlife crisis life trips, as well as we have been on a pirate ship! Anyway, Vidna is super cool and she makes cool things, all of which I think Jim also encompasses.

 Carson: Merida (Brave)

So I made the executive decision to base his dress off of Merida’s dad instead of her outfit since she just wears a plain green dress without anything really interesting about it.

Now, I will admit I don’t know much about Carson other than his beautiful name Carson McQueen and that he plays the bagpipes. I will also admit I had originally scrapped the idea of basing him off of Merida because that was cheap, and I debating about just drawing him as Lightning McQueen, but then I read his bio, which just says “Bagpipes play ominously in the background” and then I was like “I have to do Brave now” because that’s like the whole plot of Brave. We also fought some magic bears?? So that counts??

 Erienne: Mufasa (Lion King)

(Image is transparent, please click to view the whole image)

This one is your own damn fault XD I was originally not going to do one for you, because trying to characterize your DMsona is like trying to herd cats, but then you said Critical roll often shows their DM as some hooded figure, and I immediately thought “Like Mufasa”

 And the best for last!

 Ori: Kuzco (The Emperor’s New Groove)

First of all, I am not sorry. Just want to get that out of the way right now. I’m not. Not even a little. I have never drawn a llama before, but I sure as hell have now, drawing this abomination.

The reasoning behind this is a pretty straight forward though, starts out has this high noble, then shit goes down™ and now he’s trying to get his honor back via family friendly adventures with his humble village friend, which in this case is a slightly less morally correct party of murders, arsonists, robbers, and probably anything else you can come up with. We could probably check a lot of boxes.  

 I hope you guys enjoy XD I’m planning on putting all these PNGs together to have like, one big set with all the party, of course I don’t have our new monk friend, I was like one person away from being done when he joined, so, next time XD when I figure out who he is like.