#art is so hard these days I will take what I can get

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Life imitates art - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: 2.6k words. Jack is sent into a tailspin when the woman he’s been eyeing for months at his amputee support group arrives at the Pitt in a gurney. Based on this request by @seasiren212!

Warnings: canon-typical depiction of wounds and medical situations, cancer in remission, some medical jargon, reader’s history of BKA, Jack’s history of AKA & accident, age gap, angst, etc. The most unrealistic part of this fic is a doctor spending this much time with one patient (live laugh love the U.S. healthcare system).

a/n: ugh I cried a little bit while writing this. I’m so passionate about oncology care mwah. Abbot is working day shift in this fic. Surrender yourself to the plot and pretend he’s covering for Robby if you must. Divider credit!

At 23 years old, your leg was amputated just below the knee. You’d been fighting bone marrow cancer for a while now, and you were running out of treatment options. To mitigate the risk of significant metastasis, your oncologist recommended an amputation.

So it was off with your leg.

Before the amputation, you’d spent months in and out of the hospital. Somehow, despite the fatigue, aches, and genuine existential crisis over whether this reality was a fate better than death, you graduated with your Master's degree in art history after completing most of the program virtually from your hospital bed. You got special permission from the dean of your university’s college of the arts to defend your thesis from the hospital. Your nurses arranged for you to use a conference room on the floor and made sure everything was thoroughly cleaned to prevent the risk of secondary infection.

Your IV was hooked up to some medications you couldn’t pronounce, but by now, you’d learned how to wave your arms around wildly without letting the tubing hinder you. The thesis committee didn’t go easy on you during your defense just because you were sick. Good. You didn’t want them to. You’d researched and studied your ass off, and earned the right to defend your thesis. The one you’d spent countless sleepless nights and nauseating days working on. So what if you were presenting at UPMC’s Cancer Center?

The oncology unit staff were the first to celebrate you as soon as you made it out of the conference room with happy tears in your eyes. In the time you’d been presenting, the halls had been decorated with streamers. Balloons surrounded your hospital room, and you were given an elaborate bouquet of artificial flowers. You did it.

The RN who’d been caring for you the longest was the one to push your wheelchair across the stage during your hooding ceremony. The oncology unit staff lined the front row of the audience and cheered louder than you’d ever heard.

“MA” looked pretty damn good after your name in your email signature. The Master of Arts degree hung proudly on the wall of your apartment, a forever reminder of your resilience through it all.

It took grueling months to find the right prosthetic and get it fitted properly, and even more years of physical therapy to allow you to be here today, giving narrated walking tours through the Carnegie Museum of Art.

Jack met you at his amputee support group.

At first, he assumed you were there as a student. You were quiet. Observant. Some of the local clinical psychology degree programs assigned students to attend open support group meetings. The large, structured tote bag that followed you to every meeting supported his theory. He imagined you had a laptop, a textbook or two, and a can of Red Bull in the bag, if he had to guess.

You didn’t take notes like other students Jack saw in the past, but you didn’t seem like the type that needed to take notes in the moment, anyway. You were a breathtaking wallflower at the meetings, it was hard not to notice you. The floor-length dresses that complemented your body and draped across you in all the right places were delicate and dainty. Jack was dying to know if your personality matched your exterior.

If Abbot had to guess, he’d say the mystery girl at the amputee support group was in her mid-to-late twenties, though she didn’t necessarily dress like it. Your wardrobe was all maxi skirts and long flowy dresses, cardigans and cable knit sweaters, statement earrings and small chain necklaces. Jack overheard one of the younger group members complimenting your clothing style one day, describing it as “serving cottage core meets coastal grandma chic.” Whatever the hell that meant.

At one of the meetings, you barely showed up on time. You were flustered and a bit disheveled, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face, but still beautiful as ever. An intricately decorated lanyard and your employee badge hung out of the purse’s wide mouth.

Your name, MA. Art Historian, Curator, and Guest Guide. Carnegie Museum of Art.

Hmm. Jack wasn’t really one for the arts. He was most creative when figuring out how to perform complex medical procedures in unconventional situations. He was methodical and analytical in his life. He approached situations and his work with scientific precision, but he could be tempted to give the museum a visit if it meant he might run into you.

The Pitt’s ambulance bay was never empty for long. Gurneys rolled in and out of the ER all day and night. After all his years in emergency medicine, few things surprised Doctor Abbot anymore.

Until you rolled in.

Dana was the first to reach the EMTs, taking report as she guided them to an available room. Doctor Abbot watched from the provider desk, his mouth slightly parted as his eyes tracked you the whole way across the Pitt.

The charge nurse barely made it out of the room and assigned the patient to Abbot before he jumped out of his seat and bee-lined to room five. “On it,” he said, to no one in particular. Dana stood back and observed his uncharacteristic movements for half a second with her hands on her hips before returning to her millions of other tasks.

Doctor Abbot pulled back the exam room curtain to reveal you sitting on the gurney, fidgeting with your museum badge and shaking your exposed shoe back and forth.

“Hi, kid,” he greeted, donning gloves. He took note of the prosthetic leg covered in floral designs resting next to your hip. Not a student. An amputee. Abbot hummed inwardly.

“Oh. Hi, Jack,” you responded, surprise gracing your face. You knew he was a doctor; he mentioned working at the hospital a couple of times during support group meetings, you just didn’t know he was a doctor here. You took him in. Frustratingly, he was handsome as ever in his black scrubs with toned, muscled arms that threatened to burst out of his short sleeves, with a badge that read Dr. Abbot. Attending Emergency Medicine Physician. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but notice that his gray curls were a little more mussed than usual, like he’d run his hands through them at least half a dozen times. You yearned to follow suit.

Mateo followed Doctor Abbot into the exam room not long after and glanced between you and the physician a couple of times, trying to decipher the dynamic. It was obvious the two of you knew each other, but he kept quiet and set up the WOW for orders in case Doctor Abbot needed it.

Jack sat down smoothly on a rolling stool and scooted close to your bedside. Maybe closer than was necessary, but no one in the room objected to it.

“What brings you in?” He swept his eyes over you analytically. You looked fine on the surface, sans the removed prosthetic accompanying you against the bed rails.

“Bum leg,” you sighed. This was embarrassing. Even when you leaned back against the gurney, unsuccessfully attempting to relax, you never broke eye contact with Jack.

“Figures. Mind if I take a look?” Abbot replied without missing a beat. He rubbed his chin, eyes darting between your face and the raised slope of your leg underneath your dress.

You hesitantly pulled up your skirt to reveal the angry red skin surrounding what was left of your knee joint. For some reason, exposing your thigh felt intimate, even in the hospital. It didn’t look good, and it admittedly had Jack concerned, but he wouldn’t let you know that. At least not yet. It didn’t look like cellulitis, at least not on the surface. There was no wound weeping or skin dimpling. He’d still run cultures just to be safe.

“Are you resting your leg often? Do you remove the prosthetic?” He ran through a slew of questions. Sure, he knew more about amputations and prosthetics than the average physician, but he wanted to know more about your story.

“Well, I’ve given roughly 8 hours of walking tours through the museum every day for the past week, plus 2 hours today,” you rattled off your schedule. It was strenuous, but this was the life you worked and studied and fought to build for yourself. You had no regrets.

Jack gave you a stern look, and you shrank under his gaze. You almost reminded him that he was being hypocritical, with his 12-hour shifts at the Pitt, but decided against it.

“What else?” He pressed. You sighed.

“I can put my socks and sleeves on, but they’re tighter than normal. The prosthetic will fit on, but it hurts.” The a lot was silent, but you both knew it was there. “I was limping this morning, and I eventually fell while giving a tour,” you continued. Doctor Abbot immediately scanned you for signs of any other fall-related injury. No bruises or bumps as far as he could see. “But a guest caught me. And the museum director insisted that I get checked out. Even though I’m fine,” you finished, exasperated.

“You and I must have different definitions of ‘fine,’ my friend,” Jack exhaled and leaned back, just far enough to not topple off the stool.

A comfortable silence fell between you two while Jack weighed treatment options. This was more of an outpatient specialist matter, but he was glad you came in. He’d learned more about you in the past 15 minutes than he had in the past 3 months of staring longingly at you during the amputee support group meetings.

Mateo felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He cleared his throat and started preemptively entering orders in your chart.

“Cultures? For cellulitis rule-out, Dr. Abbot?” The physician nodded thankfully to the nurse. Jack didn’t miss the flash of fear that crossed your face. Doctor Abbot ordered an ultrasound as well, just to make sure there wasn’t an underlying abscess forming, potentially evidenced by the edema at the end of your limb.

You cleared your throat. “Could you also run a CBC?” you asked, wringing your hands together. Abbot nodded again and stood, dusting his hands on his pants to keep them busy.

“Why?” It wasn’t accusatory. He’d do it anyway if you asked for it; he just wanted to know why.

“I’m in remission. Bone marrow cancer. Doesn’t hurt to check for signs of recurrence when funky things happen,” you shrugged, though you were obviously tense as you gestured to what was left of your left while pulling your dress skirt back down.

The room went silent.

That definitely would’ve been added to your chart’s medical history if you hadn’t come in by ambulance and instead had the pleasure of meeting Lupe at registration.

Up until now, why you attended the support group meetings wasn’t Jack’s business. Now, you were his patient. Your health and history were absolutely his business now.

Doctor Abbot offered a small smile and agreed to the additional test. You didn’t want his sympathy, he knew that better than anyone. He knocked on the door frame on his way out with a promise to be back shortly.

For a minute, Jack pondered what it would’ve been like to know he’d be losing his leg before it happened. When he had his accident, the decision was made for him. The blood loss had been near fatal. He’d long since passed out when the military medics realized they were forced to decide between his life or his limb, the lesser of two evils. He wondered if he had the time to plan a new reality beforehand, if things would be any different. Any better. He didn’t think they would.

He thought you must’ve been young when you were diagnosed with cancer. You were young now, notably younger than him. He wondered when you had the amputation, how old you were—how young you were. The ‘stump’, as you called it, was healed. The multiple incisions left silvery scars on your marred skin. You had lived without the leg for quite a while now.

Mateo drew your blood panel and cultures. He carefully added the bottles and tubes into a stat biohazard lab bag with the promise that an ultrasound tech would be by soon.

“Good news and bad news,” Doctor Abbot strolled back into your exam room with results as soon as he could, true to his word.

“Good news: Blood cultures were negative and the CBC was all within normal limits. And the bad news,” he continued, scrolling through your chart on an iPad before looking up at you. You nodded with a sharp inhale and gripped the gurney’s side rail, prepping for whatever diagnosis he might deliver. His eyes softened.

“Bad news,” he said quieter, “is you’ll need to stay off that leg for a while. At least until some of the inflammation goes down. I’ll leave the specific guidance up to your prosthetist. But for now, doctor’s orders are to cut back on the 8-hour walking tours. You got a wheelchair?” He asked with his arms crossed over his distractingly broad chest. He was solution-oriented, but not convinced you would heed the medical advice. You were strong-willed, that much was evident.

You groaned and threw an arm over your face to cover your eyes. You thought of the wheelchair you’d shoved to the back of your closet years ago. After a few beats of silence, you nod. You’re not happy about the plan of care, but you agree to it nonetheless.

“Do you have someone to take you home?” Jack asked, shuffling your discharge paperwork to keep his hands busy. Otherwise, he might give in to the urge to reach out to you. 

Everyone you knew was either working or busy. Internally, you felt like a burden. The people in your life didn’t feel that way, but it didn’t make the guilt go away. You chuckled inwardly. What doesn’t kill you gives you a dark sense of humor.

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied nonchalantly, already opening the rideshare app on your phone. Jack frowned. If he weren’t in the thick of his shift, he’d offer to let you hang around in the lounge and take you home himself, but that wouldn’t be for another 5 hours. At least.

“I’ll come check on you after my shift,” he resigned. It wasn’t a question or an offer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you looked up at him from beneath your lashes, shocked that he would even suggest such a thing.

“I insist. It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re okay,” Jack replied without missing a beat. So he cares about you. Hmm. His hands found his hips, only adding to his inherent sass factor.

“You don’t know where I live,” you retorted. The banter was fun. God forbid a girl take advantage of her amputation to flirt with a silver fox trauma doc.

“I’m literally two taps away from finding your address in your chart,” Abbot smirked. He wasn’t lying. A couple of gestures on the iPad later, he was parroting your address back at you.

“Fine. But you better bring food with you.” It was your turn to leave no room for argument. You eyed him up and down, watching the way he squared his shoulders with confidence.

“It’s a date,” Jack replied easily, without thinking. You couldn’t tell whose cheeks were more flushed, yours or his. He didn’t dare take it back, though. Either way, you agreed.

“It’s a date.”

a/n: At the risk of sounding desperate, I'm begging y'all to leave comments and interact with my work. The likes are so super duper appreciated but I kind of feel like I'm posting into a void when 99% of the engagement is likes with no comments. anyway!! COMMENTS ARE REALLY APPRECIATED!! They keep me motivated to write more <3

Find more of my writing on my master list.

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[pagesfromthevoid]

Walk Through Darkness | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds x superpowered!reader

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Mentions of depression and hypomania, panic attacks, depressive episodes, self-loathing behaviors, established relationships

Author's Note: Companion to Honey & Glass but you don't need to read it to understand!

Talk to Me! | AO3

Some days are better than others.

Bob said it himself, when they first met: sometimes he has high highs and then he crashes, and those days are the lowest of lows. 

She knows this, and she understands. Bob doesn’t think she does, and he tries to shield her from it whenever he has bad days. But it’s not the bad days that she worries about; the bad days, she can get through to him a little more. It’s those high days –the days when he suddenly thinks he’s invincible (it does not help that he technically is). When he thinks that he’s cured of his self-loathing, and he’s better than he’s ever been. 

It’s harder to get through to him on those days.

Bob gets happy –touchy, feely, confident –during these days. The first time he has a manic episode, she doesn’t realize it immediately. She thinks –maybe stupidly, maybe selfishly –this is a good sign. He wants to go out on a date; he wants to see a movie and “make out in the back row like a couple of dumb teenagers.” He’s even combed his hair, thrown on something that’s not his favorite sweater and sweats, and tells her to get ready. She’s all for it too –gets dressed up some, puts on makeup and a cute dress –and they go to the movie theatre.

Well, they try. 

On the walk there, he gets distracted by an art exhibit taking over Times Square, tugging her hand to pull her along to look at the screens as they shift images of colors and shapes. He completely forgets they’re supposed to make a seven o’clock movie, caught up in the colors and the people and everything going on around them. He wants to tip every street performer and is wrapping his arm around her shoulders like he’s going to lose her if he lets go. 

Then he refuses to go home. 

He says they should stay out all night; that there’s no reason to go back to the WatchTower because he can protect them from whatever’s out on these streets.

“I’m the Sentry,” he reminds her, and he’s purposely walking towards a not-so-good neighborhood. 

This is when she realizes something is wrong. Maybe she should have noticed it before, but the distractedness isn’t uncommon for Bob, and she was just…really happy he wanted to go out, honestly. 

“Bob,” she warns, pulling him to a stop. He’s beaming down at her, but his eyes are also shifting towards a dive bar that does not look like the kind of place she wants to go to. “I want to go home, Bob,” she insists, tugging on his hand.

“Why?” He asks, and he is –in fact –stronger than she is and doesn’t budge. “It’s fine –I won’t let anything happen. Seriously, it could be fun –,”

“Please take me home,” she says, more firm now, and he makes a face as he feels the pin prick of her powers in his head.

“We can go home if you get out of my head,” he counters, frowning deeply. His eyes are flickering that golden hue and she knows that she’s pushing him too far. 

She nods, slipping away from his thoughts and he sighs. Then he groans, and runs his hands over his face. “You’re mad at me. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“I’m just tired,” she tries again, motioning to her feet. “I wasn’t prepared to walk all over –I would have worn anything but heels, you know?”

This seems to make more sense to him and he nods some. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, I could have carried you –,”

“Please do not carry me,” but she’s laughing a little, trying to ease the tension. Then she reaches out to take his hand again. “Let’s just go back to the Tower –we can watch a movie there.”

“I was really looking forward to that back row kiss,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder again, holding her hand still.

“Next time.”

She knows what to look for now though –it’s still hard to bring him down. But it’s not impossible.

The low days are bad too –don’t get her wrong. They’re just harder in a different way. 

The low days, she’s not worried he’s going to try to be all powerful. She’s more worried he’s going to sink into those shadows again. Those are the days that it takes more energy to mask his nightmares; where his thoughts are so loud and so frantic that they scare her. 

But she promises him that she’s not scared of him. She’s scared for him.

The low days always follow the high days, but they last twice as long. He recedes into himself; refuses to talk to her (or anyone for that matter). They give him a day –they watch from afar, they make sure he eats and drinks water –but they give him that day. But after a day, the team picks him up. She picks him up.

Sometimes it’s just all of them sitting together and watching movies. He doesn’t exactly join –he sits in his corner, with his books and his chaise, but he’s in the same room. She sits on the floor next to him, because she knows he doesn’t want to be touched just yet. 

These are the days she lets him decide what he wants from her.

But this episode –it’s worse than the first one. Not as bad as what happened the first time they had met, but still bad enough that the shadows are staining the edges of the Tower before anyone really notices. He’s been coming out and talking to people –short, barely audible interactions, but they’re there. He’s touching her hand, just enough to remind her he’s there. But he’s tired, and they can tell, and Alexei suggests he go lay down. They’d come to check on him in a bit. He just takes a bottle of water and walks away.

She’s one that checks on him. And that’s how she sees the shadows, inching their way into her room.

He’s locked himself in her bedroom, because her bedroom has a lock and his does not, for his own safety.

The code pad has been overridden and she can’t get the door to open.

“Bob,” she pleads through the door but the shadows are moving faster, slithering over her feet as they flood under the crack of the door. “Bob, please open the door.”

When he doesn’t answer, she yells out for someone –anyone, really at this point –to help her get this damn door open. Bucky is who responds the fastest, prying her door open just enough for her to squeeze inside. The shadows scatter, only for a moment, before they swarm again. Then they’re wrapping around her. Bucky is trying to get the door open entirely, but there’s an unseen barrier that’s blocking the rest of them from entering the room. 

“Hey,” she whispers, kneeling into the shadows that are surrounding him. 

He’s shaking, cross legged on her floor, holding a vinyl in his hands that’s melted against his palms. Gently, afraid that she’ll scare him if she moves too fast, she pries the remainder of the vinyl from him. Then she throws it away. The shadows practically hiss at her as she shifts to sit cross legged in front of him, mirroring his position. 

“It’s…he’s so loud,” he murmurs, his voice shaking as he holds back tears. “It won’t stop. I…I can’t get him to stop –,”

She hushes him gently, holding her hands out, palms up. He doesn’t move, and she doesn’t force him. The shadows are pooling in her lap, and she can hear their whispers –whispers of her misdeeds, of his, of darkness. Trying to coax them both into the Void and the shadows. They’re trying to consume her but her mind is easier to shield than his, and she refuses to let the Void win.

The shadows are creeping up his hands now, and she finally moves cautiously to take his hands in hers. The shadows recede, as if fearful of her touch. The reality is that, in his mind, when she touches him like this –letting the shadows slink around her like snakes and brush against her skin –he is reminded of how much he is cared about. And that care, no matter how much he fears it will go away one day –staves off the darkness just enough. Because she’s telling him that she is not afraid of him. 

She will walk through the darkness to find him.

The shadows have stopped spreading but they have not gone away. Bob finally looks up at her –eyes red rimmed, puffy from crying. His entire body is shaking –but he cringes when she presses into his mind. She’s gotten better at smoothing out the thoughts; of softening them. She only does it when he asks, or in moments like this, where there is a danger of him falling again. They both know he needs to learn to handle them himself, but she refuses to let him suffer in these darkest moments.

Her hands slide up his wrists, over his arms, up his biceps. They rest just below his jaw, thumbs running over his cheeks gently as she pushes something softer into his mind. The shadows hiss further, retreating from the light, and she can hear the Void in his mind –cursing, threatening. Reminding Bob that he’s nothing to everyone, including her. How can he be a hero when he can’t even help himself? Why do you waste your breath on a man that’s not whole? He’s nothing, and deserves nothing. You’re going to leave anyway.

“No one is whole,” she reminds him gently, pressing her forehead against his gently. “We’re all made up of broken pieces, and every person who loves you is a stitch that puts you back together.”

Bob closes his eyes, nodding slowly as his breathing evens out. The shadows recede –slowly, reluctantly pulling away and returning to the darkest corner –and the barrier keeping the team out drops. Bucky pries the door open but Yelena stops them from entering. The team doesn’t leave, but they don’t interrupt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, though his voice is sluggish and it's clear that he’s exhausted. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to –,”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she promises, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks. His hands reach out to grip her wrists, anchoring himself in the softness that’s spreading across his mind. Letting it wash over him as the Void slowly but surely is washed away for the time being. “Can I tell you a secret?”

He nods, though his eyes are shut still. She taps her thumb against his cheek, telling him to look at her. Bob’s eyes open, and the gold glow that takes over is gone, freeing the blue that always reminds her of the sky on a cloudless day. His gaze is unfocused for a moment, glossy, as he blinks away the tears and the darkness before he finally settles on her face.

“What’s the secret?” He asks, voice small as the thoughts she plants slip away and leave him to fend for himself. There’s a flinch, but she doesn’t feel the shadows returning so she lets him handle it himself from here on.

“I love you,” she confesses, though it feels silly to confess something that has been obvious for several weeks now. “Let me safety pin the pieces of you together until we have the right thread.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees Yelena shoving everyone away from the door. She’s shushing them, especially Alexei, who is trying to celebrate for the two. But the team disappears and leaves the two be, knowing they would be okay without support now.

“You…you don’t mean that,” Bob tries to argue; tries to pull away from her touch. But she holds him there. “You don’t want to love me –,”

“Robert Reynolds, I walked into the shadows without knowing if I was going to die,” she reminds him, forcing him to look at her. “And I didn’t even know you when I did that. I wasn’t a superhero, I wasn’t an assassin, or a supersoldier. I was an assistant. I did not walk into those shadows because I wanted to save the world, I walked into those shadows to save you. And I will walk into the shadows every single day if it means I get to love you another day.

“I do mean it when I say I love you, because you are easy to love, and you are worthy of it,” she continues, and there’s tears starting to form at the edges of her eyes as she takes a deep breath. “I love you more than…than I think I’ve ever loved anyone, which I know probably sounds insane because we’ve only been dating for like two months, but I can’t help it.

“So do not tell me I don’t mean it, and that I don’t want to love you. Because I do mean it and I do want to love you. And there’s nothing you could do to make me stop loving you.”

He wants to argue, she can see it in his eyes and the way his brows knit together in frustration. But there’s something behind his eyes –something that says he desperately wants to believe her. So he doesn’t argue, and slowly nods.

“I…I love you too,” he finally breathes, blinking away his tears. She smiles at him with watery eyes and shaking hands against his skin still. “I’ve never…I never thought I’d find someone like you. After everything –all the things I’ve done before the superpowers and even after –I just…I know I’m hard to love –,”

“Hey, no,” she interrupts. “It’s not hard to love you. It’s like breathing –,”

“You can’t mean that –,”

“I do –,”

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally settles on, and she bites her tongue. She’ll bring it up later, when he’s less stuck in his head and remind him. “I just…thank you. For loving me.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to thank her but she pauses, deciding to just…accept it for now. “You’re welcome, Bob. Thank you for loving me too.”

His hands drop from her wrists, rubbing his eyes. “Can we…can we take a nap?”

“A nap does sound really nice right now,” she admits with a soft laugh. 

She stands up, holding out her hands to pull him up. When he’s up, he doesn’t release her, though, and instead pulls her into a tight hug. His arms wrap around her shoulders, clinging to her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head. She curls her arms around his middle, pressing her forehead into the crook of his neck, sighing into his skin. 

“I love you,” he repeats into her hair, squeezing her tight.

“I love you too,” she promises.

They stand there like that for a while.

[nephynes]

clingy obsessed sub jungwon and fem reader please!

hope you like it xx

MDNI

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It's 8:03 in the morning, and Jungwon is already pouting. You haven't even had your coffee yet. "Why do you have to go?" he mumbles, curled into your side, shirtless and clingy, hair still a little messy from sleep. "Just... stay home. Call out."

"You know I can't," you sigh, smoothing his hair. "Not all of us have hefty trust funds to live off of, baby." He glares at the ceiling like it’s the cause of his current dilemma. "I could get a job."

"You say that every morning."

"I mean it this time."

You snort. "No, you don't."

He whines low in his throat and buries his face in your chest like that might convince you to stay. You've already brushed your teeth, packed your bag, and you're half in your blazer, but none of that matters to him. Not when he's in one of his moods. “I’ll give you my trust fund”.

"What am I supposed to do without you?" he mutters lower. "It's so boring here."

"I gave you a list yesterday," you remind him, amused. "Read, walk the dog, go to the gym—"

"Don't wanna." He shakes his head.

"You could finally try that art class you signed up for."

He glares harder. "Don't wanna." You sigh, and he just clings tighter. "You don't even like your job that much," he adds softly. "You always come home exhausted."

Yeah. Because he drains you first.

You think of last night, how you came home late, still in your pencil skirt and heels, barely even through the front door before he had you pressed to the couch. Clutching your waist and mouthing at your neck. Humping your thigh like a dog in heat, whining against your shoulder that he missed you so bad it hurt.

You didn't even get to change or take your clothes off first. He came in his boxers while you were still wearing your work blouse.

You never said it out loud, but you liked him that desperate and shameless. And now here he is, wrapped around you like a koala, soft and whiny and impossibly hard through his briefs. You glance down and sure enough, he's already grinding against your hip, like he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

"Jungwon."

He blinks up at you, already breathless. "Just a little. Please?"

"I'm in a rush."

"You always say that."

"Because I am."

He whines again, rutting up helplessly. "I can't help it," he breathes. "You smell so good and your skin's soft and I miss you. So much. I didn't even sleep right."

"I was literally in bed next to you."

"Yeah, but not in me."

You choke on a laugh. "You're unbelievable."

He whimpers as you pull away, chasing you with his arms and his hips. "Can you at least let me finish on your thigh again? Just—just real quick, promise."

You raise a brow. "You came on me twice yesterday."

"I know." His voice dips into a whine, so pretty and pathetic it almost makes you cancel your whole day. "But it's morning now. And I'm lonely."

You sigh and zip your skirt up. “No baby, I have to go” you say kissing his forehead and leaving the room.

Jungwon knew you weren't supposed to come home until five. It's barely noon right now and you only stopped by to grab your laptop bag you left on the kitchen counter, maybe heat up some leftovers too. Definitely not to find Jungwon sprawled out on the couch like a goddamn heathen, shirtless, flushed, panting, with one of your panties bunched in his fist and another stretched over his nose.

You freeze in the doorway and he doesn't even notice.

He's too far gone, hips jerking up into his slick palm, whining under his breath like he's in pain. "Baby," he moans, high and broken. "Miss you so much. Smell so fucking good, fuck—"

Your eyes flicker to the kitchen counter. Your work blazer from yesterday is crumpled there, and your laptop bag is open beside it. You left it this morning and he rummaged through your shit like a pervert, looking for God knows what.

You take one quiet step forward watching him gasp, rutting faster, shameless and soaked, cock flushed and twitching in his hand. "Can't do anything when you're not here," he pants. "Can't fucking think. Just need you so bad, I—I can't—fuck, please—"

"Please what?"

His eyes fly open. And instead of covering himself or scrambling for an excuse, Jungwon just whimpers.

"Oh my god," he breathes. "You're here."

"Yeah," you say dryly. "Caught red-handed. Or should I say—"

"Don't say it," he groans, cheeks pink but not stopping for one second. "God, don't say it or I'll cum."

You raise a brow, folding your arms. "You're disgusting."

"I know," he gasps, biting his lip as his hips stutter. "I missed you so much, needed your scent, your voice, your everything—please baby, don't go back yet, I'll be good, I swear—"

"You call this good?"

He nods frantically. "I didn't cum yet."

"Not for lack of trying."

You stride forward, snatch the panties off his nose, and press your knee between his legs. He keens immediately, already grinding up against it like last night.

"Want it here again?" you murmur.

"Yes. Yes please—fuck, yes—"

You smile. "Five minutes, actually no. Lay back. I’m gonna use your face.

He moans like the thought of you doing that is the best gift he's ever received.

You're supposed to be in control. That was the whole point of this—flip him onto his back, straddle his face, maybe ride it for a minute while you stroke his cock and make him beg. He lives for that, getting teased until he's flushed and twitching, getting permission to cum like it's some holy reward.

But this?

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Because right now your hips are grinding down without rhythm, your thighs are shaking, and the hand you had wrapped around his cock is barely moving anymore—your grip loosening with every flick of his tongue, every groan he lets out into your pussy like he's fucking grateful just to be beneath you.

You bite your lip, breath catching. "Fuck, baby—slow down—"

But he doesn't, you don’t even think he can. He's completely gone, drunk off your taste, grinding his tongue over your clit with frantic, messy strokes like it's his pleasure on the line. His fingers clutch your thighs, holding you down like he needs the weight, like he wants to disappear inside you completely.

It's unhinged. He's unhinged.

You don’t even think it’s about making you cum anymore, it's about him now. He's panting and flushed and moaning into you like he's the one being fucked, hips jerking helplessly beneath you, cock untouched but leaking all over his stomach, twitching with every gasping breath. You try to lean forward, force yourself to finish him off properly, but your body betrays you.

Your hand slips.

Your thighs tighten around his head.

You swear under your breath and sit up instead—watching from above as he ruts up into nothing, mouth still working like it's all he knows how to do. “Oh baby.”

His abs clench. His moan cracks and is muffled beneath your thighs and then, he cums.

Unprovoked and unstimulated, just from having your pussy on his face and the sound of your voice in his ears. You feel it before you see it—his whole body stuttering beneath you, a sharp inhale against your cunt, and then he's spilling all over himself with the neediest whimper you've ever heard. It's obscene and almost feral.

And he still doesn't stop.

Even as his cum coats his stomach, even as he trembles under the weight of you, he keeps eating you out like it's oxygen—desperate and messy and so fucking good it pushes you over the edge right after. “Want it, gimme cum—baby please.” He talks into you, edging you further.

You gasp, hips bucking, thighs shaking as your orgasm crashes down, and he just moans into it, lapping it up like he's starving. “Wonie! Baby! Oh Fu—Ahh!”

When you finally stop shaking—barely, you exhale hard and lean back, bracing yourself on the arm of the couch, staring down at him still between your legs.

He's looks ruined. Sweaty, flushed, soaked in his own cum, mouth still parted like he's waiting for more.

And he smiles. All dazed and sweet and proud of himself like he didn't just hump the air and almost pass out on your pussy like it was his fucking job.

You rake a hand through your hair, chest still rising and falling. "You," you mutter, breathless. "Are out of your fucking mind."

Jungwon hums, still dazed, eyes fluttering. "I love you." He says as he reaches for your phone, and you know it’s to call your work to tell them you’re not coming back in today.

══════════════════════════

• a/n: sizzle sizzle

[thecleanbean]

MEET KO'LAK!

I Drew this boi a while ago, a member of The Empire clan! He needed a sheet, since I only did a few drawings of him, and he is a significant character in Strider's life, a rival!

Appearance: Ko'lak design is iconic from his blue swirls and his very rare light blue, icy eyes. His rest of his body his tones with beige and browns, that is inherited of The Empire colored genes. His dreads a deepen blue with fades of black in the tips.

His quills on his shoulders, arms and thighs are acting depending on his emotions, they can stand and be flatten.

Wears: He usually wears his empire wear that he hunts and fights in, which he have gained after his chiva.

Personality: Confident, Prideful, short-tempered, stubborn, and can be irrational. quick thinking.

-

Resume: Ko'lak has always been among the royal blood of the higher-ups in The Empire clan. But because of his mother being the youngest of her Royal siblings, Ko'lak would never be among their ranks. Nonetheless, his father Ka'rauta aka BrokenTusk has earned his hand to be the leader of the western corner of The Empire, which he can one day take over and be among the trusted elders of the council.

Brokentusk held many mates, but only Guuino as his chosen mate; she only gave birth to Ko'lak as the only pup with her royal blood.

One day, disaster struck when his parents returning back to a hunting party without Guuino, leaving his father depressed for a long while. Without his Fathers embrace of aid in the mourning times, BrokenTusk lead his son practice among his uncle, Oak'an and half siblings Yaija'ba and Zaigon'ko.

Despite Ko'lak being a family member and brother, they saw him as an rival because of his royal blood, and an threat to take over the Western corner of the Empire clan when grown.

So his train got rough and non too gentle. With this, Ko'lak grew up being tough and quickly tempered to fight and always laid eyes on his own victories.

And began to grow a hard brick towards his father, thinking he had left him in the dust as a pup. Now he strikes to take over the Western corner one day, along defeating his half-siblings and uncle to get what he wants.

But his main goal turned slightly to a second, when he made rivalry towards an outcast member in his class, Strider.

And he did not get less distracted when he had to go through his first chiva meeting, a red female yautja named Crimzon.

[Art by @naoutchi]

[cloudcountry]

Ok it says requests closed but I was gonna ask: what about Ritsu is so compelling to you? I find him rather bland and want to hear what about him makes you feel safe and loved? Why is he your favorite? INFODUMP me write all your interest I am listening with excitement :3

oh youre so good, this doesnt count as a request at all!! i actually needed a few days to gather my thoughts and make this semi-coherent. i also consulted my six pages of notes about this guy. yes im normal about him. yes.

RITSU SHINJO. there are a lot of things to love methinks. he can definitely come across as someone who is rude or stuck up, and dont get me wrong i totally did NOT fuck w his ass when i first met him. but he changed my mind really quickly.

i really appreciate how he stands up for what he believes in. like his ambitious nature is what really endeared me to him at first. he stares down barrels of guns and is like "okay, but youre going to listen to what i have to say" and honestly??? i was in awe. hes such a brave person and even if it may seem a lil stupid or outrageous sometimes it always works out in the end somehow.

hes also really smart??? like OBVI but like hold on. there are 264 ARTICLES in the japanese penal code. TWO HUNDRED SIXTY FOUR. and he STILL knows more laws on TOP of that. has them MEMORIZED no less!! hes well versed in the arts and his vocabulary is extensive as well. he can speak MULTIPLE LANGUAGES, including german, french, and italian. literally WHAT THE FUCK. hes so impressive??? this is some rich people shit T0T

his lil quirks are super cute too, like how he only drinks black coffee and has six handkerchiefs so his opponents dont see him sweat, or how he spends time watching opera to unwind after the day's events. his handwriting isnt the neatest and he gets SO butthurt about it. hes so unflappable usually but when insulted? its like we get to see the actual ritsu. its silly bc if you compliment him on his SKILLS hes like "oh its natural, ofc i did xyz" but i want to see how he reacts to being told he looks good. or someone noticing if he did something different w his hair, or wore different accessories, or got a new pen. just . someone noticing the little things about HIM, too.

HE FUCKIN SUCKS AT GAMBLING I LOVE HIMMMM also memorized card game rules after learning he'd be sorted into sinostra. he has so much book smartness but when you put him in front of people he fumbles HARD. like its so cute but also i worry about that bc he needs friends and i want him to make friends but i fear he doesnt think he needs them. what he lacks socially he makes up for in random ass trivia that no one needs to know ever.

hes so PREPARED. this is one of the main things that makes me feel so safe around him actually because hes thought of everything. and yk he doesnt even think its that big of a deal. he exchanges the currency so sinostra can have an inn to stay in for the night, he records everything for jabberwock to make sure he understands exactly what he needs to do for the animals, he covers all of his bases and takes notes about everyones behavior just in case in comes in handy.

uses his stigma for fuckass shit like busting down doors and not getting hurt by a rickety bus ride. uses his book to whack people over the head. regularly goes to the mystery diner and ignores ren's complaints about how he sits his ass down foreverrrr. romeo calls him a greenhorn and he blabs about how he obviously isn't. taiga calls him a dumbass and he starts screeching like a baby bird. hes always trying to reign in taiga while also encouraging his bullshit. has obvious favoritism for mc. protects her whenever he can and worries over her safety when she almost fuckin DIES. acknowledges that shes weaker than him, because hes a ghoul and thats just how it is, and actively takes steps to NOT ONLY PROTECT HER HIMSELF, but build up her confidence TOO.

literally i am convinced the way ritsu sees love is making the people you love the absolute best version of themselves, because thats what his parents did for him. so he tries to teach you what he knows, he RELIES on you to keep tabs on romeo or taiga (that is HUGE actually, considering he berates ren for his attitude and doesnt really seem to be close enoough with the other ghouls to rely on them for anything.)

let me say that again, ritsu views mc as an equal because hes placing the captain/vice captain in her hands and telling her to keep an eye on them, he calls HER when he's trying to meet up with everyone, he's actively treating her like a business partner where they will BOTH BENEFIT in more ways than just the curse lifting and winning the laurel crown--

ARGHHHH I LVOE RITSU SHINJO SO MUCH. you are a trooper if u read all of this can i just say .

THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVEEEE TALKING ABOUT HIM <3333

[softlysoul]

pov ❀ kim jongseob x fem!reader

genre fluff, jongseob being a king as usual

a/n i’ve been on an ariana grande kick lately so enjoy my second fic based on one of her songs 🙂‍↕️

listen here

── .✦

You’ve always been good at pretending.

Smiling at the right times. Laughing when it’s expected of you. Keeping your rough edges dull and hidden away, while the softer ones were buried beneath walls you swore no one would ever break down. You’ve kept yourself at arm’s length—from others, from yourself—for as long as you can remember.

But Jongseob never asked you to take off the armor. He just met you where you were until you didn’t need it anymore.

It starts small. It always does.

A hand brushing yours while you lounge on his old couch, some obscure movie on the television casting a soft glow across the both of your faces. A look across the room when you say something wrong, or when you brush someone off, no judgment in his eyes, only patience.

He has this way of looking at you that makes you feel like maybe you're not as messed up as you think. Like you’re not hard to love. Like you’re not all jagged edges and great expectations.

You still remember the first time he saw you cry.

You’d been laughing a second before, recounting something stupid and trivial from your past. But something about the way he looked at you, really looked, unearthed something you'd buried deep. You broke mid-sentence, eyes stinging, voice splintering. You turned away, embarrassed.

He didn’t say anything.

Just reached out, gently turning your face back to his with the tips of his fingers. Then, when he was sure you weren't goin to run away, his voice came out, soft and gentle. “Don’t hide that from me.”

── .✦

Sometimes, you wonder how he truly sees you.

He listens when you ramble, even when you have nothing of substance to say. Somehow, he hears the things you don’t say, rather, the things you won't say. He reads between your words with incredible ease, never asking for more from you. You’ve never had to explain your fears to him, he just gets them.

You once asked, half-joking, “Are you psychic or something?”

He smiled at you from the floor, head resting against your knee. “No,” he murmured. “I just… care. That’s all.”

── .✦

It’s late when he shows up to your apartment.

You’d had a bad day. Your thoughts were overwhelming and you were close to drowning in the sea of your mind. You didn’t text him. You didn’t say a word, you could never ask him to pick up your broken pieces. But he knew. He always knows.

He doesn’t ask for permission when he lets himself in, knowing you always keep a spare key under your doormat. He walks to where you’re curled on the couch and pulls you into him. You melt before you even realize what’s happening. His warmth, his scent, his presence, it’s grounding and comforting, distracting you from any negative thoughts that intrude on your peace of mind.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers into your hair. “Just let me be with you.”

So you do.

And in the quiet, something clicks: you trust him. Somehow, despite him seeing you in your lowest moments, trapped with all your ugliest thoughts, he didn't run away, didn't push you to say more, he was just there, offering whatever you needed.

He didn't think less of you, although he definitely had the right to, he just took all your messiness in stride and loved you anyways.

── .✦

“Sometimes I wish I could see myself how you do,” you admit one night, voice small in the dark of his room.

He doesn’t hesitate. “You can. You just have to let yourself.”

You turn your head to look at him. He’s watching you like he always does, eyes filled with a gentle sort of wonder, like you’re art and haven’t realized it.

“I see everything,” he says. “Even the parts you think are too ugly, too broken. And I still think you’re... everything. Do you know how amazing you are, just for trying?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Why are you like this?”

His lips twitch. “Because I love you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “And you deserve to know what it feels like to be loved without conditions.”

── .✦

Loving Jongseob feels like slowly thawing.

You're slowly learning to stay. To trust. To breathe.

And maybe you’re not all the way there yet. Maybe there are still days you want to run away, still nights you flinch when he gets too close, when he accidentally brushes something in you that still hurts. But he stays, and so do you.

And maybe, one day, you’ll be able to look in the mirror and see what he sees.

But for now, this is enough.

His hands in yours. His eyes on you. And the quiet understanding that, for once, you're not running.

You’re finally home.

── .✦

softlysoul perm taglist - @markkiatocafe @theozia @hyeinsveil

[shygirl4991]

PERFECTION

Art done by @bluestrawberrybunny do not repost!

Tags: Hurt comfort, mentions of child abuse, fluff, trauma

Ship: Aster34 (main focus is on Aster4)

Summary: After the events of Lets make a deal Four is stuck in his inner darkness, failing his friends yet again due to his imperfection. Lucky for him Aster also knows what its like to search for perfection.

Three sighs as he finishes up the paperwork, he turns to see the cops bringing him Mario and Four “I’m used to this from Mario but you Four, this is new. By the way you fucking owe me twice now, for this and for STABBING MY EYE!” Four frowns as he points to Mario “What?! That was Mario’s fault not mine!” Three crosses his arms as he watches Mario skipping around the room “Right and remind me who had the idea to give him the sign to spin?” Four shrinks as he fidgets with his sleeve, pleased with getting his point across Three walks out with the pair following him. 

As they walked, Four’s mind drifted over to the events of the day, all he wanted was to help Melony. Yet he manages to make it on the news for the chaos he caused, he takes out his phone seeing comments on his video talking about the scandal. His chest feels tight as he reads them, he feels his eyes sting as he puts his phone away. Seeing people calling him a thing of the past hurt him more than any beating he has taken, he works so hard to be on the top. He spends nights not sleeping just to make the best content he could, in the end he was failing his subscribers for not being perfect. As they arrive at the showgrounds Aster was closing the cafe, Three smiles seeing them “Hey Aster! You can head home now that we are back from the convention, it was nice being with fellow villains again.” Aster smiles at the group only for it to drop when they see Four’s face, Three walks into his home as Mario follows, wanting one of the man's spaghetti donuts. Four sighs as he walks straight into his castle slamming the door, Aster looks at the cafe then at the castle. Slowly they walked over to the castle, they pushed open the door to see everything dark. They squint in the dark waiting for their eyes to adjust, as they look around for the man they notice a light peeking from the bedroom. 

They gently knock on the door, they wait for a moment before stepping in there he sees SMG4 sitting on his bed crying. Aster walks over “I take it..the convention wasn't the best for you?”  Four looks up, wiping his tears, Aster sits on the bed giving a small smile to the man. Four lets out a shaky breath “Melony was selling her and Axol’s manga…I wanted to help her but i-” Four punches his bed surprising Aster for a moment before he continues to speak “I just wanted everything to be perfect i never wanted to hurt her…but in the end thats all i do. I..i can't be perfect no matter what i do, even my own subscribers can see it!” Aster sighs hearing the man's words, they couldn't help thinking back to when they used to live with Ztar. How their father would zap them over any mistake, even now as they live with Three they could hear their fathers words. They rub their arm as the phantom pain of their past abuse hit them, how their body felt on fire as dark energy shocked them. Taking a deep breath Aster leans against Four, staring at the wall “Being perfect is overrated, I would know my father wasn't the kindest man when it came to who I am.” Four sniffs as he wipes his tears “It’s not the same..”

Aster turns to fully face Four “Oh? So you don't have moments when you feel anything you do isn't enough, that everyone will abandon you cause you're not good enough!” Aster’s eyes water “The anxiety of letting everyone down, how harsh you are on yourself cause your trash and how can you make anyone happy as their partner when you can't even do what your father says correctly!” Aster starts to breathe heavily as panic builds, seeing this Four gently caresses their face. Aster looks into Four’s eyes, they blush as they slowly relax “You're a great partner…i mean you're here with me right now.” Four smiles softly at them before slowly pulling away, they sit in silence thinking over each other's words. 

“You know I hear getting air and talking about trauma is a good mix.” Aster chuckles as they get up from the bed, they offer Four their hand waiting to see if the man accepts their invite. Four takes their hand and gets up “Heh I don't have much of a story,” The pair walk out of the castle taking a stroll around the showgrounds. Four looked around to see the crew with Melony manga laughing, he felt his chest grow tight again. Aster frowns, feeling his hand squeeze theirs “Hey you're okay, I’m sure Melony  isn't upset over what happened. After all she got the support of her friends, not to mention you apologize right?” Four nods as he stops walking, slowly he looks up at the trees around them. 

They both stay staring at the trees for a while, neither of them speaking a word. Aster turns to get a good look at Four’s face, they could see the regret in the man's eyes. Aster thinks for a moment about a way to help the man open up, knowing Four as long as they have they knew Four was trying to keep everything to himself. Aster bites their lip thinking before speaking up “My father would expect a lot out of me…he made me for hours cook random meals and outfits. If anything tasted off or if I made the outfit too small, he would teach me a lesson.” Aster’s purple eyes glow as they feel anxiety grow from the memory, they knew they had to talk about this with Four. All they wanted was for the man to smile and feel comfortable to talk about his problems, yet as they talked they felt the eyes of their father staring daggers at them.They failed to be perfect for their father,  taking a deep breath they kept talking making sure not to say their fathers name. “Over time I feared to fail, I knew no matter what I did it must be perfect. Even now I feel I must be perfect, I have snapped a few times at Three because of it.” 

Four looks up at Aster with his eyes wide, the regret filled with anger “What an asshole! I know you had your reasons to never talk about him but this…this is oh memes if i could get my hands on him!” Aster smiles softly patting Four’s head, he gives them a confused expression “Even then I have made my fair share of mistakes, im…not perfect. I’m a hot mess heh yet i found love with Three and sadly with you too.” They tease Four at the end to show him that they are okay, Four rolls his eyes “Haha even in moments like this you're a smartass huh?” Aster smirks, “Would you want me another way?” Four shakes his head as he thinks over what Aster told him, he then turns and stares at his castle. “Your mistake is nothing like mine…I didn't see how bad I was till I bought an eldritch keyboard.” Aster slowly blinks, taking in what their boyfriend just said “You…eldritch keyboard?” Four nods as he feels himself shake, his mind going back to the castle. He was trapped in darkness hearing all his self doubt being yelled at him, how he would lose his friends and be left alone. Seeing Four starting to panic Aster focuses their star energy into their hand, they then gently press their hand on his back slowly taking his fear. Aster felt slightly sick from the processes as they felt Four's fear and panic flow into them. 

Four frowns staring at the castle as he begins to relax not noticing what Aster did “It was a random ad, I didn't think anything of it cause I knew just knew i had to make the perfect video. I almost killed all my friends…yet they all forgave me. They all were glad I was safe. Three almost died…I almost picked perfection over the man I love.” Four starts to cry as he thinks back on that moment “And…that part of me came out again today.” Aster slowly pulls Four close to them to offer comfort Aster fights the nausea from Four’s anxiety as they rub his back “We have more in common than you think cupcake, know this, we both decided to do the right thing in the end. We both picked the better path, sure that what if will always be there. But what matters is what we did here and now, you made it up to everyone. Even with Melony right? I’m sure she isn't upset with you.”  Four shakes his head as he wipes his tears, the star frowns seeing the sad look Four is giving him “I...aren't you upset or scared of me after what i told you?” 

Aster smiles softly at Four “Well your past with Peach and that keyboard doesn't matter to me, I still find you the second best man i know!” Four blinks before laughing, he leans closer to Aster “Second best huh?” Aster gently cups Fours face “Need to work hard to beat Three cupcakes.” With that the two lean in for a kiss, one filled with a promise. A promise of love, a promise to accept each other's flaws. They pull apart smiling at each other “Do you feel better letting it all out?”  they watch Four’s movement waiting for a reply, Four thinks over everything and nods “Yeah..for now i do, think the three of us can do something tonight? I think it would be best to keep me away from the comment section.” Aster nods as they take Fours hand already planning the event without telling Three first, after all when has Three been able to say no to hanging out with his two favorite people. As they approach the cafe hand in hand they make a silent promise to themself to remember it's okay not to be perfect. 

[halexxsam]

Mushy May: Day 14 - Arts & Crafts

I can't believe we are halfway done, thats crazy !! as always, thanks to @forlorn-crows for mushy may! Calendar here. Divider from @/wrathofrats.

words: 602

characters: perpetua/ghouls

Keeping the ghouls occupied on tour proved to be hard for Perpetua. After a few days of constant attention, being used as a pillow, and having his ear talked off, he knew he had to figure out something to calm down the pack. 

He had one of the drivers go to a local craft store, picking up coloring books, paints, clay, and even small wooden figures. He hid them in a closet, waiting until after the ritual tonight to show the ghouls. They had over a day's drive until the next tour stop, and he knew the ghouls would be just itching to do something during that time. 

Crowding back onto the bus hours later, Perpetua quickly collapsed onto one of the loveseats in the back, closing his eyes. The showers at the venue were terrible, so he still felt hot and gross, even forgoing washing his hair. Unfortunately, they weren’t stopping tonight, so he would have to build up the strength to shower on the bus. 

His peace was quickly disturbed by Rain, who sat down next to him and planted his legs over his lap. “Hi Papa,” Rain bounded out, causing Papa to grimace at his voice. God, his head hurt. He smiled though, still so much love for his ghoul. 

“Hiya, Pet.” He murmured, one hand coming up to rub the water ghouls leg. “You did good tonight.” 

Rain just chuffed, leaning in closer. Swiss cast a look, finding the two on the seat, and decided he also wanted in on the action. He walked over, swaying his hips. 

“Hi, Papa,” He purred out, eyeing the man up and down like dessert.

Papa smiled, catching onto what his ghoul was looking at him for. He shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m really tired, and I still have to shower.” 

Swiss pouted, hands on his hips. “Could shower with you.” 

“Both of us would not fit in there.” 

Swiss just sighed. “Alright, alright.” He said, sitting down on the couch and spreading out like a starfish, staring aimlessly at the bus ceiling. “I just feel so amped up afterwards, kinda wish we had something to do.” 

Papa sat up at that, almost forgetting the surprise he had. “Actually, I’ve got something. All of you can do it if you want.” 

At that, all the ghouls turned to him, eyebrows raised in question. They watched as he made his way to his personal cabinet, pulling out three big bags. “Have you ever done arts and crafts?”

The ghouls shook their heads, staring intently as they watched him take everything out of the bags. 

“I figured as much, so I got some things picked up. We have coloring books, markers, different kinds of paints, wooden pieces, and clay. You can do whatever you’d like with it,” He said, pausing to eye Dewdrop and Swiss, “So long as you use it for its intended purposes.” 

The ghouls nodded, quickly making their way to the table. Rain immediately grabbed one of the coloring books, smiling as he flipped through the pages. Mountain chose to paint a wooden bird house, wanting to hang it on the outside of the tour bus to see if they might get any little visitors. Cirrus and Aurora picked out some paints and canvases, pulling their hair up and getting to work. Surprisingly, Dew and Swiss both chose to play with the clay. He had successfully entertained all the ghouls that were not dead asleep in the bunks. 

“Alright, you guys have fun. I am going to shower.” He said, pulling a towel over his shoulder. 

[xxkajtattooxx]

Kaj shook his head. "No, I just—kinda still in the shop," he said, waving both of his hands dramatically. "'S hard pulling yourself out of it, at least mentally." His whole time in Kismet had been about his career, and pulling himself away from it was difficult. He was always thinking: what mockups did he have to sketch for his next client? What supplies needed replacing? Did he email that person back? It was constant on-the-go for him, and he loved it, but sometimes it could get heavy. Kaj was the kind of person who needed to always be doing something. Following Zane, he nodded, lips pursed in thought as the other spoke. "It's called... Cohesive tape. Honestly I usually would order it online, but of course—didn't even notice 'til I was down to the last piece." At the question, Kaj scrunched his nose. He didn't think his pain was obvious. "Incredibly long day." He laughed and tilted his head. "Funnily enough, I have been hunched over someone's back for the last eight hours. Client really wanted to finish their tattoo, but I can only sit in a stool for so long." Kaj let out a huff. "Thanks man. It's nothin' really. The happiness I provide for people? Well, nothing can ever beat it." It was his highest motivator; the thing that kept him coming back to the shop every day. All Kaj had ever wanted to do with his art was make people happy, and here he was doing exactly that. Reaching out and taking the items, he looked them over and shrugged a shoulder. "It should do. Just until I can make an order." Kaj looked up at the man. "Ha-ha," he said mockingly. "But for real, I could probably use something like that—or somethin' to support my back while at work."

Zane held up his hands in mock surrender, a small grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, leaning slightly over the counter to see which shelf Kaj had been browsing. “You looked like you were in the zone — I wasn’t about to break that trance until it felt safe.” He nodded once, already stepping around the side and motioning for Kaj to follow. “We don’t carry the kind tattoo machines need, but for general use? Yeah, I’ve got a few rolls over here. Skate grips, training wraps — depends on what you’re after.” He glanced back at him over his shoulder as they walked, noting the way Kaj moved like every muscle had been through a war. “Long day in the chair?” Zane asked, voice casual but knowing. “You’ve got that ‘I’ve been hunched over someone’s spine for six hours’ look. Respect, though. Not many people can stare at skin and ink that long without losing it a little.” He paused at the endcap, pulling a few options down and holding them out. “These do the trick if you're just looking for something with solid grip and good texture. Won’t do miracles, but they'll keep things steady.” A beat passed, then he added with a smirk, “And if you need a foam roller more than tape, don’t worry — I’ve got those too, no judgment.”

[pallanophblargh]

Another desperate strike at the art block and a tribute of sorts: super rusty linocut to reinitiate me into the world of printmaking. It’s not as attuned to my working style as intaglio was, but this is fun, tactile, and enough of a departure from my way of thinking that is super welcome.

It’s nothing special and definitely technically lacking (over-inked block and such) but it’s something, which is a big deal lately. Also it’s my favorite species of fish and we all know Kuhli loaches deserve all the tributes we can give.

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[clumsypuppy]

man

[fobnsfwdoodlesbackup]

Hi y'all, I just wanted to talk a little about the behind the scenes of what I've been up to, to give y'all a little transparency and to open myself up for any tips or input! 🙏 Thank you for your continued support and for taking the time to look at my art 🫶

First and foremost I wanted to give some transparency about my art capacity.

As og followers may remember, I started this blog when I was doing art full time. Eventually my living expenses grew and I had to go back to work. I find myself in a cycle of "I'll make more art soon, once I get a job!" And "I'll make more art soon, once I am done with this job!" I lost my most recent job suddenly, having had an extension waved over my head until the last day(October 7th). Now I'm excited to have more time for art, but I am also feeling a rush to get a new job ASAP as I've been living paycheck to paycheck. I dream of doing this work full time, I'm just scared it's not quite there yet and I worry that I come off as scammy or dishonest when I anticipate more stability around the corner.

Second, I've been struggling with the Patreon. It's taken me a while to come to terms with this, but from what I've seen Patreon is not intuitive at all from the creator end. It doesn't do a good job of organizing addresses, emails, showing who or who isn't subscribed to me, or organizing and displaying the work I put on there. I've been really shocked by this experience, since lots of big names use Patreon. It's been a great way to streamline support, but it's been unhelpful in every other regard. I would like to continue using it, but I will most likely post more wips or process videos there in the future.

Which brings me to my third point, zines. I love making zines so much, it feels personal and fulfilling and fun! However the Patreon issues make it harder to keep information in order about where to send zines, or even where to message folks about them. In addition to this, the post office has been a big barrier to me, oftentimes only being open at the same time as my dayjob. Making zines can take days, then sending them out is a whole other monster.

This work is so important to me. Drawing peoples fantasies, representing body types, creating work around sexuality and the human experience feels like what I'm meant to do. I've made comics since I was a kid. This is the dream to me. The friends I've been able to make through this work are so important to me, and the conversations have been invaluable. Not to mention fun! I wanna doodle, I wanna draw hot stuff, I wanna thirst over these dudes! I want to play!

But I also just want to be transparent about the barriers I'm working around to share that experience. I'm completely self taught, both in art AND in running shops, building websites, running 8 accounts, etc. I take a lot of time to learn the logistics of these things, and try to make them make sense for my relationship with y'all (I do not want to paywall my art!! I don't want to!!!). This year my desktop broke down (the main one I use for all paintings and digital art). I've paused my Etsy shops and my Patreon to try to catch up with things. Trying to learn to paint in a completely different program. Then lost my job with no savings.

At the end of the day I don't want anything to come between me sharing my art with you. I wish I could doodle a thing, take a picture, and post it here. No third party site, no shop, no subscription. Just sharing my art with you. I promise I'm trying to figure out how to stay as close to that as possible, and I want to thank y'all for sticking with me as I untangle all of that.

So, what can you expect in the near future?

I'm working on a couple of painting commissions right now, which you should be able to see in the next couple of days! I want to catch up on kinktober and get those posted as well. There's a comic commission in progress which I'm very eager to work on, and which I think y'all will be excited for! To ease the weight of the Patreon I think I may do less zines/polls there and more wips and process videos! If possible, I want to do more full colored work too.

Thank you again for enjoying my work, and if you have any input or tips my inbox is always open 🙏🫶💕

[i-will-go-with-you-five]

Runner Five is feared for a reason… she is absolutely terrifying when she wants to be

[freakoutgirl]

i'm like trying sooo hard to work on my mental health but i still feel like i'm fucking drowning

[crescentfool]

🍊🫐 throughout time!