#but I didn’t feel like it fit the composition

[haliaiii]

O’saa

[kathybluecaller]

Finally got around drawing Aioros :D

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

Unfinished sketch to cope with ✨️emotions✨️

[screampied]

‘ THIS AIN’T FICTION, BABY! (it is kinda..) ★

☆ sum. jjk men finding out you write jaw dropping smut. boo you whore. can you even do half the things you write about? well . .

warnings. fem! reader, feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna, breaking the forth wall kekw, smut writer reader, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, squırting, manhandling, cuńnilingus, whiny men, cockwarming, daddy kink, overstim, spıt, impact play, breaking the bed, bréeding, size kinks.

GOJO ☆

“oooooh,” a husky low voice coos right next to your ear. hot breath ghosts against the tiny hairs that stand tall near the back of your neck. you bit your lip whilst you’re in the midst of being stuffed full of cock. just plain evil . . satoru’s got you cockwarming him while a fat thumb of his skims down your phone. “let’s see. gojo smut, gojo satoru x reader, hey that’s me, heh,” and he pauses, a snowy brow raising up in daze once he sees your user displayed in bold near the very top of the search bar. “cockwarming gojo, how fitting, angel.”

“toru, fuck,” you whine, making a cute attempt at trying to snatch your phone away. weakly pawing at his wrist, he holds it up even higher. you gasp, feeling his swollen tip swivel its way deeper inside your cunt. “don’t read it,” you fall back into his chest, moaning once he starts to purposely bounce his thigh. embarrassment had you hot, you could practically feel your heartbeat accelerating by the minute. “ ‘s embarrassing.”

satoru squints, resuming to scroll down the glowing screen before a free hand of his trails toward your pussy. he hums, “aw, pretty girl’s got a hobby i didn’t even know of, hm. here, you say ‘he’s got you right on his lap, suppressing a moan with your teeth dug into the bottom of your lip as you’re taking him fully. .’ such nasty literature,” and the edges of your nails pierce into his pants leg. the half on long black slacks that satoru wore were merely all ruffled and ragged thanks to your pretty fingernails tugging at it with all its might. as he continues to read, you’re whining, desperate to move, desperate for at least some kind of friction. as you’re squirming on his lap, satoru’s eye then twitches. “ ‘gojo satoru also would whine in bed?’ this has to be a typo. .”

and of course, his ego gets bruised.

the pout on satoru’s face was adorable. as you’re trying to sturdy your hips, he buries his face into your chest. “mmph,” he’s shoved right between the softness of your tits, his personal happy place.

although—he had to admit, he was flattered that you wrote such lewd compositions about him. you moan as you’re grinding against him, feeling his achy cock slam into you deep within each wet bounce. satoru makes a mess as he’s buried between your plush mounds, remnants of stringy saliva dribbling down the valley of your chest. pretty, his white lashes flutter as you’re quickening your hip movements and he gasps. “oh, f- fuck, angel. ‘s no fair when you ride me like thaaat.”

and you can’t help but giggle—despite your cock drunken state, he’s still got that little glower of a pout on his lips as you’re rutting into him.

satoru’s clenched abs flex more the second you run a finger down the sharp outline of his pecs, watching him immediately fold at your touch. “but you always whine, ‘toru,” you argue in a shivering voice, your cunt tightly squeezing around his length. his wide girth makes your mouth water, such thickness was just insane. you bury your unstable knees into the center of his thighs before his broad big arms wrap around you.

he’s holding you—almost squishing you.

but just like you wrote, satoru whines the second he ends up cumming early. with the way you ride him and the crazed speed of your hips, he never ever lasted long.

it was cute,

he was always confident until he’s buried deep inside your pussy, whining and sobbing pathetic cacophonies of your name at how good you feel clamping around him. it’s merry lukewarm, as he snaps, a puddle of thick syrupy cum shoots into you deep and he’s an entire frantic mess. pants of airy breath slip out of his pink lips as he’s giving you a fill, biting into your neck to hide his slutty whimpers. “god, ‘m gonna die,” he sniffles, squeezing pressure against your bare ass. you hold onto him tight as he’s pouring such slippery wads of seed into you at once—velvety hot amounts spit inside your pussy and you’re matching heavy gasps for air right with him, entirely in sync. “fuck, fuck baby, mommy.”

“what?”

“s- shut up,” he back tracks, and he sees the smug expression growing on your face. satoru lightly smacks a hand over his face before groaning, his cock all milked and flaccid. “i said baby.”

NANAMI ☆

tender mahongy eyes stare deep into your eyes as your fingers happily intertwine with his. tangled and curled, he’s got a soft grip as his body hovers completely over yours.

with ruffled blond strands running down the front of his forehead, nanami brings a kiss toward your cheek as he’s not just fucking you, but making love to you in missionary. “sweetheart, you left your laptop open you know,” and you moan once you feel his plump tip circle its way inside of your gummy inviting walls. already, you’re coating his entire dick with your slimy slick to the hilt. your eyes widen at his words before the left side of your twitching lip is met with another gentle kiss. “i didn’t mean to be nosy, but i saw a little ‘headcanon’ about me, is that what you call it?”

you glance into his eyes with abashed intent as a burning wave of heat sprays over your face. fuck, the pulse of your thumping heart only grew louder as your first response was utter silence.

“i—” you mutter out, and he chuckles at your lack of words, digging his head into your neck. nanami’s scent was strong, it goes through each of your nostrils and you felt yourself throbbing from his touch alone.

his strokes were tender and precise. he’s swaying back and forth as his bare body continues to rut straight into you. pent up muscles of his that were merely perfectly sculptured—identical to the physique of a greek god, you couldn’t help but stare. you just couldn’t help but ogle at how he’s so pretty, how fat tears of sweat race down both sides of his bulky arms. no one could blame you for writing about nanami, although—the things you wrote about him, they were pretty risqué to say the least. with a growing pout, your arms throw over his shoulders as he’s presenting your cunt blissful deep thrusts. “okay, i write about you sometimes, ‘ken. ‘m sorry.”

“sorry for what exactly? being talented, silly girl?” he whispers in a raspy tone.

nanami cups your chin so you could look right at him, naturally leaning into his touch. he focuses on the way your eyes soften and he’s plummeting girthy inches into you raw. your toes curl, running down his back and tickling the scratch marks that paint against his flushed skin. “don’t be sorry,” he adds, pressing a wet kiss near the crook of your neck. “i’m flattered. although, dirty talk isn’t exactly my forte. you know this, my love,” and you moan, feeling the edges of his teeth playfully nibble at your exposed flesh. as pounds of skin resume to smack against each other loudly, nanami slowly lifts up your leg, tossing it over your shoulder. “my favorite part had to be when you said i pulled on your hair ‘n called you a ‘messy whore’ .”

“y- you weren’t supposed to see that,” you nervously grin . . trying to avoid how you were so close to finishing. just a few more thrusts and that was it, you’d be finished, done for. you’ve felt embarrassed before—but never to this extent. he was teasing you, nanami kento was teasing you. and pathetically enough, your pussy twitched as he recited your exact filthy written words. the bed continues to creak and groan as jolting bodies move and move together, amongst each other, and on top of each other.

with kind eyes, nanami watches as you bring both of your hands up to your face, hoping to shield yourself from any more embarrassment.

“oh, honey,” he coos in a melodically low tone. his cock reached so deep that strangled moans flew out from your lips left and right. his tempo was always just right. he never wanted to lose control, but after reading your work, he knew you’d probably like that. crimson damp lips press under your chin before he grunts, preparing himself to be milked dry.

“hngh, don’t hide that pretty face from me,” he huffs, in a soft alluring voice. everything felt abnormally tender, nanami’s softly swerving his body against yours in irregular addictive arcs in such impassioned ardent. the more you stare into your eyes—the more your blown pupils dilate.

once he cup both sides of your face, you lean into his touch. his base was thick, swollen and full. you craved him more than anything, and it’s as if your words were actually coming to life.

“there she is, that’s my girl,” he grits in a raspy voice, prying your hands away from your face. his touch was forevermore gentle. with a soft smile, nanami presses his twitching ruby lips onto yours as you both prepare to cum in euphoric torrent. bedaubing a plump thumb over your bottom quivering lip, he slows his thrusts down a few beats—hearing you vocal pussy’s squelches before a wrinkle of a smile curls against his lips. “now, now. make a mess on your husband’s cock jus how you write them in your little stories, my love.”

GETO ☆

“oh, boo. looks like someone’s innocent all of a sudden when she’s not writing ‘bout dick, hm? wonder why that is,” geto hums, propped right up between your trembly legs. he’s staring at you with a sly smirk that refuses to wipe off his lips. two of his hands spread your thighs apart more before kissing near your slobbering exposed pussy.

with a cunning grin, he gives your drooling folds a few friendly taps as if it was a little mic test. “finish that paragraph. c’mon, wanna make sure ‘m doin’ it right.”

a salty taste of shame fills and salivates inside of your mouth as you watch him with heart shaped pupils. he’s got the most hungry gaze, a bit of spit already dribbling from the thin corners of his lips.

“um, okay,” you moan, picking up your phone again, leisurely dragging a thumb down the neatly typed paragraphs. “it says, ‘you whine, taking s-suguru’s thick fingers happily into your slippery cunt. long digits of his rummage their way inside before curling all around. once suguru spits on your p- pussy, he pats it and calls it a good girl.’ ”

“like this?” geto snickers—copying your exact words, using the flat palm of his hand to rub against your bare clit. you whimper, entirely sensitive as his thick digits toy with your soddened folds. your thighs continue to jostle and shake and he found it so adorable at how you just couldn’t stay still. so cute, he’s got darkened irises focused on you and only you the entire time. these seconds felt like hours, and as he gathers a nice amount of saliva, he spits right on your cunt. just like you wrote it . . you gasp at the sloppy cold saliva cascading down your pussy. the cobwebby strands that pour from his lips had such a pretty glimmer to it. the warm breath of geto that fans against your entrance makes you twitch in elated pleasure.

he’s so sloppy, unapologetically. just like your drabble said—he then pats your cunt with an open palm before leaning right up close, pulling a thumb down your pulsating uvula before licking it passionately. “good fuckin’ girl.”

you whine, your knees practically buckling and he’s just eating your expressions up. “y- yes— like that, fuck,” you move a few long black strands away from his face. geto dips two fingers inside and he stretches you out so easily with his digits. your lips form into a cute ‘o’ shape as you mewl out a desperate cry for more. as he’s watching you succumb into such bliss, he’s got such a pretty face. it makes his dick twitch in his sweats at the thought of you writing about how he goes down on you. the specifics, how sloppy he is, even how he spanks your cunt only to then shamelessly lick the slick mess right up with his tongue.

the thought that probably hundreds of your horny little readers read about this, about him, about his tongue . .

geto’s tongue was ruthless.

he lays it flat against your cunt before fluttering his long black lashes closed. he huskily groans, not even caring that you weren’t reading anymore. as his brows arch into a contorting furrow, he slides in two fat fingers. you whimper at the sudden big yet deliciously enthralling stretch, yanking roughly on his hair. “s . . sugu,” he pulls his slick covered fingers out, licking them clean whilst staring you right in the eyes. you tremor within his hold, feeling his palms tighten its grasp on both of your thighs. you couldn’t lie, this felt a lot better than fiction. so much better . .

he’s making out with your pussy, swirling his tongue around and spelling out all of the letters of his name. creating such a mess, your slick then starts to stream down his chin to which he happily licks it up. groaning, geto then slurps at your drenched hole before giving it yet another kiss. his chin had such luminescent shine to it. you cup his face with shaky hands as he’s eating you out through another orgasm and he jibes.

“mhm, your writing could use a bit more dirty talk though,” he critiques, swiping a thumb against his lips before he spanks your cunt for the umpteenth time.

with your legs sporadically quivering, he playfully bites on your clit, watching you squeal as you’re riding orgasm out on his tongue. “oh, and make sure you add in your little fics that i bite pretty clits too.”

CHOSO ☆

“bottom? w- what’s a bottom?”

choso quirks a brow in cute confusion, slouching back as you’re still getting over your most recent orgasm.

both pounds of sweltering skin melt into each other, sticking together like glue as your hips grow unsteady. choso was reading one of your published works and he can’t help but grow curious. the way you wrote about him, how you portrayed him as whiny and submissive, it does something to him—he personally always thought he was dominant. cute. .

“oh, don’t worry about that, baby,” you timidly utter, trying to conceal an incoming moan once his cock buries its way deep in yet again. he’s nice and snug everyone and it drives him crazy. choso’s got a pout—but it quickly turns into a lewd expression once your sopping pussy swallows him right up again. two jittery hands creep their way onto your rickety hips and he moans once he feels himself already bottoming out. “f- fuck, cho.”

his eyebrows were still all furrowed and he’s got a cute scrunched up expression. “ ‘m not a bottom,” choso grumps, leaning in to sneak a kiss near the corner of your mouth. despite the raspiness lingering underneath his tone—you could hear the incoming whine desperately trying to escape. choso’s black ponytails had cute ribbons in them—by you, and he’s biting his lip at the feeling of your hips starting to grind. “i- i can be dominant too.”

“prove it,” you whisper, a bratty impish glint forming in your eyes. choso scoffs, narrowing his eyes at you but it doesn’t last at all because he’s already pussy drunk to the max.

those two words. . those two words was all it took for him to manhandle you like a rag doll, politely and respectfully tossing you into the springy soft mattress.

it bounces from the abrupt weight crashing down and you gasp once choso backs up his words, and oh, he’s fucking you stupid. you let off a gargled three second moan once choso spanks your ass, using one hand to repeatedly drag you back into his chiseled hips. sharp thrusts plow into you with such speed that you’re left with a dumbfounded expression. your eyes were rolling back and your tongue was lolled out as choso was fucking you in doggy.

as much as you write about him, he doesn’t like doggy, mainly because he can’t see your pretty face. it kills him—but he can’t deny that the view of you like this was so pretty, so enticing. your buckling knees lock as you’re cupping a hand over your mouth, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

choso’s cock was so weighty and thick that it’s got a lazy curve, a mean curve that makes itself known in every part of your insides. he’s no stranger to your body, he knows the exact layout. such stamina—you didn’t expect him to be so feral, it’s as if he was an entire different person. “fuck, fuuuck,” he throws his head back, giving your ass more and more hard spanks. the recoil was his favorite. it was just the way your pretty shaped ass would bounce back onto him. he’s in love with love, in love with your pussy, in love with you. “ngh, gotta show you ‘m not a bottom, baby.”

“c- choso,” you whimper, and his fat base swings against your ass, almost shocking you from the electric friction. you’re drooling—he’s got you stupid as your swollen chaste clit bumps up against his pelvis every single time. the bed hollers out a plethora of cries as he’s jerking more and more into you. your cunt’s drooling dewy slick all down the undersides of your thighs. you even make an attempt at trying to touch yourself. with slickness though, choso snatches your wrist away.

“no baby. ‘s my pussy,” he grumbles, pinning an arm behind your back. you’re babbling—squatting forward as he’s feeding your needy pussy with such inches. choso hisses at the brief twinges of pleasure all due to your sloppy grip. you’re brutal, wetting up his base with your dewy slick. he can’t help but stare and gawk at the way your ass presses up against him. choso’s bottom lip quivers at how good it feels and how good you feel. no matter how much of a front he puts up, he’s gonna whine. “f- fuck. teasin’ me with your hips, baby. so mean.”

yet as he’s dragging you back and forth, watching as your chest heaving and your thighs try to clamp inward—you abruptly cum, gushing all over choso’s cock. he huffs at how sudden it was, and he knew you didn’t expect it in the slightest. so pretty, your final orgasmic cries sounded like a sweet candied harmony and he could feel your quavering body breaking down with his shaft still shoved deeply inside. your mess soaks up the entirety of the dark sheet, now being drenched in a damp grey color. “fuck, fuck,” you whimper, shaking as your head slumps into the pillow. choso whines at your own pleasure, and he doesn’t even care if he doesn’t finish. he pulls out, crawling toward you before burying his face into the nook of your neck. “c- choso, oh my g- god.”

as your flimsy arms hold him close, accepting his embrace, he goes back to his clingy needy self again, speaking in a shivering soft voice. “h- have you ever wrote about squirting yet?”

with droopy eye lids, you were longing for a kiss. as if he read your mind, he leans in—planting a sultry balmy kiss right onto your lips. “no,” you mumble, moving a few strands out of his face.

choso licks near your neck, one of his hands sprawling your sticky legs apart and he brushes a finger against your slick wet cunt. “w- well, you can always write about that,” and you gasp once he lifts your leg up, easily tossing it over his shoulder. with pleading eyes, choso sighs. “but, can we do that again, baby? i- i think i like when you squirt on me.”

SUKUNA ☆

“breeding kink, interesting,” the demon gruffs, hearing you whine after he swipes his phone from your hand, wondering what in the actual hell could be so important.

he’s reading a strange explicit story of himself that’s apparently called a ‘one shot,’ according to you. how stupid, he thinks. sukuna’s irked vermillion-shot eyes skim through the many paragraphs of filth before he spanks your ass, making you keep your most recent arch.

“ah, seems like y’r even more nasty than i thought,” and your breath hitches once he circles a palm over your stinging rear cheek— an attempt at soothing the sudden pang. hearing your cute muffled whimpers, he mocks your noises. “aw, if you wanted me to ‘breed’ you princess, you could have just asked.”

“ ‘kuna, ‘s embarrassing,” you moan, gasping once he smears his leaky tip against your entrance. he was right - you could’ve ask, you could have asked him to do all the little dirty things you wrote about, you could have . .

swallowing the invisible lump that resides at the roof of your mouth, you imagine yourself being stuffed full of sukuna’s cum. so much to where he ends up getting you all swollen—you’d be nothing but sitting pretty with a cute plump tummy, wads and wads of glossy runny cum just slickly dribbling down the sides of your ass and thighs.

“write like a slut ‘n you even act like one too,” he hums, using a thumb to slide down your pussy. sukuna’s staring openly at how you’re already so soaked, so drenched and he looks like he’s ready to feast. your puffy folds glisten with your own arousal and it’s so so cute. “wonder if you write while havin’ a pussy this sloppy too,” and he smacks it raw, feeling your entire body jolt from the sudden impact. you fall into the soft padded mattress and he darkly chuckles at your weakly spot-on reaction time, aligning himself. “poor baby. spendin’ all this time writing when you could’ve been getting . . ah, what’s the word? oh, right. bred, heh.”

and sukuna does more than just breed you—he quite literally overflows your cunt. he’s a demon, and demons cum a lot.

you’re an entire puddled mess that was filled to the brim.

the sheets were all damp and stained and you’re glistening with droplets of perspiration—radiating from his heat entirely. “s- sukuna, fuck,” you weep out his name, hearing the sloppy spurts of cum still dribbling out of you. such a mess, your mouth waters as you realize just how full you are. you always wrote about this sort of thing but never knew that your silly fiction could turn into mere reality. both of your thighs stick together as you’re left trembling with an arch in your back. he’s cackling at your state, watching as globs of creamy ropes leak out of your slobbering pussy.

“how cute, jus might mess around ‘n get you pregnant, yeah,” the demon jibes, a sharp fang poking underneath his bottom lip. you’re haplessly quivering. your panties that were lazily dragged to the side were all torn and ripped, coated in a ivory white color also. as you’re trying to collect breaths—you then let off a moan once he presses himself deep against you.

your womb was completely flooded, you’re drowning with his stringy cum and with his hot burly body right up against you, you feel him right there. you couldn’t miss it, he’s so long and thick that he’s practically tickling your goopy insides. sukuna wraps a hand around your throat whilst another hand sneaks toward your pussy. “bet you’d like that, fuckin’ freak,” and he’s smearing circles against your folds. you twitch at his cursed hand, his cock still tucked inside of you before he laughs against your ear. “you want a baby, huh. wanna carry my demon babies, don’t ya princess?”

you nod and he lets off a snicker of amusement. “keh. bet you do,” and his voice lowly pitches. you moan, feeling him pull out of your dripping cunt, plugging his spilling cum back in with a single thumb. “fuck, better write about this too, princess. let all your pathetic readers know how much of a sloppy pussy their favorite author has,” and you gasp once he quickly flips you over. sukuna suddenly dives head first between your legs, lapping his flick tongue against your folds. “mmph, now watch me clean you up,” and he spits on your pussy only to then look at it with disgust. “messy girl.”

TOJI ☆

“nuh uh, get the fuck back here babygirl,” he grabs you by the hip, and you let off a moan once his fingers trail up your skirt. a wavering crinkle prods near the edge of his left twitching eye as he’s processing such raunchy words about him. a dry chortle leaves from toji’s mouth as he makes you lie on your tummy, multitasking by slapping his swollen cockhead on your dribbling folds. “ya always told me you were a writer but i didn’t think you write ‘bout this,” he purrs, and your toes curl once he’s aligning himself against your slick heat. but fuck was your cunt just was drooling for him. both folds were weeping for him to just go in already, and yet here he was - teasing you. “really? what’s with the whole ‘toji daddy kink’ thing? i look like the kinda guy that’s into that?”

you feel embarrassment creep up your shoulder. he was reading that part, the part where reader calls him ‘daddy.’

sheepishly trying to crawl away from his grasp, you swallow ignominy. “ ‘s not real, i just made it up toji,” you try to explain through gritted teeth. but as he’s reeling you back into his keen structed hips, you lewdly mewl. he’s just so fucking big, happily massaging your walls freely with just a few inches. your mouth widens as you hear him lowly snickering in the background. a snickering laugh that never failed to make your pussy throb.

toji grabs at the fat of your ass, stubby fingertips poking through your skin. with a mean spank, it’s a non-verbal sign for you to stay still. “y’er a fuckin’ slut with your writing, baby. i bet ya haven’t even tried these kinks,” he teases, and you moan again once his cock delves deeper into your walls. with such ease, you back raises up into an even sluttier arch. “hm, lets see if y’er as nasty as you write,” and you hear him grunt briefly, one of his hands gently wrapping around your neck. toji gets right up close to your ear, flicking his tongue against your soft earlobe. “go on, say it.”

“s- say what?” you squeak, but you knew exactly what he wanted. never in a million years would you have thought toji would discover your little erotic hobby. by now, he’s balls deep—you whine, feeling yet another sharp swat smack against your left ass cheek at the lack of response. you’re chewing on the inside of your cheek in guilt before you hear toji smack his lips in sheer vex.

“c’mon, don’t get shy on me now,” he murmurs in a hoarse tone, salacious timbre pouring on his entire voice. toji feels your pussy dripping around him and he hums, giving you just one single tease of a thrust. your body jerks forward and you whimper sweetly. he’s so close up to you, hard washboard abs of his that were proudly flexing grinds against your back. he’s pressing his muscular weight onto you, careful not to crush you but just enough to. inching his lips back toward your ear, he kisses near your neck. “call me daddy. jus like how you write me, little girl.”

as you’re feeling a few throbbing pangs between your thighs, you shiver underneath him. burying your head in shame between your arms, you whine. “ngh, daddy,” and a weird feeling pools around the insides of your stomach. butterflies and a mixture of flutters swarm inside of you and you moan. once those words slip past your lips so prettily, toji raspily groans. he pistons his hips before not even seconds later, he’s fucking you stupid. babbles of babbles leave from you, and you’re acting just like the main character you write for. ironic, you’re clinging onto the silky cream-colored sheets, bawling up the thinly-made fabric with your clammy fists before squealing. “fuck, daddy ‘m not gonna last.”

“should hear how stupid you fuckin’ sound, baby,” he growls, merciless hips snapping into you at full throttle. you were gonna break, you just knew it. toji’s thrusts were so powerful that you’re left squeaking out pathetic whimpers—his cock stretching you out as if you were elastic. “fuck,” he runs a hand through his messy dark tresses. his shaggy strands were unkempt, overgrown a bit and running down his eyes. he’s got to cock his head up a bit just to see your pretty face and your even prettier ass. “c’monnn, do that cute arch you describe in y’r slutty fics.”

“t- tojiii,” you whimper, the weight of the bed dipping after each continuous stroke. he’s thorough. toji’s maddened fat tip has your legs becoming more and more unstable before he smacks your ass. the powerful hit against your rear rings through each of your ears—and you pout, gnawing on your lip, knowing he wants you to correct yourself. “ngh, i- i mean daddy. ‘m gonna cum, fuck.”

but right when you’re about to finish, you’re interrupted by the ear-splitting sound of wood. you’re moaning—feeling your pussy continue to squeeze around his throbbing length that’s coated with veins all the way down to the tan swollen base. it’s loud, you gasp once the weight of the springy bed suddenly drops and you both collapse—toji falling on top of you. he doesn’t even say anything, and he pulls you up to continue fucking you but you let off a whiny whimper. “you just broke my b-bed.”

“yeah, so.”

“so..? you’re gonna have to buy me a new one.”

“right. about that . .”

[onlygarden]

[quietly, baby] - yang jungwon

genre: smut

description: when you bring jungwon into the fitting room as you try on the lingerie he chose for you, he shows his appreciation through more than just words. jungwon x female reader, unprotected sex, public sex (but it's in a fitting room), dom jungwon, oral sex (male receiving), jungwon just can't wait

a/n: i've had this idea for a while and it's FINALLY come to fruition. i hope you all enjoy it just as much as i did while writing it (and imagining it lmao). at first, i planned to only do oral sex but i just couldn't resist adding more hehe. again, i hope this is an enjoyable read !!!

the delicate sound of the last of your clothing falling into a heap on the floor of the fitting room nearly escapes jungwon’s ears. every fragment of his focus was captivated by the event being painted before him. from his position, settled upon the small bench of the modestly confined space, it seemed as though he only just began to relax. the sight of you — bearing nothing aside from your undergarments, slipping sinfully into the black silk he chose for you — acted as his captor. any remnants of relaxation sailed helplessly away from his body; a certain tension now resides in each of his muscles, igniting his body with a need which can only be met by you. 

“how does this look, baby? do you like it?” you ask casually, a hopeful smile decorating your face. 

the question, seemingly simple enough, lingers in jungwon’s mind for a moment. he swallows, a desperate attempt to soothe the sudden spell of dryness in his throat. goodness, of course he likes it. no composition of words in all of existence can ever truly describe just how much he ‘likes’ it.  

he exhales softly, hoping to unwind his taut muscles even a fraction. “baby… you look fucking hot,” he tells you, freely betraying the indecency of his thoughts. 

“can i touch you?” he immediately follows up, hardly giving you enough time to react to the boldness of his first statement.   

an almost inaudible gasp drifts from your lips, and a pang of insistent arousal runs through your body from the sight of his desperation and shamelessness alone. 

much too impatient for a blatant answer, jungwon stands up, breaching the hardly acknowledgeable distance between the two of you. his fingers travel wispily along the curve of your waist, and settle in a hard, possessive grip on your hips. he pulls your body towards his, his hands now roaming the silk of your lingerie slip in a feverish manner.

“just remember baby… we’re in public,” you remind him, a breathless attempt to reign in his barely-contained desire. 

that’s right — public. in jungwon’s erotically corrupted mind, the two of you were concealed enough. surely, no one would happen to overhear if he decided to cage you against the wall and drive himself deep inside of you with feral intensity. surely, the both of you can maintain enough control to hold in any moans, gasps, or grunts. more importantly, however, jungwon didn’t even care. 

he leans down to kiss you without a moment of hesitation, his lips melding and dancing with yours in a flurry of silkiness and roughness. as you moan softly in response to the feeling of his lips and his body against yours, he walks you backwards until he’s pressing you against the wall. he’s surely got you now.

all of your adamant concerns with the risk of nearby shoppers or staff hearing the two of you seemed so trivial now — the way jungwon’s hands slid down your body to grope the soft flesh of your ass snatched any importance away from anything else. in this moment, all your mind could helplessly muster was a need for the delicious stretch that only jungwon could provide you with. you wanted to give your body to him in any manner you could to please him, too. 

“fuck, baby… you’re making me so hard,” he says, his lips still brushing against yours as he speaks. 

god, his hard cock always felt so divine when his body was pressed up against yours. the sensation alone is more than enough to ignite your body with an undeniable impulse to urge streams of cum from him.

you wordlessly coerce him into changing positions with you, his body now pressed against the wall as your lips begin to place kisses down his neck. jungwon’s head tilts back in a subtle thud against the wall behind him as a quiet, throaty moan drifts past his lusciously plush lips. his hands squeeze your ass, his body subconsciously giving into all impulses and doing little to hide the desperate ache in his cock.  

your hands move to his pants, settling upon his belt and unbuckling it with haste. your eyes were hungrily fixed on the way his cock strained impatiently against the fabric. jungwon’s heavy eyes immediately widen as you fall to your knees in front of him, dragging his pants and boxers down in tandem. 

“baby, are you going to…?” his voice trails off in a sharp inhale as you wrap your hand around his cock and lick up his underside. 

“fuck, baby…” he breathes out quietly, a shudder running ruthlessly through his body. 

you lean up just enough to spit on his cock, beginning to stroke him languidly with the lubrication. as you envelop him in your mouth, jungwon’s hands rest tightly in your hair, his cock throbbing so delectably in the back of your throat as it constricts around him. 

“baby, oh god, so fucking good…” he moans softly, his hips thrusting subtly into your mouth. 

you begin to bob along his length, moving up and down so wickedly, your hand twisting around him in a dizzying combination. 

a low, narrowly restrained moan escapes his parted lips, his eyebrows furrowed and his face contorted in the heavenly pleasure your mouth is providing him with.

his chest heaves gently, his fingers massage your scalp eagerly, and his body can no longer brawl with the compulsion to thrust into your mouth once more. 

“baby… just like that,” he manages, his voice helplessly strained with pleasure. 

as your movements gain speed, and your free hand wanders up to fondle his balls, jungwon’s hips jerk forward in an irresistible itch for more. his cock throbs fervently against the wet silkiness of your tongue, and his stomach begins to ripple delicately as shivers of pleasure force through his body. 

“yes, oh god, yes…” he utters in a breathy, strangled moan. in hesitant defiance of the unspeakable bliss rising within him, he pulls your mouth from his length. jungwon would much prefer to plunge himself uninhibitedly within the silky, glossy, indescribably wet palace of your pussy. 

“stand up, baby. i wanna destroy your tight little pussy,” he throws at you. 

the raspy desperation and authority in his voice commands your body to oblige, and you rise to your feet. he pushes you toward the wall, pulling your hips back towards him just enough to allow him to enter you. he pulls your panties down with the same intentions — and the same haste — and he slides his hand under the silky fabric of your slip, effectively unveiling your glistening pussy. 

jungwon’s eyes darken to an intense shade at the sight of your pussy, soaking wet, begging to be stretched and obliterated. “god, baby… you’re so fucking wet,” he says lowly, his hand already wrapped around his shaft, sliding his cockhead teasingly between your folds. 

as you shiver pitifully at such a modest sensation, jungwon forces himself into you. he sinks rapidly into the slick, velvety confines and his cock demands you open as he buries himself to the hilt.

“mmm… fuck, baby. gonna fuck you ‘til you can’t see straight,” he mutters, his words laced with blinding pleasure. as his cock begins to pound you tenderly, assessing just how pronounced the sounds of your gasps and your pussy would be, his hand travels fiercely along the silk decorating your back, eventually settling in yet another harsh grip on your hip. 

a prominent smack echoes through the tight walls of the fitting room as jungwon’s hand meets the flesh of your ass. as rapidly as the sound reaches your ears, the pace of jungwon’s thrusts quicken with drastic measure, and he absolutely succumbs to the desire to pummel you into a daze. 

jungwon’s thrusts are erratic, his cock plowing in and out of you wildly, leaving your body feeble, staggered, and as good as helpless.

you try, god, you try to keep your moans breathy and suppressed, but the way jungwon’s cock mishandled and tortured your insides was much too sweet to rein in. your fervent, hardly controlled, and stuttered moans and whimpers chime lewdly within the confined space, resonating deeply in jungwon’s pistoning cock. he reluctantly stifles the sounds of your moans with his hand, hating to mute such an enthralling reaction to the way his cock tore through you.

“mmm, baby… you like that?” he asks crudely, knowing the answer all too familiarly.

the indescribable drag of his length along your walls, the utterly enticing sound of his muffled grunts and quiet whines, the way his fingers dig into your hips in an urgent declaration of ownership — it all sends each of your senses and nerves spiraling defenselessly into an electrifying pool of delight beyond description. 

as jungwon frantically observes the evidence of your orgasm — your softened cries vibrating against his hand, your body shuddering under the intensity of the pleasure, your pussy convulsing and spasming around him — his cock begins to pulse within you. 

“oh god, gonna fill you up so good- fuck, fuck, fuck!”

he spills freely inside you, streams of his cum flooding your pussy abundantly, his cock buried as deep as your battered pussy would allow. a gentle shudder travels through him from the magnitude of the pleasure you so willingly provided, and he loosens his rigid grasp on your hips. 

“you think anyone heard?” he asks playfully, his deep, short breaths tangling with your own.

a gentle laugh escapes him as you immediately nod, and he begins to withdraw his cock from you, thoroughly enjoying the squelches he receives in return.

neither of you are quite ready to return to the store, reluctant to face the impending shame.

but in truth — jungwon doesn’t really care.

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Vil, Jack: a Strength that Shines

Ayyy, it’s the childhood friends (?) from the Shaftlands!! It feels like forever since we last got any significant interactions between Vil and Jack. Nice to see them chatting again~

bdjwvsjsGuabs THAT GROOVY THOUGH… Vil looks so judgmental and dismissive 😭 Channeling all his Mean Girl energy to diss Neige Snow White, lol

A Tale as Old as Time.

Four sides drew together to form a glittering box. A lovely maiden rested within the coffin-like casing of the photo frame. Her lips as red as blood, her hair as dark as ebony, and her skin as fair as snow.

She was circled by foliage, her sun-dappled face tilting up, disarmed by some distant call. The girl cupped her dainty hands together, housing a small baby blue bird in her palms. Kindness, goodness, grace—she exuded all of them.

Vil scoffed, tossing golden hair over his shoulder. Her smile was reminiscent of a rival celebrity, one pure as a dove's feathers.

So carefree, so cheery.

How irritating, he sighed.

"One ought to be more cautious in the woods. Who knows what dangers might lurk nearby, wishing to enact harm upon her.

"For a glamour shot though... Hmm, yes. This composition is acceptable. The sunlight is angled upon her face in a pleasing way—it casts a golden glow on her pale visage and highlights the highest points: cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. The impression is one of total innocence.”

A soft grunt sounded from beside him.

"She's... shining," Jack commented plainly. His critique, clipped. “Didn’t you do a photo shoot like this recently? Similar place and everything.”

Vil’s beauty was momentarily marred by a grimace. “Yes, as promotional material for an upcoming film. However, the feel of it was completely different than what you see here.”

Shadows instead of sunlight. Temptation in the place of innocence.

He, poised amid the creeping branches and dark leaves, a tatter cloak clinging to his curves. A single, crimson apple in his grasp, a sultry look directed at the camera.

He tried to picture himself like the girl in the frame countless times over. Kneeling among the woodland creatures, smiling so serenely. Any pro could pull it off—he included.

But the image never turned out right in his mind.

Not the right amount of sweetness, not natural enough.

Not quite the same.

Not at all.

Blood, sweat, tears. Sacrifices made at the altar. Yet still, the world yielded nothing but broken promises and shattered dreams. The splintered parts and shambles of them, he gathered, forming his own makeshift hope and determination.

He couldn’t give in here.

Vil’s perfectly groomed brows scrunched up.

“I shall have to endeavor to work even harder. I’m not satisfied with things as they are now.”

“Heh.” Jack cocked a small, lopsided grin. “Keeping on the grind… That’s just like you. You've got this."

“Obviously. Nothing will get accomplished otherwise.” Vil’s eyes passed over to the beastmen. “Presumably, you are doing the same."

"Yeah. Haven't skipped a day of my training regimen." Jack slapped a hand on his bicep, which fit snuggly in his glittering white sleeve. "We'll take out RSA next track and field meet!"

"I'd certainly hope so. If I am to taste sweet revenge, I'd prefer it be by my own hand... but I trust you to deliver in my place. I expect good news when next we speak. Do not disappoint me."

"Yessir!" Jack's tail wagged enthusiastically. He stood alert, saluting like a loyal knight. “I'll do my best!"

“Then it looks as though we both have our long-term goals set.” The dorm leader planted his hands on his waist—slim, cinched.

"Yours is...?"

"To surpass myself." Vil jerked his chin toward the girl in the painting. "To shine so brightly that my name not only goes down in history, but overshadows that which was written before."

"That's some big dream you have." Jack shook his head. "The scale's beyond what I can imagine. But knowing how stubborn you are, Vil-senpai... You seriously won't quit until you make that dream come true."

"My, my. Stubborn, am I?" He smirked, arms crossed. "I do believe it takes one to know one.

"You stand back and watch. I'll show you just how dazzling I can be."

His eyes held a steeliness to them. It was matched only by the same in Jack’s. Two strong men and their wills, meeting on equal grounds.

Jack simply nodded—an acknowledgment, an acceptance, of his upperclassman’s confidence. Overwhelming, like a powerful wave, a strong storm, a blazing inferno. He almost felt compelled to drop to one knee, to kneel before such a presence.

Vil turned away from the painting, his arms unraveling from one another. His movements were graceful, nearly ballet-like. And his expression—

Jack caught him mid-laugh. The snooty, airy kind, half-sincere, half-sarcastic. Brows upturned, mouth twisted in a faux sympathetic smile. Flaxen waves framing his lovely features.

His lips moved.

“I’ll topple you from your throne,” Vil vowed.

It was then that Jack noticed.

Vil-senpai's shining like the fair maiden.

[cyberbrained]

Schwein Interview: Part 1 — Atsushi Sakurai / Rockin'F (June 2001)

There were different troubles, this time it was a fight with myself

Part 1 — Atsushi Sakurai interview Interviewer: Yoshiyuki Oono scans: tigerpal @ dreamwidth/livejournal

I thought everything would work out if I let my natural flavor spill freely in Japanese

Did you write the lyrics based on the compositions? Sakurai: That’s right. First, around last autumn, six compositions written by Sascha and Raymond were completed. The songs’ structure was well done, vocals and chorus were added. Although there were also vocals by Lucia [Cifarelli] in the song Porno, I was told “Please, Atsushi, add melodies and lyrics however you like here.” Generally that was the feeling. So, regarding the recording itself, from starting work on the songs, ideas came in more and more; times when we were told, “I’m entrusting you with everything,” increased. Hence, being given freedom in working, this became a collaboration.

Did you discuss the content of the lyrics with Raymond and co.? Sakurai: I did. Although I was told, “Please do whatever you like,” too many mental images were off so talking about the title and Raymond’s connotations gave me a hint for the lyrics.

This time unusual alcohol and women came up in the lyrics. Are those motifs Raymond held? Sakurai: Perhaps I should say it was simultaneous [between us]…

Like you recorded while drinking? Sakurai: There was that too (laugh). What Raymond said and the things I myself hold were rather close. “What can I do, I wonder?” When it was time to talk seriously, if I thought about what’s coming to mind, it was all things I like. Alcohol and women (laugh). But even though I liked the words that came first, I wondered what my specialty is. When there is time I would sugarcoat [my ideas] but this time around that kind of thing wasn’t needed. Working in a band up to now, sometimes I’d add things to myself that weren’t necessarily there [in me], so returning to myself like this allowed me to be myself.

Has there been an opinion among the members of Buck-Tick that “This Acchan now is very relaxed,” recently? Sakurai: This time, participating in this album, even though third parties could look at me closely, I was never aware of that. Regarding everyday life, I wasn’t thinking stuff like, “Let’s proceed calmly.”

This time there are lyrics coexisting in Japanese, English, and German. Were you worried about the distinction between each word? Sakurai: Frankly, I thought Japanese would be hard to fit in. I sang after Raymond did and there were times when things felt out of place. But if we’d stopped there nothing would have even started. Based on what I'm capable of doing, I thought everything would work out if I let my natural flavor spill freely in Japanese. My own singing, Sascha, Lucia, and Raymond’s vocals too, everyone’s sound would be captured. But it was definitely complicated because Japanese, which comes across direct, appeared suddenly.

What about the parts sung in German and English? Sakurai: Isn’t it brief really? I just did chorus and unison. Initially I didn’t think I’d be doing chorus in English, since there were a lot of people who could be entrusted with it. Symbolically, there were three people who could sing in English.

In Schwein there’s rap-like Japanese, German vocals have entered, that great sense of language is interesting, right? Sakurai: Sascha sang those. Basically, the lyrics he’d written were translated and then fitting lyrics were created [in addition]. I couldn’t get a precise conclusion from the translation, so I asked, “What atmosphere would it be?” and after that I started getting more mental images. That kind of feeling.

I had the conviction to work since “I’ve been given the other members’ compositions”

Isn’t it interesting how Schwein is reaping your style and everything you’ve done with Buck-Tick until now, like with Crown’s equalizing, Spank the Monkey’s part with the stacked double vocals? Sakurai: The engineers were first-timers; I could only give my abilities as a raw ingredient. There was an engineer called Russel [Kearney]; I told him, “Russel, you’re the chef. Handle it as you like[1].” After that we tried out many things, it was fun. There weren’t misses.

I listened to your vocals and there wasn’t anything out of place at all. Sakurai: I wondered if I could deliver in the gaps between the other vocals, but I wasn’t worried at all.

Then, what was your approach with Schwein? Sakurai: I had the conviction to work since “I’ve been given the other members’ compositions,” so there wasn’t any holding back. Raymond and Sascha’s experience and strengths brought out the best in me.

Who created the melody lines? Sakurai: Raymond and Sascha were in charge, Imai’s compositions are his own. With four people the melodies were well considered.

Conversely, how many songs did you devise the melody for?[2] Sakurai: Well, the one where I did things selfishly however I liked was Fantasia. I did the verse my way and the chorus’ melody came to me too… Then, Spank The Monkey’s chorus, Lard, Lips, Liquor’s melody, and for Organzola’s[3] duet part I was free to do whatever I liked.

How is your approach with Schwein different from that with Buck-Tick? Sakurai: Until now, although the composer had created the melody perfectly, this time whether it was the songs or the album as a whole, I couldn't easily imagine. Also, I wondered how far it would be good to go, how far I could go, but there wasn’t hesitation. That’s why, honestly, the feeling of collaborating and being free to do as I pleased with the melodies were first [in importance]. The singing itself was the same as always but regarding feelings I was able to keep the high tension for a month. There were different troubles and, thinking about it deeply, this time it was a fight with myself.

—

Notes:

[1]He called him コック, which means chef (in this case), because he did a pun on cooking in Japanese. I didn’t keep it in English out of fear it would sound unserious (of me). “Cook it up however you like” is what I would’ve gone with and in that case this note would read “Yes, he really said that.” Also...that word's other meaning had me loling hard at that bit at first glance.

[2]Sakurai isn’t credited with any compositions for Schwein. I suppose what they mean here is more along the lines of where his input was heavier.

[3]Re: Organzola as a title word (because idk when I’ll make it there with my speed): later in this interview (under Sascha’s part, which is the fourth and final part), it’s explained it’s a mashup of Organ, the English word + Gorgonzola, the Italian cheese, which apparently equals...g3n1tal organs. ...well, idk about you but I'm glad to learn this so many years later lmao

[omaano]

SW Hades AU June Update

Other monthly updates: May - June - July - August

This month I’ve had some time to organize my notes and plans for my Star Wars meets Hades AU - I have a massive table for all of the characters, which original Hades game character they had been modeled after, and whether they need portraits/tokens/keepsakes/crests/etc. it’s colour coded and everything. (Fennec had to be cut out from the lineup and I’m hopelessly heartbroken about the whole thing* 😭)

Everyone has an icon who needs one (I’m sorry about the Echo and Fives one, okay? But they come as a package deal, and I also wanted to make sure that Echo is easily distinguishable from all the other clone characters and not just the average looking clone guy next to Fives who - by order of elimination - must be Echo), and everyone has a crest who needs one (except for maybe Barriss… I feel like that the Jedi order symbol doesn’t fully fit her, but for now I will keep it as a place holder. I can't come up with anything better for her at the moment T^T. The froggie returned to the “chtonic companions” line (it is exactly the plushie that Echo and Fives would give Grogu), and now there is Batcher too! If you notice any similarities between Batcher and Boba’s old rancor rag doll, it’s mostly because I took that one and modified it to fit the lurca hound, since they have a similar back ridge pattern.

I also think that it could be a cute in-universe thing if the Batcher doll had been modified from the rancor. Timelines are very flexible in this AU anyway, so it could be totally plausible.

Speaking of! I have a character sketch for Omega and Batcher!

It took me a while to settle on which version of Omega I wanted to put into this AU, but I am very happy with what I could come up with in the end. I had some trouble with what to do with her face, since Hades is really lacking in young teenage characters, and even Melinoe and Eris from Hades2 didn’t prove to be of much help, so I allowed a bit more of my own style to slip back in. With everything else I think it hit a nice enough balance. I mixed her s2 and s3 appearance into one outfit and gave her back her hat and old crossbow (I know she got a new one from Echo, but I prefer how this one sticks out over her shoulder).

This seems to be a girls’ update, since the next sketch I want to share concepts Bo-Katan and her Nite Owls! I’ve wanted to add them to this AU for ages, but all that armor and posing had just seemed too much of a hassle up until I had to seriously distract myself from some irl stress. So now I’ve got the trio to stand in for the fury sisters as first bosses. (I'll need to adjust Koska a little, I see it now)

God bless whoever’s decided to make one of those 30 cm action dolls of these guys, they had been so helpful when it came to looking up reference details! (While we are at details: I made Koska left handed (I think? Or opposite handed at the very least) because I had been coming up with their composition under the impression that she had her flame thrower in her right vambrace like Din and Boba do, which, upon further inspection, she does not ^^;)

Some in-universe thoughts regarding them: 1) Din can very much lose the Darksaber to whoever kicks his ass if he runs with is as his weapon of choice, and then has to return to reclaim it from that enemy (he doesn’t want to but they are in his way), and if he loses it either to her or another enemy Bo-Katan will most definitely have an opinion on the matter. 2) Boba is more than happy to swoop in as a “godly call” against Koska. If he has the option to claim the Call boon from Boba, it's a pretty good indicator that it will be Koska waiting for him at the end of the level. 3) After a while and enough encounters Axe starts showing up around and in the arena on this AU’s equivalent of the Elysium level. Paz would do anything not to have to talk about that minor detail. (Din: "Why does Axe Woves keep calling you baby girl?" Paz *steam escaping from the edge of his helmet* "how about we stop talking for a while." <- This meme has been on my mind for months, now you have to suffer it with me XD) After that it’s a boss fight of Din vs Paz and Axe.

This post is getting a bit long, so I will leave my progress with Obi-wan’s background to the next update. I will also make a separate post on the new little portrait icons, but I really liked how cute Rex and Omega looked next to each other in the big lineup Q^Q

*the only thing that made me dedicate myself to this decision with a heavy heart is that Fennec had been in the Bad Batch, and that would give me the ideal excuse to imagine her in a Hades2 inspired AU where she is helping Omega (as a stand in for Melinoe). I’ve thought a lot about this even before the test version of the game came out, and a lot of it would track now that I’ve seen some game play and story and characters but. Let’s not be delusional, I can barely keep up with this project, and the Hades2 art style, while super pretty, has a twist on the first game's art style that makes me want to cry when I think about replicating it ^^; so that just remains a nice little thought experiment.

Ventress went through the same thing, mostly because I think that in a strange way she would fit very well with Hecate's role. Especially after that s3 episode where she had her cameo with her new fancy haircut.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

ANGELLL!!! I AM OBSESSED W YOUR ALFIE FICS. I loved your 'A brother for Cyril' fic and I wanted to ask if you'd consider a kinda 'sequel' of Alfie and his wife introducing the two dogs and Alfie thinking they'll hate each other only for them to actually become the perfect dog siblings?! Please don't feel bad if you need to decline, I'm just throwing random ideas at the wall as I saw you were seeking some. sending you lots of love always and thank you for the work you do ❤️

Anon!!! Hi friend ah this was so so sweet!!!! Thank you for sending this in this was literally such a kind message I feel so blessed!!! I hope you enjoy this story, I took it a little further than I anticipated, but I hope it satisfies 💕💕💕 sending my love! - Mo

A Brother for Cyril: Part 2

Alfie Solomons x Wife!Reader

Warnings: language, mentioning pregnancy

One thing is for certain... Alfie could never deny you anything.

To someone on the outside of your relationship, it would looked as though you were irreperably spoiled. Alfie absolutely doted on you... in his own way. It didn't make sense to those on the outside. One moment you two were fighting as if your lives depended on it, hollering and shouting obscenities, arguing about the best way to handle something. The next moment he had you in his lap, chuckling into your neck, 'begging' for forgiveness with kisses and whispered promises, "Oh treacle don't be cross with me now! Give a kiss yeah? You can't be mad at your husband forever!"

And you couldn't. You could never be truly cross with Alfie. Even when you were fighting, it wasn't truly directed at him. It was just your passions overflowing and exploding, ignited by his own stubborness. And God did you love setting each other off. For the making up was so sweet.

Alfie loved spoiling you. He loved giving you things. A sweet treat from the bakery. Delicate earrings and necklaces from his jewelry shop, engraved with his initials. A bouquet accompanied with a sonnet of his own composition. Alfie loved to dote on you endlessly, and loved to give you any type of happiness.

But this was a rat dog.

Alfie could not believe that he was actually stuck with this piece of lint. And was even more in shock that not only was he stuck with it, but you loved the piece of fur. Alfie was struggling to keep the scoffs at bay, as he watched you coo and caress the puppy, as it gave small kisses to your fingers. “Oh Alfie I’m so happy we’re going to have another dog. We really did need another puppy.”

He prayed you didn’t see the rolling of his eyes. This wasn’t a dog. Cyril, now that was a dog!! This ball of fur was pathetic! Cyril was big and strong, and was good at things! Like guarding the house and playing fetch and roughhousing on the floor. And Cyril just looked impressive! What would people think if they saw this piece of dust walking on the end of a lead held by him? Could it even walk? It was being cradled like a human baby the entire time. It was tiny… what if Cyril ate it? Alfie placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, “Now darling, don’t be shocked if Cyril and…”

“Barty.”, you reminded him.

“Yes right Barty, if they don’t get along. Cyril is a man’s dog. He probably won’t want to fraternize with the likes of Barty.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at your husband, “Fraternize? Alfie, Cyril is a dog. I don’t think he’s overly concerned with social standings in the dog park.”

“Well dear see that’s where you’re mistaken. Me and Cyril yeah we talk. Man to man. And I’m not sure little Barty here will be able to keep up. He seems a little delicate.”

“Alfie you’re not even giving him a chance!! He is just a baby!”

You held up Barty to look into Alfie’s eyes, “Look at his face darling!! He can fit in! Cyril and him are going to get along perfectly!! He just needs your love and acceptance!”

Alfie stared into the barely open eyes of the puppy, and just squinted, as if trying to measure the baby’s spirit. You moved Barty closer to Alfie, being nearly nose to nose, neither Alfie nor Barty blinking. And then Barty licked Alfie’s nose with a yip.

“OH LORD! BARTY!” Alfie lurched back, spluttering and rubbing the minimum slobber off his nose. You just cackled in your seat at your ridiculous husband. The mad baker of Camden upset by some dog slobber! “Alfie! It’s just a kiss! And Cyril’s slobber is much worse!!! You don’t care when it gets on you! You don’t mind his kisses!”

“Well first off Cyril does not kiss! Cyril snarls! And Barty and I just met! Where does he get off kissing already!”

You couldn’t stop laughing and teasing your dear husband. He was such a secret to the outside. To everyone else, he is ferocious and unfeeling. Absolutely mad and vicious. But your Alfie… your Alfie had such a different side to him. You weren’t naive. You knew what this life entailed. Hell, you were his secretary before you were his wife. You knew what Alfie was, and knew what it took. But you weren’t afraid of him. Alfie wasn’t just the King of Camden. He was an animal. But he was also tender and artistic. He bellowed and roared and tore through men like nothing. But he also whispered his undying love for you every night, and pressed hot kisses to each of your fingers every morning. Alfie was everything. And that’s what people missed. And it’s what you cherished. That you got to hold the Mad Baker and Alfie Solomons in one.

When you got to the house, Alfie waved to Ollie goodbye, and guided you through the door, hand firmly on your waist. As soon as he opened the door to your home, the pounding sounds of massive paws fill your ears. Cyril makes a bee line to his father, and immediately starts pushing his head against Alfie’s stomach, “Hello my boy! My Cyril!! You miss your papa and mum yeah? You’re so good, you watched the house for me yeah?”

Cyril’s sweet face broke out in a large smile, panting and leaning in to Alfie’s touch. After giving all the love his boy needed, Alfie finally straightened, preparing to witness what may be a bloodbath. “Alright Cyril sit my boy sit. We have brought you something.”

Alfie motioned for you to hold out Barty, “Cyril my boy, mummy and papa have decided that you need a brother. This here is Barty, and you’re going to teach him how to be a real dog.”

“Alfie!”

“Well he’s not a dog darling! Go on put the little runt on the ground, let Cyril sniff him out.”

You gently put Barty on the ground near Cyril’s front paws. You stand back up, shifting closer to Alfie, waiting for what was to come.

Barty managed to pull himself onto his tiny paws, sniffing the air around Cyril. Cyril’s head went to the side, as if trying to understand what was just put in front of him. He leaned all the way down sniffing Barty for a long time and then… gave him the biggest kiss Alfie had ever seen.

Cyril began to bark, and bounce around with all his young dog energy. Barty began yipping excitedly hopping around Cyril’s feet. “Barty! Are you so excited to meet your big brother?” You we’re so excited, so happy that the dogs were getting along, and Barty had been accepted into the Solomons pack.

After dinner, you and Alfie took your tea in the parlor, nestled together, enjoying each others presence and the radio playing softly. Cyril and Barty were snoring together close to the fireplace. Barty was snuggled right against Cyril’s stomach, legs kicking ever so often, lost in a dream.

“I cannot believe this… Cyril has gone soft.”

From your place on Alfie’s chest you swat him, “Leave them alone. It’s sweet.”

“He romped. He’s never romped before.”

“Well you did tell him to teach Barty how to be a dog. He’s just being a good big brother. I saw him trying to play tug of war with him. It was very sweet.”

Alfie just grunted, staring off into space. Until he hummed out, “Sweet heart?”

“Yes darling?”

“Would you ever want… human puppies?”

You sat up straight, “… do you mean babies?”

“Nevermind it was stupid.”

You laughed loudly, grabbing his shoulders for him to face you, “No you stubborn man! It’s not stupid, I just have never heard someone say 'human puppies'."

He just mumbled to himself, as he typically does, but still grabbed your wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. Meeting your eyes you feel those butterflies in your stomach that still haven’t left after all of these years, he presses you “Well?”

You sigh, smiling softly, thinking and considering as your fingers comb through his hair, “Hmmmm I’ve thought about it. Had dreams about it. I’ve always wanted a big family, just like how I grew up. I’ve thought about you holding and playing with the children. Absolutely spoiling them with your affection. Teaching them. Being the man that I know you are. I just didn’t think you wanted kids.”

Alfie leaned into your touch, still holding your hand, “I just didn’t think I’d have the chance. You know… to have a family. Thought I was getting too old. Then here you come… crashing in my bachelor life. And now… I just keep thinking about it.”

You leaned in, heart glowing at his vulnerability. You knew it was sometimes hard for him to discuss those deep feelings, it made him feel exposed. But the fact that he still opened up like that to you, it spoke to the volumes of trust between the two of you. Pressing a soft kiss to his lips you whisper, “If you want children Mr. Solomons, let’s have them.”

You think you see a small glitter of a tear threaten to show itself in his eyes, before he says, “Cyril could teach them how to be dogs too.”

The rest of the evening flows in laughter and kisses. As you dream with him about what the future holds, Cyril admires from his place on the floor, keeping his new little brother safe, and thinking about the new siblings sure to come.

[breakfastatmiles]

Your art is wonderful!!!

A constant inspiration to my own creativity and art work. Could you explain some of your art style to me? I’m interested in looking at a bunch of different ones to try and finally find one for me.

Goodnight!!🌙

Thank you so much! That means the world to me! I’d be happy to share some of my process with you 😄

Keep in mind I’m completely self-taught, so this is just the process of how I make my drawings and not any sort of professional advice 😅 apologies for the long post ahead 😪

Starting with the basics, my biggest influences are Jin Kim and Ami Thompson. Both are amazing character designers and I really admire their stylization and expressions. Whenever I feel stuck on something, I always go back to their drawings for inspiration.

I typically start in Procreate with a canvas size of 3300px x 4200px or 11” x 14” with a DPI of 300.

I put my reference in the corner of the canvas (in this case it’s a screenshot from the movie She’s the Man) and I start my rough sketch (emphasis on rough). Sketching is probably the longest part in my drawing process because I’m focusing on expression, composition, proportions, etc. This usually has about two to three passes before I move on.

Then I lower the opacity of the sketch and clean it up with some lineart on a new layer. Lineart doesn’t play a huge part in my style, but I still like to play around with line weight. Since I knew this was going to be a fully rendered piece, I didn’t spend much time on lines that I knew were going to be removed later in the process.

Underneath all of that, I use the skin tone and color the base of the character. I make sure that I color ever so slightly past the lineart, for reasons that will be important later. This part can be tedious, especially because I use a textured brush, so there are a lot of gaps that I fill in later.

Then using new layers with clipping masks, I start the flat colors. Nothing too crazy here.

I’ve made color palettes for characters and backgrounds that I typically draw, so this way it speeds up the process and maintains style consistency. If I need a color that I don’t normally use, I’ll just play around with the colors until I find something that fits well with everything else.

Next, on a multiply layer, I add some basic shading (with the skin tone color) and blush (with an orange-pink color). I also move onto the background. Some are more complex than others. If I’m going for a more cinematic look, I’ll fill the background in with some basic shapes and blur it slightly. Thankfully the background was pretty simple in this reference.

I start checking proportions now that everything has basic colors. Then I duplicate my lineart layer and change it to a pinkish-red and put it on multiply mode and turn down the opacity. This is why the base color layer needs to line up with the lineart, otherwise there’d just be gaps underneath. Instead of erasing my black lineart layer, I put a mask on it and just keep the eyes and eyebrows.

Then I start working on the shading and hair, which is an entire process in itself. Maybe I’ll make a tutorial on that one day 😅

I also use some vivid light and soft light layers and put in some subtle colors for extra pizzazz.



Then I add a hard light layer to the eyes for that glossy look and on a normal layer add some white details just to make some things pop more (like the nose, lips, eyes, sometimes hair, etc.)

I did make an eye tutorial a while back, but my process is still the same!

Lastly, I spend a lot of time playing with different blending modes (multiply, add, soft light, vivid light layers) and really focus on the lighting. I used to focus on adding a lot more details and make the coloring more realistic, but I found that the more simplistic coloring was easier for me to do and fit my style better. Sometimes I still tend to go too far with the details and realize that it looks better when I tone it down a bit.

That’s pretty much it! Let me know if you have any questions! Hope this helps. Have fun making art!

[hijinxthinks]

Christopher Bang Chan who would love:

- your stage presence and the dichotomy between that and your offstage self. he would be in awe, backstage, watching your set while in his dressing room on the monitor hanging on the wall. “you killed it!” he would enthusiastically say once you finish your set and come back to your dressing room. he would be fully dressed for his set, which is coming up soon, on a different stage at the festival, but he would be waiting for you in your dressing room, and on the last night of your tour, he would present you with a bouquet of red and black roses tied with black and purple ribbons and be waiting with a really beautiful necklace that suits you, it might even be a black bat, wings extended, in a pretty case that he presents to you. “congrats on your first tour, baby, you did it! you’re a fucking rockstar!”

- your intelligence. one of his favorite subjects is space, and the way you both can go into discussions of hypothetical astronomical events for hours on end makes you one of his favorite people to talk to.

- it doesn’t end there, though, he loves that you are the world’s weirdest encyclopedia of random knowledge. he doesn’t know what to expect to come out of your mouth anymore. he’s sitting at the center island of the kitchen, typing away on his laptop while you brew a pot of coffee for yourself and while you’re waiting, you’d say “did you know a dolphin orgy is called a wuzzle?” and he’ll look up with his confused expression, “a wuzzle?” he’ll repeat, making sure he had heard your nonsense correctly. you sip your coffee, leaning back against the counter as you face him, “yeah, and rams prefer to be homosexual, a lot of animals are inherently homosexual actually-“ at that point he has to stop you, “wai-wai-wait, what? how do you know this?” you shrug, taking another sip as you sing out like a 90s informercial, “the more you know~” it makes him laugh, and speaking of which…

- chan loves your sense of humor. the air sign in him bows to the air sign in you. the dialogues you two share make the both of you fit for a reality series. somehow you land witty comebacks and animated expressions that have him giggling like an idiot. chan can’t take you anywhere, you have no filter. he thinks it’s hilarious but also could get you into trouble. he doesn’t like to admit the tiny adrenaline rush he gets from the chance of you being heard muttering “well fuck me i guess” when someone walks through a door you held open for them without saying ‘thank you’. and you could say it a dozen times and he still thinks it’s hilarious when you land a perfectly timed “alright then, good talk.” after being unceremoniously disconnected from a phone call.

- chan loves and admires your work ethic in the studio. he’s extremely impressed by how you take charge of your projects, taking and giving suggestions to the engineer, understanding rhythm, music theory and composition. when it comes to music, you know what you want and how to direct your team to get it. he’s not used to such a vast level of early career full freedom of artistic choice. you’re a relatively new artist, yet you’re the one calling the shots, making the decisions on how things sound. he loves sitting on the couch in the studio, on his laptop, creating himself in between getting caught up in how good something sounds and becoming distracted, a face of complimentary disgust at how fucking sick your last take sounded once the engineer punched the music in.

- its a given he loves the musician in you, but particularly on foggy, autumn sunday mornings, or late, cool, rainy october nights, when you can be heard playing intricate chords and humming along, or when you strum your guitar, even with the muted strings you didn’t mean to mute, he’s just in love with your feel for music. it’s something that can’t be taught, musicianship is in your bones and he can hear the effects of that as he lies in bed, scrolling on his phone. he’ll be reading the comments of a video one minute, and his ear will catch the pattern of your singing and playing the next, and he’ll find his head grooving and nodding to your rhythm as the backdrop for the little time he spends at home. everytime you pick up a new instrument, you take to it like a pro, and he’s proud to be matched with someone as creatively intuitive as you. you end up inspiring him to be great.

- chan loves how sentimental you are. he’s a romantic libra, after all, ruled by venus, the planet of love and beauty. you remember important moments and celebrate the anniversaries of them in special, unique ways that show how thoughtful you are. you’ll keep movie ticket stubs, or confetti shot out from cannons at a show. he’s naturally the same way, but it’s rare to find someone like that, and he’s found it in you. you’ll secretly prepare his favorite meal, play music by his favorite artist, and have a unique gift for him, even if it’s just to celebrate the anniversary of the debut of his group. no matter what the occasion, you put effort into it and he’s attracted to that.

- as a fellow air sign, chan loves that you’re vocal during sex. air signs are communicative and flirty, and thrive off stimulating verbal communication when done right during intimacy. he’s not used to his partner saying so many things, making his brain work to talk back even though he’s lost in the feeling of your pussy squeezing around him, wetting his thighs with each slap against your skin. that’s not enough, no, you have to talk him through it too, “yes, yes, im your good girl, right? right chan? i wanna be so good for you.” the way you whimper underneath him, it’s reassuring to his ego, and stimulating his carnal instinct to feel you coming around him, because if he’s being honest, that’s one of the best feelings in the world to him. “yeah, you are my—good girl, fuck,” he can barely hold back from how you tighten around him when he says it, “you’re always daddy’s good girl, yeah?” he knows you love to hear him talk, really sometimes it can be the silliest thing because he loves that you…

- are fascinated by the things that naturally make chan—well, chan. after being in such close proximity to him for so long, the novelty of his accent wears off to the average human, but every now and again he’ll say something that is just so…foreign that you’ll point it out, mock it, and giggle and find such joy and entertainment in just the pronunciation of a word or an unfamiliar figure of speech. “i dunno, i like the way the accent feels in my mouth when i try to do it. it feels like there’s something in the back of my throat,” you’ll say another word that sounds so vastly different in his dialect, like ‘traffic’, or ‘egg’, and you’ll butcher it so bad, and end up sounding like the australian equivalent of a redneck, and he’ll always laugh, rhetorically asking “what??” and you’ll spit it back out at him again, in an embarrassingly american way and it reminds him just how different you two are, but just how special he is, and always has been. “i have no idea, honest to god, you could read me the dictionary and i’d fall asleep,” you’d say, when he asks just what is it about his accent that you find so attractive. “-wet, i’d fall asleep wet, for sure, but i’d at least fall asleep. can you imagine? i mean think about it, you’re turning me on to the sound of the definition of ‘compass’” there you go with your blunt, transparent and honest humor again, bringing him to laughter at how ridiculous you can be sometimes.

but he loves it 🖤

[minnie--verse]

Pen Pals -- A Park Sunghoon Fic

!!PART 5!!

(link to pt. 1). (link to pt. 2). (link to pt. 3). (link to pt. 4).

Summary: You, Ren, are a college student, taking what you thought would be a normal composition class- until you're assigned a pen pal with your professor's second class. What happens when you fall for someone you know... but dont?

pairing: sunghoon x f!reader(ren)

genre: strangers to lovers, non idol au, crack, mostly fluff, later chapters to include possible angst//comfort, slow burn.

general warnings: college students!me, slow burn, love square, swearing, possible adult content in future chapters.

word count: ~6.7k

this is not proof read!

thank u for reading< 3

— — — 

Sunny,

I’ve read over your letter more times than I care to admit to you, and each time the weight of your words felt heavier. I understand the need to know, to bridge that gap between us and finally put an end to the mystery and guessing. I want you to see me as badly as I want to see you. It’s kept me up at night, thinking about how nervous I am for you to finally see me for who I was physically rather than who I was through words. I want to match your expectation to the person you’ve come to know in your words. 

I’ll be honest—I’m nervous. Nervous that when you meet me, you’ll find I don’t live up to my words .It’s a strange thing, to feel so connected to someone and yet fear that the reality might be different than expectation. I think part of me has been hiding behind anonymity because it’s been safer that way. I didn’t have to risk letting you down or fumbling my speech when I saw your beautiful face. 

Despite my fears, I want to meet you. I want you to know me more than my words, and I want to share myself with you even if it’s scary. I find that the artist on the other side of my letters has brought color and depth into my life in a way that I have never expected. 

The park. Outside Miller Hall. 4pm. 

Yours, Snow.

— — — 

The snow crunches beneath your boots as you make your way to the park bench neat Miller. The air is sharp with the cold, but you barely feel it—your nerve so on edge you didn’t notice it. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the campus in a soft, fading light, the kind of light that seems to make everything stand still. It’s one of those short winter days that disappears into the evening before you’ve even been able to catch your breath.

The snow falls family around you, each flake landing on your coat and melting almost immediately, while others settle on the bench in soft layers. You’ve chosen this spot specifically—it was the same spot you had mentioned in your first letter to Snow. It feels fitting to meet here, at the same park that you shared with him. The bench, now covered in snow, looks almost untouched, like it’s been waiting for you specifically.

You sit down, glancing around nervously. The world is eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes with heavy snow. No one else is out, at least not here. Just you. And somewhere, maybe close, maybe still on his way, Snow. 

What are you going to say? What will you do? What will he look like? Will you know it’s him? What if you can’t recognize him? What if he’s waiting somewhere else for you? A lump forms in your throat at the thought, shaking your head to dismiss the thought of it. No—Snow said he would be here. He will be here. 

You tuck your hands deeper into your pockets, feeling the letter there—his last one, the one that agreed to meet you. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about his words, about how much it felt like he’d been there all along. It was like he knew you—no, he does. Snow knows you, deeper than anyone… besides Sunghoon. But maybe Snow will prove to be the right choice, he has to be the right choice.

The sky darkens further, the snow keeps falling as the street lamps cast a warm light on the sidewalk and turn the white snow slightly orange. You check the time. 4:07. He should be here soon, but every minute felt like an eternity. Your heart rate is higher than it had ever been before. Snow is coming. He’ll be here. 

The minutes begin to tick by. You sit, eyes scanning every figure that emerges from the falling snow, hoping it‘s him. The street lamps grow brighter as the sky turns into dusk, painting the snow in hues of blue and white in the darkness. But no one stops. No one looks your way.

Your breath catches in your throat as you open the letter and reread his meeting place and time, hoping to God you didn’t get it wrong—but you didn’t. It’s right. You’re in the right place. Your chest tightens, and despite the cold seeping through your layers, your face felt warm from the deep breaths against your scarf as you tried to calm yourself down. 

Maybe he’s late. Maybe he got held up somewhere. He wouldn’t leave you here in the cold like this. He couldn’t. Right?

You tell yourself that over and over, but the longer you sit the more that your hope starts to slip through your numb fingers. You glance down at your boots which had left an impression in the snow from where it had fallen around them. The park is silent, save for the occasional wind whistle between the branches of the trees and the crunch of distant footsteps that aren’t Snow’s. 

You pull your coat tighter around yourself but the cold is relentless. Your fingers, despite your gloves are starting to go numb, a dull ache spreading from your knees to your inner body. Your toes are frozen and tingling uncomfortably, and you try to wiggle them inside your boots but it doesn’t help. The cold finally settled in.

A knot forms in your throat as reality begins to settle in. He’s not coming. 

The excitement and nervousness that had built up all day feels cruel, turning into something more hollow and aching. You were just someone used for attention. You stare at the snowy path ahead, your vision was blurry as tears started to fill in your eyes, your breath hitching with each attempt to hold them back. But you can‘t anymore. Not when the park, the snow, the bench—both settings from each of your first letters coming to a combination—was empty. So silent.

A hot tear slips down your cheek, quickly followed by more. You swipe at them with your gloved hand, but they keep falling, hot against the cold air. You duck your head, wrapping your arms around yourself, but it does little to help. The cold has seeped into your bones through every layer you wore, making your body ache and stiff from sitting too long. 

Your fingers felt like hard blocks of ice, completely numb and now damp in the gloves, and you curl them into fists inside your gloves but the motion only sends a sharp ache into your arms. The snow keeps falling, heavier now, and you can feel it gathering on your shoulders as you think back to Snow’s first letter to you. 

Why didn’t he come?

Maybe he got lost? No, he came to miller hall every day just like you did. Maybe something came up? If he truly felt the way he did, he would have come no matter what. Maybe he realized he didn’t want to meet you after all. Maybe… maybe you were never meant to meet.

That thought stings you the most. The person you’d poured your heart out to, the person who nestled in between every thought you had, the person you had rejected your best friend for, the person who listened to your most inner thoughts through words alone—what if it was never supposed to leave the pages of those letters. 

The tears come faster now, spilling freely as you sit alone on the bench, the old biting deeper into your muscles. Your legs, your arms, your face—everything felt frozen. You can barely feel your fingers anymore, and your nose was cold as you sniffled. It felt deserving—for being so foolish and stupidly naive. You should have fucking known better than to get your hopes up. That something this perfect could fall into your hands and work out. 

You take a deep breath, the air stinging as it fills your lungs, but it doesn’t help. You sit there, feeling small and alone on campus.

Finally after what feels like an eternity, you stand. Your legs felt stiff, almost painful from sitting so long in the snow, and your heart feels heavier than when you first sat down. You look around one last time, hoping—begging—for some sign that he’s coming. But the world sat still, the only sound was a quiet hum of lights and the occasional car passing in the distance. 

With a sniffle you stand up from the metal bench and pull out your phone, your fingers moving achingly slow as you slide your thumb across your screen as small wet spots from snowflakes fall on it. You wipe your tears with your sleeve, but it only makes the stinging worse from the brash material of your coat.

You swallow thickly, scrolling through your contacts, your hands shaking. The only name you can think of—the only person you want right now—is Sunghoon.

Your heart hammers against your ribs as your thumb hovers over his name, your breath hitching as you try to hold back another hiccup. You were anxious to call him—having run out of his apartment after blatantly rejecting him the last time you saw him. You finally press the button as you start walking to his apartment. 

The dial tone rings and rings in your ear, each second he doesn't answer makes you feel more and more alone, making your hands shake more violently. It rings again, and you’re about to hang up, already regretting the decision. But just as you go to end the call, you hear his voice.

”Ren?” Sunghoon answers, his voice was slightly breathless. You find yourself locked up, not sure if you can do this, but the words come out before you can stop them.

”Ah—uhm… Can I come over?’ Your voice wavers as you sob through them. It was a miracle he could even understand you.

There’s a brief pause on the other end, “Yeah—Yeah, God of course,” He says quickly, his voice softening. No confusion in his tone, no shock. He sounds flustered, “Are you alright?” 

You open your mouth but nothing comes out before you wince and look down at the pavement before a strangled sob escapes your throat, and you quickly cover your mouth with your free hand, trying to hold yourself together. 

”I—“ You sigh, wiping your eyes again, your skin irritated and swollen from the cold and the tears, “I’ll be there soon,” you manage to choke out, hanging up before he can question you further.

You drop your phone to your side as you shove your balled fists into your pocket, pushing through the snow as the salt on the pavement crunches under you. You were in a whirlwind of confusion and heartbreak. Snow—he—was supposed to be here. He promised. He said he’d meet you. But nothing. Were you not important enough?

The snow fell heavier as you trudge through the streets, but your mind was elsewhere. Every step felt weighed down by the disappointment and confusion. By guilt.

By the time you reached Sunghoon’s apartment you whole body aches. You feel like you had been walking so long that your feet feel like they’re no longer attached to you, just frozen blocks of ice at the ends of your legs. Your hands were numb, trembling violently as you knock weakly at his door. 

It opens almost instantly, Sunghoon standing there with wide eyes and furrowed brows as his dark eyes look across your whole body. “Ren…” His voice is soft, slightly worried, but not surprised. The concern was etched into his face with a soft wince at the sight of you, “come in.”

You shuffle past him into the warmth of his apartment, barely registering the shift in temperature. The heat hits your skin, but it doesn’t seep in—not right away. You’re still numb, inside out.

”Are you okay?” He asks again hesitantly, closing the door behind you. He stepped closer to you, his eyes scanning your face, but you couldn’t meet his eyes. You shake your head You shake your head, your lip trembling as you pull your frozen hands into your sleeves, trying to thaw them out.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, your voice shaking. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore. Your mind is a blur, filled with too many conflicting thoughts. Snow. Sunghoon. Snow. The one who didn’t show up and the one who did.

Before you can say anything else, Sunghoon steps forward and pulls you into his arms. His embrace is warm—so warm compared to the cold you’ve been drowning in all night—and the moment you feel his chest against your cheek, the dam breaks.

A sob rips through you, and you cling to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world. Your fingers, still half-numb, grip the fabric of his shirt, and you bury your face into his chest, your whole body trembling.

He holds you tightly, his arms wrapped securely around you as his chin rests on top of your head. He doesn’t say anything at first—just lets you cry, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back. His breath is still slightly uneven, but his presence is steady, grounding.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, his voice low and calming. “I’m here.”

You nod against him, but you don’t feel okay. You feel torn, confused, like you’re caught between two worlds that are slowly starting to collapse. The person you thought you loved through words didn’t show up. And now, the person you’ve grown to love in reality is the only one here, holding you together.

But how can you explain that to him? How can you tell him about Snow when you’re still trying to make sense of it yourself? How could you tell the person who has loved you openly this whole time that you’re crying over someone else?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, your voice muffled against his chest. Your breath hitches as you try to pull yourself together, but the warmth of his body against yours makes it hard. You don’t want to let go. You don’t want to face the cold again—literal or metaphorical.

“Don’t apologize,” Sunghoon says softly, his hand still gently stroking your back. “You don’t have to explain right now. Just… stay here. With me.”

The words are so simple, but they hit you hard, and you close your eyes, trying to calm the storm inside you. His warmth is comforting, and for a moment, you let yourself melt into it. You let yourself feel the safety of being in his arms.

But even as he holds you, the guilt gnaws at the back of your mind. You’ve shared things with Snow—things you’ve never told anyone else. You’ve fallen for his words, his soul, without ever knowing who he truly was. And yet, here you are, in Sunghoon’s arms, feeling something real and tangible.

How can you choose between them?

Sunghoon pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. His gaze is soft, but there’s something else there, something deeper that makes your heart ache in a way you can’t explain.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” he says quietly, his voice steady. “Whatever’s going on… I’m here for you, okay? Always.”

His words make your chest tighten, and for a moment, you forget about everything else—about Snow, about the letters, about the disappointment. All you can see is Sunghoon, his warm eyes searching for yours, his touch gentle and steady.

But it only makes things more complicated.

You already confessed everything to Snow. You told him how you felt, and he told you the same. And even though he didn’t show up tonight, those feelings are still there. But now, standing here in Sunghoon’s arms, you feel torn—between the words on paper and the person standing in front of you.

You finally stand back up, pulling away from his chest just enough to meet his eyes, your heart still heavy as you struggle to find words. His warmth lingers on his skin, but the skill  from outside makes your fingers and feet feel like pins and needles as the feeling returns to them. You swallow hard, sniffling as Sunghoon gently pushes your jacket off of your shoulders and hangs it up by the door. 

“I--” You look down as you peel off your wet gloves, “I was supposed to meet someone,” you start, “At the park by Miller, but… they didn’t show.” 

Sunghoon freezes, his grip on your momentarily tightening. His expression doesn't change much, but you notice a flicker of something in his eyes as his brows twitch tighter together--something like guilt, or maybe recognition. It’s so brief that you almost miss it. He recovers quickly, shaking his head and looking down at you with concern etched on his features. 

“Someone?” He repeats quietly, his tone gentle, though you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice steady. 

You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. We’ve been… talking for a while. Through letters… pen pals from our mutual composition class-- We were finally going to meet in person, but…”

Your voice trails off, and you glance up at him, unsure of how much you want to share. Sunghoon’s expression remains calm, but you can feel the tension radiating from him. His eyes search yours, like he’s trying to piece together everything you’re saying without giving away too much of his own thoughts.

He stays silent for a moment, then gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch light and careful. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

You blink up at him, surprised by how genuine he sounds. There’s no teasing, no jokes—just quiet understanding. It catches you off guard, especially considering how Sunghoon usually acts so aloof and sarcastic. Right now, though, his gaze is earnest, and it makes your heart ache even more.

You nod again, swallowing back another wave of tears. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I… I waited for a long time… an hour maybe? I don’t know why he didn’t come, but… I thought…”

You trail off, feeling stupid for even saying it. You don’t even know why you’re telling Sunghoon all of this. He loves you too and you know he does. And it was unfair for you to cry to him that someone else broke your heart. On top of that, he couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through. And yet, the way he’s looking at you now, the way his arms are still wrapped around you, makes it feel like maybe he does.

Sunghoon’s thumb gently brushes the back of your hand, and his voice is soft when he speaks again. “They should’ve shown up,” he says, his tone sincere. “Whoever they are… they made a mistake not coming.”

Your chest tightens at his words, and you glance up at him, biting your lip. He’s looking at you with such intensity, his eyes filled with something deeper than just sympathy. You can feel it radiating from him--there’s unspoken emotions he’s holding back. Something that makes your heart race even faster.

“You think so?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon nods, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know so.”

For a moment, you just stare at each other, the silence between you growing heavier. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about the way Sunghoon is looking at you feels… different. Like he’s trying to say more than just words. Like he knows something you don’t.

You’re about to say something—anything to break the tension—but Sunghoon speaks first, his voice quiet and almost hesitant. “Ren, whoever that person is… they don’t deserve you if they didn’t show up. You shouldn’t have to wait for someone like that.”

His words hit you harder than you expect, and you swallow, feeling another tear slip down your cheek. He clenches his jaw as he reaches up and gently wipes it away, his touch lingering on your skin for a moment longer than necessary.

“I just…” You hesitate, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. “I thought they felt the same way I did. We’d been writing to each other for so long, and… I guess I just thought it meant something.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightens, and for the briefest moment, his gaze flickers with something like pain. “I’m sure it did,” he says quietly. “But maybe… maybe they were scared. Maybe they didn’t know how to face you.”

You blink, taken aback by his words. “Scared?” you echo, confused.

He nods, his eyes softening as they meet yours again. “Yeah. Sometimes, people build things up in their heads, and when it comes time to face the reality of it… they panic. It doesn’t mean they didn’t care.”

His words sink into you, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. There’s something about the way Sunghoon is speaking—like he’s trying to explain something without really saying it—that makes your heart race. You wonder, briefly, if he’s speaking from experience. 

You can’t help but think of Snow—of the person who promised to meet you tonight but didn’t. Was he scared? Was that why he didn’t come? The thought gnaws at you, making your stomach twist uncomfortably.

But then there’s Sunghoon, standing here with you now, offering you comfort when you need it most. His presence is steady, solid, and you can’t help but feel safe with him, even though your heart is still aching.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “For being here when he couldnt.”

Sunghoon’s lips press into a flat smile, and he nods, his eyes never leaving yours. “You shouldn’t thank me, Ren.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten again, and for a brief moment, you forget about everything else—about Snow, about the disappointment, about the confusion. All you can focus on is Sunghoon, his warmth, his steadiness.

Sunghoon’s thumb lingers on your cheek, his touch warm against your cold skin, and for a long moment, neither of you say anything. The weight of everything that had happened—everything unsaid between you—sits thick in the air, almost stifling. But then, like he always does, Sunghoon breaks the silence with a soft smile.

“How about we put on a movie?” he offers, his voice light but gentle. “Something terrible, you know, so we can laugh at it instead of… all this heavy stuff.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “Something terrible, huh?”

He nods, his smile widening a little, and the tension eases, if only a bit. “Yeah. Like… one of those bad dinosaur movies? You know, the ones where they didn’t have the budget for CGI, so everything looks like a cardboard cutout.”

You can’t help but smile at how ridiculous he’s being. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds awful.”

“Perfect, then.” He gives you a little wink. “Exactly what we need. Laugh it off a bit.”

His lightheartedness pulls at something inside you—a warmth, a comfort. He’s always been able to make you feel like this, like things aren’t so heavy, like the world doesn’t have to be all complicated. Even now, after everything, he’s here, trying to make you laugh, to make you feel better. And you’re grateful for it.

But before he turns to grab the remote, his smile fades just a little, his eyes flicking back to you with something more serious. He hesitates, and you can see the shift in his posture, the way he suddenly looks a little more awkward, as if he’s weighing his words before he speaks.

“Hey, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, his voice softer now, more uncertain. “About last time—when I almost, you know…”

You feel your chest tighten, the memory of that almost kiss flashing through your mind—the way he had leaned in, the warmth of his breath, the tension crackling between you.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Sunghoon says, his tone sincere. “I crossed a line. I’m sorry if it made things weird.”

You look at him, unsure of what to say. Because the truth is, you don’t really know how you feel about that moment. Part of you had wanted him to kiss you, and part of you… well, part of you had been thinking about Snow, about the confession you had shared with your pen pal.

“It didn’t make things weird,” you say, even though you know it’s not entirely true. Things have been weird since then, but not because of Sunghoon. It’s everything else—Snow, the letters, the way your heart seems to be pulled in two different directions.

Sunghoon’s lips pressed together, and he gives you a small nod, though you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. “I’ve just been thinking about it a lot. And I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you into anything. I mean, I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, and I just… I don’t want to make it harder.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. Instead, you find yourself moving closer to him, your body acting on instinct rather than thought. You lean into him, your head resting gently against his chest as you close your eyes and let out a soft sigh. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and for a moment, you just let yourself be held, grateful that he’s here, that he’s willing to show up for you when someone else didn’t.

Sunghoon’s arms wrap around you, almost hesitant at first, but then he relaxes, pulling you in a little tighter. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, and it’s grounding—soothing in a way you didn’t realize you needed.

“I’ve missed you these last few days,” he says quietly, his voice rumbling through his chest. “I didn’t realize how much until you were here again.”

“I missed you too,” you murmur, and it’s the truth. Despite everything, you’ve missed him—the way he makes you feel safe, the way he’s always there when you need him. But more than that, you missed this—the quiet moments where it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure, just being together.

You stay like that for a while, neither of you speaking, just taking comfort in each other’s presence. But eventually, you shift in his arms, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

“Can I borrow a hoodie?” you ask, your voice quiet. “My jacket’s wet from the snow, and I’m freezing.”

Sunghoon blinks, surprised for a second, but then he smiles, nodding. “Yeah, of course. Grab whatever you want from my room.”

You sit up, pulling away from him, and he gestures toward his bedroom door. “Top drawer,” he says with a grin. “That’s where all the comfiest ones are.”

You give him a small smile in return before getting up and heading to his room, your footsteps soft on the floor. The warmth of his apartment feels even more welcoming now as you enter his room, and you quickly find one of his hoodies, the familiar scent of him clinging to the fabric as you pull it over your head.

You moved quietly across Sunghoon’s room, your fingers grazing over the soft fabric of the hoodie you just pulled on. The familiar scent of his cologne clung to it, wrapping you in an odd sense of comfort as you let out a slow breath, feeling just a little bit more at ease.

But as you made your way back toward the door, something on his desk caught your eye—a stack of papers, some crumpled, others neat, and at the top, the unmistakable loop of purple cursive. Your heart skipped a beat as you squinted at the writing, your footsteps slowing.

Curiosity gnawed at you, pulling you closer to the desk. you leaned over, your hand reaching out before you could even think to stop yourself, lifting the top sheet of paper. As soon as your eyes scanned the words, your blood ran cold.

It was your letter.

Not just any letter—it was Sunny’s letter. The one you had written only a few weeks ago, tucked into your purple notebook, sent anonymously to someone you had never met face to face. You stared at it, your mind reeling, unable to process how on earth it was sitting there, on Sunghoon’s desk.

You flipped through the papers, your hands shaking slightly. One after another, your letters stared back at you, each in your unmistakable purple ink, each one addressed to Snow.

Your stomach twisted in confusion. Why did Sunghoon have them? Why were they here? How did he get them? Your mind raced with a hundred questions as you stood there, frozen in shock.

“Ren?” Sunghoon’s voice echoed from behind you.

You jerked around, the papers slipping from your hands and fluttering back onto the desk. Your throat tightened as Sunghoon stepped into the room, his brow furrowed in concern.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer now, his eyes scanning your face. “I found a movi--”

“Why do you have these?” you finally whispered, your voice trembling.

You stay silent, your eyes locked on the letters in your hand. Sunghoon’s footsteps stop, and you know—he knows. The air shifts, and it feels like time is slowing, the weight of the truth crushing down on both of them.

Finally, slowly, you turn around to face him, your expression a mix of quiet shock and growing hurt.

“Hoon, why do you have these?” your voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s a tremor in it, a note of betrayal you can’t suppress.

Sunghoon’s eyes flick to the letter in your hand, and in an instant, you see the recognition in his face—the guilt, the way he winces ever so slightly, the way he suddenly can’t meet your gaze. His throat bobs as he swallows, struggling to find the words.

"Ren, I—"

“These are mine,” you cut him off, your voice trembling more now as your grip on the paper tightens. “This is my handwriting. This is my--” Your voice broke, dropping the paper and reaching up to cover your face for a moment before meeting his eyes again, “I wrote these to Snow.” your breaths come in shorter, sharper. “Why the hell do you have them?”

Sunghoon takes a step closer, his hands half-raised as if to calm you, but he stops short when he sees the hurt in your eyes. He opens his mouth, then closes it, struggling for an explanation that could possibly make sense of this.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” he says quietly, his voice strained. “I— I was going to tell you.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest now, a mix of emotions swirling inside you—hurt, confusion, anger, and something else you can’t quite name. “You knew,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “You knew you were writing to me this whole fucking time,” your eyes search for him, pleading for answers. “How long?”

He hesitates, and that hesitation is all the answer you need.

“How long, Sunghoon?” your voice cracks, and you can feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, your fingers clutching the letter like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“A while,” he finally admits, his voice small. “Since you dropped off my jacket.”

You stare at him, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. “That was fucking weeks ago. You’ve known, and you—” you cut yourself off, taking a step back as the realization fully sinks in. “You stood me up.”

He flinches at your words, his face tight with regret. “Ren, I—”

“That’s why you tried to kiss me,” your voice is hollow, the weight of the truth settling like a stone in your chest. “You knew I was Sunny, and that’s why you—” your voice cracks, and you shake your head, your eyes burning with unshed tears. “You tried to kiss me because you knew it was me. You fucking knew everything.”

Sunghoon’s expression crumbles, and he takes a step toward you, his hand half-extended as if to reach for you. “Ren, no, it wasn’t like that—”

“But it was like that, Sunghoon! It was exactly like that!” You snap, your voice louder now, thick with the betrayal coursing through you. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me. You let me sit there, waiting for you in the snow, in the fucking cold, alone!”

His expression crumbles, and he takes a step toward you. “I didn’t know what to do, Ren. I was going to go, I just—”

“No,” you snap, your voice louder now, thick with emotion. “You stood me up, Hoon. You let me sit there in the snow, waiting for you, thinking that I was fucking stupid and naive for thinking I could have something this good. You knew I was waiting for you.” your voice falters, breaking. “And then you… comforted me. Like—like you were some goddamn hero, like you hadn’t just broken my heart.”

“Why didn’t you show up?” You pushed out, your voice breaking again as the tears finally spill over, hot and blurring your vision. “Why didn’t you just come to the park? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared,” Sunghoon says, his voice raw with emotion. “I was scared you’d be disappointed, that you’d see me and… it wouldn’t be enough. That I wouldn’t be the person you fell for in the letters.”

Your chest tightens painfully at his words, the mixture of hurt and confusion overwhelming you. “You didn’t care to even give me the chance to decide that for myself?” You whisper. 

“You didn’t even give me the chance to know it was you. To tell you I loved you--as Sunghoon. My Sunghoon. You knew I loved you as Snow. I have been so torn up about who to choose and you knew it and didn’t even… God--Hoon,” you sigh out with a wince and pull off his hoodie and throw it aside to his bed.

Sunghoon’s face crumples as he takes another step toward you, his hands reaching out, desperate to close the distance between them. “Ren, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I never wanted this to happen.”

You shake your head, your tears flowing freely now, and you step back again, creating more space between them. “But you did, Sunghoon. You hurt me. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, and now… I don’t even know what to think.”

Sunghoon’s expression is filled with regret, his eyes glistening as he watches you, helpless to fix the damage that’s been done. "Just let me explain, please," he repeats softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stand there for a moment, your heart aching as you look at him—this person you thought you knew, this person you thought you trusted. And now, everything feels broken, shattered by the weight of the truth he had kept from you.

"I... I have to go," you turn and walk out of the room, leaving Sunghoon standing there in silence, his heart breaking as he watches you leave him in his bedroom. Alone. 

-- -- --

author's note: I really hate to be that guy who says angst is their favorite, but it is?? Something about writing it makes me bleary eyes and sad but!! THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING IN STORE PLEASE WAIT FOR ME!! I love you and thank you for reading my little corner of tumblr<3

[indigo-flowers09]

how did the wild robot go

OH MY GOD

i came in expecting “robot fox and bird found family in a forest” and i GOT “robot fox and bird found family in a forest” but SO MUCH BETTER????

all the spoilers every spoiler

yknow stories that are like “how am i supposed to live after that?” like Undertale Yellow or Brokeback mountain? yeah this is the opposite of that. and that’s exactly what i needed after being hyperfixating on uty for months.

some random thoughts i have are:

HRNRTHHFHFJFJGHTH. AUGH. WHAT DO I EVEN SAY…

i was crying since before the middle of the movie. and i didn’t sob at the ending. it was so good, the strong hard parts made me really cry but it kept getting hopeful again. i just.

I felt so seen by so much of that movie. I’m autistic, raised in a quite dysfunctional family and always depending on escaping with fantasy like undertale and fnaf, so i never had any real friends until 6th grade. Watching Brightbill (a runt) being raised by Roz and Fink (two already outcast members of the island with no friends) all because of their own flaws and accidents made me feel so… real. seen. I’ve never felt so represented. a dysfunctional, loving family, built on mistakes and trying to fit in and fulfill their purpose. trying to find the people they belong with.

Similarly but not exactly the same, the found family aspect. Again, as functional as they can be for a runt goose, a manipulative fox and a hunk of metal. but they were all stuck in a place where they can only try their best and take care of each other. that’s literally me and my friends bro. it’s like finding someone so different that you completely click with after a while. you get to watch everyone change and grow with each other.

one of my favorites things was the titular Wild Robot, Roz. GODDDD WHERE DO I START….

Roz showed up somewhere new, not knowing how anything worked, and just followed how she was programmed. She was feared, hated for just doing what she knew. Eventually she sat and waited and watched and learned what she could. When she woke back up, everyone still hated her. She did her best, she could now communicate, but it led her into a bad spot in which she did what she always knew and ended up, with a little help from others in a similar spot, finding those who loved her. In the end, learning how to connect and helping them do what they needed to led her to connecting with others, and being accepted for being kind by those who were not.

now replace Roz with Indigo and read that again, maybe don’t read it as literally but like. THAT WAS JUST MY ENTIRE MIDDLE SCHOOL EXPERIENCE???? HELLO????

Roz is literally me… autism…….

one last thing because GOD THIS MOVIE IS SO FANTASTIC THERES SO MANY THINGS I CANT EVEN THINK OF EVERYTHING I LOVE ABOUT THIS MOVIEEEEE

the art and music. dear god. this movie is so fucking good at being a movie. the art, environment, composition, EVERYTHING IN THIS MOVIE IS ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS. it’s stunning, every single shot i just wanted to dig my teeth into, it’s such a beautiful movie.

the framing and pacing and music and colors and emotion throughout the entire movie is just phenomenal. everything is just so fucking good.

i wish i could say more but i’d need to rewatch it. i just can’t think about it right now i need to let it soak into my autism sponge brain. expect Axis, Guardener and Roz drawings tonight.

[ptn-imagines]

i'm afraid i'm the most common type of ptn fan: insanely down bad for zoya, so... nsfw headcanons with f!chief? 🙏 🥹

Oh, I feel you. I've been so incredibly thirsty for Zoya lately that it's not even funny. If the length of these headcanons says anything...

NSFW F!Chief x Zoya

Zoya and the Chief enjoy an incredibly loving and healthy relationship. They adore each other endlessly and are, without a doubt, the very definitions of “soulmates.” They fit together so perfectly that one could be forgiven that they were once one composite being, torn apart by the whims of cruel fate.

Of course, the cute, adoring, romantic side of things is not the only aspect of their relationships. Zoya and the Chief both have healthy sexual appetites that, frankly, neither of them have enough time to satiate as much as they like. They make do with what they can.

Most people who know of their relationship would expect Zoya to be the more dominant partner, and the one “on top.” Most days, they’d be correct, although the Commander of the Legion is no stranger to being a power bottom if the mood strikes.

Even when sex between this pair starts off gentle, it rarely ever stays that way. Zoya’s to blame for that; her appetite for the Chief is truly insatiable, and she can’t resist leaving her marks behind. The Chief is hers, and it’s something she declares to the world with the amount of bruising love bites she leaves all over her lover’s body.

(Or she would, if Chief didn’t just wear concealing clothing and makeup over the bites. One day. For now she’ll just have to content herself with the knowledge that they’re there.)

Sometimes, when lost in the frenzy of passion, Zoya bites down a bit harder than she means to and draws blood. The first time this happened, she was horrified – until she realized that the Chief was blushing and that her gasp of shocked pain melted into a moan. She had liked that!

Zoya is still cautious about intentionally drawing blood, but she does take advantage of this discovered masochism in other ways. She manhandles Chief like a mannequin doll during sex, biting and scratching like a feral animal, and Chief loves every second of it.

(Chief loves this primal side of Zoya – she loves it when her lover flips her over onto her stomach and goes to town with a strap until the pillow is soaked with the Chief’s tears and she’s howling Zoya’s name. Thank god for soundproofing.)

When they’re not so horny for each other that all they can do is fuck each other like animals in heat, Zoya and the Chief are prone to roleplaying in bed. They like recreating their first meeting in various different ways, sometimes involving bondage restraints like rope, handcuffs, gags, and blindfolds, and sometimes not. Zoya likes to tease Chief about how into being kidnapped she is but the truth is, it brings her just the same thrill. It often takes every ounce of her control not to devour the Chief when she looks so cute like that.

What comes as a surprise is that some days, the Chief takes the dominant role in bed. It’s usually the result of a power struggle following one of the days where the Chief isn’t quite in a mood to be submissive and obedient; Zoya actually loves those days and losing excites her. Seeing the fire that blazes in her lover’s gaze in these moments is so fucking hot.

The Chief is the only one Zoya would trust to have control over her, too, and they both know it. The display of trust is something that touches the Chief deeply, and there’s been a few occasions where she’s been so overwhelmed by emotion from that that it’s turned into making out rather than sex. But it does usually end up with them fucking.

Zoya also enjoys being restrained, but not in the same way the Chief does. Rather, the pair have discovered inappropriate uses of the shackles that they are not shy to use; aside from the obvious use of the red thorns as a form of physical restraint, the two have also discovered that it can be used to form an impromptu collar and leash.

The one item of actual bondage gear that typically gets used on Zoya is actually a dog muzzle (designed for humans, of course). She’s super into being talked down to like a feral, mindless animal by the Chief, and while it might seem like such a thing would be beyond the just and upright Chief’s morals, the truth of it is that once she gets into that dominant stride, she’s more than happy to talk to Zoya like she’s her prized mutt.

The aftercare is bliss, and never neglected. For them, it’s typically soaking in a bath together before falling asleep naked in the same bed, limbs entangled, murmuring praise and sweet nothings to each other until they fall into the embrace of Hypnos.

(Zoya is always very disappointed about the fact Chief rarely has time for round two when they wake up.)

[artsyhamster]

Part 3!

And oh boy, this one definitely needs explanation, so see you down in the ramblings.

(1) THE FOOL / THE MAGICIAN / THE HIGH PRIESTESS  | (2) THE EMPRESS / THE EMPEROR / THE HIEROPHANT | (3) THE LOVERS / THE CHARIOT / STRENGTH | (4) THE HERMIT / WHEEL OF FORTUNE / JUSTICE | (5) THE HANGED MAND | DEATH | TEMPERANCE | (6) THE DEVIL / THE TOWER / THE STAR | (7) THE MOON / THE SUN / JUDGMENT / THE WORLD         

I gotta be real, this is my least favorite set so far. I was very unsure about the characters I chose for these and it also shows in the compositions. I might redo them at some point but I want to finish the major arcana as a whole first, before I lose myself in revisions. Maybe I shouldn’t be too harsh on myself anyway, because this is just a fun project but, ah, perfectionism.

Anyway, citations from here, as always.

THE LOVERS - Actually means that the protag feels sexual urge or need for relationship. Harry basically flirts with everyone and is still hung up on his broken relationship, that he doesn’t even remember, so the meaning here is pretty warped. So I just chose some lover figures. But who to choose? Klaasje and Lely? Well their relationship gets known pretty late, and didn’t end very nicely. Also I do not know how Lely looks like as not-a-corpse so-- Klaasje and Ruby? Seemed to me more like a fling, and didn’t interest Harry much except for some lecherous line he dropped. So I chose Sylvie and Garte, because Harry actively gets involved in their business. He can help them get together or ultimately break their relationship before it could ever bloom (Shoutout to the cock carousel) so I chose them because Harry is the most involved here.

THE CHARIOT - I’m just gonna quote for a bit “The Chariot represents the vigorous ego that is the Fool's crowning achievement so far. (...) we see a proud, commanding figure riding victoriously through his world. He is in visible control of himself and all he surveys.” Not many people with horses around there in Martinaise, only people driving cars. None of the lorry drivers fir the description for me though. The chariot is also described as commandeering and rigid, and René fit the description for me the most. He is definitely a proud person, commandeering and strict, and also surveying the world around him from his booth up at the harbour. Otherwise, yeah I got nothing. This one was just hard lol

STRENGTH - “[The fool] is pressed to develop his courage and resolve and find the heart to keep going despite setbacks.” was a line that made me very desperately want to choose Kim here, but I had other plans for him already. Strength is part of the Virtues trio, and spoiler spoiler, Kim will get his place as one of the three Virtues, but this one goes to Cuno, because I feel he is also very influential on Harry. Another quote for the card is “The Fool also discovers the quiet attributes of patience and tolerance.“ which I think fits Cuno quiet well. Because boy do you need a lot of patience and tolerance with him to make him trust and help you. But ultimately he is also there in the end if you need him (and Kim is unfortunately not present) All in all, what could make you want to get your shit together more than escaping the mocking words of a potty-mouthed kid. Horrifying lol

I tried really hard okay. I’m sure there are other interpretations but that’s the best I could come up with.Meanwhile I also bought an art book of a really pretty tarot set I saw at the last convention I was at, and there were so many lovely compositions that almost made me question what I am doing here. But again, I’m doing these for fun [*self prep talk*]. Still, take a look at this magnificient tarot deck (Instagram Link) I’m so sad they were sold out, but at least I got the art book.

Uhhh anyway enjoy. Next set will be better I promise. I like the upcoming one a lot : )