#but I just... feel it in my bones dang it

[seyaryminamoto]

Happy Birthday ! :) Go Capricorns <3 Hope you had a wonderful holiday season. Thank you for giving us this beautiful story. If I may ask, as a writer, how do you keep yourself going? How do you stay motivated and inspired for so long? It’s amazing! And the story you deliver is absolutely breathtaking. I admire you so much <3 P.S Thoughts on the new comics/ movies that avatar studios is coming up with ??

Sorry for taking so long to answer! Happy birthday to you too, Anon! I'm assuming it already passed, with Capricorn season wrapping up and all x'D

So, how do I stay motivated...? To be honest, it's a bit tricky to answer that X'D

I've told this story a few times in the past, I think, but the truth is, I actually wound up writing ATLA fics because I was stuck, absolutely stuck, with an original story over some worldbuilding elements I couldn't figure out. I was infuriated and frustrated by it, so I decided to clear my head and go watch this TV show people kept telling me was soooo good, so I settled on doing that and no longer stressing out about my story...!

... Poor story's been fridged for ten years :') so very cruel of me to do that, I know. And I think that, on top of the fridging, I'm actually bound to have to rewrite the whole thing from scratch one day, so... yeah :'D

The point of sharing this is explaining that, as much as I write up a storm sometimes, I don't ALWAYS do it, it doesn't work with everything, writer's block is no stranger for me, if anything I got waaaay too acquainted with it as a teenage writer who was writing whatever came to mind with zero pressure because it was for her eyes only.

My time writing original fiction as a teenager taught me many lessons, though, and among them, the discipline to write on a regular, constant basis. This isn't something EVERYONE can do, every writer works differently, and I can't pretend I'm permanently, constantly ready to write. But just waiting for inspiration to strike is a dangerous game to play, because... often inspiration arrives for the wrong things, or at the wrong time. I don't write anything out of order if I can help it (though my god, Part 3 is sooo trying to mess with that, organizing this chaotic chunk of the story has NOT been easy x'D), precisely because if I don't push myself through the transition scenes, through the lead-up, and I just jump right into the big moments I REALLY want to write? I'll never write the build-up to it because I'll never feel like it :'D

So, for starters, discipline. The discipline I developed is mostly about being ready to power through when things aren't super engaging. And then, if things didn't feel right because you forced them, you scrap and redo it, specifically by pinpointing the problems that caused things to feel forced. I've had to scrap soooo many ideas that just weren't flowing correctly, and I've had to go around that and figure out other ways to write something, both to make it more engaging and to make it actually work better than whatever I had in mind at first...

... Therefore, secondly, gotta learn to adapt! Once you identify something's not right, or a GREAT idea comes to mind but it potentially derails your previous plans, you slow down to figure out how to adapt, if adapting is possible at all. I actually had some very strange ideas for the arc I'm currently posting in Gladiator, and upon reaching the point where I finally had to write them... I realized that concept didn't work. It might work better on a TV show, maybe, in something audiovisual, because it would have required a lot of switching, back and forth, between two situations that looked the same, at the same time? Kinda? And it just didn't feel right when I finally was supposed to write it, it was too confusing. So... I adapted to what felt right, and I think the result is infinitely better for it :D

Thirdly... which probably should be the first thing, honestly: building scenes.

It sounds weird to say it this way, but this is a key element of how I write stories. It's become such an important part of it that nowadays I've become disgustingly critical of how scenes are built in any content I consume -- I'll have to try and figure out if someone's put my feelings about this into words, maybe in academic essays or books or so, because I admit I really don't know how to explain something that feels so instinctive to me...

But anyway: scene building is the core of how I write. If I were planning on writing a car race, I'd have to think about how that race will end, probably even before I think about how it begins. If it ends with a triumph for the hero, or a defeat, or a brutal accident that causes the race to be cancelled? I have to think about how that would happen, depending on the story I'm telling. Once I settle on the outcome, that retroactively informs then, of what I need to do in order to build this conclusion: how do I develop the characters in order to take them in that direction? And once the conclusion arrives... it has to be the biggest moment of the story. It has to carry narrative weight. A lot of that can be built by setting the stage, something I've found a lot of people don't really seem to think about... but even a small room in a house can be a grand stage for a big story's conclusion if the scene is set properly to pay off there.

So... I build up scenes. When I start thinking about telling stories, the first thing my brain is wired towards is envisioning scenes. Once I come up with a scene that I REALLY want to write, or in some cases, multiple scenes, I start to thread things together. Let's take for example... my "Azula and Sokka as spies" AU from Sokkla Saturdays 2020.

First thing I came up with was the idea, of course, of Sokka and Azula having to work together to save Kuei somehow. The exact threat they were saving him from only came to mind later, what mattered was that they would be in Ba Sing Se, cooperating to put a stop to something dangerous.

Then, I thought of the idea of the two of them being stuck together in a closet or a very tight space, unable to move or do anything because the enemy was right there and would catch them snooping about in the wrong place at the wrong time :'D This specific scene, then, became the core of how I built up that story.

From that core, I started to come up with the conclusion (do they win or lose), as well as how they landed in that situation, what's the threat, why they're working together but as separate agents, what their dynamics would be like in this setting, how their mutual attraction reaches a boiling point in that very specific scene...

And at that point, I just focused on preparing everything and setting the stage in order to tell the story of... how Sokka and Azula wound up locked inside a tight space together in Ba Sing Se's Palace X'D

For me, generating those core scenes is crucial for building a story that I can flow through with the right amount of motivation. I don't really know how other people do it, some people love writing stories without planning anything beforehand, and all the power to them if they can do that. I really prefer building things up towards the outcome I'm aiming for, though. At times, new elements come up in the middle of writing anyway, and you can be surprised by unexpected twists that actually bring new life to your story. You just have to let yourself ride the waves and figure out whether you'd rather choose your destination or let your story choose it for you, in a sense. But for me, setting at least some of the course is what seriously pushes me towards creating the story I want to write.

Gladiator-wise, the key has been this same principle, but in higher frequency. Basically, pretty much every arc I've written has one or multiple core scenes that I built up at the center of it all. Sometimes those core scenes could be very small and contained things... sometimes they could be something massive and chaotic. But I basically have pushed through Gladiator without breaking (even when things did get me down at times) because I had those highlights, important moments to look forward to that motivated me (and still motivate me, we're not done yet!) to keep going and push past the build-up that's necessary for everything that comes next.

... Alright, I hope that made sense X'D

As for Avatar Studios and its upcoming projects, as well as Hicks's next comic... I don't really have a lot to say on that front. I'm on a strict "live-and-let-die" policy with canon since North and South Part 1, pretty much, the last comic I ever read in full... because unless canon actually catches my attention and does things in a way I can respect/enjoy, I'm better off not engaging with it. As I mentioned in another ask not long ago, what really bothers me about the latest direction of this franchise is the lack of purpose in the stories they've been telling. Aang's story doesn't feel that way... but pretty much everything else does. Until I get the sense that they do have a direction and a purpose, I don't think I'm going to be overly concerned with whatever canon does. If I'm told Azula's comic is great, I'll definitely give it a read, but I don't hold out a ton of hope for my peace of mind, too. Better not to get excited only to be disappointed later on, as The Search taught me :'D I'd love it if Hicks can do a good job with the comic, of course, but I'm not passing judgment for or against it until it's out... and after it's out, I'll only pass judgment if I actually decide it sounds like something I want to read. Canon is free to do what it wishes to... I live very happily in my AUs and I have no need for canon validation to do what I do. So... that's my stance on that :'D

[pixie-skull]

I am so tired of trying and trying. I am not going to do anything, yet if want to talk to me, not going to stop you.

[pixlokita]

Painful wing fanart incoming but you already knew about it and colored it so like -w- hiding it for the gore and blood tho >>

I feel like it was less gory in black and white but honestly 👀✨ aight don’t mind me I’m going to the tag now

BEHOLD!!! AN ART TRADE!!! @pixlokita it is time!

Caution, do not click read more if you do not intend to read. This is 12,192 words. And no, I'm not kidding. This is so much longer than most of the stuff I write. That being said, enjoy!!!

Evan said Michael was sick, which worried Jeremy. Being sick should not mean Michael would try so hard to avoid Jeremy, especially since he knew it would make Jeremy worry about him more.

But the main part Jeremy was worried about was the way Evan’s new wings kept fluffing up. Was Michael mad at him?

Don’t worry about it, Jeremy, he told himself. If Michael’s mad, he’ll tell you eventually.

It just stung. Evan and Gregory were wandering around the house, trying to see if their wings would allow them to do various things. Evan’s were too small to do much, and Gregory still hadn’t gotten used to them yet, but at least they had something to do while Mr. Emily tried to figure out what could possibly cause this.

“Ugh!” Gregory exclaimed, plopping down on the sofa next to Jeremy. He took the soda from Jeremy’s hand and took a giant sip. “These things suck.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asked, unsuccessfully trying to retrieve his Coke.

“I mean,” Gregory scowled, taking another sip, “that wings are stupid. They don’t even bend the way I want them to.”

“Well…” Jeremy said thoughtfully. “They are just extra limbs, right? With bones and joints and stuff?”

“I guess so.” Gregory finally gave Jeremy his soda back. “But they don’t move how I want-“

“You couldn’t do much when you were a baby right? Learning to crawl?” Jeremy chugged the rest of his Coke before putting the empty can down. “It’s an accomplishment when babies get their heads off the floor on their own, you know. And rolling and stuff.”

“Oh.” Gregory clearly hadn’t thought about it that way. “But Evan’s got excellent control already.”

“He’s had them longer.” Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe he’s just a quick learner. Or maybe, there’s less wing to work with. Could be a bunch of things.”

“But…” Gregory sighed. He inched closer to Jeremy on the couch, his wings refusing to bend in a natural way.

Jeremy awkwardly looped a comforting arm around Gregory. “You’ll get there eventually.”

“They just hurt. All the time.”

“I can’t help with that,” Jeremy chuckled.

“Sure you can! Mike did this thing once, where he…” Gregory chewed his lip. “Well, I’m not exactly sure what he did.”

“You want me to pet you?” Jeremy said in disbelief. “Nuh uh. Go ask Evan. That’s not… No.”

“Why’d you make it weird?” Gregory shook his head. “It was like…”

“Like a shoulder massage,” Evan interjected helpfully. His wings flexed, expanding fully as he explained. They barely went past his shoulders, but the point got across.

Jeremy admired the confidence with which he showed them. He’d personally be too worried about people calling him a freak. Which, thinking about it, was not likely to happen in this house. Everyone was too nice here.

“Mikey went like this,” Evan said, pulling Jeremy’s arm back to get to Gregory’s wings.

Gently, Evan messaged the inner edge of Gregory’s wings, right where they extended from his back. Gregory’s wings convulsed, the claw on one nearly hitting Jeremy in the face. “I think they get itchy,” Evan mused. “We might have to just do this more often.”

“No kidding,” Gregory said with a sigh, his eyes closing and his shoulders relaxing. “But Mike’s still better at it.”

“Wonder where he got his practice,” Jeremy replied. He didn’t mean to sound bitter, but it still came across that way.

Evan winched, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he kept focused on his task. Gregory sighed absently. “Wings are a lot of work.”

“Seems that way,” Jeremy replied.

Gregory folded and unfolded his hands while Evan worked. “I just…”

Jeremy spared him a glance as he went to get another can of Coke. “Something on your mind?”

“His girlfriend,” Evan said absently.

“Cassie’s not my girlfriend!” Gregory said, straightening. His wings fluffed up as he said it.

“Oh.” Jeremy had no idea what to make of that. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know!” Gregory replied. He ran a hand through his hair to try to make it lay flat. “She was at Evan’s party, and she looked really bad. I think Mike took care of it, but he didn’t really say anything about it afterwards.”

“She’s probably at the hospital, Gregory,” Evan replied, trying to be soothing. “We can visit her once we figure out what to do about this first.”

“Stupid wings,” Gregory grumbled. “Making everything harder.”

Jeremy didn’t know how to reply to that. He cracked the can open and took a sip. “Have you asked Mike?”

“He’s sick,” Evan answered for Gregory. His wings fluffed up again.

“Maybe we should check on him then. He’s been resting all week right?” Jeremy asked, trying to be casual about it. Evan had been very guarded about his older brother this whole time.

Jeremy came over every day, and every day, Evan said the same thing. “Mike’s sick. He can’t see anyone right now.”

It had been happening since the day Gregory’s wings had burst through his skin. Jeremy was more than a little concerned. Sure, he hadn’t reacted well to the wings at first, but none of them had. He’d been more supportive when Evan’s had burst through later that same day.

But Michael’s expression became very guarded for the rest of the day, and the next day, he was “sick” and couldn’t see Jeremy. And Evan was very good at shooing Jeremy away when he tried too hard to see him.

“Shouldn’t he eat something?” Jeremy asked.

Evan frowned. “Mikey told me that there’s not much he can stomach right now.”

“Crackers always work,” Jeremy mumbled to himself. Shaking his head, he tried again. “What about water? Maybe he’ll start feeling better with some fluids.”

“I… guess…” Evan seemed less sure. Conflicted, he looked at Gregory and then glanced at the closed door to his cousin’s room.

“I can get it. You keep helping Gregory,” Jeremy said quickly. He didn’t want Evan to change his mind.

Evan relented, nodding slightly. “Okay. Make sure to get him a big glass. And don’t be loud. And-“

“I know how it works when someone’s sick, thank you.” Jeremy set his Coke down and rushed back to the kitchen to grab a glass.

Evan had not been exaggerating. When Jeremy crept into the room with the glass of water, Michael was curled into a tight ball on the bed.

“Mike?” Jeremy whispered into the quiet room.

Michael groaned in response. He rolled over to face Jeremy, exposing the hair plastered to his face with sweat.

“I um.” Jeremy swallowed. He felt a little foolish now. Michael was just literally sick. He wasn’t mad at Jeremy or anything like that. “I brought you some water.”

Michael opened his eyes, feebly reaching for the glass.

“Are you strong enough to hold it on your own?” Jeremy asked.

Michael had to consider that for a moment. Then he shook his head.

“Here-“ Jeremy sat next to Michael on the bed, helping pull him into an upright position so he could drink the water.

Michael leaned heavily against Jeremy, eagerly drinking the water. Jeremy had to brace himself against the wall to support the extra weight. Then abruptly, Michael pulled away.

“J… Jeremy,” Michael whispered weakly. He gripped at Jeremy’s jacket, burying his face in Jeremy’s shirt. “I…”

“It’s okay, Mike-“

Michael seized in Jeremy’s arms, sobbing heavily. His hold got tighter and tighter as his body shuddered with pain. Jeremy tried to set the glass on the bedside table, but he barely had it on the edge and water soaked into the carpet as he pulled Michael the rest of the way into his lap. “I got you,” Jeremy said into Michael’s hair.

“It hurts,” Michael cried, still shaking.

“You’ll get through this,” Jeremy mumbled.

A tearing noise broke through the sound of Michael’s sobs, even as they intensified. “JEREMY!!!” Michael wailed.

“I have you, Mike. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

Dimly, Jeremy registered the large wings erupting from Michael’s back. Oh. Oh. This was happening now. Bloody feathers spread out, wrapping around Jeremy to return his comforting gesture.

Gradually, Michael’s crying ceased, and Jeremy was left holding an exhausted teenager with bloody wings. “I am sorry,” Michael whispered, pulling his hands back, the wings retracting slightly. “I did not mean to, uh…”

“It’s okay, Michael.” Jeremy tried to smile at him. He was determined not to squirm in discomfort from all the blood currently soaking into his jacket.

“I… should go shower,” Michael said awkwardly.

“Yeah…” Jeremy wriggled uncomfortably in his jacket.

“Sorry,” Michael said. “I can wash that if you want.”

“It’s not the biggest deal,” Jeremy said.

“It is if you go home wearing a jacket covered in blood,” Michael replied. “It’s only fair that I clean it, since that’s my blood.”

That wasn’t how Jeremy saw it, but he figured he wasn’t getting out of this. “Okay.”

Michael shifted carefully, putting his feet on the carpet. Almost instantly after taking his weight off the bed, he completely lost his balance. His wings flew out, trying to redistribute the weight, but Jeremy didn’t realize that as he caught Michael by the waist. Both of them tumbled off the bed, Jeremy hitting the carpet with a soft ‘oomph.’

“I am sorry. This was not my intent,” Michael said from above Jeremy.

“They take some getting used to, huh?” Jeremy replied, trying to ignore the heat rising to his face.

It hadn’t been much on the bed with Michael clinging to him like a lifeline. But on the floor with Michael on top of him, pinning him to the ground, Jeremy was suddenly aware of how close Michael was to him.

Michael smiled ruefully. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to walk on my own right now. I don’t know how I’m going to wash all this blood off by myself.”

“Maybe your uncle could help?”

“He’s probably back at the library again,” Michael mused as he crawled off Jeremy.

Evan wouldn’t be able to handle it, Jeremy knew that much. And he couldn’t ask for Gregory’s help without alerting Evan to the amount of blood that coated them both.

“Do you want me to help?” Jeremy asked, feeling the heat more intensely in his face. Please say no. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle it.

“Really?” Michael chewed his lip, considering it. “I would not want to be a bother… But if you are offering…”

Jeremy’s heart quickened at the prospect. “R-right.”

“Help me up?” Michael asked.

Jeremy pulled Michael to his feet, unprepared for the wings to wrap around him again. “Um.”

“Sorry. I don’t have much control over them yet,” Michael replied sheepishly.

“Do they want me to carry you?” Jeremy gauged the idea of carrying Michael to the bathroom. It wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever come up with.

“It’d probably be less awkward than walking there like this,” Michael agreed.

“So I’m just going to…” Jeremy twisted around in the space the wings allowed him. Michael hissed out a pained breath, but soon he was behind Jeremy. “How well can you jump?”

Pretty well, apparently. Jeremy barely needed to adjust for the weight of Michael on his own back, hands linked beneath Michael’s knees. “Okay. Let’s get you taken care of.”

“I am not a child, Jer,” Michael said wearily. Still, he pressed the side of his face into Jeremy’s hair. “I am sorry to be such a burden.”

“You’re not a burden, Mike. You’re my friend. I’m absolutely willing to help you out when you’re in need.”

“Mmmmm,” Michael sounded almost mournful. But he didn’t argue.

“Okay,” Jeremy said. “So, I’m thinking they might need a decent soaking, right? Birds like to be fully submerged when they clean their wings right?”

Michael blinked at him from where he sat on the toilet lid. “What are you even saying?”

“The blood.”

“It is not dried yet. Not completely anyway.”

“So what? You were planning to just wing this whole thing, weren’t you?” Jeremy shrugged off his jacket.

Michael snorted. “I was planning to shower, Jeremy. But I guess I was planning to wing it, considering how I have wings now.” His wings stretched as he spoke, emphasizing his point. “I just don’t have the strength to stand there long enough to wash them off.”

“I-“ Jeremy sputtered. Clearing his throat, he tried to skip over the accidental pun he’d made. “Just going to let the water do the work?”

“That’s the goal.” Michael frowned. “There’s just a few problems.”

“Such as?”

“My shirt isn’t going to come off the same way it went on this morning.”

“Are you particularly attached to that shirt?” Jeremy asked.

“Not really. Could try to just-“ Michael pulled at the collar of his shirt.

“I’ll go grab a pair of scissors,” Jeremy said as Michael pulled experimentally at his shirt again.

He had to be careful walking by the couch, noticing Evan curled up for a nap. Gregory was nowhere in sight.

Returning with the scissors, Jeremy nearly dropped them upon seeing Michael. “What happened? I was gone for two minutes!”

Michael’s shirt was hanging off his body in shreds. When Jeremy looked closer, he could see sharp claws on Michael’s hands. “I…” Michael shrugged sheepishly. “I thought I could tear the fabric and take it off myself.”

Jeremy’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t let himself laugh. “Okay. I don’t think you did a very good job of it though.”

“It seems as though I failed…”

“Here, let me just…” Jeremy carefully reached around Michael’s head, one knee resting between his legs. It felt strange to be cutting through Michael’s shirt, but as the fabric gave way, Michael seemed to relax a little more.

Jeremy recalled Gregory and Evan both sitting on the couch as Michael measured the shape they needed cut from their shirts for the wings. Perhaps Michael needed a few of those done as well. Something to keep in mind for later.

“Hey, why is there blood all over-“ Gregory’s eyes widened as he peered into the bathroom.

Michael straightened quickly. Jeremy pulled back, hiding the scissors. “Hello.” Michael waved awkwardly, his wings stiff and very clearly exposed.

“You… you have them too?” Gregory’s voice seemed so small.

“Yes, it appears as though we will match.”

Gregory swallowed harshly. “I can help. I know how to get blood stains out of fabric.”

“I would really appreciate it. Thank you, Superstar.” Michael beamed at Gregory, who flushed a deep red.

“It’s no big deal…”

“Not to you,” Jeremy said softly. “But it helps more than you realize. Thank you.”

Gregory opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He scratched his neck as his wings fluffed up, finally saying, “I’ll be quick. It probably won’t be good if Evan finds out.”

“It would be best if he did not know how messy the process is,” Michael agreed.

Gregory nodded, smoothing his hair down before hurrying out of the room.

Michael wadded the scraps of his shirt into a ball and tossed it to the floor. “Now that that’s sorted…”

Jeremy determinedly kept his eyes from wandering as he helped Michael stand. His friend leaned heavily against him for support as he attempted to undo his pants.

Jeremy belatedly realized that the only way this whole thing would work was if the shower ran over both of them. I’m going to be drenched, he thought sorrowfully as Michael muttered to himself in frustration.

“You could probably just sit while I wash the blood off,” Jeremy said when Michael finally stood there in his boxers. “Since it would be less exhausting for you.”

Michael blinked. “I suppose you are correct. I should have thought this through more.”

“It’s no big deal, man. You’re probably dealing with blood loss or whatever.”

“Still…”

“Hey, it’s fine. You spend all this time taking care of everybody. Maybe it’s time someone took care of you, right?”

Michael chewed his lip. “I suppose.”

“Okay. We’ll get you cleaned up in no time, Mike.” Jeremy said, smiling supportively. Michael tentatively smiled back.

As it turned out, it was a lot harder to clean up Michael than Jeremy initially thought. He kept twitching away, hissing out noises of pain at Jeremy’s touch.

Michael clenched his fists in his lap. “Okay. Clearly this is not the proper solution.”

“I can’t do this when it’s clearly hurting you, Mike. I just…” Jeremy leaned forward to rest his head against the back of Michael’s.

“This is nothing. I have endured much worse before.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

“Jeremy.” Michael said calmly, wringing water out of the washcloth. “I am sure it has become clear to you that things are not how they should be. The wings are only one part of it.”

“Yeah? What I’m hearing is that your father is abusive.” Jeremy wearily took the washcloth back, dabbing it gently against the space between Michael’s wings. At least like that it didn’t seem to hurt him.

“Well, not in the way you would think. Actually, I was thinking more of the comparison between growing limbs and losing organs. I think losing organs is still a more painful experience than this.”

“So you want me to just ignore your pain?” Jeremy asked, trying to decipher Michael’s meaning.

“I am saying I can handle it. I can be a man about this.”

No one is doubting that, Jeremy thought grimly to himself. “Maybe I can’t.” He tentatively rubbed at a clump of blood in the inner edge of Michael’s wing.

Immediately, it swung at him, throwing him against the sink. Pain flared throughout Jeremy’s entire body as he hit the floor. Faintly he registered that his face was bleeding.

“Jeremy?” Michael asked, twisting around. “Are you alright?”

“Nnnnngh,” Jeremy groaned. “I don’t think I broke anything.”

“I am so sorry. It appears that the wings are more sensitive than I thought.”

“No kidding.” Jeremy pressed his fingers to his cheek. He was lucky. The clawed joint of Michael’s wing had hit him just below the eye. Any higher, and he might’ve lost it completely. “Now what?”

“I suppose I should just sit under the water and hope for the best.”

“I think Gregory and Evan mentioned messages working out the soreness. Maybe I could at the very least-“

“I think we should avoid that for now,” Michael replied, his voice sounding stiff. “You have already been hurt once today.”

“Michael.” Jeremy tried to make his voice sound stern. “I knew the risks when I offered to help. So let me help.”

“Fine. Just do not do anything that will put you in danger again.”

“Don’t lie about how much it hurts next time,” Jeremy shot back. “Still gotta get all that blood out of your wings, you know.”

Michael clenched his jaw, but he only stared down into his hands. He couldn’t face Jeremy with the nasty cut on his face any longer.

Jeremy was lighter after that. He knew that even pressing a little too hard would make the wings spaz, and over the course of the next few hours, he succeeded with minimal interruptions.

Gregory popped in near the end to check on the progress. “Henry’s back. Do you want me to tell him about this?” He gestured at the entirety of the bathroom.

“I believe he should be informed. Please ensure that my brother does not come to investigate before we are done here.”

“And maybe grab him a dry set of clothes while you’re at it,” Jeremy said. As an afterthought, he looked at himself. “Maybe grab me something too, if you would.”

Gregory rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. How much does it hurt?”

“I suspect that I should be in more pain than I am,” Michael said, considering the question. “But Jeremy has done an excellent job of making sure the process is less than agonizing.”

“Uh, okay?” Gregory shot Jeremy a look.

“I can’t hardly touch him without the wings reacting,” Jeremy explained. “Nearly lost an eye the first time I did that.”

“So it’s bad.”

“It’s bad,” Jeremy agreed.

Gregory shot Michael a look loaded with concern, but he gave Jeremy a thumbs up. “I’ll ask Henry if he can get you guys some dry clothes. Maybe I’ll just imply that something else is going on in here if Evan asks.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made Jeremy’s face burn.

“Gregory-“

But Gregory had already ducked out of the room, laughing quietly to himself. Jeremy sighed, preparing himself for the inevitable glares he’d get from Evan.

Michael sighed softly once Jeremy finally went to smooth out the wings. “That feels really nice.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jeremy said softly. “I think we got all the blood out.”

“Is it time to turn the water off then?” Michael asked, his eyes closing.

“I’d say so.” Thank goodness, Jeremy thought as he turned the dials back and pressed the tab down. “Now you need to dry off a bit.”

“Mmmmm….” Michael hummed to himself as Jeremy stepped into the tub with a towel and started rubbing Michael’s head with it.

Michael’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled at Jeremy. “You really do like taking care of me, don’t you?”

Jeremy huffed out a sigh. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, would I?”

“I thought you just stuck around to steal our Coca Cola.”

“That too. But I do enjoy your company, Mike.”

The smile broke into a full grin as Michael tugged the towel out of Jeremy’s hands. “That is wonderful news, Jeremy.”

Did he really not know? Jeremy wondered.

Before he had a chance to answer, Henry peered into the bathroom, assessing the pool of water on the floor. He raised a tired eyebrow as he observed the two boys in the bathtub. “I wasn’t inclined to believe Gregory before, but seeing it for myself…”

Jeremy’s face ignited with heat. “I was just helping clean blood from his wings. Nothing else happened, I swear.”

“I was referring to the fact that Michael grew wings. What did you think I meant?” Henry’s eyebrows scrunched, and Michael gave Jeremy a funny look.

“I thought Gregory might’ve said something else,” Jeremy replied, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“Are you alright, Jeremy? You look a bit feverish…” A frown tugged at the corner of Michael’s mouth.

“I’m going to go grab some more towels. And you two will be wanting a dry set of clothes, won’t you?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy nodded quickly.

Henry hummed at them before walking back out of the room.

“I am grateful for both you and Gregory,” Michael said, using the towel to dry the rest of his body. He slowly rose to his feet, finally able to stand on his own.

Jeremy determinedly did not stare. Instead, he wrung water from his hair.

“I would offer you the towel, but I believe it is too wet to be any real help. Seeing as your clothes are also drenched, the best course of action is to wait for Henry to return.”

Jeremy smiled weakly. “Yeah, that’s true.”

Michael stepped out of the tub, hanging the towel back on the rack after he went. Jeremy could admit that the wings looked pretty good on Mike. He’d been weary of it when he’d first seen the wings on Gregory, and he knew that Gregory was defensive about it now. But maybe seeing him help Michael would help.

“Do you need a bandage for your face?” Michael asked, making eye contact with Jeremy through the mirror above the sink.

“Oh, I uh.” Jeremy blinked at him. “It doesn’t… It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” Michael’s mouth twitched. “I understand that me being like this must be unpleasant for you, but that does not mean you do not need assistance with that cut.”

Being like this? Was Michael phrasing things like that on purpose? Was he talking about the fact that he was in his boxers or the fact that he had wings? Jeremy crossed his arms before remembering that his shirt was soaked. He uncrossed them and simply said, “There is no problem. I just don’t need a Band-Aid.”

Michael walked back over, and Jeremy tried to take a step back before remembering he was standing in a bathtub. Trapped, Jeremy stood stiffly as Michael ran a thumb over his scratch. Don’t flinch, he told himself, but it still stung. The cut was pretty deep.

“You likely do need a bandage, despite your claim otherwise,” Michael replied. “I can help, if you need assistance.”

Michael gently wiped blood from Jeremy’s face and went in search of medical supplies. It stung when he cleaned the wound, but Jeremy found himself too fascinated by Michael’s cautious care to really notice. The tiniest furrow in Michael’s eyebrows appeared when he put the bandage on Jeremy’s face, and his hands lingered on Jeremy’s jaw for just a moment too long.

He almost seemed sad when he stepped back from Jeremy. “All better. See?” Michael smiled so quickly Jeremy wondered if he’d imagined the pain in Michael’s eyes.

“Y… yeah. Um. Thanks.” Jeremy touched the bandage, surprised by how big it was. “I didn’t realize the scratch was that big.”

“I still feel terrible for doing that to you. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” Michael asked.

Unable to come up with anything to say other than a request for Michael to kiss him, Jeremy shook his head and turned his attention to Michael’s wings. “Do they still hurt?”

“Not as much as they did,” Michael flexed them experimentally. Jeremy smiled faintly, recalling that Gregory was having immense difficulty controlling his own wings. Perhaps the size made it easier.

Michael made a face. “It appears that moving them still hurts, however.”

“Evan mentioned something about messaging the muscles earlier. He was doing it for Gregory.”

Michael brightened. “I suppose I shall have to ask for Evan’s help with that endeavor then. Thank you for the reminder.”

I could do it for you, Jeremy thought desperately. He didn’t want to just have to leave after everything. This was the most time he’d spent with Michael before, and the guy was just so chill about everything. But being in the same space as him, watching him interact with his brother and Gregory made him want to stay so much longer. Michael Afton was the most compassionate person Jeremy had ever met, and he wanted to be able to help the man who tried so hard to help everyone else.

It didn’t help that Jeremy was also hopelessly in love with him.

As Jeremy opened his mouth to speak, Henry returned with the changes of clothes. Michael turned his attention away from Jeremy to thank Henry and apologize for the water all over the floor, and Jeremy was left to awkwardly collect the pile of bloody clothes on the floor to offer them to Henry.

Henry stared at the rags for a moment, his face paling significantly. “These were Michael’s clothes?”

“Yes.” Michael was separating the clothes to split between himself and Jeremy, and he was hardly focused on Henry. “I could not find a way to safely remove my shirt without causing more pain, so Jeremy helped me cut it off. I am afraid blood does not come out of denim very easily, so my jeans are also a lost cause.”

Brightening, Michael put a bundle of clothing into Jeremy’s arms. “You can change in Charlie’s old room.”

“Why can’t you both change in here?” Henry asked, sounding confused.

Pressure built in Jeremy’s throat as he tried to answer that question. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of himself. Not by any measure at all. He just knew it was dangerous, what he was. People didn’t exactly approve of people like him, after all. Especially not here.

Michael gave Henry a scathing look as tears built up behind Jeremy’s eyes. “Maybe we don’t want to change in the same room.”

Henry blinked in surprise, but he glanced between the two boys for a moment before making his exit. Michael patted Jeremy’s shoulder. “I can go to Charlie’s room instead, if you would prefer to change in here.”

Jeremy still couldn’t speak, so he just nodded. The gentle way Michael nodded back at him filled his body with a strange warmth. A few moments later, Michael was gone, and Jeremy could finally change out of the sopping wet layers he’d been in this whole time.

Half-way through changing, Jeremy noticed that most of the clothes were baggy and easy to layer over each other. There were almost too many options. A jolt ran through him when he considered that Michael had sorted through the clothes. Either Michael was very particular, or he knew.

Hurriedly, Jeremy finished changing and practically ran to the bedroom where Michael said he’d be changing. He basically flung the door open to a startled Mike, who had jeans on but no shirt. “Is something wrong?” Michael asked.

His wings and hair fluffed up, like he’d been expecting a threat, but his expression was one of concern. Jeremy knew he was shaking, knew he wouldn’t be able to speak for a moment, but he stood there and just stared. Why did Michael have to be adorable in everything he did? The way his mouth curled into a frown made half of his mouth seem to vanish, like he was biting on it constantly distracted Jeremy from what he wanted to say.

He let his eyes wander over Michael’s bare torso as he tried to find the words to speak. The worst of his secrets was surely out already, and if Michael figured out his feelings, it would be less painful than him knowing the other secret.

Fascination over the jagged scar across Michael’s chest sprouted in his heart. Jeremy had seen it before, of course. He’d seen it in the bathroom, but he’d been trying not to stare before.

“Jeremy?” Michael looked worried now. “Are you alright?”

Maybe Michael didn’t know. Maybe he just hadn’t grabbed a shirt at all, since they had to be cut specifically for the wings anyway. Jeremy was probably just overreacting. And even if he wasn’t, it seemed that Michael wasn’t going to bring it up. “Uhmm. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Michael relaxed. “I’m quite alright, Jeremy. I’m not as weak as I was before. The shower certainly helped.”

“You’re um. You’re very fluffy right now.”

“Am I?” Michael ran a hand through his hair, feeling where it stuck up all over the place. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks for talking to Henry back there.”

“It was nothing.” Michael blinked at him, wings twitching. “Gregory did a good job cleaning up.” He gestured at the carpet and the bed.

The bed was made very neatly, corners tucked so much better than Jeremy could do on a good day. There were only faint hints that someone had been bleeding there, and they were only visible because Jeremy was looking for them. “Yeah. He certainly did.”

A fond smile crossed Michael’s face at that. “He’s so sweet.”

Jeremy didn’t really believe that, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t want Michael to stop smiling for anything. It was so much better than his frown in every possible way.

“We should… I um. I think we should probably head back to the living room,” Jeremy said awkwardly.

“Right, yes. I suppose it is almost time for you to head home too.” Michael blinked, like he was shaking himself out of a daydream. “Or maybe you could stay for supper?”

Jeremy smiled. “I would love that.”

Evan was awestruck when he saw his brother’s wings. “They’re so big!”

“Soft too,” Jeremy said, trying to encourage Evan’s excitement.

Gregory made a noise in the back of his throat before saying, “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Jeremy stared at him, mouth opening and closing without words coming out.

“No softer than yours, I’m sure,” Michael said, trying to keep the peace. There wasn’t even a hint of a blush on his face at Gregory’s words. Were the jokes just going over his head? Maybe Jeremy was reading too much into it.

Shaking his head, Jeremy plopped down on the couch beside Gregory. “What happened to your face?” Gregory asked quietly.

“I wasn’t careful enough,” Jeremy answered, glancing at the two brothers as they talked about Michael’s new wings. “And Mike’s wings pack quite the punch.”

“Oh.” Gregory’s eyes widened with understanding. “That could’ve been bad.”

“You’re telling me, kid.” Jeremy shook his head, taking a sip from his can of Coke. “What were you and Evan up to today?”

“Videogames mostly,” Gregory replied. “Although everything here is so old.”

“Old?” Jeremy wrinkled his nose. “Nah, my parents are worse. You’re probably just picky. A bunch of this stuff is newer than anything my family could afford.”

“Your motorcycle is cool though.”

Jeremy smiled. “It is pretty cool.”

“Can you take me on it sometime?”

The smile faltered slightly. “Uh, I don’t know.”

“C’mon, please? All the stuff here is pretty boring, and I know Evan tries to be fun, but you can only play the same game for so long before it’s lame. And I don’t want to have to tell him it’s lame. It’s awful when he cries.”

Jeremy didn’t know what to make of that. “Maybe we could play a board game or something.”

“I wanna go on your bike sometime.” Gregory stuck out his chin stubbornly. “Or I’m going to tell Mike you have the biggest crush on him and-“

“Okay, okay! I get it. But you’ll have to wear a helmet,” Jeremy said, looking away and tugging at his shirt. “And long pants. Just in case.”

“Okay, Dad.” Gregory rolled his eyes.

“Well, you’re the one who said it’s awful when Evan cries,” Jeremy shot back. “And I’ve already seen how Mike cries, and I don’t want to see that again. No thanks.”

Gregory flinched at that. “I…”

“Not to frighten you, but it can be dangerous.” Jeremy sighed. “There’s only so much you can be safe. Not to quote my mom, but ‘I’d rather you be late than dead.’ It’s just that kind of thing.”

Seeing Gregory’s expression, he softened. “I’m a firm believer in the fact that both of us are going to get lectured by Michael when he finds out. So, when he tries, we’re going to tell him that I already told you all the risks and you still wanted to do it. Unless I’ve changed your mind.”

“No, haven’t changed my mind.” Gregory scooted closer to Jeremy. “I bet I’d survive a crash better than you.”

“No way,” Jeremy laughed. “With the way you’re built? No offense, but you’d be a splatter on the cement.”

“Rude.” Gregory scoffed. Not subtly at all, he tried to steal Jeremy’s Coke from his hand.

Amused, Jeremy let him. Gregory immediately started downing what was left in the can. At that moment, Michael glanced over and gasped. “Gregory! Is that Coke? Are you encouraging this, Jeremy?”

“He took the can out of my hand. I didn’t do anything,” Jeremy smiled cheekily. “Not my fault he’s so fast.”

“Mmmmm,” Gregory squinted skeptically at the can. “This is Coke?”

“Yeah?” Jeremy looked confused. “Why? Does it taste weird to you or something?”

“It’s better than I remember.”

Michael sighed, removing the can from Gregory’s hands. “That is because Coca-Cola has different flavoring in it than you remember.”

“Are you talking about the whole cocaine in Coke thing? Because I thought that was a myth.”

Michael shot Jeremy an exasperated look. “That is not what I am talking about. Anyway, Gregory does not need caffeine in his system at this time of day. He won’t get any sleep at this rate.”

“Whoops?” Jeremy held his hands up in surrender. “Look I-“

“It does not matter.” Michael shot Gregory a meaningful look. “So long as he doesn’t keep Evan up with his extra energy, it should be fine.”

Evan peered at them all from behind the sofa. “How did he even take it from you? I thought you kept a tight grip on those at all times.”

“Caught me by surprise?” Jeremy shifted his weight as Michael gave him a skeptical look. “He’s faster than he looks, I swear.”

Evan snorted, climbing over the back of the sofa, much to Michael’s despair as he said, “Well, that gives him a one-up in physical games I guess.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I totally crush at Fazblock!” Gregory crossed his arms. “I had more blocks than you did.”

“Gregory, you’re supposed to get rid of the blocks, not keep them on the screen.” Evan shook his head despairingly. “I would’ve explained the rules if you’d asked-“

“It was different than what I’m used to, okay?” Gregory rolled his eyes. “I could totally beat you at Fazzy Kart.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Evan replied. “I still think you made it up.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Okay, that is enough.” Michael shook his head, smiling faintly. “Gregory did not make it up. Fazzy Kart just has not come out yet.” He ruffled Evan’s hair before walking away with the empty Coke can. “And I have something for you two to do when I get back!”

“A task?” Gregory asked.

“A task.” Evan snorted. “Ah yes, my brother typically assigns me tasks. No, Gregory. He’s sending us to do chores or something. Usually he’s more mean about it though.”

“No one understands my jokes.” Gregory’s wing twitched irritably.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jeremy replied. “He still laughed, even if he didn’t get it. Be nonsensical! Nobody cares as long as you’re funny.”

“That’s a terrible line of logic. I refuse to believe that people willingly follow your example,” Michael said, returning with a sheet of paper. “Evan, Gregory, I am trusting you two to find everything on this list and bring it back here.”

“We don’t have money,” Gregory said, but he still took the list from Michael’s hands. “And aren’t we supposed to stay inside until we figure out what to do about our wings? And wait, is it safe to-“

“You worry too much, Gregory. We can just ask Uncle Henry for help.” Evan peered at the grocery list. “What are you making, Mikey? This looks like spaghetti sauce, but you don’t use half this stuff normally.”

“Wait and see,” Michael said cryptically. His own wings twitched as he spoke, even seeming a tiny bit ruffled.

“With the overabundance of clothes Henry seems to have, maybe he has jackets you can just throw on over the wings or something,” Jeremy said, slowly rising from the couch as Gregory and Evan stood to examine the list closer.

“We can handle this,” Evan said with full confidence. “And we’ll try to be fast so you can get started sooner.”

“Thank you, Evan.” There was a deeper tone of relief in Michael’s voice at that. “My heroes.”

Jeremy smiled wearily at them all. “I should probably get going.” It felt like intruding to stay this long. Sure, they all tried to include him, but Michael probably had other things he planned to do while Evan and Gregory were gone. Perhaps he needed to talk to his uncle more or something. Regardless, Jeremy had overstayed his welcome.

“I thought you said you could stay for supper.” Michael sounded wounded. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need to lie down?”

He pressed his hand against Jeremy’s forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I’m fine, Michael. I just don’t want to overstay my welcome, you know?” Jeremy ducked away from Michael’s hand and kept his gaze on the carpet. “Especially if you’re all going to be busy.”

“I won’t be busy until they get back,” Michael replied as Gregory tugged on Evan’s shirt to lead him away. “And even then, I won’t be too busy to talk. You can sit with me in the kitchen while I cook.”

“Yeah but…” Jeremy hesitated, combing a hand through his hair. “Look, I just don’t want to be in the way.”

“You won’t be,” Michael insisted. He sat down on the sofa where Gregory had been sitting before. Patting the cushion next to him, he waited for Jeremy to sit back down.

When Jeremy sat down, Michael gestured for him to scoot closer. “What are you doing?” Jeremy asked nervously.

“Your hair is a mess,” Michael replied. “I’m going to fix it for you.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremy frowned, patting his hair self-consciously.

“It’s all tangled. That’s going to be a nightmare to brush out tomorrow if you don’t take care of it tonight.”

“Oh.” Jeremy looked away. “It shouldn’t be your responsibility-“

“My wings shouldn’t have been yours,” Michael countered. “Let me do a nice thing for you. Please.”

“I helped with your wings because I wanted to spend time with you. Not because it was a burden, Mike.”

“This isn’t a burden to me either. Let me help. Maybe I want to spend more time with you too.”

Jeremy didn’t have a counter to that, so he reluctantly sighed. “Just… be gentle on it, okay?”

“Of course.” He blinked, seemingly surprised that Jeremy gave in so easily. “I do need to go grab a brush and a comb.”

“Naturally.” Jeremy shifted uncomfortably on the sofa as Michael got up.

What was he even supposed to say to Michael? He hadn’t expected to get this far, and now faced with the opportunity to have a casual conversation with him, Jeremy panicked.

When Michael got back, the hair brush he carried had long strands of dark brown hair in it, and both the brush and the comb were shining with water. “I hope you don’t mind,” Michael said awkwardly. “But I know that hair gets really, really tangled, so I just wanted to make sure I could get the tangles out without hurting you.”

Oh. That was… surprisingly considerate. “And the water is supposed to fix tangles?”

“Better than a dry brush.”

Jeremy just stared. The most he’d been able to do with his hair was to throw it into the world’s worst ponytail when he needed it out of his face. All this talk of the more effective way to brush through his hair without making it hurt stirred something in his chest. There was nothing Michael would do that could possibly hurt more than the way he was currently doing his hair.

Michael sat back down and got to work. It was strange. Jeremy hadn’t had anyone brush his hair in a long time. His mother had been too busy with work to even notice that he needed help with his hair. Or anything really.

“You have really thick hair,” Michael mused softly.

“Yeah. Makes it a real pain sometimes,” Jeremy replied.

Michael was so gentle with it, apologizing softly when the brush scraped his ear or a snag was too rough. Eventually, though, he set the brush aside and started dividing his hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you with your hair,” Michael replied as he started braiding it. “I assume you don’t have a hair brush for yourself, or maybe you just don’t have much time to do your hair every day. But at the very least, braiding it back at night prevents most tangles from getting worse.”

“How do you know so much about this stuff, dude?” Jeremy wondered. “Like, you know more about this than I do.”

“I…” Michael hesitated. “Evan’s not my only sibling. I had a sister. Elizabeth. Her hair was more of a nightmare than this.”

“Oh.” Jeremy fidgeted. He didn’t know what to do with that information.

“And, there!” Michael twisted a ponytail into the end of Jeremy’s hair. “Less problems for later, see?”

“Yeah.” Jeremy touched a hand to the braid, smiling softly. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s nothing.”

“But I say it is something. Come here, Mike.”

Michael’s wings fluffed up ever so slightly, but he did as Jeremy asked, unprepared for the tackle-hug Jeremy gave him. He gasped in alarm as they ended up on the floor, but when he looked up at Jeremy, it was with what Jeremy could only describe as adoration. Then he was suddenly pressed completely up against Michael as his wings wrapped around them both.

Of course, that was also the moment Evan and Gregory came back from their shopping trip with the supplies Michael had asked for. Letting Jeremy up, Michael immediately accepted the groceries from Evan and went straight to the kitchen. Gregory and Evan were left staring at Jeremy, who was sitting with a ridiculous grin on his face.

“Might need some help preparing this!” Michael called.

Before any of them could move toward the door, however, Henry walked by to go help Michael. Which left Jeremy to get teased by the two younger boys.

“What was that about?” Evan asked, picking a long blue feather out of Jeremy’s hair.

“What were you doing on the floor?” Gregory asked.

“Mike did my hair,” Jeremy replied, gesturing at the hairbrush that now had long strands of gold intertwined with the brown.

Evan looked thoughtful as he fiddled with the feather. “I didn’t know Mikey knew how to do hair.”

“Didn’t you tell me you had a sister?” Gregory asked, picking a smaller, brown feather from Jeremy’s shirt. “He could’ve done her hair once or twice.”

“Maybe…” Evan didn’t sound very sure. “Mikey wasn’t… I don’t know. Maybe he did. I never knew, though.”

“He did mention it when I asked…” Jeremy said, suddenly embarrassed to know more than Evan.

Evan fiddled with the feather more. “He seems to like you a lot.”

“Mike?” Jeremy asked, even more embarrassed now.

“Yeah. He smiles when he talks to you.”

“Except that one day,” Gregory interrupted. “He came inside and cried.”

“That was something else, I think,” Evan responded. “I think the Nightmares finally got to him.”

“So I take it Mike doesn’t usually talk about his issues then?”

“Not usually.” Evan squirmed, his wings puffing up. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shook his head and finally got off the floor. “Do you want to try playing Kings in the Corner again?”

“Ugh, that’s so boring,” Gregory replied, but Evan was already rushing off to get the cards.

“I need a second. I’ll be right back,” Jeremy said, slipping into the kitchen to grab another can of Coke.

Michael glanced over from where he was cutting an onion and just sighed. “Jeremy-“

“I know, I know. It’s bad for me or whatever. But I need it, okay?” Jeremy took a long swig from the can. “Better than some habits.”

“Still…”

“It’s fine dude. Cut your onion or whatever.”

Henry said something that Jeremy didn’t catch as he rushed back to the living room. “Okay, are we ready to start?”

“This game is stupid,” Gregory grumbled. He was holding his seven cards, and Evan had already laid out the board.

“I dealt, so Gregory goes first,” Evan replied, ignoring Gregory’s comment.

“Lucky,” Jeremy said, eyeing the board.

“I don’t even know how to play,” Gregory complained. “This game is for old people.”

“I guess we’re old then.” Jeremy’s eyes twinkled. “You have to play a card from your hand onto one of those four cards.” He pointed at the two of diamonds, the king of spades, the four of diamonds, and the seven of diamonds respectively. “You want it to be a lower rank, or less points than the card on the stack. And it’s gotta be the opposite color.”

“Oh.” Gregory stared at his hand for a moment.

“You gotta tell him about the kings, Jeremy.” Evan shook his head. “If there’s a king, you can move it into the spaces between the four other cards, and put a new foundation card down.”

“Huh.” Gregory frowned. “This is too confusing.”

“It really isn’t,” Jeremy laughed, taking another sip from his Coke. “If you really want, you can add your cards back to the foundation pile and watch me and Evan play a game.”

“I’m just going to do that.” Gregory stuck his cards back in the bigger stack.

“Suits don’t matter,” Evan said helpfully. “Only color does.”

Jeremy set off to move the king, and the game begun. Evan went out on his first turn.

“Okay, that was a bad example,” Evan said with a grin.

“You didn’t shuffle very well,” Jeremy said accusingly.  “That was- arghhh. We’re playing another game so Gregory can actually see how the game works.”

“Are we doing points?” Evan said innocently.

“We will once Gregory joins in,” Jeremy replied, collecting the cards from the board. “These are warm-up rounds.”

“Riiiiight,” Gregory replied with an amused snort. “You just got destroyed.”

“Thank you for the obvious and accurate commentary, Gregory.” Jeremy rolled his eyes.

When he flipped the four cards over, three of them were kings. Jeremy let out an indignant noise as Gregory burst out laughing and Evan grinned at the board. Just like that, he was down to one card. Jeremy scowled at his own cards as it became his turn.

“All four kings on the board in the first turn,” he grumbled.

“Now who’s bad at shuffling?” Evan replied, watching Jeremy’s hand drop to three cards.

“Oh, shut up.”

Evan snickered as it became his turn. “I almost wonder if you were trying to let me win.” He took the ace of diamonds and placed it on the two of clubs that Jeremy had missed during his turn. “Do you have the hang of it yet, Gregory? We may need a third player or this are going to be some very quick games.”

“Ha ha.” Jeremy said as Evan gathered up the cards again. “I’m just used to people who aren’t paying attention nearly as much as you do.”

“I’m just playing the game,” Evan said with a cheeky grin. “You had a six of spades in your hand? You could’ve played that on the seven-“

“I don’t want to hear it!” Jeremy sighed, exaggerating his grief as he drank from his can. “You have eyes like a hawk.”

Evan just hummed at that, his eyes twinkling as he shuffled the cards again. “What do you say, Gregory? Want to try and give it another shot?”

“Sure. Can’t be any worse than Jeremy, right?”

“Alright, I get it.” Jeremy shook his head. “I guess this game isn’t as awful as you want to claim it is, huh?”

“We’ll see.”

Evan pulled out a baggy filled with little red chips and shook it for a moment. “I didn’t have a chance to grab paper, so we can just play with chips, right?”

“Let’s give Gregory one trial run first,” Jeremy said as Gregory stared blankly at the chip bag. “Let him get a feel for the game.”

Gregory’s first round went okay. He managed to play half his cards in the first go, but he failed to notice that he could’ve moved the king to the corner right away, and Jeremy took advantage of that. Humming to himself, Jeremy quickly went through his turn and waited for Evan.

“That is absurd,” Gregory said, watching Evan put down cards and move piles around rapidly. “There’s no way you’re not cheating.”

“It’s all natural, Gregory,” Evan said cheerfully. “You’re just mad because I’m better at games than you are.”

“Grrrrrr….” Gregory scowled as Evan tapped his own card against the table. He put down his one card and waited for Jeremy to go.

Adding another person really did slow down the game a lot, Jeremy thought to himself. This was the first round someone had actually had to draw a card. Evan hummed, but he also needed to draw a card. Unlike Jeremy, however, Evan couldn’t play his. Finally, the game was even again.

Gregory scowled at his cards. “What do I do if I can’t play?”

“Draw,” Jeremy said. “We’ve both done it.”

Grumbling, Gregory drew a card. He brightened as he realized he could play it, and then it was Jeremy’s turn. Jeremy sighed in relief as he was able to play a card on Gregory’s queen, and then move a ten on top of that. Moment of truth, he thought to himself as Evan studied his hand. Michael’s brother shook his head and drew another card. And promptly played it.

Gregory and Jeremy both groaned at that. “See, but now things get interesting,” Evan said cheerfully. “We’ve all been drawing cards and actually have to pay attention to the board.”

“Don’t you always have to pay attention to the board?” Gregory asked as he drew another card. “Ugh.”

“Depends on how close,” Jeremy said smugly, laying down his one card. “I win this round.”

Evan sighed wearily, but he said nothing as Jeremy collected the cards to shove them at Gregory. “Your turn to shuffle.”

Gregory pushed the cards back at Jeremy. “I don’t know how.”

“I guess I can do it for you. But you’re still dealing, alright? Seven cards to each of us.”

Gregory nodded as Jeremy shuffled, and Evan quickly explained how chips worked. Everyone put one chip in at the beginning. Then, when you drew a card, you’d put another chip in. Each card at the end of the game still in your hand was another chip, except for kings. Kings were ten chips.

They all put one chip in the middle as Gregory passed out cards.

“Ready for your first real round, Gregory?” Jeremy asked, looking over his cards.

Gregory huffed, but he nodded anyway. “This is still dumb.”

“What if we made it a bit more fun?” Evan asked. “I’ll put in this feather.” He held up the blue feather he’d picked out of Jeremy’s hair.

“We’re playing for feathers?” Gregory asked. “But we both have feathers.”

“Not just any feathers. Michael’s feathers. I know him better than you do, trust me. He wouldn’t just give those away.”

Gregory considered it for a moment as Jeremy bit his lip. It seemed plenty easy to get feathers in his opinion. Michael shed two of them while Jeremy hugged him before. “Deal. I’ll put in this one.”

Gregory set the brown feather on top of the three chips. Evan did the same with the blue feather. Both of them glanced at Jeremy expectantly.

“I don’t have any. You both took those from me in the first place.” Jeremy rolled his eyes. The feathers were cool, though.

He kind of wished he had some of his own, maybe to braid through his hair or something. But that required winning this game. And since Evan was really good at Kings in the Corner, and also used all the chips in the box, it was really unlikely that he’d win them at the end.

“How about…” Jeremy put twenty more chips in the pot. “I know it doesn’t balance out at all, but you two seem to really want those feathers.”

Evan grinned, and so, the game began.

Gregory surprised them all by nearly going out in his first turn, but Evan still won the first game. They played in relative silence, too busy concentrating to hold a proper conversation. Evan crushed them in the first few rounds, but Gregory eventually got a win when Evan had 6 cards in his hand, resulting in a somewhat decent counter-balance.

It did nothing for Jeremy though. He looked nervously at his dwindling pile of chips every time the game ended and knew it was very unlikely that he’d win. It wasn’t impossible, sure, but it was incredibly unlikely.

“This is eight, Gregory,” Evan said absently, after Jeremy had already played his first turn. “We can play it, but you should pay better attention.”

Jeremy bit his lip at that. He was losing really bad. He really needed a win, and he needed one where the other two were struggling. Accidentally starting a round on eight cards was not a great way to start that.

“How did you even notice that?” Gregory asked.

“Eight feels thicker than seven.”

“How much do you play cards? Jeez,” Jeremy asked as it became Gregory’s turn.

“Enough,” Evan said with an amused smile. “I usually play alone.”

“This doesn’t feel like a game you can play alone,” Gregory muttered.

“You can. It’s just not as fun. But I don’t play this,” Evan said as Jeremy had to draw yet again. “I play Solitare.”

“Right, silly me.” Gregory shook his head. “Dude, how are you losing the game you suggested?”

“It takes a lot of luck, Gregory.” Jeremy sighed, having emptied his can of Coke long ago. “I’ve already accepted my fate. Now it’s just a matter of wondering who wins overall.”

They all fell quiet again as they settled back into their concentration. A few tense rounds went by as they all drew cards. When Evan finally played a card, Jeremy breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he’d last another round.

Or… maybe not. It was a close thing, that balance between drawing and playing. “Are we going to go through the whole deck?” Gregory eventually wondered.

“Maybe,” Jeremy replied wearily.

The pot was massive at this point. Evan’s brow was continuously furrowed, and even his wings were stiff with concentration. There’s no strategy that trumps the good cards being at the bottom of the deck, Jeremy thought to himself with grim amusement.

“Ha!” Gregory shouted his delight as he finally laid his last card.

Jeremy sighed sorrowfully as he glanced at his four chips. He would only have two left for another game after this. If only it had been Jeremy who’d drawn the card to end the game.

“I don’t even remember who shuffled that one,” Jeremy said as Gregory gathered the pot.

“It was Gregory. He started us with eight cards,” Evan replied. “You shuffle next.”

“I’m not going to make it through this game,” Jeremy muttered.

“Then we’ll just play it out, and you can be done after,” Evan shrugged. “Who knows, maybe you’ll win?”

“For every draw you have that you can’t play, I’ll put in a chip,” Gregory offered as Jeremy put his last chip in the pot. “It’ll keep things fair.”

“I’m sure,” Jeremy muttered.

“Awww, you are a grumpy old man. Evan look! He’s so grumpy.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Evan put his last card down, and Jeremy shook his head. “I’m out. Good luck, Gregory.”

He wondered what Michael and Henry were up to in the kitchen. It had been two hours of this, after all. Surely preparing a meal wouldn’t take that long, especially since Evan implied Michael was making spaghetti.

“Okay, I gotta know. What spaghetti takes three hours to make?” Jeremy said, sitting down at the kitchen table with Henry.

“It’s not the spaghetti that takes so long,” Michael replied from the stove. “It’s the sauce.”

“But why?”

“The flavor has to soak in from the leaves.” Michael shrugged, moving to sit down with them. “What were you playing in there?”

“Cards.” Jeremy shrugged. “Gregory said it was for old people.”

“Then he must have never played cards before,” Henry commented.

“Maybe it’s his age,” Michael suggested.

“Nah. Your brother got really into it. He’s been beating both of us.”

“THAT’S SO STUPID!!!” Gregory shouted from the other room.

Evan laughed and said something in response, as they all glanced toward the hallway.

“No way,” Gregory said, his voice still projecting from the other room. “That’s so stupid!”

“I think the sauce is about done,” Michael said, rising from his seat again. “I should probably begin on the actual spaghetti.”

“I appreciate you deciding to cook for us, Michael,” Henry said. “And not that I’m complaining about your food, but this seems more complicated than some of the other stuff you’ve made.”

Michael just blinked at him, filling a pot with water. “It’s just spaghetti.”

Gregory and Evan walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. “It smells great in here,” Evan said.

Michael glanced at his brother and at Gregory for a moment. “Who won?”

“Evan,” Gregory grumbled crossing his arms. “But he cheats.”

“I do not! Withholding cards on my turn is within the rules of the game. Just because it means you have to draw more doesn’t mean it’s cheating!” Evan argued.

“He’s right, Gregory. If he’s withholding cards, it’s still a risk to him since you can easily draw a card at any moment and win the game yourself. There’s a reason it’s ten chips if you’re holding a king at the end of the game.”

“Hmph,” Gregory scowled.

“Jeremy, do you need a new bandage for your face?” Henry asked as Gregory and Evan glared at each other from across the table.

“What? Oh, I’m sure it’s fine.” Jeremy hadn’t realized that the edge of his bandage was peeling off.

“We’ll get that taken care of later,” Henry said. “Were you planning on staying over tonight?”

“I…” Jeremy glanced around the room. “I don’t know.”

“If you decide to stay, let me know so I can tell your parents,” Henry replied, seemingly satisfied. “And would you like another can of Coca-Cola?”

“Yes please.”

“Don’t encourage his addiction, Henry.” Michael crossed his arms as he leaned against the counter.

Jeremy responded by sticking his tongue out at Michael. Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes, but Jeremy saw a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Can I have one too?” Gregory asked.

“Absolutely not,” Michael replied. His wings twitched slightly. “You’re done with caffeine for the rest of the night. If you’re this loud after half a can, I shudder to think of what would happen if you got a full can of Coke.”

“You’re not my mom,” Gregory grumbled.

Jeremy’s mouth twitched. “He tries to act like it though, doesn’t he?”

Michael made an indignant noise as Gregory burst out laughing. Evan giggled too, adding, “Mama bird Mike.”

All three of them broke into bad laughing fits at that one. Henry and Michael just exchanged an exasperated look as Michael stirred the spaghetti. “I can act like it if you really want me to,” Michael eventually said. “But I don’t think you’d like the response, seeing as you two are baby birds in this analogy.”

“What do you mean?” Gregory asked, bewildered.

“I think what he’s getting at,” Jeremy said, amusement glinting in his eye, “is that mother birds regurgitate food into their chicks mouths.”

“Ewwwww,” Gregory gagged.

Evan snorted. “Mikey wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Michael raised an eyebrow. “I’ve certainly done worse.”

Evan froze at that. He seemed to be considering Michael’s point. “He totally would…” Evan sounded horrified.

“And with that terrible mental image, it seems that the spaghetti is done!” Henry said, putting a can of Coke in front of Jeremy before going to fetch everyone plates.

“I just need to strain the noodles, and we’re all set,” Michael said. “Could you grab the strainer please?”

Henry nodded and retrieved the strainer. Evan hummed to himself as he fiddled with the two feathers he’d won in the card game. Gregory said nothing, but Jeremy could tell it he was still bitter from his loss. Surely Michael wouldn’t be unwilling to give up feathers if they asked, Jeremy thought to himself. Maybe he’d be uncomfortable with the idea, but if Gregory said how much he really wanted them, Jeremy was sure Michael would give in eventually.

“It’s going to be hot.” Michael warned, carrying the pot of spaghetti to the table.

Henry quickly placed a potholder beneath it, and Michael went back to retrieve the sauce for the spaghetti. “Do you want to get cups out, Evan?”

Evan nodded and got up from his spot. “Gregory, you can get the plates.”

The whole group cycled around the kitchen like a little family, and Jeremy felt a little self-conscious about his place in everything, so he went and grabbed forks for everyone. It was the least he could do.

Michael dished out the food, putting just enough sauce on their spaghetti that they could avoid it if they wanted to. All of them were a little skeptical of the meal, but they all trusted that Michael knew what he was doing. Gregory and Evan both seemed startled by the taste, but Henry simply raised an eyebrow as he took a bite. Michael didn’t seem particularly concerned about their reaction, though.

He was too busy observing Jeremy when he tried it.

It was… spicier than he expected. Jeremy glanced at Michael, suddenly suspicious of him. Michael blinked at him, casually taking a bite of his own spaghetti. Jeremy glanced at him again before moving his plate to the saucepan full of spaghetti sauce and adding more to his plate.

Michael’s slow smile made Jeremy feel even more confident about his decision. Somehow, Michael had figured him out yet again, almost without effort. Jeremy stuck another forkful in his mouth and smiled back at him.

“Gregory, slow down. You’re going to make yourself sick,” Evan said.

“It’f, fine.” Gregory swallowed hard.

“Careful you don’t choke,” Henry said warningly.

Gregory set his fork down quietly, his eyes watering. He coughed a little bit, causing Michael to turn to him with concern. “Gregory? Are you alright?”

Gregory fanned himself, and Jeremy immediately figured out what was going on. “Too spicy for you? You barely had any!” He shook his head and poured Gregory a glass of milk. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Gregory eagerly took the glass, draining it in less than a minute. “Mmmmm.”

The rest of the meal went in relative silence, with Evan and Henry occasionally teasing Gregory for eating too fast and being unable to handle spicy food. Michael seemed oblivious to the main conversation, smiling softly to himself.

Jeremy knew he was staring, but he figured it wouldn’t be the biggest deal. Plenty of people stared at their friends, right? At the way they twisted spaghetti noodles onto their forks and brought their forks to their mouths. At the way their eyes glowed with joy at making something new successfully.

Michael caught his eye, and the smile widened. Jeremy felt himself smiling back easily. He’d already finished his food, and Evan and Gregory had finished half the spaghetti by themselves. There wouldn’t be many leftovers anyway.

Henry was the first to move from the table. He collected plates from everyone to take to the sink. When Michael moved to help, Henry waved him off, insisting that since Michael made the meal, he shouldn’t have to clean it up, with a meaningful look toward Evan and Gregory. He stopped Jeremy when he tried to get up too, insisting that guests shouldn’t need to help.

“But I thought we were guests,” Gregory grumbled when Evan tapped his arm to help him get up.

“Jeremy, that bandage really does need to be changed before you go,” Henry said quietly, gathering the leftovers into different containers.

“I can help him with it,” Michael said.

“Michael, you’ve done enough today. Especially with how you were feeling this morning-“

“I can help,” Michael interjected stubbornly.

Jeremy raised a confused eyebrow at the way Michael’s wings and hair ruffled.

“You need rest,” Henry said in a tone that brokered no argument.

Still, Michael persisted, the feathers now completely refusing to lay flat. Jeremy wondered how this could possibly be something he’d need to be so defensive about. “Hey, maybe Henry’s right. You have done a lot today.”

Michael scowled at that, and he grabbed Jeremy’s arm and practically dragged him out of his chair.

“What- Hey!” Jeremy stumbled into Micheal, expecting him to apologize or something.

“There’s the old Mike,” Evan mumbled quietly.

Michael’s face was right in front of Jeremy’s as he spoke. “I know my limits.”

“Do you?” Gregory challenged. He didn’t seem frightened in the slightest, which was very different from the atmosphere surrounding Michael at that moment. “To me it seems like you keep going until you drop. Maybe you should just get rid of that chip on your shoulder and let someone else handle it for once!”

“Like you did?” Michael snapped, and at that, Gregory actually flinched. “Sometimes, you can’t trust that help will come, Gregory. You should know that better than anyone.”

Gregory’s grip on the plate in his hands tightened. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have a family who took care of me like you do! So just suck it up.” Jeremy heard tears behind those words, and Evan mumbled something gently to him and tried to get him to turn his back on Michael.

That seemed to break something in Michael’s resilience. His wings twitched, and he let go of Jeremy’s shirt. “Right. Sorry.” He sounded just as torn as Gregory. “I…”

Jeremy figured nothing would be helped by Michael sticking around in the kitchen, so he tentatively put a hand to Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, you can help with my bandage. Maybe just tell me how to put it on so I do it right tomorrow morning, yeah?”

“So you aren’t staying then?” Henry asked, looking worriedly between the four boys.

Michael’s ashen expression was not particularly reassuring. “No, I mean. If it’s okay for me to stay, I plan to. I just… Maybe it should be my responsibility to fix that?” Jeremy gestured at the scratch on his face. “Seems like all I’m doing here is making more messes anyway. Might as well try to clean one up myself, right?”

Henry frowned but he said nothing.

Jeremy leaned close to Michael’s ear. “Come on then.”

“I didn’t mean to… I hurt his feelings,” Michael mumbled as he mechanically peeled the rest of the bandage away from Jeremy’s face to wipe at the scratch with a wet cloth.

“Energy was running high. Maybe you are a bit more overwhelmed then you thought? Frayed nerves break way for anger sometimes. Or so I’ve heard.”

“I still shouldn’t have done that.” Michael couldn’t even look Jeremy in the eye. He was too distraught.

“Why did you get so defensive, if you don’t mind me asking? And I’m not just talking about Gregory. You were adamant about helping me with my bandage.”

“I just…” Michael hesitated. “I haven’t had a chance to see you in days, and I wanted to get every moment I could?”

“An afternoon together wasn’t enough?” Jeremy teased, even though he knew exactly how Michael was feeling. “Look, that’s okay, Mike. But you gotta take care of yourself too.”

“Yeah, but-“

“What do you want? I know you think you have to help everybody all the time, but you’ve gotta have desires too, right?”

“Maybe I don’t deserve to have my desires realized,” Michael replied. He still wasn’t looking at Jeremy. “Maybe I’m just a rotten person who doesn’t deserve joy or anything that doesn’t directly benefit anybody else.”

“Michael Afton.” Jeremy said, trying to sound stern. “You are a human being just like everyone else. We all make mistakes. And you sound like you’re trying to atone for yours. I don’t know about you, but someone who tries to learn from their mistakes sounds like someone who deserves to have what they want every now and again.”

Michael completely froze at that. When he met Jeremy’s eyes, he looked utterly shattered. “I…” He swallowed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“That’s okay, Mike. No one is asking you to do everything-“

“No, you don’t understand.” His voice was hardly a whisper. “I’ve… That scolding… You’ve said that to me before.”

“I have?”

Michael nodded mutely. “It was right before…” His wings stretched their full length as Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t.”

“What can’t you do, Michael?” Jeremy asked softly.

A pained noise rumbled in Michael’s throat, and he dropped the cloth, yanking Jeremy forward by his shirt. Their mouths crashed together, and all Jeremy could think was finally. His own hands went behind Michael’s shoulders, and he gently guided the wings back into a folded position before stroking them gently.

He didn’t want to stop kissing Michael. It was freeing and exhilarating at the same time. Michael tasted like bubble gum and smelled like clean laundry. He was the weirdest man Jeremy had ever met, but maybe that was what made him so alluring. Or maybe it was something else. Something about all this just seemed so… right.

When Michael broke away, Jeremy tried to follow. Michael looked at him fondly and laughed. “I thought you said I needed to take care of myself.”

“I can’t be that addicting,” Jeremy said impulsively.

Michael snorted. “I need air, Jeremy. We were both going to pass out if we kept that up.”

“Can we do it again?” Jeremy didn’t care about air. He just wanted to be close to Michael, wanted to make him smile, wanted to make him laugh.

Michael laughed again, a brilliant sound, before Jeremy pressed their lips back together. It was completely perfect.

[misctf]

Country Living

When he stopped to help you on the side of this lonely country road, you couldn’t have been more grateful. You didn’t expect your car to breakdown on these desolate backroads. Nor did you expect a lack of cell service. Your years studying in college didn’t exactly give you the knowledge on how to diagnose and fix cars. But based on all the smoke, you figured something was wrong.

“Aw, don't you worry none, I'm right happy to help y'all out.” He removed his ball cap and ran his hand through his short brown hair, “Name’s Bucky. What brings y'all to this neck of the woods?”

He was certainly taller and more muscular than you- not to mention ripe with the smell of a hard day’s work. And you could tell he was looking you over, the juxtaposition couldn’t have been clearer. Country vs city boy, manual laborer vs keyboard warrior, dropped out of high school vs college educated. The list could go on. But despite the bias you held towards these country folks, you were happy he was helping. And so you introduced yourself and expressed your sincere gratitude. Bucky smiled and gave you a bone crushing handshake.

“Ain't no trouble at all, I'm just glad to help out.” He smiled warmly, his dark eyes, while lacking intelligence, were filled with kindness and just a bit of mischief.

He winks at you and you felt your heart flutter for just a moment. Maybe it was the way his stubble framed his tanned face. Or the way the sweat dripped from his muscular arms as he worked on your car. Or perhaps it was the occasional glances he gave you and the sly smirk that told you he knew you were checking him out.

“I reckon I know what's wrong. Just need to grab a tool from my garage.” He said, wiping the sweat from his brow, “You care to join me? Looks like you could use a sip of somethin’.”

It was true. In the sweltering heat, you were certainly thirsty. And while part of you wanted to stay with your car, you felt beckoned to go with him. And so you did. You climbed into his pick-up truck and watched as he revved the engine. And before long, you were cruising down the old country road with your car disappearing from sight.

“Well, dang if this ain't my favorite tune!” Bucky said, turning up the volume, “You figure you into this kinda music?”

It was some country song. One about cars, beer, and living on a farm. Not something you’d listen to voluntarily. But as Bucky sang in his southern twang, you found your foot tapping along. Soon you were mouthing the words, almost as if you knew the song by heart. And a moment later you joined in with him, the two of you putting your hearts into every lyric. You barely noticed the southern twang that garnished your voice.

“Well, I'll be darned! Can’t believe you like these kinda tunes. No offense intended, but you don't quite fit the mold, do ya?” He says with a chuckle.

Bucky gives your arm a playful punch and you look down at the exposed, tanned skin of your bicep. Your muscles were contracting and seemingly getting larger, highlighted nicely by the wifebeater that clung tightly to your skin. You look up at Bucky and he gives you a wink. Again, you feel comforted by his kind smile and playful dark eyes. You turn away and absentmindedly run a hand over your growing biceps. So firm and tight, the skin somewhat weathered. But deep down you know something isn’t right. Its nagging at you, begging for you to say something. To at least find out what’s happening to you. You want to tell Bucky, but he’s just pulled up to his garage.  

“Mind givin’ me a hand findin’ my toolkit?” Bucky asks. You nod quickly- your anxiety being pushed deep into your subconsciousness. And as Bucky enters the garage, he pulls off his sweaty wifebeater, “Don't pay me no mind, it sure gets mighty hot 'round these parts. You’re welcome to do the same.”

And you follow his example. As you do, you catch a whiff of your pits. The musk that invades your nostrils is a far cry from the vegan deodorant you applied this morning. Moreso, your usually well-trimmed pit hair is now a curly damp bush of dark brown hairs that poke out when you lower your arms. The smell makes you dizzy and you feel like you might fall over, but Bucky lends you a hand.

“Don’t go faintin’ on me now.” He says with a grin, “We got a lotta work to do.”

“Don't you worry 'bout me none, I got this here handled.” You say- the words leaving your mouth without much input from your brain. Bucky’s eyes light up and he grins.

“I shoulda known that.” His laugh fills your ears and you swear it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve heard. He notices you admiring him, “Gotta find those tools now.”

You nod and start rummaging through his garage and workbench. You pick up a wrench and place it down. Then another and another. You never really needed to learn basic mechanic stuff, let alone the names of wrenches. You were more focused on your degree. Your degree in... In...? You stare at the composite wrench in your hand and your eyes narrow. You were studying something at that univer... uni... book-learnin’ place of yours, right? Your thoughts are distracted when some oil spills on your hands.

“Gosh darnit.” You mutter, wiping the oil on your work jeans. Work jeans that were stained and torn from years of laboring.

You turn towards Bucky to say something, but instead find yourself gawking. His perfect stubble across his face, the sweat gleaming on his firm and toned muscles, and the way his chest hairs frame his pecs. Your dick gets hard and you quickly start to massage your bulge. And when you see how well his work jeans fit tightly around his juicy ass, you can’t but help let out a whistle.

“You say somethin’?” He asks, turning to face you, “Yeehaw! Look at you!” He says, clearly gawking.  

You turn to catch a glimpse of yourself in a nearby mirror and your eyes widen. You bounce your juicy pecs, appreciating the light dusting of hairs that decorate them. You raise your thick, meaty arm and flex, causing your muscles to bulge. And then you look at your face. It had squared out a bit, giving it a masculine edge and your cheeks now sported stubble. You felt powerful, and you couldn’t help but continue to flex.

“Hey there big fella.” You let out a masculine moan as Bucky comes from behind you, his arm reaching around, and his hand grabbing a fistful of your muscle tit, “You’re bigger’n a bull in springtime!” You just nod, unable to produce words as pleasure courses through you from his teasing hand, “It sure does get lonesome out here in these parts. Reckon I wouldn’t mind some company, if it ain’t too much trouble.”

He spins you around, your bodies pressing up against one another. His hand moves down your abs and then down your work jeans. He’s staring deep into your eyes now, a primal lust replacing the prior warmth from earlier. And for the first time, you feel lost. Scared even. As though you’re going down a path you wouldn’t be able to back away from. The end of one chapter of your life and the start of another you weren’t sure you wanted.

“Wait a minute... somethin’ don’t feel right. I... this ain’t who I am.” You say, unable to talk like you used to.

“Now, don’t go overthinkin’ it. Just keep your eyes on me.” Bucky whispered, his hands working to undo the buckle on your jeans.

You watch as he pulls down your pants and slowly gets down on his knees. Your enlarged, throbbing dick continues to grow, adding inch after inch. Bucky is nearly salivating as he comes face to face with your monster, and without another word, his tongue traces along the shaft. You moan as his mouth expertly works your cock. He bobs up and down, taking its entirety into his mouth. You feel as his hands wrap around your waist and he grabs a fistful of your muscular ass, causing you to let out another deep, masculine moan. You can feel your dick throbbing, your balls growing heavy with your seed. And as he expertly works the head of your cock, you can feel it. You’re getting close... so close. And then it stops. You’re breathing heavy now, and you look down at him. A sheen of sweat covers your body, dampening your body hair and filling the air with your country musk.

“Wh... why’d ya stop?” You breath out.

Bucky smirks, “You sure 'bout this, darlin’? Leavin’ behind all that city livin’ and book-learnin’? Just you and me, livin’ simple out here?” He licks along your shaft again, “Once you say yes, that’s it. No turnin’ back, no second thoughts. You sure you’re ready for that?”

Was this what he wanted? To bring you so close? To send you into a horny frenzy? To make it so that in this moment, all you’d be able to say was yes? With a smirk and a wink, he went back to sucking your cock. And as he did, you could feel it. You could feel your brain shrinking. Your memories growing up in suburbia vanished. As were your memories of going to college in the city. Nerdy interests like videogames and comic books vanished from your brain, and you felt terror as you forgot about your friends and family. Everything that made you you was vanishing from your mind. Instead, you could feel new interests: farming, hunting, woodworking, lifting weights, and drinking beer with your husband after a long day. Your fashion sense simplified: wifebeaters and work jeans, and honestly going shirtless was preferred. And as your eyes dimmed to reflect your lack of intelligence, and Bucky bobbed up and down on your dick, you finally came, releasing all of who you used to be. And as you filled your husband’s eager throat, you blacked out.

If someone told you who you used to be in your past life, I’m not sure you would go back. When the police came by a few days after your transformation with a missing persons poster of some kid, you had no idea who they were talking about. You quickly forgot all about that encounter. You had more important things like fixing the truck. But before you did that, you should check on Bucky. It’s been a few days, and your balls were mighty full.

[meanbossart]

Oh boy, VaM is kind of a trial and error experience LOL I couldn't really show you how to use the interface and stuff without a whole video or something, but it's not THAT difficult to get a hang of if you just give yourself a day or two to play around, not to mention the number of tutorials you find out there. Luckily, if you only want to use it as a reference software that makes the process far easier (to this day I have no idea how to animate on that thing, since that's not what I use it for)

As for how I use it, it's pretty self explanatory - if there's a complicated pose I want to draw but I'm either having trouble with it, or just want to double-check angles/anatomy, I will use it as a resource! I use for most of my "proper" pieces (y'know, the nicer looking ones) and every once in a while for my silly comics if I'm having trouble with a pose.

Lets use this drawing for example (the character on top of DU drow belongs to @namespara )

I don't draw a lot of mud-wrestling (shocking, I know) but I had an idea of the kind of pose I wanted them to be in. So the very first thing I did was make a rough sketch of what I was envisioning:

I often do a rough sketch first, even If I know I'm going to be pulling the program up because A) It's less tedious than adjusting the models over and over again until I pick a pose and B) because sometimes I'll decide I don't need the reference, after all, and so that's 30 minutes I'll have spared myself of playing around on the software.

Now, this is a pretty complicated pose! It's in a weird angle and the bodies are making contact in ways I'm not used to depicting, so I did choose to whip out VaM for this one. I went into the program and after some messing around, I flopped my little dolls together like this:

Now something really cool about VaM is that you can completely customize your models, and if you have the patience, I would definitely encourage you to do so! Obviously, you don't have to make picture perfect replicas of every single character you have, but as you can see here I have made a DU drow "decoy" to help me better understand some of his features when I draw him: he has a strong brow, a short nose, a square jawline - these are all going to look a very specific way from certain angles, and I might not always be sure of how to draw it right! So it's useful to have models that bear SOME semblance to the character so you can better understand how different viewpoints will affect their bone structure and mass.

Also thank fucking god for the elf-ear slider. Figuring out how to draw those shits from certain angles was a huge pain in the ass when I started drawing DnD races.

So, with the reference in hand, I go over the sketch again:

Now you may notice that I don't stick to the reference 100%. There's three reasons for this:

posing on VaM is tedious as hell. You can get something incredibly natural looking and picture-perfect to reference from if you wish, but it's going to take you hours to do. So, for the most part I just slap guys together until the results are "close enough" and use that.

In my opinion, you should always aim to ENHANCE your reference material, not replicate it exactly!

While VaM is a PRETTY DANG GOOD source of anatomical reference, it isn't perfect, I often supplement it with further reference from real life resources or make tweaks based on my own knowledge where I catch it falling short (and, antithetical to what I just said, I sometimes fuck the anatomy up further on purpose if I think it looks better that way LOL it's all jazz baby).

Then lines, color, yada yada. I don't have a tutorial on that and I don't think I could make one, because my process is chaotic as hell, but I do at times use Virt-a-mate as loose reference for lighting too when coloring - waaaaayyyy less so however, because that process is even more tedious and I feel like I often get better results by just winging it. It is a feature of the program though, and I'm sure it would be helpful for someone who has a difficult time visualizing lights and shadows. I only started using this program a few months ago, so I happened to already have a pretty good understanding of that kind of thing and just don't personally feel like I get much out of that particular mechanic.

Here's a few other examples of pieces that I made reference for (WARNING: Suggestive)

Now, for the question many of you may want to ask:

"Can I trace this junk?"

And to that, I say: Buddy, you can do whatever the hell you want with the reference material you created.

However,

If your goal is to learn and improve your art, and to recreate realistic proportions and anatomy from memory, tracing won't help you.

Developing your own style, your muscle memory, and personal technique will all be hindered by choosing to trace instead of drawing from observation, so I would encourage against it. Hell - even when tracing is employed as a technique, it's usually by high-skill realism & concept artists who are looking to either cut some corners, save time, or just double-check their own proportions in order to improve further - if you try tracing as a beginner, you will most definitely find the result to still look stiff and "off".

So trust me, there is so much more to be gained from drawing from observation. Make note of tangents, compare proportions, use all the elements of the picture to dictate where and how things should go - it will be a far more rewarding experience.

Hopefully this has been helpful! VaM is a really cheap program (you get it on the guys' patreon for I think 8 dollars, just google it!) and it's definitely been worth my money as an artist since I found it. Learning to use it can be a little intimidating at first glance, but as I said above you only really need a day plus one or two tutorials to get a hang of the interface.

A fair warning though, IT IS A SOFTWARE MADE FOR VIRTUAL SEX/ADULT ANIMATION So when looking it up expect to see a some spicy content.

[illustromic]

My thoughts on drawing wings (an unofficial tutorial)

Do you want to get better at drawing your favorite winged character? Do you have winged OCs? Just want to learn something new? I can't promise this post will help, but maybe it'll give you some helpful tips.

I know, I knowww, wing tutorials have been done to death. I don't care. This was initially inspired by a conversation on twitter, but actually I've wanted to write down my notes on the topic for a long time lol. Basically wings are one of my special interests so it's very important, for me, to draw them both nicely and also realistically.

On that note, let me first show you my resume *distant sound of floodgates opening*

Like what you see? Read on! (Oh, and I will only be covering feathered/avian wings bc those are the type I know best.)

Now, I'm not here to give you a step-by-step guide on wing anatomy and aerodynamics, because there are plenty of other resources that cover this already, and I'll list my faves at the end of the post. Right now, I'm going to give you some easy guidelines and tricks that I wish more artists knew.

1: Wings do, in fact, have bones (crazy, I know) and are actually very rigid because they have to support the weight of a living creature. There are some positions you cannot physically force a wing into irl.

2: Flight feathers are not placed willy-nilly on the wing, because then they wouldn't catch the air properly. Again, like the bones, they are rigid and strong, so don't draw them like fur or ribbons. All wings have the same pattern of feather placement, with slight variation depending on species. If you learn the feather sections, it will automatically improve your drawings a lot.

2.5: Feathers overlap each other like a handful of playing cards, and this looks different depending on which side of the wing you're drawing. They always do this unless they're extremely untidy.

3: The size of the wingspan is important if you're going for a more realistic design. There is no "scientifically accurate" measurement when it comes to fictional creatures, but my general rule is when in doubt, you probably need to make them bigger. Personally, for my original winged human species, I give them wings that can be up to 12 feet long each (the artistic sacrifice is that it's really hard to fit the wings on the dang page lmao, so make your own call).

4: Get used to drawing folded wings. Most of the time, birds keep their wings folded because it prevents them from getting damaged and it conserves energy. The trick is to get good at visualizing how the joints bend and overlap (look at plenty of photos!) In general, they can fold much tighter than you think.

5: Wings and feathers take a lot of patience to draw, but the results are worth it. I've seen so so many incredibly beautiful and skillful artworks that are---well, maybe not ruined, but still negatively affected by a pair of wings that look like an afterthought, or not even like wings at all. You have no idea how much a little extra time and practice will add to your work until you see for yourself.

Finally, some notes on "stylized" wings: Of course it's perfectly ok to draw more simplified/cartoony wings if that's your preference!! BUT there is a difference between a stylistic choice and a lack of effort/poor understanding of the subject matter. Even cartoonists have to learn the fundamentals of realism so they know how to make their designs logical and appealing. Here are some examples of more stylized wings that I feel retain the core principles of anatomy/aesthetics:

And last but not least: A list of helpful links I use personally for reference and inspiration!

I made this pinterest board for general artsy inspo, and this board to curate my very favorite tutorials/refs/information, focusing on the scientific aspect of wings and flight in general. Feel free to use both! (I also suggest pinterest in general for pose refs and such, but try to only practice using photos at first and not other drawings.)

I highly recommend this blog and this blog if you want examples of artists who draw more realism-based winged creatures!! They are both huge inspirations for me and I think you should totally follow them even if you don't plan to draw wings lol <3

If you're REALLY serious about it, my favorite ref books are: Winged Fantasy, a lovely drawing book by Brenda Lyons; Proctor & Lynch's Manual of Ornithology; and Angelus vincens by R. Spano, which is essentially an artbook by someone who (I believe) designed biologically plausible "angels" for their senior thesis.

Ok, idk how to end this lol but I hope it helped! I know it's not my normal kind of post but I'm super busy with college stuff rn and this was all I had time for. If you guys have any questions or feedback, please let me know!!!

-Aloe <3

[rom-e-o]

NSFW Alphabet Headcanons (Emmrich/F!Rook)

Well, after waiting 10 years for Veilguard to come out, I’ve been enjoying it! So much so that I’ve gotten very carried away with my F!Rook OC, Belisma Ingvellar. And completely fell in love with her relationship with Emmrich.

@quill-pen had the amazing idea to do this exercise for them, sooo … away we go~ Thank you, and I hope it's a fun read!

Some background: Belisma is a 35-year-old Mourn Watch mage. Bookish and a bit awkward (she’d rather read tomes and dance ballet than lead troops against ancient gods), but she has a kind heart and can’t say no, especially when nobody else deserves the stress of saving the world.

18+ only OC content below cut.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Although she’s usually completely tuckered out after every tryst with Emmrich, Belisma always offers to assist with aftercare and clean-up. However, being the strict gentleman he is, Emmrich will not let her lift a finger.

Does she need a washcloth? He will fetch it, and make sure it’s soft and warm. Does she want water? He’ll get a pitcher. He’s even offered to carry her to the tub (Belisma is a fairly slender woman, about 110 lbs, but even then, she doesn’t love the idea of him carrying her in such an exhausted state.) He’ll do it though, and run her bath too.

Emmrich is a giving and sensual man, before, during and after any and all activities.

"Emmrich, this is too much! You don’t need to …" "Nothing is too much for you, my dearest. And I assure you, when we’re here, like this, I enjoy every moment."

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Emmrich: His favorite body part of hers is her collarbone. Just watching how the cords of her neck lead into those symmetrical, flared clavicles captivates him. He loves to run his lips along the bone, all the way to the acromion bump on the outer edge of the scapula. The delicate but complex bone structure is always something he’d admired during educational dissections, but that fascination takes on new meaning when he feels her skin flutter and flush beneath his lips during kisses. She feels alive. It’s exhilarating.

If asked what his favorite part of his body is, at first, he’d say his hands. But if you really pressed him to be honest, his arms. You don’t hold your limbs aloft and spend hours conjuring the dead with the grace of a musical conductor without getting some nice definition.

These are also the parts of him that he most adorns in jewelry and grave gold via rings and bracelets.

Belisma: She loves his back muscles and spine. Emmrich will say he’s too slender or thin, and that his ribs are too noticeable, but she disagrees. Watching the muscles of his back move and flex, even when he does something as simple as shift in his sleep, hypnotizes her. Those amazing shoulder blades, the contour of his spine … she kisses each point often. Sometimes Emmrich rolls over to return her kisses. Other times, gods forgive him, he feigns sleep so he can lay there and let her do it. Because it feels amazing, and he still can’t believe he’s not dreaming.

She loves her hair. It’s long and braided, and strong as a dang rope from how she tends to it. Also, from her years dancing ballet, she does think her calves are nice (and they are – she EARNED those muscles).

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Emmrich is a fastidious and tidy man. That being said, bodily fluids don’t disgust him. They’re natural, after all, especially when specific activities and positions are involved.

After eating her out, the scent and taste of her arousal lingering on his lips and moustache delights him. As does the aroused look on her face when he licks it off.

Belisma, also being a member of the Mourn Watch and also having clinical experience, views bodily fluids somewhat neutrally. They don’t turn her on specifically, but she knows her own wickedness and uses them to her advantage. If he drips or cums on her early or too soon, she won’t clean herself up. Instead, she’ll slide her fingers through it, bring it to her lips, or use it as lube on his cock.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

They could never do it, but they share fantasies of it – having sex at his work desk in the Lighthouse. And not quickies – full, bold, sensual, fully-undressed sex. With the doors open. The idea delights, but no. Even if their companions knew to stay away, Manfred would not. And Hezenkoss would be HIGHLY displeased.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Emmrich is quite experienced. He’s been with ladies and gentlemen, and knows his charms (as well as his likes and dislikes in the bedroom). He’s dated and easily found companionship, but each eventually fell through. He always wanted love, commitment and marriage. He's in it for the long-run.

Belisma dated some, but her only serious relationship was with another mage named Cyril. They separated because, surprise, he didn’t want commitment. And for Belisma, he wasn’t worth the effort.

Neither are virgins, but Belisma definitely isn’t as experienced as he is. He did have a head start, though, haha, to be fair. He groans when she playfully brings that up.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Belisma loves to ride him. She gets to feel him proudly jutting up into her, and he gets to lean back and focus solely on grinding up into her. Win-win. After she comes, she switches to more of a bouncing motion, which quickly brings him to whimpering ruin beneath her.

Emmrich gets to admire her face, feel her bum smacking his thighs, and watch her small tits bounce with each thrust. So, it gets a thumbs-up from him too. Doggy-style is also favorite because of how deep it allows him to go.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Emmrich takes romance and sex very seriously. After all, like we established, he is a man who wants love. True love. Marriage. He wants a lifelong commitment and partnership. As such, he takes lovemaking very seriously. He’s not a silent statue during it, of course, but he’s not cracking jokes, haha. He wants to make sure she feels good, is enjoying herself, and is as ‘in the moment’ as he is. He’s attentive.

He might smile and laugh afterward, when they’re laying together in the afterglow of it all, but in the moment? He is very serious and focused.

Belisma is also quite serious when it comes to their time in bed together. She’s a little awkward and bookish, and she knows that. If she tries to joke or force levity, it would ruin the mood and come across as less than genuine, and she values him too much for that.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

We know Emmrich is meticulous about grooming, bathing and shaving.

He’s got some salt-and-pepper chest hair that matches the thatch between his legs, but he’s not overly hairy otherwise. Pretty sparse, to match his in-game model. He bathes daily (and after any workout/battle) and always takes care to present himself perfectly with the poise and grace expected of him.

Belisma will get so engrossed in work that she’ll accidentally go days without bathing, but she wouldn’t sleep with Emmrich in those moments. She’d bathe before any intimacy. For her hair, she washed and makes sure to condition, oil, brush and smooth it properly. Her hair, ideally, is braided. If it’s braided and up, she needs to wash it. If she’s donned a hood, it’s … been a rough/busy week. She does shave her legs and under her arms. Between her legs, she keeps hair trimmed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Emmrich and Belisma are slow, sensual lovers. Nothing is fast, frantic, or quick. They always take their time with foreplay and undressing. LOTS of slow kissing, sighs and words of affirmation. The romance of every encounter is very important and non-negotiable for them. Both are very likely to set up their rooms or even decorate.

For example, if Emmrich plans to bring Belisma to his chamber, the bed is made and cleaned, a fire is roaring with cinnamon-scenter timber. There will be wine, music and a gradual build-up to their coupling.

Belisma will do the same. If he comes to her quarters, she makes sure to clean the entire room beforehand, and make sure everything is perfumed. She also makes dinner for him frequently (rarebit is a favorite), and always makes hazelnut torte for dessert. She even has sleep clothes and a dressing gown for him (in lilac, his favorite color) at the ready.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

One they’re a couple, they do experiment with watching each other masturbate and seeing who gives in first and crosses the room to the other. (They keep a playful tally – a straight tie, right down the middle. The ‘loser’ from the previous time owes the other a drink for next time.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Emmrich: Very light bondage, wax play (all those candles come in handy, and the dripping wax is exhilarating) and praise. This man yearns for sweet, sweet words.

Belisma: Praise. Praise, praise, PRAISE KINK all day long. She’ll try anything once (the candle wax is fun, she’ll admit).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Their bedrooms, mostly because they know they won’t be interrupted. By people, or by Manfred. Thankfully, even with gloves, his skeletal hands aren’t dexterous enough to turn a key in a locked door. Obviously, their first time was in the coffin in the Necropolis, which was also nice and private (but a bit cold).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

At the dinner date with Rook, he admits that it’s been a while since he’s enjoyed anyone’s company. Handling semesters of students, keeping matters at bay in the Necropolis, and teaching Manfred takes time, after all.

Emmrich really doesn’t need a ton of motivation, honestly. He’s been waiting for this forever – finding someone to love and cherish. Someone to read with in bed, or dance with at the end of a long night when gentle music enters through a cracked window.

As for what turns him on, he will admit that he loves to watch her dance. Belisma was a ballet dancer for many years after all. She’s graceful, and the art shows off her skeletal and muscular forms quite perfectly. Seeing her jump and twirl so effortlessly, hair spinning behind her, her cheeks flushed and a light sheen of sweat forming across her chest and face? Color him very interested.

Belisma gets turned on, honestly, by seeing him happy. He’s so reserved usually that seeing him get giddy or ramble about a new discovery or relic just makes her want to take his face between her hands and smooch him silly. Also, when he’s focused at his work desk, that also makes for quite a lovely picture. She’ll bring him tea and find him looking at thesis submission from student, glasses perched on his nose, head down, gaze focused. It’s a dreamy picture. Then, when he notices her, and his entire demeanor shifts to one of excitement (“Isma, darling! Hello!”) her entire body blushes every time.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything non-con or sadistic is a no for both. Also, they are not interested in any third parties. Spectators or participants.

When she is in ANY kid of pain, it causes him immense distress.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Emmrich prefers to give oral. Not that he’ll say no to Belisma on her knees, taking him into his mouth (not at all) but it’s just not his preferred method of intimacy. He can’t see her face as well when she blows him, and honestly, he wants to be able to look at her. To admire the subtle changes in her expression during intercourse. Oral complicates that. Yet, he does LOVE to give oral. The entire time, his eyes stare up at her, watching her blissed out expression. He uses on hand to furiously pump his own cock while he moans and licks into her. The sounds alone are enough to bring him to ruin.

Belisma loves both. She’s a little shy about receiving it the first time, especially since Cyril never liked doing it) so he puts it off. What if she tastes/smells bad? What if she looks weird down there? Emmrich catches on eventually, and asks her:

“Isma, I can’t help but notice … when I’m pleasuring you, my hands and fingers are welcome, but when I lean down, you always stop me. I can only use my hands, if that’s why you want, but I want to be certain.” “Oh. I’m sorry. Um, yes, hands are fine. I’m used to that. I guess I’m just a little…” “Self-conscious?” “Yes. I’m sorry, that’s immature of me.” “Hardly. It’s a matter of immense vulnerability. Darling, we’ll move at your pace. If you’d like to try it, just say the word. I’ll just add this, if it happens to help; I know there are foolish schoolboys who think women should taste like sugar cubes and smell like roses between their legs. I am a man with no such expectations.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual, all the way. The only time things get ‘rough’ is when they’re about to climax. Emmrich will grab her hips and pick up the pace to something a little more punishing. Belisma will tug his hair and bit his shoulder as her body clenches around him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Nope. If there is not enough time for the full wooing process, there is no sex. I really can’t stress how important intimacy and romance is for these two, haha.

Emmrich especially. He’s a man, and his anatomy doesn’t require as much … preparation. Belisma? Without foreplay, things can be painful for her, and that thought sickens him.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

They are way more game for experimenting than risk-taking. ‘Experimenting’ implies genuine interest and carnal fascination. ‘Risk-taking’ feels … unnecessary, haha. Like, would they risk having sex in their private theatre box next time they go see the Nevarran Ballet perform ‘Faustina’? No, not during the show. Buuut after the show ends, and they lock the door and pull the curtains? That’s an experiment in semi-public sex. Way more comfortable and controlled for them.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

So, Emmrich is 52-55. Belisma is 35. They’re not mating like bunnies, but they have impressive stamina. Both are quick and spry on the battlefield. His refractory period is definitely existent, but that’s fine. They mostly talk between rounds, because frankly, that’s what they love most.

“My, that lilac lingerie was a delightful surprise. Where did you come across it?” “Oh, Neve recommended my to this fabulous boutique! A little pricey, but—” “Definitely worth it, if I may say so.”

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Both of them do, haha. You’re not single for decades without investing in some good tools to tide you over. They’re also both adults. I imagine Emmrich (who seems to have been quite the rambunctious/flirtatious youth) frequented them quite a bit as he found companionship with other ladies and gentlemen.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

They both loooove to tease the other. Flirtatious looks, winks, holding hands under the dinner table. It's fun, and for them, it's getting to enjoy that teenage-esque delight of being cute and in-love for a bit.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

They can be loud, but it’s harder for them. Stealing moments with each other and keeping things slow can sometimes mean their engagements are on the quieter side.

They sometimes need reminders that it’s okay to make noise. It’s okay to sigh, and moan, and cry out the other’s name. Belisma loves when Emmrich grunts or gasps against her. She’s so used to him appearing composed, it’s exciting being the one that makes such a gentleman comes beautifully undone.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Emmrich: After he starts seeing Belisma, his morning workouts and exercises become a little more intense. He wants to be able to keep up with her, you know. She’s around 20 years younger, after all.

As for Belisma: She had a stuffed nug from when her parents left her as an infant. It was bundled in her swaddling cloth. She still has it, and even sleeps with it sometimes. She does NOT want Emmrich to know (how embarrassing, she’s 35!) but Manfred finds it one day and brings it to her while she and Emmrich are talking.

“Pet!” “Where did you … Manfred, did you use your allowance to buy a toy? Hm … it looks well-loved.” Then Manfred gives it to Belisma. “Rook! Pet!” “Oh. Is that yours?” Emmrich asks, blinking.

Oh, she could have died on the spot. He just laughs and says it’s sweet. Then lightly chastises Manfred for going through people’s belongings.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

We’ve discussed body hair already. As for anatomy, Emmrich looks … decently endowed, honestly. There’s some noticeable cargo down there, even when he’s completely casual.

He’s quite thin and slender, especially with his height. His muscles are decently toned, but there is a softness to him. Nothing is cleanly cut or defined but he is trim. Even a little gaunt, especially around his ribs and hips.

Belisma is also very slender and thin. Even bony in some places. She has s smaller chest (B-cups) and noticeable hip dips.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

SO HIGH. They may not have the energy to mate like bunnies, but they go for hours. And they can jump in and out as needed. For example, they’ll make love, stop to make dinner, eat, then have sex again, then bathe (doing another round in the tub) then finish up with one last round in bed.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Belisma always falls asleep first. And she is out like a light, snoozing away. She also talks in her sleep, haha.

Emmrich takes time to fall asleep. It’s just harder for him, but watching her sleep and breathe beside him is an immense help for soothing his own worries. She calms him better than tea and lavender, and he’s at his most relaxed when they’re sharing a bed together, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Day you start writing GG stuff i’ll be spamming you with Baiken and Testament requests until then…

Can i request Furina,Navia,Noelle and Marin with a touch starved S/O?

(Genshin Impact/My Dress Up Darling) Furina, Navia, Noelle, and Marin with a touch-starved S/O

Baiken is coming soon, i can tell you that much right now!

Oh-ho-ho? Furina's S/O is touch starved?

Well, thankfully she is here to help alleviate their symptoms! Is she not the kindest soul in all of Fontaine?

Her ass is also extremely touch starved, and is desperately craving for cuddles, maybe even moreso than S/O.

The first time, she is extremely smug, despite the blush that was burning her cheeks telling them otherwise.

But honestly, neither of them really cared. The moment they were in each other's embrace for the first time on the couch, they completely melted.

Furina doesn't even say something when she initiates the cuddles, simply letting her body decompress and snuggle closer into their chest.

Navia is going to turn that touch-starve into the paste tense.

Even before she learned that fact about S/O, Navia's arms and hands were holding them in some capacity.

Doubly so when she learns that they've been craving any type of physical affection.

She almost leaps onto S/O with her arms wrapped around their waist and lifting them up.

Navia absolutely loves how comfortable S/O gets whenever she's near, and her heart melts everytime they cuddle.

There was nothing that her hugs can't cure!

...Well, maybe not a sickness, but she would find a way!

Truthfully, Noelle didn't know that she was also starved of physical affection as well.

It wasn't until S/O asked to cuddle that she realized how nice it felt to be with someone she loved.

Her arm strength gives them one hell of a hug, not only alleviating their touch-starvation, but also all the bones in their back!

Everyday after performing her duties, she would shyly ask for S/O to let her cuddle with them, even many years into the relationship.

For once, it was nice that she got to ask for something, and help someone at the same time!

Especially the person she loved.

Marin's hands are always wrapped around her S/O's, no question asked.

To hell if they're in public or in private, Marin is going to make sure S/O doesn't feel touch starved ever again!

In fact, the first time she was asked to cuddle, Marin felt like she was falling in love for the first time all over again, they were just so dang cute!

She responded with a very loud "YES", and almost glomped them.

Though strangely enough, if she's in private, she gets way more flustered at getting close to S/O.

Yet in public, she does not even bat an eye if her arms are completely hugging S/O's arm as they walk through the streets.

[roseyreveries]

Hunted

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part Two <- click!

Summary: Hydra infiltrates SHIELD and takes control of Bucky again, setting the Winter Soldier on course to take out his target: you.

CW: Guns, Violence, Blood, Angst, not very movie accurate, the Avengers being weaker than usual for plot

Directory

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

The bass from the radio thrummed in time with my heartbeat as I belted out the lyrics to the song blaring from the speakers. My sister, Maggie, laughed beside me, swaying in her seat, her off-key voice matching mine perfectly. We’d done this a hundred times before—road trips, late-night drives, blasting karaoke-worthy tunes that never failed to lift our spirits. Today was no different; it was just us, the open road, and the kind of freedom that only a highway can bring.

I glanced over at Maggie, her face scrunched up in exaggerated concentration as she hit the high note, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re killing it!” I shouted over the music.

“Please, you’re the one auditioning for a Grammy!” she shot back, winking at me.

The world outside was a blur of cars, the sun dipping low in the sky, painting the horizon in streaks of orange and pink. I felt alive, invincible. But then, out of nowhere, everything changed.

It happened so fast. One moment we were carefree, and the next, I was slamming on the brakes. A figure stepped onto the road, right in front of our car—a man with long dark hair, clad in black, his presence commanding the space like he owned it. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was Bucky Barnes.

My heart seized in my chest. His eyes locked onto mine through the windshield, cold and unyielding. I barely had time to register the large gun in his hands before he aimed it directly at us. My breath caught in my throat, the world around me slowing to a terrifying crawl.

“Holy shit!” Maggie screamed, her hands flying to the dashboard as if she could somehow shield herself from what was about to happen.

The next second, a loud bang echoed, piercing through the chaos of the traffic. I watched, helpless, as a disk shot from the barrel of Bucky’s gun, hurtling straight at us. It slammed into the underside of the car with a deafening thud, and before I could even process what was happening, the world exploded.

The blast sent a shockwave through the car, and we were airborne. The car flipped violently, the screech of metal against asphalt and the shattering of glass filling my ears. My body lurched against the seatbelt, the force knocking the wind out of me as the car tumbled. Up became down, and down became up—everything spinning in a disorienting blur of sound and pain.

My vision flickered, the interior of the car now a shattered mess of broken glass, smoke, and twisted metal. I tried to scream, to reach for Maggie, but my voice was lost in the cacophony. The car finally came to a bone-jarring stop, landing upside down on the road.

For a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears. I blinked, the sharp taste of blood in my mouth, my mind struggling to catch up. Everything hurt—my head, my arms, my chest. My vision was blurred, but I turned to my right, my heart hammering wildly.

“Maggie!” I croaked, the word barely a whisper. She was hanging upside down in her seat, her eyes closed, a small trickle of blood running down her forehead. I reached out, my fingers brushing against her arm, desperately trying to shake her awake.

My hands trembled as I reached out to check Maggie for injuries. I forced myself to focus, pushing through the blinding panic. I ran my hands along her arms, her legs, feeling for breaks or dislocations. Her pulse was strong, steady under my fingertips— a small comfort in the midst of the wreckage. I checked her pupils, watched her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, all the while praying she would open her eyes and tell me this was all a bad dream.

I knew what to look for— what signs meant danger and what was just superficial. Years of training kicked in, the muscle memory of countless missions and drills guiding me through every step. I wasn’t just a regular sister panicking in the aftermath of a crash. I was more than that, had been for a long time now.

Maggie didn’t know the truth. No one did. To everyone else, I was just me— the sister who sang too loudly, who drove too fast, who lived a life that was seemingly normal. But behind closed doors, under the cover of night and secrecy, I was something else entirely.

I was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Not just any agent, either. I’d climbed the ranks quicker than anyone expected, my skills and determination earning me a seat at the table alongside the Avengers themselves. I’d worked operations so classified, most people wouldn’t even believe they existed. I’d been trained by the best, learned to fight, to strategize, to survive. And now, all of that training, all of those missions, came flooding back in a rush.

Maggie’s injuries were minor—cuts, bruises, a gash on her forehead that looked worse than it was. She’d be okay, at least physically. The relief was so overwhelming, I almost cried. But there was no time for that. I needed to get us out of here before Bucky— or whoever the hell he was working for— made another move.

I glanced outside, taking in the chaos around us. Bucky was still there, his expression as unreadable as ever, but he wasn’t alone anymore. Other figures moved in the shadows, closing in on the wreckage. I cursed under my breath. This wasn’t just a rogue attack; it was a full-blown ambush. And we were smack in the middle of it.

I reached for the hidden compartment in the console, the one Maggie didn’t know about. My fingers brushed the cold metal of my concealed weapon— a sleek, high-tech piece courtesy of Tony Stark himself. I’d been armed and ready, as always, just in case. I hadn’t expected to need it on a karaoke drive with my sister, but that was the life I led— the life no one knew about.

I checked the safety, my eyes flicking to Maggie once more. She was still unconscious, but she’d be okay. I had to believe that. I had to keep her safe, no matter what.

I eased myself out of the wreckage, gun in hand, and moved with purpose. The agents in the shadows were getting closer, and I recognized the insignia on their uniforms. Hydra. Of course. Bucky was working with Hydra— or maybe he was brainwashed again. I didn’t have time to figure it out; all I knew was that we were in serious danger.

Bucky’s eyes met mine, and for a split second, something flickered there. Recognition? Regret? I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Right now, he was my enemy, and I had a job to do.

“Stay back!” I shouted, aiming my gun at the nearest Hydra agent. They hesitated, their eyes flicking to Bucky for guidance. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging through my veins. I was outnumbered, outgunned, but I’d been in worse situations. I knew how to handle myself. I knew how to fight.

And I was going to fight like hell to get Maggie out of this alive.

“Bucky,” I called out, my voice steady despite the chaos around me. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but they’re not in charge of you anymore. You’re safe, Buck.”

He hesitated, his grip tightening on his gun. The seconds stretched on, an unbearable tension hanging in the air. I didn’t know if he’d listen, if he even could. But I had to try. For Maggie. For all the people who’d counted on me to keep them safe.

For the person I used to believe Bucky was.

His gaze shifted, something softening in his expression. I held my breath, praying for a miracle. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he wore so well.

“Move,” he ordered the Hydra agents, his voice flat, emotionless. The moment was gone. He wasn’t Bucky Barnes, the hero. He was the Winter Soldier. And there was no reasoning with him.

I steeled myself, my grip on the gun firm. If Bucky was going to make me fight, then I would. There was no turning back now.

I stepped forward, adrenaline surging through my veins, and fired the first shot. The Hydra agents scattered, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. They fanned out, ducking behind cars and debris, their weapons raised. I squeezed the trigger again, aiming for the nearest target. The bullet hit its mark, sending the agent sprawling to the ground. But there were too many of them, and I was just one person.

The highway erupted into chaos— bullets whizzed past, shattering the remnants of glass around me. I ducked low, using the twisted metal of our car as cover, my mind racing to formulate a plan. There was no backup coming; it was just me against a small army. But I’d faced worse odds, and I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.

I darted out from behind the car, my movements fluid and precise. I fired off two more shots, dropping another agent before spinning to take cover behind a cement barrier. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder that I was still alive, still fighting.

They kept coming, relentless and determined. I counted at least six, maybe more, their dark uniforms blending into the shadows of the wreckage. I fired again, hitting another in the shoulder, but the rest were closing in, tightening the circle around me. I moved quickly, pivoting and shooting, each motion a calculated effort to keep them at bay.

A bullet grazed my arm, the sharp sting slicing through the adrenaline. I hissed through clenched teeth, ignoring the pain. I had no time to bleed, no time to think. I fired again, but my gun clicked— empty. I ducked behind a nearby car door, my fingers fumbling for another clip, but I came up empty. I was out of ammo.

Shit.

I crouched behind the door, my breath coming in short, ragged bursts. My mind raced, calculating my next move. I could hear the Hydra agents regrouping, their footsteps growing louder, the sound of their weapons being loaded. I glanced down at my gun, flipping it open to confirm what I already knew— no bullets, no way out. My eyes darted around, searching for anything I could use, but the highway was a wasteland of broken cars and debris.

I was trapped.

Then, with a deafening crack, the door was ripped away, torn from its hinges like it was made of paper. I stumbled back, my eyes widening as Bucky stepped forward, his silhouette framed by the chaos beyond. He moved with a lethal grace, his metal arm still raised, the door now discarded at his feet.

I scrambled backward, my hands searching for anything to defend myself, but all I found were shards of glass and twisted metal. Bucky’s gaze was locked onto me, his expression unreadable, his footsteps deliberate and unhurried. He advanced, and I kept retreating, my back hitting the wreckage of another car.

Just as he reached for me, something red streaked through the air, smashing into Bucky with the force of a freight train. The impact sent him flying, his body hurtling across the highway before crashing into the side barrier with a bone-rattling thud. I blinked, stunned, my brain struggling to process what just happened.

I turned my head, and there he was— Iron Man, standing with his fist raised, his helmet gleaming under the dying light of the sun. The red metal glove that had just knocked Bucky out of the way hovered mid-air for a split second before it shot back to his arm, snapping into place with a hiss.

“Thought you only worked at night,” Tony quipped, his voice crackling through the suit’s speakers, though the concern was evident beneath the sarcasm. He didn’t waste a second, his repulsors flaring as he took off to engage the Hydra agents swarming the scene.

I barely had time to register Tony’s arrival before two more figures emerged from the chaos. Black Widow and Hawkeye moved like shadows, their motions fluid and deadly. Natasha’s guns blazed as she took down the agents closest to me, each shot precise and unerring. Clint loosed arrows at an impossible speed, his sharp eyes targeting every Hydra soldier who dared to step forward.

“Go!” Natasha shouted, nodding her head towards the car where Maggie still lay, her voice sharp and commanding. “We’ve got this!”

I snapped back into action, scrambling to my feet and sprinting towards Maggie. She was still unconscious, the faint rise and fall of her chest the only reassurance I needed to know she was still hanging on. I fumbled with her seatbelt, my hands slick with sweat, and pulled her free, cradling her limp form as gently as I could.

I scanned the road, spotting a bystander— a man in his thirties who looked more terrified than I felt. “Help her!” I yelled, thrusting Maggie into his arms. “Take her to the nearest hospital!” He nodded, wide-eyed but willing, and hurried away, cradling my sister as he dashed toward the edge of the highway where it was safer.

With Maggie safely out of immediate harm, I turned back, just in time to see Natasha sprinting towards me. She tossed something in my direction, and I caught it instinctively— two matte black handheld firearms, their sleek, familiar weight grounding me instantly. My usual weapons. The ones that had seen me through countless missions, each nick and scratch a testament to the fights I’d survived.

“Thanks, Nat,” I breathed, loading the guns with a practiced ease. “I owe you one.”

“Just another Tuesday,” she quipped, her eyes scanning the area for threats as we ducked behind a nearby car, taking cover from the barrage of bullets raining down from the Hydra agents still standing. Tony and Clint were keeping most of them busy, but there were still plenty to go around.

I fired off a few rounds, picking off agents as they attempted to advance. The familiar rhythm of combat settled over me, a strange comfort in the midst of the chaos. I turned to Natasha, my voice low but urgent. “What the hell happened? Why is Bucky like this again?”

Natasha grimaced, reloading her guns. “There was a breach at the tower. Hydra got in, and they took Bucky. Managed to wipe everything— reset him completely. He’s back to being the Winter Soldier.”

My stomach dropped, a cold pit forming as her words sank in. “And now he’s trying to kill me?”

“That’s the part we don’t get,” Natasha said, her tone edged with frustration. “The intel we managed to pull says you’re his primary target, but we don’t know why. Whatever programming they shoved into him, it’s all centered on you.”

My mind raced, trying to piece together a motive, a reason— anything that would explain why Hydra would send the Winter Soldier after me, of all people. I thought of every mission, every time I’d crossed paths with them, but nothing added up. I was high up in S.H.I.E.L.D., sure, but I was far from their most dangerous enemy. At least, I thought so.

“We’ll figure it out,” Natasha promised, her eyes meeting mine, fierce and determined. “But first, we get through this. And we stop Bucky before he does something we can’t undo.”

I nodded, steeling myself. I couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if we failed. I had to focus, had to keep fighting, because there was no other option. Not when Bucky was still out there, lost and controlled, a weapon aimed directly at me.

Natasha and I exchanged a glance, and then we moved as one—emerging from cover, weapons blazing. The air was thick with smoke and gunfire, the acrid smell of burning rubber stinging my nose. But I pushed forward, each step driven by the need to protect the people I cared about, to find a way to bring Bucky back from whatever hell he was trapped in.

The battle raged on around us, a whirlwind of gunfire, explosions, and shouting. Tony blasted through Hydra agents, his repulsors sending shockwaves that tore through their ranks. Clint’s arrows flew with pinpoint accuracy, each one taking down an enemy as he moved with effortless grace. Natasha was relentless, her strikes precise and lethal as she fought her way through the chaos.

But Bucky was the eye of the storm, moving with deadly efficiency. He tore through Hydra and Avengers alike, his metal arm swinging with brutal force. Every hit landed with bone-shattering precision, every movement calculated to maim or kill. The Winter Soldier wasn’t just in the fight—he was dominating it.

Tony launched a barrage of energy blasts at Bucky, but Bucky dodged with inhuman reflexes, closing the distance in a matter of seconds. He tackled Tony mid-air, dragging him down to the pavement with a force that cracked the asphalt. Tony hit the ground hard, the impact jarring, but he was up in an instant, firing another repulsor blast that sent Bucky stumbling back.

“Stay down, Tin Man!” Tony growled, taking to the air again, trying to put some distance between them. But Bucky was relentless. He lunged, his metal fist smashing into Tony’s side with a clang that echoed through the highway. Tony’s suit sparked, systems flickering, but he kept fighting, blasting at Bucky with everything he had.

Bucky ducked under Tony’s next attack, moving in close. His metal arm swung up, catching Tony square in the chest. Fingers of steel closed around the arc reactor, the very heart of Tony’s suit. With a vicious twist, Bucky ripped it out, crushing it in his grip. Sparks flew as Tony’s suit shut down, his systems failing with a flicker of dying lights. Tony fell, gasping as the suit collapsed around him, powerless and struggling to breathe.

Natasha rushed in, her movements a blur as she aimed for Bucky’s legs, trying to trip him up. She landed a hit, her boot connecting with the side of his knee, but Bucky barely staggered. He swung his arm, catching her mid-strike, and sent her flying into the wreckage of a nearby car. She hit hard, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Natasha tried to rise, her expression set in determination, but Bucky was already on her. He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her effortlessly before slamming her back down. Natasha gasped, struggling, her hands clawing at his arm, but she couldn’t break free.

Clint loosed an arrow, the projectile striking Bucky’s shoulder with a solid thud. Bucky snarled, releasing Natasha, who crumpled to the ground, clutching her side. Clint fired again, but Bucky deflected it with his metal arm, the arrow splintering against the steel. Bucky moved in, his fist a blur as he knocked Clint’s bow from his hands. Clint ducked under a punch, rolling to the side and grabbing another arrow, but Bucky was faster. His metal arm swung like a sledgehammer, catching Clint across the ribs and sending him crashing into the guardrail. Clint grunted in pain, struggling to get back up, but Bucky was already turning away, his focus shifting.

And then his eyes locked onto me.

A chill ran through me as Bucky turned, his gaze zeroing in like a predator who’d just spotted its prey. I was out of ammo, my guns discarded on the ground, my body aching from the earlier hits. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I scrambled backward, my hands searching for anything I could use as a weapon. But all I found were shards of glass and twisted metal, nothing that could stop him.

Bucky advanced, his footsteps slow and deliberate, each one echoing like a drumbeat in my ears. I swung a metal pipe, but he caught it effortlessly, wrenching it from my hands and tossing it aside as if it weighed nothing. I stumbled back, my back hitting the wreckage of a car, nowhere left to run.

“Bucky, please,” I tried, my voice cracking.

He didn’t respond. He was right in front of me now, his expression blank, his eyes cold and empty. There was no sign of the man I knew— only the Winter Soldier, a weapon with one purpose: to eliminate his target.

I swung again, this time with a jagged piece of glass, but he deflected it easily, sending the shards clattering to the ground. His fist slammed into my side, pain exploding in my ribs. I gasped, falling to my knees as the world spun around me. I was exhausted, every part of me screaming to give up, to lie down and let it end.

But I couldn’t. Not with Tony down, Clint barely standing, and Natasha struggling to breathe. I couldn’t let this be the end. Not like this.

I pushed myself up, using the car behind me for support, and faced him. “I know damn well you’re in there somewhere. This is not you, Buck. You need to wake up. Please.”

For a second, Bucky’s arm hesitated, his gaze flickering. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, unyielding stare of the Winter Soldier. He raised his metal arm, poised to strike, ready to finish what he started.

In that moment, everything seemed to slow. I could hear the faint sound of Tony struggling to get his suit back online, Clint’s pained breathing, Natasha’s quiet groan as she tried to push herself up. And Bucky, standing over me, ready to deliver the final blow.

Bucky’s metal arm was raised, ready to deliver the final blow. My heart pounded so violently I thought it might burst from my chest, every instinct screaming at me to survive, but I was cornered, and there was nowhere left to run. I stared up at him, my breath hitching in terror as I crumbled against the wreckage, tears streaming down my face. The Bucky I knew isn’t there anymore. This is it.

“Please, Bucky,” I sobbed, my voice breaking under the weight of my fear. “Please don’t do this. Please! I don’t want to die.”

My words were a desperate, frantic plea, spilling out in a torrent of terror as I shook uncontrollably. His expression was blank, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he loomed over me. I pressed myself further back against the twisted metal, trying to make myself as small as possible, but there was no escaping him. I could barely breathe through the sobs racking my chest, each breath coming in panicked gasps.

“Bucky, I’m begging you!” I cried, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to do this. Please… please, let me live!” The words were tumbling out of me, broken and raw, and I was shaking so hard I could barely get them out. “I’m not your enemy! Bucky, please!”

His arm didn’t falter, his face a mask of cold determination. I squeezed my eyes shut, my entire body wracked with sobs as I screamed, “Please, Bucky!” The second I saw his arm swing down, I looked the other way and screamed, “I love you! I love you!”

The words ripped out of me, raw and desperate, cutting through the chaos. I opened my eyes to see what had happened. Why wasn’t I hit? His arm was stopped, freezing mid-swing. His eyes widened, confusion flickering across his features as if he were suddenly woken from a trance. The soldier’s unyielding stare gave way to something else—something conflicted, like he was struggling to understand.

Bucky stumbled back, his hand flying to his head as if he were trying to claw the commands out of his mind. He groaned, a guttural sound of pain that echoed in my ears. I watched, tears still streaming down my face, as he fought with himself, his body convulsing with the effort to regain control. His breaths were ragged, each one a struggle against the chains of Hydra’s programming.

He let out a tortured scream, the sound filled with agony as he staggered back, his fingers digging into his scalp. His metal arm jerked erratically, twitching as if caught between following orders and breaking free. It was like watching someone try to tear themselves apart from the inside out. My heart ached at the sight, every second a painful reminder of how deeply he was trapped.

“Bucky…” I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached out a hand, but he didn’t hear me. He was lost in the battle within his mind, his body shaking violently as he continued to scream, his face contorted in a mask of pain and fury.

His feet shuffled back further, his back hitting a crumpled car as he slumped down, his hands clutching his head. He pounded his fist against the ground, each hit sending cracks through the pavement, each hit an attempt to silence the war inside his own head. I wanted to reach out, to help him, but I couldn’t move, my own body weakened from the fight and the fear.

As Bucky struggled, I heard the distant sound of heavy footsteps— the unmistakable thud of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushing in. My vision blurred, the adrenaline finally wearing off and leaving a dull, throbbing pain in its place. The world around me began to fade, the sounds of Bucky’s anguished cries and the agents shouting orders blending into a muffled haze.

I tried to keep my eyes open, to hold on just a little longer, but my strength was gone. My body slumped, the last of my energy spent as darkness crept in at the edges of my vision. The last thing I saw was Bucky, still fighting against the storm in his mind, and then everything went black.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .

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[illusioncanthurtme--art]

hello!!! im subbed to your patreon but i am Too Embarrassed to reach out on there lol

just wanted to say how much i adore your art?? its very rare to see someone posting as often as you do, and with PENCILS? holy mackerel.

your grasp of form and shape is amazing, i love your style, the way you draw... like, not to get hyper specific, but - the way you draw the zygomatic arch on people?? its really good 👍 personally, i can never figure out how to marry cartoon/simplified eyes with a solid face structure, so im just really impressed when i look at your stuff!

very very excited for the billford comic you're making on patreon to continue 👀 i wish you great luck and success

also i concur with the anon from a couple weeks back. u should draw ford licking bill's eye at some point lol

That is so kind oh my god!!! You got me grinning from ear to ear, no lie!!

It means so so much to hear that from you!! Having an actual patreon audience is VERY new to me, so I'm doing my absolute best to make stuff for you guys regularly, and as frequently as I can. So I'm very glad you think so!! I think I wanted to say this on my patreon last night after posting that comic: (and I probably will soon, but I don't like making a bunch of "update" posts cuz I think it might be annoying) I'm REALLY enjoying patreon!! It's a shit ton of fun, now that there's actually people there to see my stuff and leave comments. It makes things very exciting and gratifying for me! I'm always looking forward to sharing my next thing! And I've been on the lookout for a third social media to post to for a while now, and I feel like this has become it for me! I'm just having a great time and I want people to know that.

Dude I had to look up what that bone is and I've never given it a single gosh darn thought SDKHKJDSJKSD but to make your point, that bone is located at the spot between the eye and the ear. And I'm always super mindful of the amount of space that exists there. Sometimes I make it too big, sometimes too small... but I'm always thinking about it when I draw. 🤔

And THANK YOU!! I'm super stoked to keep working on that comic. I think I'll post the drawings as I make them to patreon, and when a "part" is done, I'll leave it on patreon for a week before sharing it elsewhere. For those who don't know what I'm talking about, I started a billford comic thingie, and I'm expecting it to be pretty dang long. It's a slow burn situation I've got cooking. So far I posted the first half of the first part to patreon. I'm really excited for it >:)

Dude, you are like the sixth person to want me to draw ford getting sloppy on that eyeball and I'm starting to feel like it's inevitable at this point DJKSDGFKLJFDKLFG oh god, what does my future hold :'D

[anonymous-dentist]

A tiny little merpepito au for the week

-

Pepito misses Apa Roier. Pepito misses Apa Roier so much it hurts, and Apa Roier is so close! He’s just on the other side of the ship, and Pepito can tug on his shirt and get picked up and held the way Apa Roier used to hold Pepito in The Ocean, but. But he’s sad, and it’s all Pepito’s fault, because Pepito is a Very Bad Pepito.

Every night, Pepito eats dinner at the same table as everybody else. He sits by Pomme, because she’s nice, and by Richarlyson, because Richarlyson is too small to sit at the adult side of the table. But Pomme sometimes leaves her seat and asks her mom to hold her, and Richarlyson always goes to bother his dads. But Pepito… can’t. Because Apa Roier looks so sad when he looks at Pepito, and Pepito might start crying if Apa Roier tells him why.

Tonight, four days after Apa Roier joined the crew, Pepito sits alone and eats Pepito’s dinner. Pomme is with Miss Baghera, and Richarlyson is with Captain Celbi, and Pepito. Is. Alone.

Pepito sits with his head down, and he picks at his food idly with a fork.

He jumps as a plate it dropped in front of him.

He looks up, and there is Apa Roier with a fish bone sticking out of his mouth.

In the Language Of The Ocean, Apa Roier says, “Ayyyy, Pepito! There you are! I’ve been looking for you all day!”

He sits, and Pepito’s hands shake.

“Have you been avoiding me?” Apa Roier gasps.

Pepito doesn’t like lying, so Pepito almost nods. But then Pepito remembers that he’s a pirate now, and pirates are evil. So Pepito shakes his head slowly.

Apa Roier nods. “Ahhh, I see. You’re just too busy for me now, I get it.”

Pepito’s stomach turns uncomfortably.

“You’re a big Pepito now,” Apa Roier says. “And I’m just an old man.”

He even puts on his old man voice- the one that he does to piss Ama Rivers off that makes Pepito laugh- when he says that, but all Pepito does is put his fork down and stare at his plate with a chilly-feeling heart. He feels bad.

Miss Mouse laughs at the other end of the table. Misters Pacandmike are arguing with Captain Celbi.

Apa Roier is quiet.

Pepito isn’t going to cry. He isn’t!!! He’s a Strong Pepito! And he’s a pirate! Pirates don’t cry, they make people cry!

…Pepito probably made Apa Roier cry. Apa Roier probably broke down the second he heard what Pepito did, all because Pepito did a Very Bad Thing because Pepito is a Very Bad Pepito and and and and-

“Pepito,” Apa Roier quietly says, “I’m not angry.”

What?

Pepito looks up with wet eyes. He makes eye contact with Apa Roier, which honestly makes Pepito feels so much worse because Apa Roier looks kinda depressed with only two eyes. The Sea Witch took his eyes because of Pepito; just one more bad thing that Pepito has done.

Apa Roier gives a small smile. “I don’t know why you ran away, but I’m not angry. I mean, I’m pissed, but I’m not angry, you know?”

Pepito doesn’t know, but he also doesn’t care, because what does Apa Roier mean, he doesn’t know why Pepito ran away? He has to know! He’s a genius!

“BadBoy might be a real fucking creep sometimes, but he brought you to a real good guy,” Apa Roier continues. He glances over at Captain Celbi, his smile turning Weird. “I mean, Cellbit is kind of an asshole and he’s probably going to Hell, but he’s a nice guy.”

“Are you talking about me?” Captain Celbi calls, the same Weird smile on his face. Huh.

Apa Roier rolls his eyes and flips him off.

Pepito’s eyes widen. Apa Roier is so brave! Everybody knows not to mess with Captain Celbi, he’s evil! Mister Mike says so at least once a day!

“But listen, Pepito,” Apa Roier says, looking back at Pepito, “if you think I swam for a month to come and get you just for me to say I hate you or something, then you really are as stupid as your Apa Mariana. Because I-” (He reaches across the table and boops Pepito right on the nose.) “-will never let any stupid human pirates bully my Pepito. Only I get to bully you.”

Pepito’s eyes are starting to water again, dang it. Pepito is a Strong Pepito!

But then Apa Roier looks at Pepito’s plate of food and sighs and starts moving stuff from his own plate to Pepito’s, saying, “Pepito, Pepito, Pepito… You’re allowed to have more than fish for dinner. We’re pirates now, have pirate food. Here.”

And Pepito can’t help it. He missed Apa Roier so much…!

He jumps from his spot at the table and runs around to Apa Roier. He holds his arms up, and Apa Roier clicks his tongue annoyedly, but Apa Roier picks him up with a groan:

“Pepito, what the fuck? When did you get so big, eh? You’ll be taller than Mariana at this rate!”

Pepito is a growing Pepito, Pepito knows this. But he settles down in Apa Roier’s lap, anyway, and he hugs him because he can because Apa Roier doesn’t know that Pepito is a Bad Pepito. He still thinks that Pepito is a Good Pepito even if he is a Pirate Pepito now.

Apa Roier doesn’t know what happened. And Apa Roier never will.

[oatmealzz]

Firstly so sorry for the graphic image. I found this on the Danganronpa reddit. Also MAJOR DANGANRONPA V3 SPOILERS.

I feel like this very crudely drawn image of Kokichi’s dead crushed up corpse is the last piece I needed to fully accept his death.

Not being able to see the state of the body during the investigation, created a barrier for me to fully understand Kokichi’s exit out of the main story. It just felt like he “left” rather than died.

Additionally, none of the characters saw the dead body and that definitely had an impact on their attitude towards him. His death was brushed off because they also never got to see his dead body. Maki didn’t investigate the body and such. There was no opportunity to be traumatized but ample to refuel their hatred towards him. Remember when Nagito’s body was found? The characters wouldn’t stop talking about the stab wound and the spear. The graphic depictions of Nagito stabbing himself added to the nightmare fuel situation. Like SOMEONE did that to his body vibe. In this trial, that wasn’t discussed in a manner that resembled 2-5. Not being able to see the graphic nature of a body being crushed flat means the characters can avoid it. Again, put yourself in the situation you felt when you initially saw Kokichi’s death. Seeing his crushed body would absolutely impact your experience because it’s like DANG, WHO DID THIS?! Did he really deserve a death like that? And so on.

This is why his absence during the class trial wasn’t discussed to its extent such as with other characters. Imagine seeing the body and then going to the trial where the exisal was talking in his voice. It would be SUPER weird. LIKE I SAW HIS CRUSHED BONES AND ORGANS OUT ON THAT PRESS AND NOW IM HEARING HIS VOICE? I know for some people, not seeing the body meant that maybe both Kaito and Kokichi were alive and that they used another body to substitute a killing. After Monokuma revealed that it wasn’t possible to do so, I don’t remember anyone who acknowledged the body afterwards due to how the trial was going.

I’m no Kokichi Stan but I did warm up to his character pre-chapter 4. I always felt that his death and trial were lackluster and lacked needed impact. Personally, I thought the trial wasn’t very good but seeing a depiction of the body has changed my opinion on the trial.

Kaito also never saw Kokichi afterwards because he never lifted the press after it crushed him. Kaito doesn’t really have to carry the weight of the plan and his actions, because he never gets to see the honest result of them. Therefore, he was able to focus on the plan to foul Monokuma and stick to the script that a dead boy wrote. Personally, my entire view on Kaito would drastically change more if we both saw the state of the body. Like learning that Kaito killed Kokichi in the most violent way possible. This is no stab to the neck or strangulation where a character might crack a joke (throwback to Ryoma, Miu and even Nagito). I remember thinking that their plan failed because the gang ended up figuring out their scheme and there is a viewpoint that Kokichi’s plan failed. If it did, he died for nothing and in the most violently unnecessarily way possible too.

Danganronpa V3 had many victims where the remaining cast had a short mourning period for (Rantaro, Ryoma and Miu). Each student had different circumstances where the cast couldn’t comment too much on their dead peers. Rantaro distanced himself from others, and no one was particular close to Ryoma or Miu.

However, Kokichi was one where almost no one mourned his death.

It’s interesting for sure. I think more people mourned the losses of the culprits more than the victims.

Anyways - I recommend reviewing 3-5 again and seeing this image somewhere during the investigation. I promise, my opinion on 3-5 drastically improved afterwards.

[melkintoyou]

there's a blue light in my best friend's room

continuation of a stoner!mark ask word count: 1.5k

"Can you uh do something for me?" He whispered, trying to hold himself together.

"Mhmmm" you bit your lip and nodded.

"Can you be a good girl and touch yourself for me?" 

Silence fell around the room, air thick with desire. All you could hear was the neediness in Mark’s voice and your own heart beating in your ears. You felt shyness mixed with excitement palpitate through your body. Mouth dry, you gulped.

Looking up at Mark, you fiddled with the bottle cap between your fingers before twisting it shut and putting the bottle away. You blinked at him, trying to find a single coherent response to utter at his request. But your mind was empty.

“Babyyy show me what you like.” He added, voice still low.

Enchanted by his words, it seemed as though your hands were moving before your mouth could catch up. You began to palm your breasts and they felt heavy in your small hands. Sighing at the feeling, your hands made their way to your torso and into your shorts. It was only when your fingers grasped how wet you had become, you snapped back to reality. Sliding your fingers through your folds, you let out a shy giggle.

“Mark..” 

“I’m so wet..” You gasped, sliding two fingers inside you to really gather up all the evidence that you could. “See!” You brought your fingers closer to the camera, to show Mark how he made you feel. You separated your fingers that were still connected through your sticky arousal that glistened in the blue light. 

Mark swore he was seeing stars. “Fuck baby.. Can you taste it for me?”

He pulled himself out his boxers, still slowly stroking himself. His eyes were fixed on you, when you lazily brought your digits to your mouth and wrapped your lips around them. Letting out an “mmm” sound with your eyes shut, you did as you were told. A good girl. 

You opened your eyes to meet Mark’s hooded gaze and his hands languidly stroking his dick. You never imagined seeing him like this for the first time, through a screen. There was an ache in your core, longing to touch him, right there, in that very moment but alas, distance was your enemy tonight. 

“It’s pretty” a shy whisper fell from your mouth as you got on your knees to remove your shorts, leaving you in just underwear. Mark took his bottom lip between his teeth, holding back a smile at your comment. You could hear his breathing grow heavier by the second. 

“And so are you, turn around lemme see..” He licked his lips in anticipation. And when you turned around, sitting on your heels. Words like “dang” “baby” “fuck” rolled off Mark’s tongue and he babbled on about how pretty you look and how much he can’t wait to have you. Impatience and neediness was growing in his voice, you savoured every second of it. 

Resting your hand on a pillow, your mind had a light bulb moment when you turned to your side. You grabbed the pillow and placed it under you. Now straddling the pillow, you looked at Mark with eyes saying “Can I?” 

You could see his passive movements becoming more mindful when he gently spat in his hand and coated his heavy dick, grabbing it more intently than before. “You’re gonna drive me crazy baby..” He let out a sigh and light squelching noises filled the room with his airy breaths.

You tried to match his rhythm as you began to grind yourself onto the pillow. Heat radiating in your body, made your brain melt with each movement. Every time your clit rolled against the edge of the pillow, you felt dizzy. You let out a light sigh, rolling your hips.

Mark’s eyes scanned your body, the way you threw your head back, letting out soft moans.

“You sound so pretty baby, lemme hear you. Don’t be shy.” He encouraged you and his eyes trailed down to the strap of your tank, slowly slipping down your shoulder. Exposing your collar bones and the shape of your breast from the side.

Seeing your frame, outlined by the blue light was doing something to him. He fixated on your hard nipples, poking through the tank. He prayed for it to keep slipping further so he can get a view of your bare skin.

And, as his wish is granted, Mark thrusted up with a groan. “God, you’re so beautiful.” 

It was late at night, the world around you was covered in muted greys, blues and silence. It felt absurd to be so needy that you both had to chase your pleasure through a screen. However, when it came to your feelings for Mark, nothing made sense.

Seeing his name pop up on your phone screen, made your head spin. The way your name sounded a little sweeter, in his mouth. A little safer. The way his eyes lit up when he saw you or the way he always held your hand and kissed randomly. Even his smell. You were crushing hard and you were down bad. Your mind was full of him.

Thinking about the day he kissed you. The way his lips delicately brushed yours before his tongue hungrily entered your mouth. Your movements got harder and Mark’s mouth fell open when his eyes found your hips. The way they were illuminated in the blue light, felt like a dream. The crease where your hips end and thigh begins had all of Mark’s attention as he worked his length. He wanted so desperately to be between those pillowy thighs that he contemplated leaving the tour half way through, just to be buried inside you. 

“You’re doing so good for me baby” Mark coo’d, fucking into his fist. Mark was always so good with his words, his voice was raspy and slightly slurred from the thc and it went to your core. Your thighs gripped the pillow tighter as you fell forwards on your hands. You imagined using Mark’s chest for support. You imagined, running your hand up his chest until you reached his throat and how it would feel to grab it. Maybe give it a gentle squeeze whilst he's inside of you. Would he enjoy it? Would he twitch inside you, hitting your spot extra hard? Your mind trailed off, making you unravel by the second.

“That’s right baby, fuck yourself good for me.. show me how you cum.” Mark continued to egg you and you thought all of this could only be a result of madness. The madness of desire you both felt towards each other. Everything felt euphoric and you felt your orgasm approaching. The heat in your core was slowly rising up, making your thighs shake and your moans louder. 

“You sound so pretty baby.. keep going” Mark continued to talk you through it as he chased his own high.

You could see that he was also close when his lips parted with low moans. You watched his shoulder flex with every pump of his fist, he looked so majestic. 

“Need.. to.. feel you” finally being able to form a sentence, you were beginning to get loud.

With each motion, your breath got heavier and curse words started to roll off your tongue. “m’close” is all you can get out before a moan from the back of your throat took over your entire room and Mark’s. Finally hitting your peak, your thighs started to shake uncontrollably and more moans followed after. 

“You’re so loud baby, you sound so nasty.. wanna fill you up and make you scream my name” Mark did his best to match your rhythm until he bucked his hips up into his fist and finished with a groan.

His release, all over his stomach and hands. He was left in a daze, watching you still riding out your orgasm. And then falling onto you stomach, you were both left both panting. 

“Wow” is all Mark could muster up, trying to catch his breath.

“That was…” His lips curled into a smile and you mirrored his expression. 

“That was something” You both giggled in the comfort of your beds, feeling safe and tucked away from the outside world. A little bubble of just you and Mark.

“Babe, you should really get some sleep, baby, you’re going to be tired.” You whine, realising the time as worry creeped into your mind. 

Mark’s left hand flew to his chest, fake offended. “Wow, she only wanted me for my body. I’m texting the homies right now, letting them know I have been tricked.” He said dramatically, making you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, get some sleep so we can do this again tomorrow, you piece of meat.” You wink, making you both laugh. 

“Alright babe, meet me by the fountain in my dreams? We’ll take it from there?” His eyes now sincere. 

“Of course, as always.” You shoot him a warm smile, feeling butterflies in your stomach from your sweet exchanges. “Good night y/n. Sleep well.” Mark brings his phone to his face and kisses the camera. 

You giggle once again at his cute antics, “Good night goofy. I hope you sleep well too.” 

[atwas-gaming]

People who complain that Sonic's character is "static" must have never played Unleashed or Black Knight. Or they did, but they didn't understand them.

I think one of the reasons why Unleashed and Black Knight are such fan favorites and stick in our memory so well is because the entire theme of both games is about taking Sonic out of his element, taking away things that he has relied on for so long- speed, jumping, spindashing, boosting, homing attacks- taking all those things away from him, and seeing how he does.

And he still shines. Even without all the abilities that he has relied on throughout his entire life, he still manages to beat the Big Bad.

(Please note that I haven't finished either game yet and I'm just drawing from what I've been spoiled on.)

As the werehog, Sonic is not able to curl into a ball at all (we're ignoring the mobile games for this post), and his greater height and weight, probably due to a larger bone structure, as well as heavier, thicker fur, keeps him from being able to run as fast or jump as high as he's used to. He now how to resort to fighting styles he has never used before, including several forms of martial arts (aided by his Dark Gaia-powered stretch abilities). Perhaps the most unusual of all is how he has to get down on all fours to run.

In addition, Sonic describes his werehog form as "pretty ugly." Sonic thinks of himself as good-looking, and this is a part of his personal identity, which is part of why he was upset that Amy didn't recognize him (no matter what feelings he may or may not have for her). The werehog form also seems to be physically uncomfortable and taxing on Sonic's body due to the heavier weight, as the werehog idle animations include Sonic stretching in an exaggerated way and forcibly rotating his shoulders (motions I, myself, have learned to use after years at a desk job that has ruined my neck and upper back). Sonic's idle animations also include him being jumpy and looking around every few seconds- basically, the werehog never fully relaxes.

All in all, Sonic is very uncomfortable as a werehog, and prefers not to be seen in this form. But the reason why is not fully evident until he thanks Chip for protecting him and keeping him from turning evil. To this, Chip replies, "I haven't done anything, Sonic. You're too strong to lose yourself."

On top of this, Amy doesn't have a problem with Sonic's appearance. She still loves him. Tails also doesn't care what Sonic looks like. Neither does Professor Pickle. Neither does ANYONE. Even if they're startled by the werehog's appearance at first, they all seem to go, "Oh, it's just Sonic. This is just what he's like at night."

The entire story of Unleashed was about Sonic coming to realize that he is not who he is because of what he looks like or how he is built.

Black Knight takes this a step further. In Unleashed, Sonic wasn't able to run, but he was still able to use his body as a weapon. In Black Knight, Sonic can run again, but nowhere near as fast as his normal speed. All of Sonic's abilities to fight with his body are stripped from him, and he is forced to use an actual weapon, instead. And Sonic hates this. He even says it: "I wish I didn't have to use this dang sword!"

Sonic has never used a weapon before in the games (as far as I am aware, anyway). His weapon has always been his own body: his feet, his fists, his whole body via spindash and homing attack. Now he's having to train himself to fight with something outside of his own body. This requires not only the creation of new muscle memory, but also a complete shift in the way his brain processes information to fight. He always has the option to just crumble and say, "I can't do this, it's not what I'm used to, I give up." He never does that. He complains a bit at first, but eventually rises to the occasion and excels at swordfighting.

Please bear in mind that I haven't ever gotten past the King Arthur battle. I presume Sonic is forced to kill him, and then I believe there's another half a game after that. But so far, it seems that Sonic's character arc in Black Knight is about him learning that he is not who he is just because of what he can do.

What makes Sonic Sonic is not what he looks like or what he is able to do, but about who he is inside. Sonic is someone who cares, someone who is strong, someone who doesn't give up, someone who sees a difficult situation and, no matter how much of an inconvenience it may be, turns it around and finds a way through.

[not-a-snowman]

Still caught up yet so no spoilers but this comic is still messing me up so bad and I CANT wait until I’m caught up to talk about it

I feel as though the story is going in a direction specifically crafted to break my heart. You CANT just say the fate of the world is potentially hinged on Redcloak being able to admit that everything he has ever worked towards has been a mistake

I don’t even know if he CAN DO THAT

If you are like me (you may be entitled to some financial compensation) and have adapted a Redcloak-centric approach to literary analysis you will know that this comic has a storied history of characters who are given ample opportunity to do and be better and then DONT

Even the ones with Noble intentions (looking at you Miko, love you) can become fixated on their incorrect view of the world. Miko could’ve recognized that she was wrong but that would require changing her entire worldview to one where she has committed tremendous harm. So she didn’t. Maybe with time she would’ve but time is finite.

If we look to the contrary, we see people like Varsuvius. To a much lesser extent, people like The Monster in the Shadows and Belkar.

And weirdly, people like Redcloak.

Redcloak realized that his treatment of the Hobgoblins was petty and pointless, and even though it meant accepting that the blood of thousands was wrongfully on his hands he was still able to confront his faults and change. Of course, that change took a hobgoblin directly sacrificing their life to save his, and he didn’t really have to change that much. He got to say that the mission was still correct, he just needed to include hobgoblins under the goblin umbrella to make it work. He’s not a racist but he’s “speciesist” and that’s a-okay

This is a deeper admission of fault.

And it’s messing me up that after all this time I spent accepting that Redcloak is a villain and probably isn’t going to change for the better and will most likely die- I get the possibility of redemption DANGLED OVER MY DANG HEAD. Like I love it but also damnit I grieved!!! Don’t give me hope like this. Don’t throw a bone to the part of my brain that is way too sympathetic to villains with tragic circumstance and noble goals. Im trying to mentally prep myself for Redcloak to die an unrepentant villain who was too stuck in his ways and afraid to put his people’s safety over his feelings over here. Don’t make me root for Redcloak more than I already am it’s stupid!!!

[apiswitchcraft]

communicating with deities

now of course this is a multi layered topic that is different for everyone. some people will use some of these techniques, some people use none, others may use all in sparing amounts. and some techniques may not work for you at all, and that's okay!

just remember that you and your practice is valid, this is just advice for whoever needs it (and that may not be you! it's okay!).

HOWEVER it should be said that a lot of cultures place an emphasis on cleanliness--both spiritual and physical. so, hey, maybe set up some incense and wash your hands before doing some of these methods.

1. Tarot, Runes, Etc.

Now this section is probably the biggest out of all of them. There are so many different physical divination techniques across several different cultures including tarot and runes, but also bone/charm casting (here's a good tutorial for that), psephoi, coin flipping, geomancy, the ogham, and gods so many more I just can't get to all of them.

I like to do this at or near my altar space while wearing my devotional jewelry or sometimes even while veiling, depending on the deity.

What I like to start with is just a simple "Please [deity name] guide this reading." before I ask my question and cast lots. I imagine the deity during the question, during the pulling, and while interpreting.

Sometimes, with deities, the question you ask isn't always the one that is answered. If there is a certainmessage they deem more important, they will give you that instead. This happens to me very, very frequently.

I don't have a particular spread that I always use, but I tend to go for a simple five card pull. I also tend to place a lot of importance in cards that fall out while shuffling, and will look at them with and apart from the other cards I pull. Other than that, a simple past-present-future can also be very useful here.

2. Meditation

This is what I know most practicioners to use, as it seems to come the easiest to most people. However, if you're someone like me who's on certain psychiatric medications, this may not work for you. Furthermore, if you have difficulty visualizing (which is Not your fault, some people are just built differently and that's okay), this may be difficult for you.

The way I used to go about it is that I would find a dark, quiet place, I would light some incense, perhaps even play some light music or nonspeaking ASMR. Here is a good tutorial on YouTube. I just needed to get relaxed enough to be almost asleep, but not so relaxed I lost focus. Recently, I've also noticed that doing some,,, gardening (iykyk),, helps a lot with reaching the right state.

You're looking for just the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, it should almost feel like you're being pulled upward (at least, that's how it feels to me).

Messages may come in the form of images or words, and can be direct or very vague. Just remember to be patient with yourself and your deities, the time may not always be right for you to hear some messages.

3. Pendulums

The reason why pendulums get their own section is just because they're so dang good. Yes, pendulums can and do answer yes/no questions, however they can also be used with certain alphabetical charts to discern individual words and phrases from your deities.

Again, like with tarot, I like to set myself up near my altar with my devotional jewelry. Then I'll ask my pendulum to please contact the deity in question. The reason you want to do this is because I've noticed pendulums may have energy of their own, and may answer questions themselves if given the opportunity. This is not inherently bad, it's just not what you want.

Remember to always ask your pendulum if they're okay being taken over by a deity, some will already be occupied by their own force and won't appreciate being budged out. Others won't care and you'll have an okay time with it.

4. Dreams or Visions

Some of our polytheist friends will be given the ability to receive dreams or visions from their deities. This often comes in it's own package of strange messages and symbolism, but it works nonetheless. Keep a look out for dreams that include your gods' symbols, holy animals, or popular visages.

Remember, it is totally alright if you don't receive direct messages from your gods. I, for one, do not. Sometimes I will dream about my deities but I almost never remember what happened in the dreams, much less if there was a message. Those that receive dreams and visions are not better than you, nor do they automatically have a better relationship with that god than you.

In this case, there isn't much you can do except pray for visions. You can't force them to happen, there's no way to make yourself the perfect vessel or devotee (unlike what some might claim), it just works or it doesn't.

Also if you're having frequent visions and seeing full apparitions while awake that are convincing you to do things or are encouraging paranoid delusions, please seek therapy. I don't automatically believe you need to medicated because you see apparitions of the gods in broad daylight, but you should see someone who can help you discern if these are real messages from your gods or are figments of poor brain chemistry. Take care of yourselves, please.

5. Devotional Acts

Some people, especially in antiquity, communicated the gods in a mostly unidirectional manner. This includes burning offerings and incense, setting up altars, engaging inprayer, and doing devotional activities.

My favorite devotional activities include:

-going thrifting for fun nicknacks for my altar space

-eating food in their name, especially ones that remind you of them

-making devotional jewelry, including prayer beads

-doing divinational readings for others

-going out to look at the sunrise/sunset/moon

-spending time with family, especially female family members

-doing kind things, like making donations to charities you like or giving money to the unhoused

-reading books or stories about your deities

-loving and taking care of your furry friends, especially strays

Anyways, that's all I've got for today, Khaire! <3