#but I made a bad decision with my layers so I had to ink it all four times separately

[fahbev]

hey @sillysealll!! Im the anon who sent you this ask. I did in fact end up doing it.

So here’s my… I don’t even know what to call it? It’s not a redraw because I definitely traced it, but it’s also more than just a coloring job. I guess I can call it an edit?

Here’s my edit of the first page of sillysealll’s amazing kid gang au!

and down here is the original ⬇️

soooo… you may have noticed that I changed Jason’s outfit. That was by accident 😔. I misunderstood his clothes and by the time I realized, I was already committed. So then I thought… what if he’s just borrowing Dick’s hoodie? So I colored it red and here he is. Wearing Dicks hoodie.

also, I tried to keep with the original style, but by the time I got to inking that was kind of out the window bc I got super pen-happy.

Oh, also also! Nobody asked but this was my Batmobile ref (I flipped it)

I gotta find a faster way of coloring— I literally traced your art and it still took me 11 hours

[jq37]

I'm really glad you've seen Starstruck, because it means you have the context for this. Every disastrous decision made this episode, were THOSE the stupidest things these people have ever done? I thought 'my farts smell awesome' was the lowest they could go, but look at that, they collectively found another layer beneath that. This has to be the biggest L the Intrepid Heroes ever took. Outside of a TPK, losing a Mcguffin is as rough as it gets. The RNG giveth and the RNG taketh away.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

OK, now that I have that out of the way, holy hell that last episode took a full year off my lifespan I think. Murph saying that it was like Fabian's Bad Day on a loop was right. I've never watched an episode of a ttrpg and thought, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" so consistently. Even after watching the Adventuring Party I'm not 100% confident I understand what some of those moves were about. I am going to try and break down by thoughts on each interaction, roughly in order from least to most baffling to me.

*Red and the Beast*

If this was as crazy as things went, it would have been a pretty normal episode. I fully understand why Ylfa would want to talk to the Beast being a monstruous princess and all. And Emily's side-motivation of wanting to maybe get some potions that would help them travel without freezing to death made sense as well. Sure it was a little awkward, but in the way that all pre-teens are sort of awkward around people who they think are cool. She didn't spill any serious beans or burn any serious bridges. This one gets a pass from me. 

*Ger and Elody*

It probably feels like I'm ranking this pretty low. And I am if we're talking in pure terms of cause and effect. Because loudly and weirdly spilling the beans the way that he did was a TERRIBLE move tactically and DEF alerted the princesses to their plan. BUT I wasn't CONFUSED about why it happened. Ger had a thing to do that made sense--find out if his wife was in on the erase everything plan and fill her in if not/try to convince her to switch sides if so. He had a reason to get frustrated and do something stupid. This was, in my eyes, a good plan that went poorly because of bad dice rolls and Murph's commitment to character. So while it was VERY unfortunate, I'm not actually confused about why the desperate frog man who is known for being awkward was weird and awkward to his wife in a dire situation so it didn't really frustrate me in the same way that some of the other scenes did. We also got one of one only pieces of new information in this episode--that it doesn't seem like Elody is in on the plan (though with his trash Insight rolls, who even knows). I wish he'd taken Roz with him to back up his story right away (and give him advantage of dice rolls). I also wish he'd brought Roz with him so she wasn't able to do her own solo mission. Speaking of...

*Roz and Snow*

This is not a conversation that needed to happen tactically. I was like, why is this going on? Just because everyone is having a little chat doesn't mean you have to have a little chat too. I will admit that by the time I got here, I was feeling so much second hand cringe that I missed a bit of the conversation. But I do know that Roz told Snow that she told the entire group about their chat and that they were fine with it. WHY TELL HER THAT??? The plan was clearly told to Roz with the understanding that it was for her ears only. Why immediately be like, "So I talked it over with the squad..." You're showing your hand! You're telling Snow you're not really aligned with the Daughter's of the Crown. If you were going to talk to Snow, why not try to figure out what the actual plans are wrt the erase the world endgame? They really don't know anything about the specifics of the plan. Just some nebulous talk about spilling ink. Why is no one asking questions about this? How are they supposed to stop a plan they don't understand?  Anyway, I think this conversation didn't need to happen and while it wasn't as disastrous in effect as Ger's convo, his had a good reason for happening while I don't think this one did which is why it frustrated me more. 

*Pinnochio and Cindy*

OK so this one frustrated me a TON because it had so much potential for getting information and moving the story forward but that's not what happened at all! As a sidenote, I was surprised but excited when they showed up at the castle and the Snow Queen fight was already over offscreen because I was like, "Man! We're going to get so much good information next episode!" Haha, nope! This conversation started off really strong with Pinnochio saying that they're kinda step-sibs which I thought was a great opener and something I hadn't really considered. I thought he was going to maybe bring up how the stepmother's goal seems to be fucking with stories (in a similar way to what they want) and seeing how she reacts. Or maybe following the thread about how she ALSO feels like she doesn't have agency in her story because she's a puppet of a narrative without even a name. And I don't want to assume but seems like Brennan was giving him the opening to go there like when Cindy was talking about "her own story" and Pinnochio was like, "She doesn't have one" Cindy seemed willing to talk down that thread but it was dropped really quickly. And this whole conversation had such a dissonant vibe where it was like Cindy was in Crown of Candy and Pinnochio was in Fantasy High or even Starstruck in terms of seriousness. Which, from a comedy standpoint, was extremely funny but from a narrative standpoint was like, Pinnochio...I'm begging you...please...ask her one direct question. Lou said he was playing up Pinnochio's childishness because he's a child in a weird situation which, sure I guess. But man. It was a very funny scene but not very narratively fulfilling.

*Pib and Cindy and a Window*

Pib readying the horses? The most competent move of the session! Pib unilaterally deciding to try to push her into her book? Why???? Like, OK. I wouldn't have told her about the book if I was Pinnochio--at least not without consulting the group. BUT once the proverbial cat was out of the book, why not let her have it? It might give her some perspective she doesn't already have and you might be able to sway her into being an ally. I feel like Cindy and Snow while true believers in the plan, aren't beyond reason. They don't strike me as gung ho about the entire situation. They give me the energy of people who are exhausted and on their last resort. I honestly feel like there is a world where this is all salvageable if they'd let her have her book without going full hostile. Maybe it's not the most LIKELY option. But I think there was a chance. But nope. Initiative. Even if they'd gotten her in, what's the next move? You're in a palace full of her allies and none of you have rolled more than a ten all session! Were you going to hold her hostage and run? Like, bruh. If they wanted to leave, they should have just left! Why did they make a whole production about it? I swear, they stayed in the castle the exact worse length of time. Not long enough to get any info, but too long to leave gracefully. Anyway, I thought this was a wild decision to just make. 

*Princess Interlude*

This isn't a part of the breakdown. This is just something I wanted to talk about. We really don't know how much the princesses know about The Situation and that's a big piece of the puzzle for us to know how BAD of a plan this is with the info they have. Because one of the few things we learned this episode is that Cinderella is surprised that the Stepmother doesn't have her own book. If they think that each person has their own book and they can write themselves out of existence without it affecting anyone else then this is actually a suicide pact and not a murder-suicide pact which still isn't GREAT but it's not WORLD ENDING which is decidedly less selfish. I still think it's an insane thing to try without having a full understanding of their world but if you're only playing with your OWN lives, then that's your right. 

And wrt to the PCs, since they were spilling the beans left and right, why not be like, cool. Ink spilling. Great plan. Now what about the Auroratory?  Because their stories don't just exist in ink. They're oral tradition, baby. I'm sorry you don't like your lives but ink spilling isn't going to solve everything. 

Finally, I need to go back to past episodes where the princesses are lamenting to be sure, but I'm honestly not 100% sure what it is they're so distressed about. There is an element of fighting for free will but I'm not sure what it is they think they don't have control over. Because surely if they had no free will, they wouldn't be able to fight their stories at all, right? And if it's just that they're stuck with all their memories from all their lives, Witches do that all the time, right? Can they just not handle the Everything, Everywhere, All At Once lifestyle because they're not inherently magical and they're cracking under the pressure? From what I remember from the previous episode, it sounded like Cindy and Snow were distressed over the *existence* of dark versions of their story which is why they wanted to destroy everything completely. But also, isn't darkness just a thing you have to accept if you're going to have free will? And also, I don't know that it makes sense to destroy the entire world just because there are timelines where bad things happen (especially when the worst things don't even happen to them). Who awakened these princesses in the first place? Based on the introductions, we're led to believe it's Cindy and Snow who were the first ones, but now that we've met Rapunzel, I have my doubts. And speaking of her, back to the list.

*Tim and Raps*

Tim what were you THINKING?????????

God, where to begin. Ally said they weren't sure if Raps was in on it or not two APs in a row which is baffling to me because I thought Brennan telegraphed it pretty hard that Raps was both very clever and very fake. We first hear about her trying to deceive the Baba Yaga (one of the SCARIEST NPCs who even DEATH doesn't fuck with) and getting away with her tongue intact. Then, on a really high insight check, the party learns nothing about her, except that she's so shiny you can't really read her. Suspicious as hell. THEN, we learn that she has hair that's everywhere that can potentially be used to spy on people. And when she describes murdering the Snow Queen, she says it in the most politician-y, obfuscate-y, side-stepping culpability way possible. YEAH. I THINK SHE'S IN ON IT. I am floored that it wasn't obvious that she was full team nuke everything. The twist to me would be if she was secretly GOOD. I was wondering if the was the actual mastermind, I didn't even realize we were discussing whether she was IN ON IT.

But like, OK. That aside. Whether you are going in thinking she's good and misled or fully in on it, THIS WAS AN INSANE WAY TO HANDLE IT.

DIRT IN THE SHORTBREAD???? TIM!!!!!!

If she's GOOD and just awkward from how she was socialized you're being weird and aggro to her. 

If she'd BAD and being manipulative you're being super clumsy and antagonizing her. 

AND THEN SHE STOLE THE BOOOK!!!!!!!

My heart SUNK when Brennan revealed that. Like, GOD I didn't think that could have gotten worse and then it did. 

And it's made worse because this is 100% a conversation that didn't need to happen. If I walked in and Raps was there, at most I would ask her about how her hair worked so we maybe knew for tactical reasons. That's not a crazy question to ask a person with magic hair that's everywhere so she wouldn't necessarily have a reason to be suspicious. And then guess what? I'm GONE. Just, based on second hand embarrassment and mechanical effect (LOSING THE BOOK), this is by far the worst conversation all episode and that's saying something.

(Also, RIP Mira who's going to wake up to a VERY different situation than when she went to sleep.)

The last thing I want to say about this episode is I kind wish that either Roz or Ger or both had died in their rescue plan. Not as a punishment mind you. While it was a tactically bad move, I think it's totally in character that Ger would have tried to go back for his wife and that one of his friends would have joined him. But we haven't had that many deaths this season and I feel like some more death exposition might give us more about what's going on. Because I feel like we only have a small piece of the puzzle, and there's not that many eps left to go. You know how in Stranger Things, the plot always ends up split between three groups and none of them actually know what's going on until they all communicate in the penultimate episode? That's how I feel right now except it's the PCs, The Princesses, The Faries, and the Librarians.

It's also potentially illuminating for Elody if the princesses are willing to kill Roz and Ger (I assume they'd bring back at least Roz). And if they were split up from the main party, that's an interesting place for them to be story-wise.  (Also, if they brought back Ger but were like Elody he's in the dungeon, don't talk to him he'll fill your head with lies. But she visits him anyway, just like when he was a frog at the pond...but I'm just writing mental fanfic now.) My point is there was potential there for us to get interesting info (and story beats) there which is why I was kind of rooting for it. This whole episode was a big bust with regard to moving towards any sort of goal and they really just made their situation severely worse to no real end. And now the princesses who want to end the world have the most powerful device in all of story. 

Yay. 

(Coda: Where is Scher with her "We're real enough" energy to talk the princesses out of their spiral? For the love of story, I am losing my mind here.)

[mo79zz]

Pick, Pack, Sell!

Pick, pack, sell has been a very long yet very fulfilling project.

When the project began, I was immediately excited, and started researching for inspiration, which in turn, made me have ideas for every product, so it was challenging to narrow it down. After conducting some primary research, I noticed that bon-bons had sparse availability in shops which settled my decision as I knew I had the creativity to give them new life. I then decided my target market and made a start on some inspiration and rough planning. As I was curating my sweets to children, I looked into what things draw them in and thought it might be a fun idea to relate them to the children’s book – The very hungry caterpillar. This soon sparked some idea generation, and I started designing.

However, I struggled with bad artist block during this project and felt like I wasn’t making any progress – which I wasn’t. I was incredibly stuck for ideas and felt like I had hit a bit of a brick wall.

My final products have come a long way from my initial plan and I definitely think this is for the better. I research further into kids food products and made the decision to make my bonbons healthy and stand out from the regular market of them – taking an immunity boosting, ‘part of your 5-a-day’ route with them. This decision took my artist block away rapidly and I started producing work and generating ideas again. This change of plan alongside art block slowed down my progress and I fell behind slightly, I really had to pick up the pace and make some prototypes. To my luck, the first prototype I made, needed no alterations other than a logo move – it received great feedback and this helped me push for more designs. Soon after, I had finished the designs for all three boxes and completed the nets. 

Working one box at a time and altering the final one to fit the other flavours is definitely the way that works for me, as it was pretty straightforward to just change the layers and colours to suit. Another thing that helped me out immensely was having an asset sheet of colours, illustrations, titles and my bon-bon images, as it meant I could copy paste over to whatever I was creating i.e. my moving poster and standing poster. While making my poster, I wanted to keep it on brand and very child friendly. I kept it quite simple and used the typeface I made for my packaging to spell out a phrase on my poster. I think the final outcome really works well with the packaging and is bold enough to be eye-catching as I used simple block colours. For my moving poster, I took inspiration from an after effects session where we made a moving poster for AirUp. I use the same motions to have fruit fly out of my box to show all the flavours. While my digital poster is quite hectic, I feel this is very on brand as it will draw in attention from my target audience 

I made a lot more work for myself by including a sticker sheet and mini snack packs to my boxes for the bon-bons to be encased in. However, I managed to get everything completed before deadline and think this addition gave a really nice effect and made my product feel moreauthentic.

I wanted my packaging to have a recycled/organic feel to it with textured matte paper that wasn’t entirely crisp white. This posed as a struggle as I wasn’t able to get my hands on something like this so had to find an alternate way. I downloaded a paper texture and overlayed this on my nets before printing which actually gave a really nice effect – alongside the nets being printed using an ink-jet printer meaning it had a matte finish, this way worked perfectly. While prototyping I encountered some misalignment with the inside vs the outside, I didn’t alter this as every printer has a different alignment so instead, I hoped for the best which actually worked out okay and there was barely any misalignment. 

One thing I faced when creating my packaging was envy of other classmates work. I know that everyone has different target markets and products, but this didn’t stop me from beating myself down about my project being bad. Another problem I faced which could have been avoided was that my boxes would not fit 5 packets in, only 4. This wouldn’t have been a problem if I had scaled the box differently and measured the size of the mini packs before sending it off to print.

Overall, this project has been super successful and has made me feel much more confident in my abilities. I have a better understanding of how I like to work, how I make the most progress and what my style of work is. Seeing everything come together and having it photographed properly has definitely made me like my product a million times more and made it feel much more real. I feel like it fits into my target audience perfect and will blend really nicely on the shelves next to yo-yo bear and organix snacks – exactly my aim :)

[dangerously-human]

For the record, this hike was a time I thought I might actually have met my end via hubris. It was raining when I started at the base of the mountain, and by the time I got to the top, it was the kind of wind-whipping torrential downpour that reminds you the God did indeed flood the earth once. It had soaked through every layer I had on, down to the skin, and through several backpack pockets to bleed the ink on the writing notebook I was carrying around with me on my travels. Daylight was fading fast by the time I got up to Queen Maeve's cairn at the top, and at the start of my descent, I got hit by one of the vertigo episodes I'd been praying would leave me alone while I was abroad because I was down to my last pill of the one medicine that kind of helps and turned out to be impossible to find in Irish pharmacies. Everything was spinning so bad that I actually had to sit down for a little while, but I knew I was cutting it close if I wanted to be able to see on my way down, so I clung to the green rope you can see in some of the pictures in any spots it was available, very carefully assessed my footing before moving between any of those helpfully studded wooden steps, and prayed the whole way through the forest. By the time I crossed from the treeline back down to where I had been able to easily see out to Sligo Bay on my way up, it was pretty much full dark, and I ran into a dad with his little girls who used his phone as a flashlight to help me for the final couple steps before the dirt path started up again. When I finally got back to my cousin's in-laws' house, where I was staying, my kind host took one look at me and ordered me into the shower to thaw (and doubtless because I was dripping like a drowned rat all over her floor, despite my best efforts). When I got out, she told me how her son had been panicking that they were going to have to call for the local rescue helicopter to come get me off the mountain, and kept repeating, "We have to ring [cousin]!", to which she'd said, "Now, what is [cousin] supposed to do from Philadelphia?!" Anyway, perhaps not my finest hour, and this was before I whacked my head on castle ruins for a days-long headache that made me question the possibility of a concussion, so I can't even blame my decision-making on anything other than sheer stubbornness and a sense of adventure.

Hiking Knocknarea, Co. Sligo, Ireland

November 2022

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons.  Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie. 

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.  

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.  

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.  

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth. 

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”  

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders. 

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink. 

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list. 

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.  

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.” 

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter. 

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms  across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart. 

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly? 

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.   

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist. 

Bliss. 

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag  Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.  

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip. 

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare. 

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.” 

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.  

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.  

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

 He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens. 

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.  

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.  

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers. 

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine. 

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut. 

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon? 

It’s worth the mess.     

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener. 

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.  

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display. 

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.  

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor. 

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.  

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department. 

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down. 

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally. 

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.   

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.” 

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace. 

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.  

It always does the trick.

***

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[sarahwroteathing]

JOK Epilogue Piece: Better or Worse

Word Count: 1795

Warnings: None

Just One Kiss Masterlist

For a while, Bucky thought his nightmares were finally over, left behind as a relic of his old life when he married you. It was an attractive idea, a hopelessly romantic one. And for weeks, it seemed to fit. The happiness of his waking life, the love you gave him, the peace he found in your arms each night left no room for ugly memories and past trauma.

But the dreams caught up to him, as he should have expected, and sent him lurching out of bed in the small hours of a Tuesday morning. The sensation of wood against his knees - hardwood, not concrete, metal, or mud - jerked him back to awareness, and he drew in a shaky breath. The room was dark and still, a little drafty despite the best efforts of the radiator in the corner. He stayed there a little longer, kneeling beside the bed. As he calmed his breathing, his eyes traced over your shape, softened by layers of sheets and blankets but still beautifully familiar, even in the dark. You were on your side, facing him, but your face rested in shadow.

Unsure whether the sound and movement of his abrupt awakening had pulled you from sleep too, Bucky stayed quiet, fingers uncurling from their tight grip on the bed frame to smooth reverently over still-warm sheets instead.

Home.

Safe.

Loved, he added as your hand reached out to collect his.

“Are you alright?” you whispered.

Bucky pressed his lips together, gave a stiff nod before remembering you probably couldn’t see it.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

There was a pause, a rustle of sheets, a voice made delicate by interrupted sleep.

“Did the dreams come back?”

Bucky squeezed your hand in silent affirmation before letting go. He turned, settling more comfortably on the floor with his back against the bed, staring towards the covered window. There was more rustling behind him as you moved, shifting to lie sideways across the bed, your chin resting on your folded arms on the edge of the mattress.

“Tell me how to help,” you requested in a much clearer voice than you’d managed before.

His heart gave a faint flutter at the gesture, but he could only offer a helpless shrug. Was there any help for this? He’d thought so before and been wrong.

“What did you do before? To help you feel better?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed as he thought back. The apartment he’d shared with Steve when they got back. How smug they’d felt about finally being able to afford separate bedrooms, even if they did sleep on the living room floor more often than not in the beginning. It had been a relief to have Steve nearby. They’d limped their way through their first months home together.

And though Bucky was reluctant to let you see the rough edges war had scraped into him, he’d found himself more and more willing to open up to you as time went on. Still, there were some truths he’d do anything to protect you from, and to your credit, you always seemed to know when to ask questions and when to offer distractions.

Like now, with your fingertips tracing a feather-light pattern on his bare shoulder, drawing him gently back to you.

“Coffee,” he finally answered with another shrug, lopsided to avoid disrupting your touch. “Going for a walk. Or sometimes Steve would be awake too, so we’d - ” He gestured vaguely. “- talk about things.”

You have a decisive little nod and sat up.

“I can do coffee. Can I turn the lamp on?”

“Yes.”

Bucky blinked harshly a few times as the lamp clicked on, filling the room with a warm glow and tracing your silhouette onto the wall in front of him. He watched your shadow don your robe with a flourish and adjust your hair before melting away into the black mass of the quilts you pulled from the bed.

Moments later, the warm weight of them draped around his shoulders, and he peeked up at you as you patted them into place with affectionate precision. You met his eyes with a soothing smile.

“It’s a little cold for a walk, but I’ll open the window for you. Let in some fresh air.”

Knowing how easily you caught a chill, he was quick to protest.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you said, smoothing back his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But if it helped you before, then I want to try. I’ll be at the stove anyway. I doubt I’ll feel it out there.”

You crossed to the window, pulling the curtains aside before pushing the window open in one smooth motion. Your fingers brushed through Bucky’s hair again as you retreated from the sudden influx of winter air.

“I’ll bring you some coffee as soon as it’s ready. And I can call Steve too if you want? He might be awake.”

“Don’t call Steve,” he answered quietly. “I’ll be alright.”

You nodded, flashing another small smile before leaving the room. The door clicked shut behind you.

Bucky sighed, gathering the blankets more securely around his shoulders as he moved to the window, bracing his arms on the sill. As the night air bathed his face, damp and cold driving away the last lingering shreds of his nightmare, he fixed his gaze on the floral fabric covering his arms.

Soft ivory adorned with tiny blue flowers and sprays of pale ivy. The quilting stitches were tiny and precise, made by a hand stubbornly focused on a bright future during times that promised no such happy ending. Your hand. The same that had dripped ink onto one of the corners while writing him a letter, a dark splotch you still rub your fingers over ruefully every time it catches your eye. Bucky adored it.

He dropped his head onto his arms, burying his face in the soft fabric and breathing in the faint scent of your soap. He didn’t know how long he’d been that way by the time the door creaked quietly behind him, signalling your return. When he raised his head to look at you, your free hand reached for his cheek, cradling it sweetly as you knelt beside him.

“You’re sure about the coffee? Don’t want to try sleeping some more?”

“Not tonight.”

You handed him his mug, hovering anxiously as he took a sip. Your eyes looked a bit lost, flitting about the room for something to do, some way to be helpful.

“When…” you trailed off uncertainly before trying again. “Did you sit up with anyone? Before? Or…?”

“Usually just found a spot to be alone.”

You nodded quickly, pushing up to stand again.

“I’ll just be in the other room then. Let me know if you need anything. I…”

You hesitated again before abruptly dropping to your knees. Your hands found his face, sweeping your thumbs along his cheekbones before drawing him in for a kiss. Unlike your other touches tonight, this was neither delicate nor fleeting. Your lips, though warm and soft, met his with firmness, with a fierce and loyal love that you always felt but rarely channeled this way. When you pulled away, Bucky’s lips tingled faintly, warmth blooming in his chest when you dipped back in for a final, tender brush.

“I love you,” you said quietly, looking intently into his eyes for a few moments as if willing the message to sink in before rising to your feet and turning to leave.

Bucky caught your wrist.

“I love you,” he whispered back. “You can stay, you know. You don’t have to leave.”

“You’re allowed to need time alone, Bucky. I promise, it doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

His hand slid down to grasp yours, tugging you to his side again.

“Maybe it’ll be better with you,” he murmured, leaning his head against your hip with a sigh. “Most things are. Being with you was never an option before.”

Your fingers combed gently though his sleep-ruffled hair, and his eyes fell closed at your touch.

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to say I’m helping to appease my pride. I’ll stay if you really want me to, but you have to promise you’ll send me away if that’s what’s best for you.”

“Promise,” Bucky said with a nod, opening his eyes again to look up at you. “Stay with me? Please?”

Your eyes softened, and Bucky set the coffee down on the window sill as you settled on the floor beside him. He reached out for you, folding you against him with blanket-draped arms and fussing with the quilts until you were both adequately bundled in the warm, soft cotton.

You sit in silence for a long time, cuddled together, staring at the small patch of sky visible through the window. The coffee steaming on the window sill left a small patch of fog on the upper pane. You braved the cold air outside the blankets long enough to draw a small heart there while it lasted, and Bucky kissed warmth back into your fingertips when you leaned back into him again.

When his eyelids started to feel heavy, he took up the coffee again. It’s nearly cold by then, but that only let him drink it faster, allowed his hand to retreat back under the blankets more quickly.

The click of ceramic on wood pulled you from your light doze against his shoulder, and you tilted your head up to meet his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

Bucky offered a soft smile.

“Better,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose before guiding your head back down to his shoulder. “Get some more rest, honey. I’ll be alright.”

“You’ll wake me if you need anything?” you asked, sleep already smoothing a slur into your words.

Bucky let out a low hum, rubbing his hand over your legs soothingly as you went soft and still against him.

And it wasn’t a comforting lie. He did feel better.

There was a warmth glowing gently in his chest that did not draw its strength from the coffee or blankets. It was in the way you touched him, kindly but not cautiously. In your determination to help, to learn how to help, without making him feel damaged or self-conscious. In the way you’d kissed him, steadfast, permanent. And when you’d told him you loved him, it didn’t feel like a pretty thing to say or a sweet consolation. It was a simple, honest statement, a resolute fact of life that welcomed no arguments or second opinions.

You loved him. Full stop. For better or worse, no matter how bad “worse” could be.

And that, Bucky thought, was something to smile about. That warmth was something to bask in.

-----------------------

I got really in my feelings writing this. Wow.

If you enjoyed it, please do let me know. Replies, reblogs, and asks make the world go round!

And if you have any questions about their life together, kindly drop it in my inbox to be answered in a bonus drabble or oneshot like this one.

Thank you for reading!

[fairyoftbz]

sunburnt | s. eric

☀ pairing: pharmacist! eric x fem!reader ☀ word count: 1.4k (i really can't write sth small smh) ☀ genre: fluff, sort of beach!au (?) ☀ tw: sunburns, some swear words here and there ☀ synopsis: after spending an afternoon at the beach, you painfully realised that you got sunburnt. ☀ a/n: I know it's shitty but this is just to express my pain bc I always get sunburnt lmao ☀ requested: no

╰☆☆☆☆╮

Getting rid of all the sand in your belongings, you swiftly slid your feet into your flip-flops and walked towards the bar located at the end of the beach. The barista handed you the bottle of soda you asked for and walked away, adjusting the sunglasses perched on your nose as the sun was still shining brightly.

Taking the afternoon off to enjoy some peace away from your bustling life was the best self-care decision you ever made. You kept your destination hidden and turned off your phone as soon as you stepped a foot in the burning sand, wanting the focus to be on yourself only. Work had been restless, and your colleagues had been giving you a hard time, so you wanted to spend some time alone to enjoy the time being, away from stressing at your desk and being in front of the computer screens all day.

The afternoon was pleasant. You had swum in the ocean for a while, drying on the sand until the heat became unbearable and went back in the water. Tiredness took over your body at some point, feeling thirsty and hungry, giving you a good reason to leave, excited to go back home to chill on your balcony instead. In the higher floors of the building you lived in, the air was still salty but fresher, and you preferred this over anything else.

Pausing for a quick second, you uncapped the bottle of soda with a swift flick of the finger before taking long sips, the sparkly feeling refreshing your throat. You sighed in relief when you reached your car, setting your bag and towel inside. But, as you were about to close the trunk, a sharp pain travelled your entire body, shooting from your upper arm to reach the lower part of your back. Confused, you winced and lowered your arm, walking to the side of your car to look at yourself in a window.

Your skin was gleaming bright red, suddenly feeling the uncomfortable pain of a throbbing sunburn. Placing your hand on your shoulder blade, you touched the skin and your eyes widened, feeling it burn under your palm and your skin turning white where you had pressed your fingertips.

With gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, you pushed the trunk down before locking your car despite your discomfort. Finding a pharmacy was the only way to relieve you from his pain because you doubted that the products found at the grocery store would be very efficient.

You quickly entered the first store you found, asking for directions. The man behind the cash register gestured you to the nearest pharmacy, bowing at him before going back in the sweltering heat. The more you moved, the more effort you had to reassemble to keep walking, realising that not only your shoulders were sunburnt, but also the remaining limbs of your body.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” you cursed yourself at the negligence you had for yourself, delicately placing the strap of your purse on your shoulder as you winced again.

It wasn’t the first time that you got this type of ache, you almost got sunburnt every single summer. Though you had tried every sunscreen purchasable in the market, nothing was well enough to shield your skin from the UV rays, no matter how high-protecting and promising the tube of sunscreen was. You shook your head as you walked to the pharmacy, mentally preparing yourself to suffer at every single movement you’ll do for the next few days.

The glass doors of the drugstore slid open, letting the air conditioning welcome you in a fresh embrace. Your skin lightly itched as you neared the never-ending mister a little too close, the simple contact of water against your skin was enough to make you wince. Looking around the shop for a while, much to your dismay, you couldn’t find any after-sun lotion. Replacing a tube on the shelf, you were about to ask for help when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You slightly flinched at the sensitive skin of your neck wrinkling as you turned around, offering a half-smile to the person in front of you. Wearing a white blouse above a white t-shirt and some chino pants hitched up at the end, the man in front of you greeted you with a smile, eyes filled with care and worry as they lingered on your reddened skin.

“Can I help you in any way?” he started, and you nodded, taking your sunglasses off, involuntarily displaying more of your sunburnt face. He hissed empathically at the sight of your red skin, and you sighed before bitterly chuckling.

“I know I should have been more careful, but I can't find a single brand of sunscreen efficient enough to protect my skin. Maybe you have some products that could help me heal it, at least?” the pharmacist nodded as his eyes couldn't leave the redness of your skin, his actions allowing you to see his name on the tag above his blouse pocket: Eric S.

“You need to be cautious, it's bad to ruin your cells and break some skin layers. I have rarely seen such type of sunburnt, it looks like you’re going to have to be patient for it to heal correctly. Uh, okay, let me go check if I have something for you,” he mumbled while detailing your skin, his fingers gently resting on your shoulder to turn you around, observing the reddened skin your clothes allowed to show. His eyes widened for a quick second at the damage, nodding at you before disappearing in the back office, his front pieces of hair flying up as he passed in front of a fan.

You stood there, waiting for him to come back, faking your interest in another product as the fresh air of the pharmacy allowed your body to cool down for a while. You couldn’t do anything with your body, crossing your arms became so hurtful that you had to stay with them dangling on your sides. Fortunately, the pharmacist was quick to come back with a large lotion pot in hand and a cylindrical tube in the other. He got hailed by another waiting customer but was quick to politely redirect him to one of his colleagues, walking back to you with a caring smile painted on his face.

“So, I have this lotion that is aloe vera based, and its benefits are very good for your skin. Not only for sunburns but also in general, if you have dry skin or even acne. It’s very moisturising and anti-inflammatory, and you can apply it as many times throughout the day as you want. You could also apply pure aloe vera taken straight from the branches, but I’m scared that all the local stores have run out of it,” he explained with a smile, walking towards one of the unoccupied cash registers, typing a few things on the screen.

“And the tube? What is it for?” you pointed at the thing, the pharmacist’s eyes not leaving the screen as he turned the tube around, recognising the white and orange packaging of a famous French brand for you to read.

“This is French thermal water, the same one that we diffuse at the entrance”, he said as he gestured to the steam of mist escaping from the machine next to the sliding doors. “It can help you freshen up and cool down your skin when the sunburnt is as consequent as yours. My sister uses it a lot, and it’s efficient according to her. She uses the cream as well, and she wears a bathing suit, it's the best way for the product to sink in well,” you thanked him as you took your wallet out, grabbing your credit card and pressed it against the machine, which emitted a sound at the end of your transaction.

“Don’t hesitate to come back if you need further explanation or anything else. Have a nice day!” your fingers grazed against his as you took the bag from him and walked out of the store, reaching inside the bag once you were on your way back to your car.

However, you stopped in your tracks as some ink coloured your fingertips, finding a post-it note stuck on the inside of the bag. The paper grabbed your attention by brushing against the skin of your forearm as you wanted to grab the facial water mister, impatient to get rid of this stinging sensation on your face. You frowned and peeled the note off, noticing hasty words messily scribbled on it.

maybe I can teach you correctly to put on sunscreen to avoid any other sunburns? ;) call me xx-xxx-xxx

[the-writer-reem-shadili]

#Guardians of the temple Ankhritos

or

Cursed Book of Temple Keepers #

( a novel )

✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍

By Reem Shadili

Translated to english

part One ( 1 )

✍✍✍✍

"The Cursed Book", that might sound like a proper title for a movie, right??

Starring as James Bond

Fida in all international cinema halls.

But hey!!

Does the hidden government allow this??!!

Does the one-eyed antichrist allow this??!!

I don't think so at all, it's impossible!!

Because this book is one of the most dangerous cursed books on the face of the earth, which caused wars and bloody epics for kings who suffered from horrific endings, including revolting and chilling, and princesses and princes from royal families whose end was tragic because of this cursed book that, if it entered a land, a city, or a palace, but made Whoever in it is like the dead, and the ghosts of demons play and plunder during the day and howl at night, and lie in bed with the great people, having sex with ease and giving birth to the young demons who will rule the world later, after their blood is mixed with the blood of royal humankind.

It is a book that makes everyone who reads it crazy and unbalanced, making everyone who reads or touches it wish for death.

Because it is the gateway of demons to the human world,

Therefore, reader, do not be alarmed by what you will read in this novel, for the truth is more difficult to say once or to believe a single sentence, not only now, but as it has been throughout the ages.

The truth will not be seen in its entirety, because not all minds comprehend the events and observations going on around them.

And not all souls can stand the truth that is stripped of all artificial paint or colors with the taste of sugar and vanilla.

In this talk, you will know many things that you are not aware of... but let me tell you something very important...

I'm just telling you the truth,

And because the truth is absent from you, I will tell you in parts, piece by piece.

And because your small mind may not comprehend these great things.

So focus on me well, from now on you will only hear my rough voice in your big ears.

Where do you want to start?!

Shall we start centuries ago?

Or do we start from the terrifying palace (Satan Caesus)??

Or do we start with the era of the pharaohs??!

Or from the time of "George Washington"??!!

Or do we start with the church in which “George Bush” learned and how he came to see God in his dreams, and how he used to give him orders to conquer the world??!!

Or do we start with the bohemian jungle??!!

Or from the time of the Soviets??!!

Or from the time of the great conspiracies??!!

Or from the Church of Vice and Sorcery??!!

Or how do the "temple guards" practice immorality in

Daylight with the people of Lot??!!

Or how did the “temple guards” come to rule the world from money to politics to women to rulers??!!

Or are we talking about the influence of the underworld on the world of humans and how they can control them??!!

Or are you afraid and want to know only the part that interests you in how to get rid of this bad world, the world of immorality and demons. And how to get rid of them and overcome them all??!!

What do you think??!!

Are you afraid??!! Are you afraid??!!

I apologize to you, the reader, and you, the reader, but the truth is in order to be able to know it, you must also know the dark side of it that controls it, otherwise there is no salvation for you without knowledge.

The question now is: Have you chosen the topic you want to talk about?!!

Or are you confused and he is confused as usual??!!

So let me choose for you, um, what do you think?

Shall we start from that (church) which is in the middle of the city of Rome, the “Church of Saints and Mujahideen” who left

The world and what is in it, that they may worship their “god.”

This is the desired day when the bells are sounded and human sacrifices are sacrificed to be presented to their bloody god, the “God of Light” “Lucifer” as they describe it, so I tell you do not panic.

Do not be afraid of what you will know and hear in a world full of darkness.

Do not run away, dear reader, and do not close your eyes when the scene shocks you, so I warn you.. If you cannot, do not approach this church, because it is the church of Satan.

And do not approach this novel because it is my story..not

The writer's novel.

Come on then I will take you with me from history to history and from dimension to dimension and from layer to layer, if you are not psychologically prepared, do not continue reading, and run away very far..even without shoes.

So, would you like to enter that church with me???

Do you see it now??!!

It's right there where it was hundreds of years ago.

We will not enter through the big door, but from

《Pastor Lombardo's Entrance》This entrance will lead us to what's under the church, let's go down the narrow stairs quietly, we are now six floors underground, and now tell me do you smell this??!!

It is the smell of satanic "incense" to prepare the place,

Do you hear those loud noises???

They are not the sounds of celebrations, but rather the sounds of people being tormented.... Yes, it is. I told you that if you are not ready, go back, do not enter with me through this door, because if you enter it, you will not leave it until you complete the novel

Yes, as I heard, it is not a threat, but a warning!!

If the decision is up to you,

.........thought

.........Think well

.......... Rethink

So you decided to continue the novel, right??!!,

Well, I'll open the door quietly...

Do not be afraid, because they will not see you, because you are hidden from their red eyes.

But .... if your soul is foul and they smell your scent, do not blame me ... I have nothing to do with it,

They can reach you anywhere on earth

If you are the owner of a bad breath, be sure that you will see them tonight, and they may torture you and the Jathoom may visit you... Yes, the Jathoom... But please tell me if someone visits you, you may be innocent... Only I can help you get rid of them.

So try to enter quietly.

Come on in, do you see this blood scattered everywhere and these bodies??!!

Exactly here the (vampires) of the human beings were celebrating sacrifices, do you see that man standing there in the middle of the circle cheering incomprehensible words??

Yes, that person who wears a red cloak,

It's the head of the church 《Antonio》 cast a spell to bring demons, do you see those naked girls there and handcuffed on the table??

They are the sacrifices of (Satan Caesus) and his disciples.

Now in the presence of “majestic” priests and veteran clergy will declare their allegiance to “Lucifer”, so be prepared that you will see the most heinous crimes,

It is a crime of survival,

crime of force,

crime of lust,

crime of pleasure,

That's how they call it

...

After slaughtering the sacrifices and drinking their blood, the declaration of loyalty and obedience is an obligatory matter.

So do not look at those naked and stripped bodies lying on the church table,

And leave you those beautiful women who are standing there while they are having sex in the most horrific way possible, because they are in fact just demons in human form, Here in this world that you entered with your feet, you will see and hear the ugliest words and the worst possible letters.

Here in this world you will see the dead eating the living, then you will see them eating the children while they are alive.

And you will see who among them still drinks blood and practices vice with the priests who claim to protect the sanctuaries and and and ... and all

These slogans...

Forget everything they say on TV .

and color magazines, all that absurdity,

Never mind, oh, hear me well, and do not look there, for I see those looks that made you see the world in black, and listen to those words that I shall say to you, perhaps they

Never leave your thick head

Do not believe a religious man whose eyes are round... Nor a politician whose eyes are glaring... Nor a man who claimed your friendship and eyes on your life and your pocket... Do not believe anyone... Because the time of friendship

is over , Just believe in yourself...Believe in yourself,

Did you know who I am??

No of course . . . .

You certainly will not know me.

How do you know who I am??!!

But it's okay. I will tell you my news. I am the servant of the Bible. My name is ( Jamon Lombardy ), from the village of ( Jericho) , and my mother is from the town of Khan Yunis. I wrote this book with ink of blood. Anyone who reads it will be cursed, and it is a forbidden and cursed book. .

You will ask me why??

And I will tell you the story and the truth that you will not know in

any other place.

I will be very frank with you to the point of astonishment,

Five thousand five hundred years ago I made a deal with

(Lucifer) in order to convey all the secrets of the underworld to this book, but on its terms and requirements, and in exchange for it that I obtain supernatural power and life without death .

I was a very ordinary young man from a Jewish family, plowing the land and watering the crops. All the girls and women of the village wished to see me, and because I had the physical strength and intelligence that made me special and among the strongest of the village’s youth, a rich man asked me to be his bodyguard who guarded him from bandits, For a very large sum of money, I agreed at once because it was an irreplaceable opportunity.

He was a wealthy man, and had a luxurious mansion, which he filled with all that he wanted, but he had no wife or children. He was a reprehensible man, with a hump on his right shoulder, glaring eyes, and curly hair, and they called him "Komoro bethawon "

Throughout my work with him, I did not see him eat like humans, sleep like them, or even look at women!! ,

Sometimes I saw him entering the palace door, although I'm sure he never came out!!

How did he get out again??!!

After a year, completely and completely, he asked me a very strange request,

He asked me to share his dinner with him, and the problem was that his dinner was disgusting. Every day he ate one of the children who were kidnapped at sunset, in addition to drinking the blood extracted from their bodies. At first I categorically refused, but he took me to a room I don't know about. Although I know the palace, inch by inch, but it was the first time I saw this room, as if it had no end, filled with gold, mountains like mountains my eyes had never seen before, treasures and statues of gold, something like an incredible imagination.

While I was touching those jewels and that stored gold, the owner of the palace called "Komuro" spoke softly, saying: Do you see all this gold?

I said to him with confidence: Why are you not afraid that I will kill you and seize everything you own, especially since you have no family, and I am a strong young man that no one can confront me??!!

But he laughed loudly and turned to me and said, "I hope you'll try just to see what happens to you, handsome one."

While (the owner of the palace) was leaving that room, I saw bright eyes everywhere, and they were scary eyes, so that they started making noises like the sounds of wild beasts, which made me go out quickly, as soon as I came out until I closed the door hard as if someone had locked it, I went quickly Behind "Komoro bethawon "

And I ask him and I say: Who the hell are you??

Who was in the room??

But he did not pay any attention to me. He sat down on his chair and asked me to sit down to share his supper, while he drank his glass full of blood. All my prey trembled with fear, and I, who had never been afraid in my life, sat down and shared dinner with him, though it was disgusting to the point of nausea.

My plate was raw, uneven steak with blood still on it.

But all my thoughts were in that room full of all those treasures and precious gold, I was thinking how I could get it and it had its guards guarding it, so there was no solution to take all those treasures except with this "cursed dinner", I said it was dinner for one day and it became From the rich, it's okay.. I will bid farewell to poverty once and for all, and I will bid farewell to the miserable life I was living,

Today if you ask me do you regret that night??

My answer: I have reached a point where regret is no longer useful.

This heart no longer feels remorse or fear,

My body is empty of feelings and emotions.

And I reached the point to be or not to be.. It's only the end,

After we finished dinner, he asked me to go down with him to the basement of the palace, there in a room I had never seen in my life. It was a black room filled with half-human monsters and snakes. As soon as they saw me, they threw themselves on my body and tore my clothes and had sex with me over and over again without my will. I was as if I was a tool to satisfy their sexual instincts, and as if they were thirsty for sex with a human being, I could hear them screaming in different voices??!! ,

As for me, I did nothing but be completely submissive to them.

On the morning of the second day, he asked me to go with him to the same room, but I refused, except that he told me this time it would be different,

When we went down, no one was there but a small desk, red ink and a blank book, and he asked me to carry everything

Found in these leather manuscripts to the book,

When I asked him what this was, he said that it was the "Secrets of Solomon" and that I had to write them all with this red ink, which is the blood of cursed demons mixed with the blood of men.

The wrongdoers and the blood of virgin girls.

Throughout my time in that room from which I did not come out, I could hear frightening noises until morning, except for those serpents that would circle around me every night until the last third of the night and then disappear after they had sex with me

Until I completed (The Cursed Book), which took me forty days, which was full of incantations, types of magic, how to use them, their rituals, and the names of demons and servants of the underworld.

And on the last night the serpents came and brought me news that they had given birth to me young serpents and that they were my children. My shock was indescribable... Four serpents gave birth to thirty-three serpents. The upper half looked like humans and the lower half looked exactly like a serpent, except for one that was completely human, except That her eyes are like the eyes of a serpent, I called her "Leona"

After forty days I came out of the room with the book in my hand and thirty-three serpents named after my name (haha)

really strange,

(He is the one who can sleep and wake up in the morning, he has the flu and he does not have a clogged soul to eat, not even how many dishes are stuffed.. but he enters a room and when he comes out, he has a pile of meat, excuse me, life, in the name of God, Masha Allah.. Thirty-three live except one and a cursed book.. From you to God, Komoru... Haha)

It was " Komoru bethawon"

He is waiting for me in the gold room, and he is happy to say to me : Today you have the right to all this wealth.

Surely you will die now of envy and wish you were in my place, forty days have passed and I will become one of the richest... Rather, one of the richest men on the face of the world.

But I apologized to him and asked him to leave me alone , I was no longer greedy for that gold or that wealth , My intuition was telling me that it was not the end... but only the beginning....

And my hunch is true.

And because I am talking to you from the underworld .

Here there is nothing like above .

There is nothing like humans .

Nothing like what you know .

There is nothing here but murder, sex and conspiracy.

Here you hear them plotting against human beings, how to kill them and enter them into wars, and how to make them obsessed with sex and money.

Here no one sleeps but a little as if they are taking an evening nap .

Here everyone is practicing with everyone .

Here there are no morals or mercy .

Here there is no emotion or comfort.

Here you are either with them or you will never be .

It is a base...!!

What did you say, reader ??!!

Did I hear you correctly ??!!

Are you asking me what I did ??!!

The question itself is wrong,

You have to ask me what I have become ??!!

"Four thousand years later"

Do you see what I see today??

Do you smell this scent that fills the streets??

The world is struggling with death, all the streets of Rome are fighting

black death again .

Today is Sunday of the year 2020, I am here witness to the terrible event, in the middle of " the Vatican" , witness to the history of " Rome" and "europe" with this outbreak.

It's a "devil epidemic."

Whoever believes in him become one body, and whoever does not believe in him turns away from him, but he is one of our secrets, we are the hidden world .

Don't tire your little mind thinking, we don't get anything wrong,

We are "holy"

You make me laugh....because you are arrogant, arrogant, and a selfish person who only thinks of himself, yet you want to know everything, you curious one.

Listen to me well.. it is one word I will say, and because the journey is still in its beginning and we are still in the first chapters, then hear me :

It is the epidemic that we have been working on for centuries to kill humanity and reduce its increasing growth!!

Do you think this pandemic is the last??!!

So, you are naive and stupid !!

İt's just because...

it's only the beginning

✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍✍.

End of the first part of the novel

" Guardians of the Temple "

" Ancheretos"

✍✍✍✍

______

I apologize to the reader for the harsh terms and images that were mentioned by the central character in this novel, but they are scenes of their filth that explain the truth.

🙏🙏🙏

by

#Reem_shadili

[mimiplaysgames]

save it for the morning after (3/3)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: E (Explicit) for Smut Word Count: 7,850

Summary: Aqua learns the value of being vulnerable.Terra learns to trust his body to another. Everyone gets a happy ending. ;)

Read on AO3

A/N: AAAAHHHH Happy Terraqua Day!!!! I can’t believe I finally finished this one, it always felt like it would never happen. I’m actually quite nervous - I don’t take the same kind of path of other smut and being so deviant honestly freaks me out so much. I really do pull this story into extreme directions for smut, that I wonder if I can call it smut at all. But let’s see. Hope you like. <3

~*~*~*~*~

“Aqua.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

“Go ahead.”

“....”

“Are you okay?”

“The... um, your scars...”

“They’re not yours.”

“Aqua—”

“They aren’t.”

“Please.”

“...They’re not yours.”

~*~*~*~*~

Well, damn.

Ven hones in on Terra—a ballsy move considering it’s a super-bad idea to get this close to a large opponent—but Ven skids, spinning on his knees and tripping Terra like a pet running through its owner’s legs. Ven serves an uppercut with his short Keyblade. It almost jabs Terra on the ribs if not for his lurch backward, and he lands squarely on his ass against the desk behind him. 

A pot of ink rattles and tips, spilling all over his pants and spreading up the spine of his shirt. 

Ven snorts. “You look like you shit yourself.”

Terra wipes his backside, picking up excess ink in layers. It’s slick, skating through his fingers with the weight of iron and dripping onto the floor. More of it runs between his legs, finding a way in between cracks and folds of skin, moistening up his boxers. Damn it. He slathers his hand through Ven’s hair with so much force (Hey!) that Ven waddles to stay in balance. 

“And you look like you’ve been picking through trash.”

Ink clumps chunks of blond hair together, drooling down Ven’s ears and staining his collar. It makes him look oily for lack of a better term, like someone who hasn’t taken a shower in weeks. When he touches his scalp out of reflex he flinches, wiping his coated fingers on his own shirt… before realizing what he’s doing. He groans. 

“It suits you,” Terra says. 

“I dunno.” Ven wipes the rest of it on Terra’s shirt. “Looks better on you.” Might as well. The shirt is honestly ruined. 

One corner of the offending desk is covered in globs of shiny black. Terra corrects the ink bottle and surveys the damage. The tile floor will be easy to clean, but the wood is inhaling the color. 

“Aqua’s going to kill us,” Ven mutters. “She spent a lot of time in this room.”

Weeks of time choosing which books to display on the shelves. Days researching the right chalkboard to purchase. Journeys spent gathering minerals for students to practice with: ash from a far away volcano, water from the forest river nearby, unearthed dirt from the garden, and feathers from nests settled at the peak of the tallest mountain. Aqua has a vision of this room playing the dual role of serving lectures and encouraging hands-on experimentation in a safe environment. She wants it to be respectable and impressive before the semester starts. They’re not allowed to traverse the room with shoes on, and Terra and Ven were respectable about that before one of them (Ven) started to get cocky about his fighting abilities. 

Yeah, they fucked up. “Think of it this way. We proved it’s not practical for physical training,” Terra says. 

“You’re the one who’s going to tell her that.” Ven scoffs, splaying a wet towel on the floor.

Terra pulls his suspenders over his head and lets them hang from his waistband. Pinching his stained muscle shirt off and bundling it up, he uses it as a rag to absorb the puddle on the table. What’s sinking into his socks is now warm. He ignores it.

“Do you think I could pull this off?” Ven asks as a by-the-way, twiddling a shy hand at the back of his greasy head.

“Black hair?”

“No, you’re right. It’s creepy.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Pfft, you also ‘didn’t’”—Ven bookends the word with finger quotations—“spar fairly.”

Terra considers throwing his damp shirt at Ven’s face. “I’m not at my prime yet.”

“That’s not it.” Ven flips the towel and swipes the remaining streaks with the cleaner side. “You’re holding back. You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

“I’m not holding back.” He is. Just the image of raising his Keyblade against either of his friends is enough to make him nauseous, but he swallows it to be a good sport. 

Giving it his all is something else entirely, a deeper, invasive illness. 

“I know you can hit harder than that.” Ven dunks the towel in a pail of water, clouding it. 

“I just have a lot in my mind and it’s hard to... relax, I guess.”

There’s a moment of pregnant quiet before Ven says pointedly, “I thought Aqua was helping you out with that.”

A moist squish slaps Ven on the nose.

“Now you’re being sensitive,” Ven says, pulling Terra’s shirt off his shoulder.

“You missed a spot,” says Terra, using his thumb to smear the stain across Ven’s cheek. For shits and giggles he continues upward, rubbing raccoon circles on Ven’s eyelids. “You really pull this off.”

“Do you annoy her this much?”

“She enjoys it.”

“Ugggh.” Ven throws Terra’s hands off of him, his chin tucked in so much that two layers of neck skin fold over. “Gross.”

Terra pauses. Gross wasn’t what he expected out of Ven’s mouth. 

In fact, Terra hasn’t been sure of how Ven took the news the first time. 

Oh, Ven had said when they told him Aqua was moving into Terra’s room. Okay. Cool. He shrugged as if he could have heard more exciting news, and left to take a short walk in the woods with Chirithy. The three of them never spoke about it again. Ven wouldn’t mention a word when he saw them dragging her dresser and vanity table, and seldom joined them if he heard them laughing together with the door closed. 

Things are changing in minute strokes, in seconds that cluster for as long as Terra can recognize them, until they dissipate and become something not quite foreign but never quite familiar anymore, as though where he comes from is far from home and who he thinks he knows are almost-strangers.

“Have we ever made you uncomfortable?” Terra asks. 

“What, no!” Ven waves his hand, feigning shock, staring at his shoes and everywhere else but Terra. “I mean, Aqua’s been Aqua since we got back, and you’re just weird sometimes, but—”

“Then why do you...” Terra sighs, choosing his words. “Avoid us when we’re together?”

“I don’t want to interrupt.”

An almost-lie. “I hope you don’t think we don’t want you around.”

“Noooo. Neither of you make me feel that way.”

“But you do.”

Ven lifts his shoulders higher than his ears and drops them with the same weight as throwing books on the floor. “It’s just… nothing’s the same.”

Nothing is, what with the quiet mornings since the Master is no longer here to prepare breakfast before the sun rises, or huff at anyone when they disturb his meditation. Now they’re preparing the castle for the largest student body of Keyblade wielders it’s seen in years, something Terra thought would be a good distraction for everyone. 

But Ven’s right. Home doesn’t feel like home when the floors are re-tiled, and specific rooms are repainted, and the Master’s favorite lounge chair sits empty in the same spot in the library by the fireplace. Maybe for Ven, home is the turn right to knock on Terra’s door and the turn left to knock on Aqua’s. 

“It’s weird.” Ven grimaces. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m used to talking to you about things you promised to keep from Aqua—”

“I still wouldn’t tell her anything!”

“—and I’m used to it being the three of us.”

Terra pauses. “We’re still the three of us. We’re still best friends.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it,” Ven says, smiling warmly. “You are one half of two. You share a language I can’t butt into.” 

Terra kneels onto one knee, brushing oily hair out of Ven’s face. Aqua would have liked this look on him: less spiky. “Ven, you’re always going to be a part of our lives.”

“Stop worrying. What you have is not a bad thing. I think it’s kind of awesome. I wish you’d give it your all in a fight. I wanna see what you and her are capable of together, because it’d be huge.”

“I’m only trying to say that we don’t want you to feel like a third wheel. You’re more than welcome to knock on our door anytime—”

“Ah. No. No thanks.” He shoos Terra away. 

“Why?”

“I don’t wanna see anything.” Ven squints.

Terra snorts. “You’re not going to see—”

“I don’t wanna hear about it either.”

“But—”

“Nope.” Ven covers his ears with his palms. “Nothing. No inside jokes. No pet names. Yuck. Keep that to yourself.”

Terra presses his lips together to zip up the snickering. “Okay, I won’t say anything.”

“Good. I don’t want any images in my head.” He wipes his hands like he’s done a good job explaining himself. “I should’ve expected it anyhow.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Ven says slowly. “I mean, the Master kinda knew.”

“He said something to you?” Terra asks with a shaky voice. He’s flipping through memories, when he and Aqua were very careful and very private, when they didn't touch each other in case there were witnesses near. He was so certain he’d suffer punishment if Eraqus ever found out. Lists of long essays about the dangers of being reckless with emotions every time Aqua made him laugh too much. Grueling physical regiments to knock discipline into his body every time he made bad decisions based on a tug between his legs. 

“I didn’t understand it at the time,” Ven says, leaning back on his hands and tapping his heels on the floor. “We were all hanging out, and you and Aqua left, and then he got sad.

“When I asked him what was wrong, he told me you guys created a very bright Light together. A Light bonded is a Light stronger, he said.” Ven mimics the Master’s lilts in speech, using his finger to emphasize points. “But be aware, Ven. Such a blinding Light casts an equally blinding, deep Shadow. What a dangerous force that is.”

It’s a good imitation. The ache in Terra’s chest twists into his guts and warms him at the same time, like a loving hug that squeezes too hard.

“Honestly it made me think you and Aqua were doing something you weren’t supposed to.”

“Maybe we were.” Terra’s throat constricts, his voice gravelly and his shame nostalgic. “We thought the same sometimes.”

“Which isn’t fair. Why can normal people experience that but it’s such a big deal if Keybearers do it?”

Because when you elevate the person you admire to a standard you can’t match, it makes you do stupid things. Aqua had followed him world after world, expecting it would eventually lead to a fight. Too many Keyblades in a friendship does no one good. 

To-may-to, to-mah-to. They did end up fighting, it just wasn’t his own Keyblade that inevitably hurt her. What a dangerous force that is.

“So the Master did not approve?” Terra asks.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Ven rubs his cheek in thought, forgetting all about the ink. “He said your combined Light looked beautiful and warm. And that you’d have many nights where it would be enough when it gets hard... Honestly, he only wished that you keep your head on your shoulders.”

Wishes asked for are wishes granted, the Master used to say, so long as you work for them. The years Terra had wished for this exact approval had only left him with space to forge false hope. Nothing major, nothing long-winded. Just a simple, impossible wish as they placed the flower wreath on his memorial and bid their goodbyes. 

Finally, that wish is fulfilled. As Ven grants it to him, it’s hard to believe or accept, sitting on the floor of what used to be a ballroom, covered in drying ink. 

“Thanks, Ven.” Tears cascade down his cheeks, pretending to be inconspicuous. He wipes them with his clean forearm but he can’t keep up. There’s one for every moment in the last twelve years when he wanted to apologize to the Master, leaving his eyes burning. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop soon.”

“S’okay.” Ven tucks his ankles under, giving Terra time to process. Ven knows when a topic is too sensitive. But he can also tell when enough time has passed for the raw cuts to seal, when everyone’s ready to laugh. It’s his special gift. Only after Terra slows down does Ven lean forward. “Did you know you make this ugly face when you cry? You’re a train wreck.”

Terra yanks Ven’s head under his arm (Oomph, grunts Ven), locking his elbow around the neck.

Ven beats on Terra’s biceps. “Let go of me.”

Terra summons his pauldron, elbow pad, and gauntlet—for good measure. He licks salt from his lips and smirks, clutching Ven more, sinking him into the pecs. 

Ven coughs. “You smell horrible.”

“Nasty-horrible or heroic-horrible?”

“Do you make Aqua sniff your armpit? Let go of me.”

A poor mistake. Ven tumbles back when he’s let go, but he grabs Terra’s shirt before his head hits the floor. He punches it into Terra’s stomach so quickly that Terra isn’t allowed time to react or block, leaving a sprawled, black bruise over his abs. 

“Put a shirt on,” Ven says when Terra can’t rub it off. “Freak.”

~*~*~*~

Their bedroom door is ajar. Terra hears the shuffling of feet. He quiets his arrival, crumpling his messed-up shirt in a fist, and leans on the door frame to watch her. Aqua pulls a book out of a stack deftly with one hand, the other carrying a cheese pastry. She swallows a final bite, licking her fingers (something she’d never do in front of anybody else but him), and meditates on the chew before sitting at her desk. 

He likes her best like this: half-dressed, without her usual corset and sashes, down to nothing else except her shirt and shorts, simple and free. 

Her longest scar creeps out of her backless shirt. A snake, a reminder of the damage Keyblades are capable of: they never heal and barely fade. This is why wielders shouldn’t raise them against people. 

Gluing her attention to an open book, Aqua reaches over for more cheese pastry, but her hand meets a plate of crumbs. When she realizes, she snaps up, alert as if she’s been robbed, glancing over her shoulder for signs of movement. This is also something she would not appreciate anyone else seeing, how she’s afraid of being alone, how she’s paranoid that she’s actually not.

Terra steps in and taps her shoulder before she could ask him what happened to the pastry. “That looked delicious.” 

She blinks, slowly absorbing his words; she doesn’t feel well today, nothing to be ashamed of. Terra says nothing else. This way, he doesn’t bring more attention to the fact. He won’t touch her so she doesn’t feel coddled (despite how much he wants to). He won’t crack a dumb joke when there’s better moments for them. This way, she keeps her dignity. 

When Aqua sees the smears and handprints on him, her eyes finally find reality. “What happened to you?” She stands up and swipes the stain on his chest. It’s dry but not enough, leaving a mark of gray on her fingers. 

“An accident.” Terra clears his throat, trying to seem unbothered. Just another day in the castle. Everyone gets covered in ink, what’s the big deal?

If she hears the hesitation in his voice (and she should, she knows him too well), she doesn’t care, marching to their bathroom. The sink turns on. 

“What kind of an accident?” she calls. The water flow is disturbed. She’s washing her own hands first. 

“Eh, we spilled some ink,” Terra says, praying to the stars she won’t interrogate further. He tosses his ruined shirt into a wastebasket and opens the first dresser drawer for another. Gone are the days when Terra used to stuff his clothes into a heap; Aqua likes to fold every single article, his on one side and hers on the other. 

“What does that mean?”

“It’s fixable, I promise.” At least he hopes there’s some magic spell in some book somewhere that could lift ink out of cracks of wood.

He goes down one drawer for pants and it’s the same story. 

Down to the middle for socks and underwear, each tightly rolled. Tucked into the back of this one are two newly purchased books, their hardcovers wrapped in plain paper so that anyone peeking in couldn’t read the titles. Edited with illustrations of anatomy, they are lectures of techniques on what to try with your partner. Where to place your hands, how to play with your fingers and tongues, how to listen, when to take it slow and when to take it fast...

“Here,” Aqua says from behind him. She has a wet rag. It’s warm as she gently rubs it into his skin, across the spread of his chest. Her other hand is splayed on his hip. 

Just the thought of those books now, of slipping her out of that shirt, the stains on his stomach be damned—

“Am I going to get mad at you?”

Be damned. Terra smirks in a way to invite her to join along with him. “At both of us. But... You never stay too angry for too long so… Why worry about it?”

She pauses. “What are you rambling about?”

“Nothing.” He glances away. “It happened in the new classroom.”

She digs the rag into the groove above the diaphragm as if contemplating his vivisection. A stream of water drips over his belly button, into the hem of his pants, down the dips of his pelvis, between his inner thighs. Let her get mad. Be damned. 

“How bad is it?” Her voice is hard.

He caresses the small of her back, which is right now tense and stretched as she makes herself seem taller, like she’s about to take him on. “You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” She opens her mouth to say something and he kisses the bottom lip. “I’ll do the dishes for three months. That’s enough atonement, right?”

Aqua clenches her teeth into a false smile, nails now leaving divots on his skin. “And the cooking.”

“Sounds fair.”

“And the gardening.”

“Now you’re pushing it.”

She continues to clean him, this time rubbing harder. It leaves his skin lightly raw. “You’re not in any position to bargain.”

“Do you expect me to beg?” 

“Then beg.”

Terra would be lying if he says he doesn’t find this side of her hot. She’s a splash of freshwater that would bring him back from the brink. The woman standing in front of him chooses to clean him despite the shower being paces away. She’s the same girl who would plant an extra candle on his birthday cakes, for the year to come. To her, maybe it meant little or nothing. Stars, she’s beautiful, and he doesn’t say it enough. 

“You’re doing better,” she says, leveling her voice, nodding to herself as if checking her information. That’s Aqua. Putting aside her annoyance for the sake of making sure he’s taken care of. “You’re not flinching as much.”

Maybe. Her touch is absolutely making the hairs on his neck stand. It is absolutely driving his dick insane. “You know, Ven’s okay with us.”

She stops. “He said something?”

“Kind of. He doesn’t want to know or see or hear anything.”

Her eyes go wide. “Excuse me?”

“He never said he actually heard anything.” He kisses her temple and lets it linger there, taking the opportunity to inhale her smell. Even when she sweats and spars for hours, there’s still a sweetness. Terra laughs into her hair. “He doesn’t want to know nicknames, either.”

Aqua flashes him a look.

“Now we have to,” says Terra. “We don’t have a choice.”

“What should we use?” Aqua moves to his abs, fighting an amused smile that’s twisting its way to her lips. 

“Terr-able.”

“That one is awful. I think Terr-bear fits you better.”

“So you admit I’m big, strong, and scary?”

“I admit you’re adorable sometimes.”

Terra purses his lips. “What about you?”

She shrugs. “Maybe Aquamarine.”

“How about Aquafina?”

“That’s worse.”

“Babe?”

“Absolutely not.”

“We could call him Ven-tilation.”

“Stop.”

He follows his instinct to lower his head so when she laughs with him, their lips meet. They kiss everyday, but the first taste of the hour is always the one to discharge his breath, like he’s been underwater and she’s giving him the chance to surface. 

“You’re going to get me dirty,” she says, giggling into his mouth.

He moves to her neck. “A little mess doesn’t hurt anybody.”

It’s when he brushes his fingers across her back, skating over the scar, coiled like rose thorns, that he hitches. Across from them is her vanity mirror. The scar is still red despite its age of twelve years. He’s so stupid. 

“This again?” she whispers. She’s not upset but disappointed, though in him or in herself, he can’t tell. Moments like these are weird, when he can’t read what she’s thinking. Working on the straps on his left arm, she pulls off his gauntlet, finger by finger. 

“I wish you would tell me,” he whispers back, as if having the conversation at a normal volume would shake them up. 

She turns his bracer to make its removal easier. “I already did.”

“I wish you would be honest with me.” He leans his chin on her head, feeling her fingers slide down his arm. 

“I am.” She flicks a knob and slips off the couter from his elbow. “You want me to tell you it was you who did this to me,” she continues, unbuckling the pauldron on his shoulder. “But it wasn’t.”

“I know better.”

“I know better.”

“It was done with my hands.”

To that she says nothing, rubbing the rag down his exposed left bicep. Ink had run under the armor. Darkness seeps in even with protection. 

She sighs. “Promise me you won’t obsess over it.”

He really shouldn’t but… he nods.

Aqua hesitates anyway. Taking him by the wrist, she presses his right hand on the rib under her left breast. “This one was his.” She warns with her eyes. “Not yours.”

Terra can’t feel anything through her shirt. He slips it under, running the pads of his fingers across the bumps and ridges. This one was his, this one with the gnarly tear right through the middle of the scar tissue, a ravine rupturing open. This one would have been done by that nameless silver Keyblade, with its sharp, ornate frills and that giant hook at the tip of it. It would have caught her skin as it tried to disconnect her body from her heart. And Terra? He’s had so much to lose and nothing to give back.

Terra holds his Aqua close as he continues to read the scar, how deep the hook sunk in, how she must have dodged back and broke that connection. 

“Did it hurt?” he asks. 

She sighs like she finds something amusing. Or trying to. She shudders, closing what little is left of the gaps between their bodies. “The Realm of Darkness numbs everything. I don’t think I felt it much.”

The view from their window looks over blossoming fields under mist, what’s left of snow capping just the mountaintops, everything else green. She’s lucky. So is he, ridiculously enough. 

“I should have done more to stop it,” he says.

“You can’t continue to say things like that.” She swallows and stares at the wall. “What about the person I’ve become? I wouldn’t be here, standing in this room, now. It changed me. The Realm of Darkness did things to me that I’ll never be able to claim back. I will never be able to remedy it. I never wanted it, but I don’t know if I deserved it.”

“You didn’t.”

“I couldn’t make mistakes, in case I got hurt. I couldn’t be vulnerable. I had to be brave.”

“You already are.” 

“And now I’m like stone.”

Terra presses his forehead to hers. “No, you’re not like stone at all.”

Aqua buries her face into his shoulder, anchoring herself to his waist. It’s so unlike her, to be unable to look him directly in the eyes. Whatever she has to say scares her. “You’re here, and I’m here. I give you my scars and you give me yours and… I don’t know if I would trade that for something else. For something that looks better on the outside. Every moment we shared since you woke up, how could I want to erase them? I need you, Terra. I have to chip away somehow. I’m braver now, to hold you like this.”

She says it like she has her chest cavity open, heart beating to open air. 

She’s brave for not crying. 

She’s brave for telling him what she can’t say right now. I’m braver now, to hold you like this. (I love you.)

He lifts her chin to kiss her. (I loved you first.) 

She drops the rag to hold his face. 

Before, their kisses were desperate, thirsty and famished, hoping to be found. Now, they’re deliberate, wandering but not lost. She tastes like sugar and flesh, her tongue inside with his, slow and careful. Their needs have more definition this time: please, and more, and yes, again. 

Terra indulges in the impulse to press her onto him. She should feel how greedy he is, her chest arched against his. She’s soft and he’s in love. 

“Where is Ven?” she says, breathless. 

“Probably showering,” he mumbles.

She waves her hand and the door slams shut. 

“I said probably,” Terra murmurs, but his mind turns off when she kisses him again. Who cares what Ven hears?

Aqua treads slower. She tempts Terra’s tongue to seek her out, puckering her lips around it and giving it a small tug. 

“Touch me, please,” he begs.

The sound of his pants unbuttoning makes his heart hammer, his entire groin anticipating for what’s next. When, when, when. Terra closes his eyes. Her hand glides down, palm first, his breath snagging when she wraps her fingers around his erection. His pants are at his ankles, Aqua is on her knees, and she presses a kiss right under the tip, where it’s most sensitive, before licking the entire length. Terra buckles. He catches the dresser behind him to keep standing. 

“Shhh,” she breathes onto him. It shoots a spark from his stomach to his scalp. 

Terra braces his teeth with his finger to shut himself up. He watches her work. She takes him in bite-size pieces, snail-tracking with her tongue before her lips close in on him. Fuck. She sucks while she pulls. Fuck. To see her like this, Master Aqua with poise, with grace, with affection and care—with him in her mouth. The hand wrapped around him squeezes tighter, and the other comes up to meet him at the testicles. 

He stifles another moan, staring at the ripples of the drywall, listening to the feathered tap of spring rain on the window and the noise she’s making. His erection twitches against the roof of her mouth, and he has to restrain himself from thrusting into her. Maybe he can let go and let be, finally throw himself off the cliff, ride the thrill all the way. Give it his all.

But he can’t. The moment gooseflesh spreads across his inner thighs, the moment he feels full, is the start. The floor will rip out from under him, the lights will go off, he will fall, he will lose all his fingers, he won’t remember anything, he’ll be the monster who makes her cry.

“I can’t,” he hisses, pushing her off. “I can’t.” He lurches over his knees, his insides twisting at the sudden cutoff, aching as it throbs and shrivels. He was so close. They were just laughing a few minutes ago. Stupid body, stupid mind. “Damn it,” he groans, pounding the dresser.

“Hey, you’re okay,” she says softly, holding him by the elbow. “You’re safe at home.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” He digs his eyes into his palm, his body faraway like it’s a glass vial with his soul dumped inside. “Help me.”

Without letting him go, Aqua braces him with something cold—the rag, now on his lower back. It slaps him back to the bedroom, his beige carpet, the mist outside clearing out to a view of a forest that separates the castle from the mountains. 

She greets him with a smile. “You really did something to yourself,” she says, cleaning him like it’s a lazy weekend day and there’s a list of chores. 

Terra straightens up, shivers riding all the way up to his shoulders. “It’s so frustrating.”

“Don’t worry, Terra,” she says, softer and lower. “There’s no need to rush. I’ll wait.”

“But I’m tired of feeling caged up and stuck. I just want some semblance of control.” 

Aqua kisses him on the shoulder to shoo away the haunting for a few seconds. “I’m here, anytime you need me. Would you like me to run you a bath?”

“No.” The rag is likely caked with ink, but its iciness is unlike the chill of clammy sweat a few seconds old. Every frigid touch is a reminder that he’s alive. “This is nice.”

Aqua runs the rag up his spine. “You know what I think? If we’re going to call each other pet names in front of Ven, we should have guests over.”

Terra snorts. “That’s evil.”

“He won’t be able to bark at us in front of other people.”

“I think I’m a bad influence on you.”

“I think you’re right.”

Terra sighs at her touch, cold at his neck, at his hairline. Like a light at the front porch in the dead of night, like hot tea on a sick day, she is what it feels like to come home.

She tells him, “Lean your head back a little,” and he obliges, letting her reach behind his ears. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, her hair frizzy, eyes blue and focused as she takes care of him. 

“I can still kiss you, right?” 

“You don’t have to ask.”

Tilting his chin down, he does. He braids his fingers into hers; from the rag they’re like icicles, and he brings them to his heart. 

They’re barely millimeters apart, but he’s still in that cage. If only he could be touched the way he needs. If only the lock trapping him inside the cage is brittle and easy to crumble. What if he tries to test it? What if he finds there is nothing at all? Stupid mind. What if there are several, each of them needing unique keys when he has none, no hope of ever knowing what real freedom is? Stupid body. 

Should he pretend? Should he try over and over, to slam his head against the bars each time? Should he submit, should he accept he will never have what he wants? 

Life has made him uneager to trust. But her lips have a deliciousness unmatched by anything he’s ever tasted, and he’s still a silly, stupid man.

“Let me try again,” he says, breathing deeply. “I want to make you feel good.”

She’s surprised. “Only if you’re comfortable.”

“It will make me feel better.”

“...Okay,” she says so modestly. Terra never figured out how to knock it into her head that he wants to give her everything, that he is so, so guilty.

He invites her into an embrace, growing desperate the more he detaches his mind. Her body, the curve from her waist to her hips. The brush of her body against his reminds him that while he is naked, she is not. He picks her up by the thighs. Lost in the momentum of deep kisses, he carries her to bed, straddling her on his lap.

She hums. “The… the sheets.”

Dry, messy layers of ink still track down his legs. He groans into her mouth. She’s grinding him, and while he really likes that, it makes it incredibly difficult to take her clothes off, one hand rising the hem of her shirt and the other deep under her shorts, cupping her ass. 

“Whatever, we can wash them later,” she says, lifting her arms up. 

Her bare breasts—stars, this is what it feels like to come home. 

“Kiss me,” she says, and he replies, nibbling down her neck, coming down to her breasts, where his lips and his tongue and his murmurs take in her nipples as they perk. Aqua stays quiet, leaning onto his shoulders. 

There’s something about her amazing body, the silk of skin draped over defined muscle, treasure and tenderness in his hands, that he’s needy for. Every time he tries to define what that means, his mind ceases to function. 

Xehanort tried to take it all away from him. If he lived, Terra would crush every tooth bloody. Damn him.

How dare Xehanort do this to him, lock him in this cage, keep him away from her? Damn him.

Why is he thinking about Xehanort?

“Are you okay?”

Terra is frozen, the nub of a nipple suctioned in his mouth. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He lets her breast go with a pop. “I’m redirecting.” Leading her to the mattress, Terra lowers himself into her arms, but he’s halted by a light kiss and a hold of his face.

“Do you need me to check in on you?” she asks.

“No.” He smiles, kissing her with all the hope that she psychically understands his body is about to burst open, if only from the lack of space for the appreciation he keeps nurturing for her. “Thank you, but I’m okay.”

She nods, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. “You take your time.”

Oh, he will. No more interruptions. Focus on the smell of her skin, on the collarbone at the base of her neck. Right here, it makes her bite her lip. On the hollow between her breasts, the sound of her breath getting heavy. On the slight movement of her legs as she instinctively responds, spreading them, hooking around his. The buoyancy of her breasts in his mouth. The way she arches to push them against his face. 

Under that left breast is the scar, tightly knitted.

The purpose for living is for memories, not reminders. Do not linger. Do not think about the cage. Terra lightly kisses it and continues downward. 

Terra’s fingers glide down, a caress at the hips, a squeeze of her ass, running a mile of goosebumps as he bunches her shorts and panties and pulls them off. Her skin is streaked with fingerprints of gray, at most of the places he’s been. Aqua shivers as his lips brush the sides of her waist, as he traces his tongue and inhales the dips of her pelvis, as he loops his arms under her thighs, as he kisses her between the legs. She gasps. He licks from bottom to top, sucking on the clitoris once, then starts over.

Footsteps walk by outside their bedroom door.

Aqua jerks up. “Terra,” she whispers, warning him.

“Hm?” Stars, what now? “Here.” He grabs the comforter and throws it over her head. She chuckles as she wraps both of them in hiding. “Relax,” he whispers back. “He’s not going to hear anything.” Not that Ven opts to stay; his footsteps are already fading away.

He goes back to work, and hears her sigh—it’s loud enough to make him look up but too hushed to escape the sheets. Bottom to top. Again. Again. She cloaks the sound of her moans with the comforter plastered on her face. 

It’s her taste. It’s the softness and suppleness of the skin between her legs. The way she fastens her knees over his shoulders, how wet she is. Her reaction. When he tongues the inside of her slit, she jerks, chewing her lip hard enough to make it white. Master Aqua, with poise and grace, for her there’s only love and the way his tongue curls up. 

Her fist crumples the sheet—it holds her own breast, caresses her stomach down to rake through his hair and hold him there. 

“Don’t stop,” she breathes.

Stars, that did it. He’s hard again. He drapes his arms over her pelvis, using his fingers to open her up so he has more access to her clit. She bucks, and he holds her down. 

Her entire body trembles: the first sign that she’s running off her own edge. 

Terra strokes her, the outside lips, the tease inside, the puckering motions. She’s a sweet, musky taste he can’t compare to anything else.

Aqua throws herself back on the pillow. Her thighs crush his head, and she clamps her hand on her mouth like a topper. Her mewl shudders and stops, it heaves, it mumbles. The wave rises then crashes, and she finishes with a long sigh, a release, a settlement, a tempered peace.

It feels so good to listen to her. Terra rests his head on her hip and brings a hand to his erection. A little bit of freedom paid with a little bit of control. 

“I’m ready,” he says. “I need you.”

She hums in contentment, fixing the comforter so they’re completely covered and opening her arms to him. “Come here.”

Terra crawls over her, bracketing her body like he’s a fort, tethering her fingers to his and cradling her head in a protective halo with his arms. Aqua has to spread her legs wide to take on his thick waist, and she breaks her kisses with whimpers when he enters—she’s always more sensitive after he goes down on her. 

She’s warm and tight, oh stars. Massaging him as he moves inside her. Their bodies compress into each other, hers curled up to mold against the way he rocks his hips, as though the subtle air between would have split them up too far, as though he can melt into her when he pushes, their hearts only separated by muscle and bone. He plants a messy kiss on her cheek, exhaling and inhaling in rhythms opposite of hers, her breath loud against his ear, tickling his neck.

Here it comes again, the oncoming of the precipice where he has to step off. 

Fuck.

He can’t do it.

At the sprint towards the edge of the cliff, he skids and scrambles to hang by the rockface. Terra grunts, all his muscles seizing up as he holds his breath.

Aqua strokes his hair. “Do you want to stop?”

Of course not. “Give me a minute.”

“Remember, you’re safe.”

Terra nearly chokes. “I’m scared of losing control.”

“You won’t. You’re in control.”

In control. The intent to wring his fingers through the bars, a sleight of hand to balance the padlock like it’s on strings, turning it over and pulling it out of the latch. But Terra is no escape artist. 

Terra licks his lips. He’s not in danger. He should trust she’ll catch him when he falls. In her arms, there’s no safer place to be. He has to remember this. Shut that mind up.

“I want to continue.” 

She rubs his back. It’s soothing. “Tell me what you need.”

Terra smirks. “To get back in the mood.” He takes one deep kiss. “Entice me.”

Her insides squeeze him and he trembles. “How is that?” she asks.

“Do it again.”

She wraps her ankles over his back and squeezes. He hums into her shoulder. 

“Again.”

This time, she takes back her kiss.

“Don’t let me go,” he says, and she hugs him tightly. 

He starts slow. Terra leans on his elbows, bunching the comforter in his fist so it stays in place. She looks at him with half-lidded eyes, a healthy red blush, her mouth gently open, cast in the filtered glow of a secret, sweaty cocoon. This body he’s thrusting into, the lips he’s kissing, may the stars bless her. 

“Aqua.”

“You feel so good.”

She stole the words right out of his mouth, squeezing his hips again. 

“Oh,” he moans. It provokes him to thrust harder, deeper, feel her, feel her breasts bouncing under him, feel her moans coming from her throat, the desperation in the way she squirms with her hands. She massages his slick back, her nails digging in.

There. 

Let him throw himself off. Give it his all.

“Don’t let me go,” he repeats.

“I won’t.”

He throws himself off. It’s not the wind thrashing him all the way down. Instead it’s fire, a combustion of flames in his muscles as his entire body submits to its force, leaving his knees weak. A flash of white that blurs everything he sees, a hurricane that knocks his mind into a stupor, a delicious burn that slicks over his body, trickling embers on top of sweat, hot and cool, good and better, good and fucking good. Terra shoves his face into her shoulder to muffle the sounds of groans escaping him, shuddering as the climax picks up again, a body alight in an ignition that throws him out of any awareness. 

His eyes prick when he finally remembers where he is. Aqua is safeguarding him with a strong hold, keeping him in place with her. He sighs. The cinders that continue to radiate heat leave him with a hearth to wrap himself into, a happiness that he never thought he would ever feel again.

Aqua sniffs. She wipes tears onto his shoulder.

“We really should stop crying at these things,” he says.

She snorts, refusing to let her grip on him slack. “You did amazing. How are you feeling?”

“I’m…” he mumbles. Stars, wow. His arms can’t pick him up anymore but it’s a gratifying cloud to ride. He shifts his legs, alleviating the weight of his body. “A little weak.” 

She runs a hand on the back of his head, coaxing him to rest on her chest. “When did you know?” she asks, brushing hair off his damp forehead. “That you wanted to kiss me? You must have spent some time thinking about it before it happened.”

Terra smiles into her chest. Somehow, they’ve never talked about it. “Long after I knew I was going to marry you.”

He feels her laugh. “Is that so? I’m going to marry you?”

“You will.” He looks up at her grinning face. “I can see the future.”

She scoffs. “You can see my eyes rolling at you.”

“I knew before you did.”

“Prove it.”

“I was seven.”

“You’re older than me, that doesn’t count.”

“You asked me to have a tea party with you, but the one thing that bothered you most”—he brings up his hand, pinky out—“was that I wasn’t drinking my tea right.” He mimics the high pitch of a little girl’s voice. “Pinky out. Pinky out, Terra, don’t be a slob.”

She gapes. “I don’t remember any of that.”

With renewed will, he props himself up, leaning close so their noses touch. “I knew then. That early on.”

“Since when is this a competition?”

“Still the first to know.”

Aqua interrupts what she’s about to say, like she’s about to step into cold water. She’s having an epiphany. Vulnerable again, like she’s allowing him to cut her right down the middle. 

“I love you.”

She says it like the touch of a high note on a piano, a beautiful accident. 

He leans closer, lips to lips, whispering, “I still got there first.” 

She laughs into him. “I suppose, but I was the first to say it.”

“Then I’ll be the second,” Terra says. Like coming home, a shelter to withstand the downpour, that births life to the roots, that thunders, that opens for a clear day, he brushes her hair out of her eyes. “I love you.”

“Too,” she corrects. “You love me, too.” 

A knock on their door jolts them, like a hard punch to the stomach.

“Okay, Terra,” Ven says from the other side. “I thought about it and I’m trying out this knocking thing.”

Wrong timing. Wrong timing.

“I’m going to kill him,” Terra hisses, and against Aqua’s hushed chuckles, he throws the comforter off their bodies and announces, “Ven, we’re naked.”

The silence that comes after is as loud as the crash of a chandelier. Terra can feel Ven recoil, a tea pot at the verge of whistling. “I didn’t need to know that!” Terra is about to reply but Ven groans dramatically. “I AM NEVER GOING TO KNOCK ON YOUR DOOR AGAIN.”

Ven stomps away, and if the door was actually open, he’d slam it. 

Terra sits on his knees, pinching his nose. It’s hot in this room. He feels clogged again, back at the edge of the cliff. He wants to strangle Ven for dragging the moment away from him. “Great, I pissed him off.”

“Poor Ven.” When she sits up, Terra pulls her to him, sitting her on one of his thighs. “I can’t predict if he’ll ever get over that,” she says, balancing herself by hooking her arms around his neck. 

Terra presses his lips to her ear, whispering, “But I did predict that you wouldn’t stay mad at me for long.”

She slaps his bicep. “I haven’t seen what you’ve done yet. Don’t be so proud of yourself.”

“But I am.”

“You’re still a slob.”

Slobby as he is, Aqua hugs him dearly. Hold her, you never know when the dream will end. You never know when the cage takes you back.

“I don’t know if,” Terra says, “it will be difficult for me next time.”

“Then it may be difficult,” Aqua says, kissing his forehead. “But it will be okay.”

Hold her. Not passively. Not half-minded. Hold her tightly. Hold her in the quiet, undisturbed, uninterrupted.

A drop of hot liquid spills from between her legs and drips down his thigh, almost burning. When Terra looks down to see that it’s white, Aqua jumps.

“Oh,” she squeaks.

“Oh. That would be me.”

She squeals, hiding her blush. “I’m going to wash up.” 

“Such a slob.”

Aqua giggles, looking him in the eye when she rubs his chest. “Come with me?”

“Go ahead.” He kisses her. “I’ll catch up.”

If anyone told him twelve years ago that hope feels like a long day full of small conversations, the anticipation of cleaning a messy room, Terra would have considered that cynical. A sarcastic joke, the loss of the will to dream. 

Twelve years later, it’s the sound of the shower running that teaches him to look forward to the next day, when he wakes up next to her, when he prepares dinner with her, when he kisses her in the middle of the night and play all over again. Peace is a long-distance acquaintance, a pen pal that urges you to look at your day like a spectacle.

Terra leans back to twist the latch of the window open, letting the spring haze billow in. Much better, the room is cooler now. The sky is bluer somehow, the mountains as grand as a painting.

[craftsaster]

I decided to make two of my dearest original characters into dolls: Alex and Moonnya.

I’m....decidedly not as good at the physical visual arts as I am at the written arts or musical arts but I tried!

Materials:

Alex’s base doll was a Clawd Wolf (bought used off EBay)

Moonnya’s base doll is mostly a Toralei with the hands of a Scarah Screams fushion doll (that was missing most of her accessories except her tail belt) and a Kitty Noir’s tail (that I covered in yarn).

I used acrylic paint, yarn (so much), chalk pastels, paper and ink (printed the eyes but I drew them in a paint program), gloss mod podge, UV resin, 5-minute locktite apoxy, apoxy sculpt, fabric, paint markers, some left over quilt batting, 14 gauge wire, fabric glue, jewelry glue, hot glue, Mod Podge Acrylic Sealant Spray—Matte, Duraclear Matte Varnish, and so.many.fucking.feathers!

I made hair wefts from acrylic yarn following this tutorial of Mozekyto’s:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdXay72gpS0

and colored some yarn following this other Mozekyto tutorial:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SQOaUoQUEU

I also used an exacto knife to help me cut out the eyes to replace them with apoxy sculpt AND to help extract the hair.

Whoever was in charge of the glue machine when these dolls were made put it on EXTRA durable. I had a heck of time getting the old hair out.

I made the wig caps with some scrap fabric and matte mod podge. I couldn’t find my glueall. I made the actual wigs following stuff I’ve seen other dolly-tubers do—using hot glue and the back of my nails or my scissor blades flat parts to do the pressing to save me pain. 

Doesn’t always work.

I go the idea to print eyes out and use them instead of trying (and failing) to paint irises from Dollightful (my favorite dolly-tuber!). So I glued them in place with gloss mod podge and then squeezed in the UV resin. Hit it with the lamp and not-half-bad eyes! Not good either but hey, for Moonnya one of the bubbles ended up over her eye shine so it almost works lol.

Moonnya I needed to do a total skin-tone change, so I used light peach FolkArt craft paint in thin layers before I blushed her and sealed her first with the mod podge spray and then with the duraclear. Worked out pretty well! 

I also painted her ears and hair even thought with the wig and flocking, you can’t see under at all.

Making her tail furry was a spur of the moment decisions to make her tail match her ears. So after her eyes (which I did last for her) I dressed her up and gave her her crowning glory.

She does need a hair cut but for reasons I’ll get into soon, I decided to not tempt fate.

So Alex. He needed body mods for wings and a tail. Following a Kaypea Creations video for inspiration for the wings and various Dollighful videos for how to mod the body, I knew I needed to get holes made in the plastic. I did buy a hand drill for a different project but well...I don’t have a dedicated crafting space so I couldn’t find it. Same as not being able to find my glue-all!

Instead I got....creative.

Using a nail and pliers to hold said nail (after using an exacto to make pilot holes) I heated up the nail and melted the holes larger. I did this as safely as possible with ventilation and everything. I promise! Ex-girl scout’s honor.

So, then I go to use 5 minute apoxy and it doesn’t work like it should because the only place I can go is outside and outside is cold AKA not optimal conditions for well ANYTHING. I switched to Apoxy Sculpt and it only helped a little. I still had to go back later and add more locktite apoxy. This time the apoxy worked....because following application I brought Alex back inside and had him cure in my bathroom. 

Prior to this I’d flocked Alex’s ears and used a paint marker on the inside. I also used a paint marker to draw a birthmark on his back and color his sclera white. So, head on his body (and detour to make his eyes at the same time and in the same way as Moonnya’s), it was time to deal with his wings and tail which had been wire bases of poking the shit out of me. 

So, I began glueing with the jewelry glue and it was ok, but them I switched first to fabric glue partly for adhesion and partly to avoid sewing as much as possible (I recently had an accident with a sewing machine where the needle broke after puncturing all the way through my left index finger twice so the sewing machine could go jump off a cliff).

I did end up sewing a little but then I went back to hot glue and as much as I love hot glue and as many years exp I have in using hot glue guns, I still got burnt on the side of my middle finger. Second degree. makes it hard to type. It hurts almost as bad as last month’s sewing needle incident, but takes a lot to top two straight through wounds. 

After other disasters in my life I finished with glueing Alex’s wings and tail together with a mix of fabric and hot glue to bind the fabric, batting, yarn wefts, and feathers (SOOOO MANY FEATHERS) into a construction I didn’t realize would be so heavy. Alex’s posed like that because otherwise the wings start to droop. Like Moonnya I gave him his hair in the end and after I burnt myself and other mishaps I had today I was like “his hair cut can wait for a day when I’m a little less of a Disaster-Crafter.” 

Still, I got it done! I don’t have many in progress photos because I’m just not good at that and a lack of a crafting space means I have no idea how to ever set up anything to capture images or footage that doesn’t make things look bad.

I still managed that semi-photo shoot, thought!

They hold hands at the end (sort of) because they’re quite literally my dolls and I say so lol!

[solitvdcs]

* darren barnet, cis male + he/him  | you know andrew upston, right? they’re twenty-seven, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, five years and just reappeared after almost nine years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to cough syrup by young the giant like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole ink-stained hands wrapped in bandages, lingering stutter hidden behind a mysterious facade, dropping the weight on your shoulders into the pacific ocean thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 3, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

trigger warning: death and vehicular accident

basic info

full name: andrew richard upston

birth date: november 3, 1994

pronouns: he/him

hometown: new york, ny

sexuality: bisexual

height: 5′11″

eye color: brown

hair color: brown

build: athletic

tattoos: “i feel infinite” across his upper back, written in his brother’s handwriting (from a note his brother wrote him once), various others but that’s the important one

piercings: none

style: varies from day to day, his style is whatever the fuck he wants

favorite color: gray

favorite food: pizza

zodiac: scorpio sun, scorpio moon, aries rising

mbti: infj

hogwarts house: gryffindor

enneagram: type 8 wing 7

temperament: choleric-phlegmatic

alignment: chaotic neutral

bio bullet points

as the oldest son of richard and helen upston, he was – of course – meant to take over the family business someday. he played the dutiful son act for most of his life, work first play later blah, blah – he played as hard as he worked, though, but he didn’t see a problem so long as he got done what he needed to beforehand

he started in karate at a young age, got kicked out because he didn’t take the sensei seriously, then enrolled in a different dojo where he did a little better. made it to brown belt level before moving to irving in eighth grade, which was the same year teardrops on my guitar came out (yes many people serenaded him, he was the cute new guy who happened to have the same name as the guy in the song)

instead of continuing with karate, he joined the local hockey league (also something he’d been playing since he was young). high school track came in the off season so he wouldn’t injure himself in a contact sport

DEATH & VEHICULAR ACCIDENT TW drew was never as close to his younger brother as he would’ve liked, but tate was still his brother no matter what. one night, tate snuck out in one of their dad’s luxury cars with his best friends in the passenger seat. the road was slick from a thin layer of freshly snow, the car slid off the road and wrapped around a light pole. drew was away at a hockey game, and tate was gone before he arrived. he stayed by the bedside of tate’s best friend that night until she woke up END TW

drew graduated a couple months later, went to a nearby university (and therapist), and studied sociology — a throwaway major, really, since he just needed the degree to take over the company. his fate was sealed, and he didn’t need to overthink it 

towards the end of his freshman year, he overheard his dad on the phone when he was walking by the office in their home. long story short, he discovered his dad was embezzling the company he worked for – his mother’s family’s company and the company drew was meant to take over – and drew knew it was only a matter of time before his dad was discovered, because – well, his dad wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box

he made the ultimate decision to drop out and try to make a living on his own so he wouldn’t get caught up in his father’s crimes. the problem was……..drew didn’t have any marketable skills. again, sociology had been a throwaway major just so he could get the slip of paper, and the only thing it helped was his ability to read people and situations

DEATH TW 2 still grieving over his brother’s death, he started channeling his grief like his therapist had told him countless times before. out on his own on the other side of the country, drew’s risk-taking behavior and overall adrenaline junky-ness led him to work as a stuntman in los angeles, and though it was fun and paid the bills for the most part, he was used to a much better lifestyle END TW

he’d fallen into the underground fighting ring back in school and found his way again in los angeles, and it was a much more lucrative business than stunts. he took up karate again and earned his second degree black belt while out in la. and during his off time – he started writing a book. 

drew had never been the best talker. he always spoke before he thought through his words and usually ended up saying the wrong thing. writing forced him to think about what he was saying, though, and he was actually pretty good at it

he published his book – a coming of age story featuring a boy with more than a few similarities to tate, and maybe a few others he had strong connections with along the way– under a pseudonym, because if the book did well, he wanted it to be his money and not get caught up in his family’s affairs. and if it did poorly, well, nobody would be the wiser

it did really well, though. topped all the bestseller lists, even without him doing a book tour to protect his identity. the only people who know he wrote rapidfire are his agent and therapist

now that he’s financially independent, he’s cut himself off from his family completely (was originally going to help his mother out, until he found out she was the brains behind the operation which – should’ve been obvious because his dad’s an idiot)

he’s living in port apartments, feeling weird living in the same town as his family again, as well as so many other people he grew up with

reported his family to the proper authorities, mainly to save his own skin and make sure he didn’t get implicated with them. they’re being investigated, but it’s still hush hush currently so it’s not widespread knowledge

he’s been back for about two weeks while he’s moved his stuff into his apartment, but hasn’t made his presence known to anyone else

wanted connections

NYC OR HIGH SCHOOL FRIENDS!!!

any hook-ups or flings he had in the past, age appropriate of course

friends/frenemies/enemies

anyone who was hurt by his departure (the only person who actually knew he left before he did was tate’s best friend, and that’s only because she walked in on him packing and they got into a massive fight over it)

fans of his book even though they don’t know he wrote it asdkfj

mmmmm you know i love a good flirtationship

i’m so bad at wcs i’m so sorry, thanks for reading!!

[jadekitty777]

Snapshot Aesthetics

OKAY BUT FG WEEKEND? WHO’S CRAZY IDEA WAS THAT.

You better know I want to participate though xD I didn’t plan to have an entry for today but, well, things change lol

Day 1: Outfits

Rating: K

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Clover's job was simple: Get the model to pose properly, smile, and take the shot. But the new hire, Qrow, was about to throw a wrench into that simplicity... in more ways than one. [Fashion Model AU]

Ao3 Link: Snapshot Aesthetics

~

Snap!

The sound of his camera shutter going off was almost inaudible under the early morning hustle that had overtaken the studio. Clover inspected the shot of Elm displaying back on his LCD screen. He shook his head, calling to the stagehand, “Lower the forelights! There’s too much washout!”

“You got it boss.” She saluted, stepping off the scene to go tinker with the fluorescents.

Th telltale sound of stilettos had his head turning, seeing Willow striding over, lips pursed with annoyance. “Are we ready yet?”

“Almost.” He assured, showing her the picture. “Just a bit more tweaking on the lights and we’ll be good to go.”

She placed a hand on her hip, scanning the team critically. “Good.”

“Everything alright? You look…” He mulled over all his safe adjective options, “Unhappy.”

She sighed exasperatedly. “Qrow is causing a bit of a ruckus back in dress. Won’t let Kali even do his makeup.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what I was thinking, listening to Taiyang.”

“It’s probably because the new guy’s pretty.” And related to Raven, he thought but didn’t dare utter the runway model’s name aloud. If he did, then it would make his manager think of her ex-husband and Raven’s agent, Jacques Schnee. That was a nasty pandora’s box he’d rather keep closed.

Nevertheless, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she hired someone simply based on an affiliation they had to someone in Jacques’ team, thinking it as some retroactive way of getting back at him. Taiyang himself was one such decision, also ironically due his connection with Raven. Though, he’d heard the two’s relationship had been more… carnal in nature.

The plus was, Taiyang had worked out great. He was handsome and jovial and easy to direct on set. Clover’s only hope when he learned of the new hire was that the same could be said for Qrow; but, it was sounding like he had his twin sister’s notorious diva-like personality, if Willow’s frustration was anything to go by. Which meant he was in for a long day.

“Light check!” Elm called, flexing both arms proudly like a muscle builder.

He snapped the shot, then nodded at the quality. “Perfect!”

Willow swiveled, heading for the door. “Let’s get started then.”

~

Over the course of the seven years Clover had worked for Trendy magazine, he’d discovered that each fashion designer had a specific ‘taste’ they were going for when it came to showing off their line-up and he’d learned to pose the models accordingly to keep their clients happy and coming back for each issue. So, he kept certain things in mind with each designer’s desires, like how Sienna preferred her poses to be as dynamic and wild as possible and Camilla wanted proper posture and a bit of elegance.

Unfortunately, today’s clothing line was from Roman and Neo. Which meant balancing the two designers’ conflicting requirements of flamboyance and subtlety into one picture. It tended to lead to a lot of small changes for limb placement and expression before he ever even rose his camera.

So, it tended to be a relief when the snap sounded off and he said, “Alright, you’re done!”

“Oh, thank god!” Tai slumped over immediately, rolling out his shoulders. “I think my neck has a crick in it.”

Clover snorted. “Alright drama king. Go take a break.” He turned towards the doorway, calling, “Who’s next up?”

He heard Kali’s faint, “Get in there. And stop messing with your hair!”

A gruff voice he didn’t recognize replied, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Before Qrow Branwen walked into the room and stole his breath away.

Though he’d joked before, Clover hadn’t actually known what the man had looked like. He rarely did see new models before their first shoot. But now that he was, it had to be said that maybe Willow had indeed hired Qrow simply for his beauty. In almost every way, he was like a softer version of his sister. Where her skin was striking alabaster white, his had more of a welcoming ivory tone. Where her eyes were bright scarlet, his were a gentle vermillion. And where her hair was an ink black, his held streaks of dusty grey that somehow was just enough to make him appear refined, but not old.

Combine that with Roman and Neo’s classy “modern early-1900’s” style, and he looked absolutely dazzling. It was one of their simpler pieces, but dress had made sure he wore it well, especially with the plain, long-sleeved, white dress shirt that someone had decided to undo the top few buttons off to frame a cross necklace hanging sideways. Pulled over that and adding some muted color was a double-layered vest that buttoned from the bottom of the ribs down. The inner layer was a slate grey while the outer layer was a deep charcoal and had a tasteful embroidery design flowing down the sides. The matching dark grey slacks were fairly standard but nicely fitting to the man’s ridiculously long legs. Completing the picture were some shiny cap-toed black dress shoes.

“So uh, how do you want me?” Qrow asked, fidgeting with the cross-shaped cufflinks of his shirt.

Splayed across my bed. Clover shook himself of any indecent thoughts, nodding towards the set that mimicked an old parlor room. “Center stage, leaning back on the table.”

He nodded, crossing the room.

As they passed each other, Tai offered a thumb’s up and a cheery, “Good luck!”

The little half-grin Qrow offered his friend left Clover floating.

Not that the other man was going to need any well wishes, as he’d decided on something fairly simplistic. As Qrow took position, he directed, “Alright, I want you to rest your hands on the table, in view. Keep your fingers spread out.”

“Like this?” He settled them by his hips.

“Mm no. Spread your arms further apart. Position your hands the other way, pointing opposite directions. Yeah – like that! A little more for the right hand. Relax your shoulders more. No, no not that much.” And on and on it went, as Clover altered each little angle and body part until he had the exact position in mind. Yet, despite the ease of what he was asking for, Qrow’s inexperience meant he had to spend twice as long getting things just right.

It quickly became clear by his 60th order that the older man was growing a bit exasperated.

Clover eyed him up and down. Hummed thoughtfully at the position of where his ankles crossed, the toe of one dress shoe pointed down. “Okay, tilt your left heel just a bit more.”

“Is all this really necessary?” Qrow grumbled, trying not to move anything else but his foot.

“When the client is picky, yeah. And stop clawing your fingers. Keep them flat.”

The other man breathed in and out slowly, carefully resting down his hands.

He gave him another once over. Frowned.

The tension he could easily see doubled as Qrow demanded, “What now?”

“Maybe we should try something different.” He considered.

The words were met with Qrow groaning out, “You got to be kidding me.”

And Willow cutting in, “Go with it. We got to get this shoot done before noon!”

He glanced at his wristwatch. Shit, was it really almost eleven? He still had four other designs to go. “Yeah, alright. Qrow, just try to relax your muscles a bit.” He rose his camera. “Alright, now smile.”

He did, stretching it as big as he could.

Clover looked at him over the lens, raising a brow. “I said smile, not look like you’re trying to imitate clown make-up.” Ignoring the other’s sarcastic laughter, he mulled it over, then snapped his fingers. “Ah, I know! Give me the same one you gave to Tai when you first walked in.”

He could tell it wasn’t quite right when it didn’t have the same cloud nine effect on him as before, but with the clock ticking in his head, he took the shot.

“Alright, that’ll do.” Clover said.

“We’re done?” Qrow asked, not moving an inch, as if worried he’d change his mind.

“Yep. You’re free as a bird.”

That earned him a real laugh. “That was awful!”

For the hell of it, he took another shot.

~

There was always such a sense of relief when Clover submitted the photos to processing. From there the team would do whatever touch ups were necessary before it went in for print. Normally, the rest of his day was done, but he had another engagement at a rally across town that would keep him busy well into the evening. So, he found himself stepping into the break room, intent on grabbing a cup of coffee and heading on his way.

He was surprised to find Qrow there, huddled in one of the corner tables. He was dressed down, back in his casuals, but still managed to make a t-shirt and some slacks look like runway material. They met gazes briefly, before the elder man’s eyes dropped back to his phone, not saying a word.

Already short on time, Clover was content to leave it like that, but as he finished mixing his coffee together, guilt seeped in. If they were going to be working together, then one of them had to take the first step and it was much harder for the new guy to take it.

“You did good today.” He spoke.

Qrow scoffed. “You kidding? I was a disaster.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll be lucky if they ask me to come back.”

Ah. So, he wasn’t a snob - he was insecure. Clover could work with that.

“Ah come on. It wasn’t that bad.” He crossed the room, turning the opposite chair sideways and falling into it. “You’re just a little stiff. A few more of these and you’ll relax.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and take it a little easy on the people in dress.”

“They were trying to poke my eye out! Whoever invented eyeliner is a demon.”

He guffawed heartily. “It’s not that bad.”

Qrow sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair. “Still, I don’t know what I was thinking, letting Tai convince me to take this job.”

Seemed Tai was doing a lot of that lately.

“I’m not a model. That’s my sister’s gig. And…” Qrow gestured to himself. “I mean, look at me.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it must get tiring getting all those calls from Mr. Universe asking you to come reclaim your crown.” He countered.

“Tch, if anyone’s got a crown to go reclaim, it’s probably you.” A second later, he seemed to realize what he said and hid his face in his hand. “Oh my god, I didn’t just- I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

Clover couldn’t stop grinning. “Relax gorgeous. You’re in the right business to be making comments like that.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t feel so bad, either. You’re not the only one self-conscious around here. Winter? Breaks out before every shoot. James? Has a scar right here.” He ran a finger above the line of his right eyebrow. “And by now, we’ve got to be giving Tai a complex with how much gets altered in processing.”

“He certainly had a lot to say about last month’s issue.”

“Well, you know, we gotta follow those trends and freckles are in.” He was sure there was a lot of talk on the questionable ethics of digitally changing people’s appearances to portray an unobtainable beauty, but it was a topic he wasn’t too interested in engaging with. In the end, it all just came down to the paycheck and keeping people’s jobs. Because if a model couldn’t sell the clothes they were wearing, then they weren’t going to get to keep modeling them.

Qrow leant back, crossing his arms. “Wonder how much they’ll change about me.”

“Well, they’ll definitely take out those cute wrinkles you get around your eyes when you laugh.”

“I wasn’t laughing?”

“Not in the first shot. But I may have…” He shrugged sheepishly. “Taken another one, right at the end? You looked more natural.”

Qrow blinked. “Well. Alright then. Guess that’s why you’re the expert.” His gaze drifted past Clover’s shoulder at about the same time he heard the footsteps. “Hey Tai. All done?”

“Yeah.” The blond replied as he stopped at their table, eyeing him suspiciously. “Hopefully the company flirt wasn’t giving you trouble.”

“Oh sunshine,” Clover drawled, playing it up as he bat his eyelashes at the other man. “I hope you know you’re my one and only.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes. “Save it for the guys actually swinging your way.” He nodded to his friend. “Come on, we better get moving if we want to get the girls on time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow stood. “It was nice meeting you Clover.”

“Same here. Looking forward to working with you.” He replied sincerely. A pleasant little warmth tingled through him when the sentiment earned him an adorable smile.

As he watched him go, Clover cast his earlier worries aside and decided that this truly was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

[fletchphoenix]

According To Plan

Chapter One of the corpse bride au!!! YAY!

I’m so excited to start this and shall post it on AO3 separate to my oneshots. Hope you all enjoy! 

----------------------

Nimble fingers maneuvered a pen across parchment paper that was strewn across a creaky wooden desk. The owner of said fingers raised the quill, dipping it generously into the ink pot beside him and continuing his ministrations as the butterfly trapped inside the glass container set under the window. The butterfly’s wings fluttered in its makeshift cage as it periodically thudded against its transparent prison, while the man disregarded this and kept drawing the specimen. Once he determined he was done, the quill was swiftly discarded as he instead moved his hands to raise the glass containing the insect. It fluttered around the room for a few seconds, circling the man before finally making its retreat out of the window. In a way, the man felt like the butterfly, confined in a prison and unable to decide where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. However, unlike the butterfly, he didn’t have someone to set him free.

  The chime of the clock from the monotonous town outside broke the man from his thoughts and, accompanied by the ringing of a newsman outside, bought his thoughts back to the harsh reality he was facing with his betroval. “Ten minutes until Atkinson boy's wedding rehearsal!” it declared, and Hugo felt the dread settle in. Ah yes. He was still due to marry Miss Gardiner tomorrow, wasn’t he? He didn’t know how he’d forgotten. He rose to his feet from his place at the desk and made his way towards the door in a bitter silence, pushing it open and making his way down the stairs with a bitter feeling of anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach. 

  He knew the wedding was a way for his mother to make money - but that didn’t mean he had to find it fair. Donella had never neglected to tell him that marriage was merely out of necessity and never for affection, however a part of him had always prayed that he would find someone he had genuine feelings for. But, here he was, about to leave for his wedding rehearsal for a marriage to a girl he’d never even spoken to or seen in his life and he had to just smile and accept it. After all, this was the big ‘money maker’ for his mother. Besides, he’d never even spoken to another woman before so..it wasn’t as if he could find a wife himself even if he tried. Nevertheless, he strode out the door and joined his mother in that fateful carriage. 

  The ride was short, Hugo all the while staring out of the window at the cobbled streets and the different shades of grey that covered the streets. It really was a drab town they lived in wasn’t it? All that covered this tedious town was shades of grey, making it all the more depressing in winter when the ivory snow joined the landscape. It seemed that all color just..ceased to exist in this place. Either way, Hugo desperately tried to distract himself from his upcoming betrothal to the mystery woman, who honestly should be marrying something like a Lord or at least someone of a higher class than him, but who was he to question her family’s decisions at this point. 

  “You’ve certainly got a good match, Hugo. All you have to do is not mess it up or scare her away. After all, everything must go according to plan.” Donella’s voice shattered the silent atmosphere and Hugo’s thought process. His eyebrow quirked up and a confused smile settled on his face as he looked at his mother in the cramped carriage. Her grey dress matched the general vibe of the town outside and blended in with the satin seats. 

  “Shouldn’t a Gardiner be marrying a Lord or-or something like that? I haven’t even spoken to her-” he began to question, before Donella rudely interrupted him.  

  “Nonsense, we are every bit as good as the Gardiners.” she declared before looking at her son, “Well at least we have that, then. No chance you’ve scared her away already.” Donella muttered before leaning back in the seat, making it clear this conversation was over. Hugo let out a frustrated sigh as gazed out the window once again, letting himself get lost again in the depressing nature of their wretched town.

  After around ten minutes, the carriage jolted and stopped in its tracks, the footman swinging the door open so he and his mother could exit. Donella gracefully stepped down onto the pavement and Hugo stumbled out after. Stone steps clicked under the heels on his mother’s boots as they ascended them. Once they reached the top, Donella’s hand raised to knock the dark oak door, Hugo looming awkwardly behind her as she and the mystery woman’s parents exchanged formalities in the doorway. The foyer of the house was of a decent size - not as spacious as the one in his mother’s mansion. Black and white checkered tiles covered the floor in a deliberate pattern, with grey curtains to compliment them and a grand, spruce piano to the right towards the hallway the elders were heading towards. A fireplace was on the left wall, the crest of the family carved into the stone above it, a few metres away sat a table along with paintings on the wall. A large staircase that broke into a left and right pathway sat in the middle of the room, Hugo not even daring to try ascending them for fear of what he’d find, or for fear of punishment from the hosts.

  Hugo absentmindedly let himself head over to the piano, letting himself be seated on the matching spruce seat, a layer of cotton that was covered by a grey velvet shielding it. His fingers drifted across the ivory keys before trying a few, the sound echoing in the foyer filled with just him. He tested a few more, a rhythm slowly being crafted by his own two hands as he let himself fall victim to the trance of music. His fingers were evidently not only good for sketching and writing, them dancing between the notes of his melody and blocking out any sound other than what was coming from the piano. It distracted him to not even hear the click of a woman’s high heels against that tiled floor as she stood behind him. His head slowly turned, meeting the face of a rather attractive woman before he fell back from the stool, knocking it to the floor and rising to his feet. “Oh my...do forgive me-” He uttered as he stumbled over his words.

  “You play beautifully.” she stated, her chestnut hair tied back into a neat bun and a desaturated mauve dress decorating her figure. Brown eyes stared into his blue ones in wonder and joy. He had to admit, she did look rather beautiful. 

  “I do apologise, miss Gardiner. How rude of me to, well-” he cut off his own words as his eyes glanced down to the stool, still laying on the ground since he knocked it. “Excuse me.” he whispered, reaching down to put the stool upright and his back straightening as he did so. As soon as he was finished, he arched his back, using his left hand to quickly dust off the seat as the woman watched him intently.

  “Mother won't let me near the piano.” she stated, still watching Hugo as he continued his avid dusting, “Music is improper for a young lady. Too passionate, she says.” she declared, her eyes focusing on a tile before redirecting themselves back to the man standing across from her. Hugo spent some time examining her face - it being thin and sculpted almost perfectly with freckles strewn across her face that were the same shade as her hair. So she was the woman he was betrothed to, huh? Well, she wasn’t that bad at all.

   “So...where’s your chaperone, Miss Gardiner?” he questioned, folding his arms, slightly uncomfortable in the black suit that his mother had purchased him specifically for the wedding tomorrow. Black was probably his least favourite color - his favourite definitely being green. Green reminded him of spring, the only time their town had any semblance of color, with the graveyard no longer looking desolate and having some signs of light and life. 

  “Well, considering the circumstances, you should call me Odelia.” she commented with a smile, her hands moving behind her back with a wider smile than he’d seen on anyone else in his life. It was strange, really. She reminded him of spring. 

  “`Well, uh..Odelia. Tomorrow we are to be..uh-” he began, a nervousness in his voice while in the presence of the woman he was about to marry 

  “Married.” 

  “Ah, yes. Married.” he chuckled nervously and bit the inside of his cheek, a lingering silence falling between them as they ran out of things to say. Hugo’s hands rose to pick at the threads on the sleeve of his suit jacket, before lowering his hands and opting to wring his cravat with shaky hands in an attempt to calm his nerves. It succeeded, helping to stop the slight quiver in his voice. 

  “You know...ever since I was a child, I dreamed of my wedding day.” she began, seemingly rambling to herself as she took a seat on the velvet stool and let her fingers ghost across the keys of the piano in front of them. “I always hoped that it would be with someone I deeply loved and someone to spend the rest of my life with.” She let out a little giggle, her lips curling into a gentle smile. “But I guess that’s silly isn’t it?” Odelia sighed, a hint of sadness in her tone as she stared at the floor solemnly. 

  “Yes, silly.” He whispered, realising his mistake before lunging and yelping. “Wait-wait no! It's not silly at all!” He called out, knocking over a tiny, ivory vase holding a snowdrop and spilling water over the piano. Gasping, he scrambled and accompanied Odelia in trying to clear up the mess he’d created with a haste he’d never had before. “I’m so sorry, Odelia!” He profusely apologised to the woman in front of him. 

  Odelia simply laughed, a sweet and welcome sound to him that made him more and more happy each and every time he heard it. It sounded like angels singing and reminded him of the joy of the first day of spring. With soft, careful hands, Odelia held out the snowdrop and placed it in his upper pocket, nothing but a soft smile playing on her lips at the intimate moment between them. 

  “What is this impropriety!” Mrs Gardiner yelled as she turned the corner, jolting Hugo and Odelia out of their intimate moment and back into a state of awkwardness and shock. “ You shouldn’t be alone together! Look, one minute till five and you two haven’t arrived at rehearsal so hurry up! The pastor is waiting!” she yelled. Hugo and Odelia silently shrugged to each other and followed the woman around the corner to the parlour room where everyone was waiting for them. 

  The parlour room was decorated with plenty of paintings and statues, yet was still just as monotone and depressing as the rest of the house. No matter where they went, nowhere had any colour. In the centre of the room sat three rows of chairs, four in each row with a makeshift aisle separating the pairs of chairs, with their family sat on either side. A table was a metre in front of these chairs, the pastor standing behind it with a lit candle and a golden chalice on top of a white tablecloth. Hugo sucked in a deep breath and sighed.

  This was going to be interesting.

--------------------------

  “Master Atkinson, go from the beginning. Again.”

    An exasperated sigh passed through his lips as the pastor repeated the vows for what felt like the fiftieth time. Three hours. Three hours later and Hugo STILL couldn’t get his vows right. They couldn’t blame him though. He was just...incredibly nervous and didn’t know what to do at all. The candle refused to light and his brain refused to register the words he was being told to repeat.

"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows.” The pastor uttered. Hugo’s eyes met Odelia’s, who gave him a sympathetic smile for his struggles. It’s not that he didn’t want to marry Odelia, he did, but he was just nervous to finally commit his entire life to a girl he’d had exactly one conversation with, which, by the way, was incredibly awkward and one of the only conversations he’d had with a woman in his life. 

  “Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine.” His eyes then drifted to the Gardiners, whose faces looked more angry than anything else. He bet they already thought he was a disappointment of a son-in-law, and they’d be 100% right. He wasn’t really good at anything in most people’s eyes. 

  “With this candle, I will light your way in darkness.” Then he glanced at Donella, her face being covered by an abnormally bony arm as she shook her head in disappointment. Great. He could’ve handled disappointment from his in-laws but not from his own mother. Oh well, he’d be out of her hair soon anyway, married off to Odelia and having to live out his life with her. Oh joy. 

  “With this ring, I ask you to be mine. Lets try it again, shall we?” The pastor commented, looking at Hugo and, if looks could kill, Hugo would be a corpse husband. The man honestly looked like he was two more messed up vows away from choking him on the altar. Hugo shakily nodded, feigning a smile on his face before he held the waxy, white candle in his right hand and began to try and recite his vows. 

  “With this candle-” he exclaimed, holding the wick to the flame which, to his dismay and to the frustration of everyone else in the room, didn’t light. He kept trying, repeating the statement again and again. Why the hell wasn’t it lighting? What was even going on? He bit his lip and looked up at the pastor, confused and panicked.

  “Nevermind. Go from the steps.” The exasperated and clearly annoyed pastor finally said, seeming already completely fed up with the man in front of him. Hugo pondered for a second, holding out his hand for Odelia to take, which she did graciously. God, her hands were so warm somehow. They were like a weight tethering him into the room and keeping him there. She gave his hand a little reassuring squeeze, a small smile making its way onto his face. She was an absolute oxymoron of everything around them - he could get used to this. 

  “With this hand, I will-” He took one, two, three and four steps. Straight into the table. He stumbled forwards, quickly moving his hands to steady the chalice and the candle before they fell over the cloth. Why the hell was he messing up so badly? He wasn’t this nervous earlier so how was he doing so badly at remembering a few little vows?

  “Three steps! Three! Stop! Stop! Do you not wish to be married, Mr Atkinson?” The pastor finally bellowed, something inside of his snapping and lunging across the table. A red flush of anger covered his face as he glared at Hugo with murderous intent, the younger man feeling much much smaller and more afraid than he’d ever been in his life.  

  “No, no!” he yelled out in response , his hands rising to shield his face nervously as he bit his lip gently. 

  “You do not?” Odelia butted in, a deep frown on her face as she looked into Hugo’s eyes. Shit. That was…certainly not what he meant to say. He didn’t mean to upset her at all. 

  “No that’s not what I-I meant I don’t..not want to get married. That is..I really, really want to get married.” He gulped, his attention solely on Odelia in front of him, an awkward smile on his face as he bit the inside of his cheek. 

  “Pay attention! Have you remembered to bring the ring?”

  “Yes! Yes, the ring!” Hugo searched his pockets, his fingers finally brushing against the cold metal of the circular object. Swiftly, he brought out the plain band, holding it between his thumb and index finger. He must’ve held it too hard or his hands shook too much, since as soon as he brought out the little object, it flicked out of his fingers and fell to the floor. It rolled and rolled, much to the horror of everyone else. Gasps and screams filled the room as he lunged to get the ring and pick it up. 

  “Enough! This wedding can’t happen until he is properly prepared!” the pastor exclaimed, shoving his finger against Hugo’s chest, who shuffled back against the door in fear. He sucked in a breath as the pastor stepped even closer. “Young man, learn your vows.” He declared sternly, Hugo shakily nodding before rushing out of the room and running away as fast as he could from the house to the graveyard.

  Snow crushed under his feet as he crossed over the stone bridge, sighing and shivering. “It really shouldn’t be that difficult. It’s only a few simple vows.” he murmured under his breath as he trailed along the path to the graveyard, the trees becoming more and more looming over him and the light from the moon more and more obstructed by branches. “With this candle I will...I will…” he let out a tired sigh, “I will set your mother on fire. It’s no use.” he muttered as he took a seat on a fallen tree in a clearing, a hand-like branch sticking out of the ground in the middle, underneath a colossal tree. 

  A newfound confidence swept through him out of nowhere as he rose to his feet. “With this hand, I shall lift your sorrows!” he declared as he brought the ring out of his pocket, a grin quirking his lips. “Your cup will never empty, for I shall be your wine!” his voice grew in volume as he stepped around the clearing, shaking hands with the spindly branches of the spruce trees surrounding him on every side. “ With this candle, I will light your way in the darkness! And with this ring, I ask you to be mine.” he yelled as he slipped the ring onto one of the branches of the root sticking from the ground. 

  Wind howled around him for a second and, as he looked up, crows sat on the branches of trees surrounding him. Staring at him and cawing maniacally as soon as he’d slipped the ring onto the root. The root gripped his wrist, pulling it down into the ground with a forceful tug. Crows that were once perched on the winding branches of trees now flew and cawed around the clearing. Frantically, he tried to tug his hand free from the unrelenting grasp, falling back with a skeletal arm now attached to him. Hugo shook it away and the ground in front of him began to break away, a figure rising from the dirt. First its arms, then its head, then its body. 

  The man who had arisen wore a wedding suit, similar to his, however blue. He had raven hair that fell just to his shoulders, a cyan streak in between the locks that blended in with the light blue tint on his skin. The mystery ghoul seemed part skeletal too - little bits of his flesh and body torn away by decay, his ribcage clearly showing from under the suit he wore. The ghoul raised the veil that was partially covering his head, whispering two fateful words.

  “I do.”

  Hugo scurried back in shock as the man held a hand out towards him, scrambling to his feet and sprinting away as fast as his legs would carry him. Periodically he’d glance back, the figure always far too close to him. It was as though he couldn’t lose him, no matter how far or fast he’d thought he was running. In his haste, he ran into a tree, his body wracked in pain. This pain was soon to be ignored, however, as he turned his head to see the figure still gaining on him. He frantically pushed himself away and began to run again towards the bridge. Why did it feel so far away? He caught his jacket on various branches, causing rips and tears all over the custom made jacket. Donella was sure to kill him if this man didn’t. 

  His heart thudded in his chest as his feet made contact with the stone surface of the bridge, it clicking slightly under his shoes. Hugo turned on his heel to check for the figure as a murder of crows flew over his head. The forest, the church...nowhere showed any sign of the mystery man. It must’ve been his imagination. Hopefully.

  Hugo let out a breathy chuckle, taking a few steps backwards and turning. Turning to be face to face with the man he was running from. A scream almost passed through his lips as he frantically backed away into the bridge, his chest still heaving as the undead figure stepped towards him. “You may now kiss the bride.” the ghoul whispered, his hands resting on his shoulders and leaning in as crows circled and surrounded them.

  Everything faded to black.

[inkintheinternet]

Understanding the Anatomy of Future Hypothetical Robots

By Arjuwan Lakkdawala

Ink in the Internet

I’m taking a radical look at future hypothetical robots. Sort of like a Frankenstein of modern science. A new era of tech is coming and have no doubt it’s going to turn the world upside down.

As a tech enthusiast and someone who is actually rather frightened of how far scientists are pushing the threshold of “progress.” I found myself thinking about that in the future which is happening before me, and that which one might say is impossible to happen.

I’m going to write about both prospects because I think each is a variable important to evaluate in order to deduce the mental and material outcome of the present state of things in this regard.

What my eyes see: Neuromorphic computing it appears is almost all set to eclipse deep learning, machine learning, take Artificial Intelligence to a whole new level.

Basics of it: a memristor sits in the heart of each chip, which has synapses that simulate the passing of information like in the human brain. Please note: the “simulation” is crude and in its infancy, because the human brain is not a solid electrical device.

In our brains and down to our spinal cord there are billions of neurons with chemical and electrical signal processing synapses. That send commends to our whole body.

The electrical synapses which our brain uses less often than the chemical ones, are responsible for our reflexes among perhaps other things. Like when you’re suddenly about to trip and fall but on reflex gain your balance. You didn’t think of balancing yourself, but that super instant decision made with lightning speed that saved you is the work of the electrical synapse.

Leading tech companies are trying to make the chips smaller.

The idea is that the processing and memory components on the memristor, work with the least energy consumption, and highest speed possible.

Presently in computers the processor and memory are located separately and the flow of electricity which sends signals to transistors in the binary language of 1s and 0s doesn’t permit for programming which could let Artificial Intelligence simulate any form of self-derived creativity or interpretation.

Deep learning which so far is considered the ultimate edge of AI is still based on logical computation but with layers of data from which the algorithm outputs the highest number of matches.

This logic based thinking which is an artificial simulation of how the left side of our brain operates, is what scientists want to surpass into the territory ruled by the right side of our brains – creativity.

It is believed the Neuromorphic chip is the first step in this direction.

However, don’t get confused by the difference in the Neuromorphic chip’s ability to process information and the programming needed for it to get “creative.” Artificial Intelligence is still hungry for human produced data and programming.

Neuromorphic computing is simply the beginning of a clever way of processing information. But it does seem soon enough it’s going to become a needed option.

Because according to Moore’s Law (the doubling of transistors every couple of years) means we are going to reach a point where the transistors produced won’t be enough to process rapidly growing new data in the world.

Suppose Neuromorphic computing improves to somewhat science fiction levels, in this case it would be a good summary of the brain of our hypothetical robot.

I’m certain it won’t actually go in the robot’s head space. Because it’s not necessary.

Cloud computing is so much more convenient.

Next for its eyes just imagine Google Glass. (You get the picture)

Hearing: Ultra-sensitive, can pick up frequencies humans can’t.

Muscles: depending for what the robot is used for, it could be soft plastic, or titanium metal.

What about the hands and touch? Here is where my fear lies. Over ambitious scientists can’t stop making robots that are “human-like” or animal-like” the purpose of these isn’t to replace humans or pets, but for people who prefer to be served by robots in restaurants, in sales, etc.

As for pets it’s thought “robotic pets are so much easier to care for.”

This is the biggest fault in the idea. There is no caring, there is no sense of guilt if it breaks, no pity if you haven’t fed it for days.

I recently saw a video on Youtube in which a man beats a humanoid looking robot, and kicks a dog-like robot. The footage meant to express that treat them as you want. This thing looks like a human but it’s not, and this looks like a dog but it’s not.

As someone who grew up taking care of actual pets, and cried rivers when they died. This footage doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about real humans and animals.

But imagine if you’re a kid born in this tech era. And you grow up with a mechanical pet dog. Won’t it distort your balance of touching with care, in comparison to rough touching?

Won’t it distort your sense of humanity of what hurts and what doesn’t?

The obsession to make robots human-like is so bad. I wouldn’t be surprised if future robots had human hearts grown in human tissue sacks, connected to its brain via prosthetics.

This too is serious bad news. Because if the robot is indeed given some form of artificial intelligence independence.

I wouldn’t expect it to have good feelings. Humans are the best example of how hard it is to fight evil temptations.

Copyright ©Arjuwan Lakkdawala 2020

Arjuwan Lakkdawala is an Author, Science Communicator, and Journalist. @Spellrainia Twitter Instagram

References:

Brain-Like (Neuromorphic) Computing - Computerphile

Neuroscience 2nd. Edition (book)

Exam Sam (website) Neurotransmitters, Reflexes, Synapses.

What is Cognitive Computing - and Futurlogy (YouTube)

[teaandcrowns]

whispered truce

Chapter Seven: Diplomatic Solution, part iv

_________

It… was actually a really good idea.

Zuko wasn’t sure if it was surprise he felt that she’d come up with something so ingenious, or if it was embarrassment that he hadn’t thought of it first. It’s admiration, a voice that sounded curiously like his uncle’s whispered in the back of his mind. He ignored that voice. Behind him, the Avatar’s waterbender hovered over his shoulder, watching.

“You’re being distracting,” he said, a little irritably. Did she have to stand so close? His arm still tingled with a pleasant coolness from where she healed him.

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.” Except—she also didn’t move.

Zuko set the calligraphy brush on its porcelain stand and twisted to look back at her. “What is it? Did I miss a stroke in a character? Are my brush lines not clear enough? Do you have an issue with my wording?”

Despite his flurry of questions, Zuko didn’t expect an answer; he expected her to take the bigger hint and give him a little more breathing room. Forging a letter from the Royal Palace Ministry of Domestic Culinary Affairs took a bit more precision from his brush strokes than he tended to give them, and that was considerably more difficult to accomplish with a waterbender breathing down his neck.

She blinked a few times, as if not realizing she was practically invading his personal space. More frustratingly, she still didn’t move.

“I’ve never seen someone actually write that well before.”

That caught him off-guard. “Well, I mean—” he started. “My handwriting isn’t normally this formal. But it has to look official.”

“Still,” she said, leaning even closer over his shoulder so she could reach out and brush fingertips along the empty space to the left of his last line. “The lines are just so crisp and decisive.”

A strange shiver snaked up Zuko’s spine at her words, which he attributed to the time limit and pressure they were under to get this done and in the right place before dawn. He cleared his throat, giving her a pointed look which was completely hidden by the mask. Finally, she got the message and straightened, stepping away from him to walk over to the door of the storehouse. With nowhere else either could really think of, they’d headed back to the record keeper’s storehouse. It still stank in here, but once the waterbender had crystalized the air and captured what she said were droplets of the foul smell lingering in the air, it was bearable. Zuko had no idea what she was talking about, or how crystalizing a scent even worked, but he chalked it up to being a waterbender thing, and so had set to work drafting up a fake letter to forge.

Her plan was simple, but Zuko thought it had a really good chance of working. All the domestic shipments of food and cooking items that weren’t homemade by families or produced in local towns were shipped out from the capital. That included things like rice, barley-wheat flour, soy sauce—and nam-pla. The letter he was writing made the proclamation that an unknown number of nam-pla containers across several shipments got contaminated, and would soon go bad if they hadn’t already. It claimed that because the contaminant had been caught only after the shipments were dispersed, it would take too much time to send representatives to every location and check all the jars that had been already distributed to only get rid of the bad ones. In order to expedite the health and safety of all Fire Nation citizens, it is hereby decreed by the Ministry of Domestic Cultural Affairs of the Royal Palace that all current stores of nam-pla be disposed of. City, town, and village officials are to order a double shipment with their next procurement requests to the capital in order to replenish stores. Failure to comply will be considered a lapse in public stewardship of citizens and location officials will be dealt with accordingly.

“What if they don’t actually get rid of this stuff?” the waterbender worried from her spot by the door. It was cracked open to let fresh air in, and a slant of moonlight spilled in through the opening. “It’ll be really suspicious when no actual officials show up to ensure the jars have been disposed of.”

“They’ll do it,” Zuko replied, picking the calligraphy brush up again to finish the letter.

A beat of silence passes, and he can almost tangibly feel the tension of her concern. “What makes you so sure?”

He didn’t pause in his brush strokes. “I think the mayor here will spook easily enough and comply. From what I’ve gathered, people have only been getting sick recently, so being caught so quickly would most likely make him want to get rid of the evidence. After that, hopefully it won’t matter that Culinary Affairs officials never show up because the poison will be gone, and word will have reached the capital about the skimming he’s been doing here for the last few years.”

“But that also means people won’t be coming around to make sure every jar’s been disposed of. What if some families don’t?”

That thought had occurred to him, as well. Zuko frowned at the scroll, pausing only momentarily in his writing. They couldn’t afford to waste too much more time if he kept stopping mid-sentence. Beneath the wood of the Blue Spirit mask, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

“We just have to trust they’ll all follow the order.”

He heard her pace a few steps behind him. “What if they mayor doesn’t let the people know? How can we be sure the word will actually get out?” Her pacing stopped short. “What if he thinks it comes from someone trying to work against him?”

It was strange, hearing his own concerns voiced so clearly to him. “I think,” he said, slowly, “that so long as this looks really official, he’ll do what it says.” Zuko finished the line he was working on. “I did put in that officials will be coming around to gather the emptied jars and check for compliance, so…”

“That worry will hang over him like a bad banana.”

“Yeah—wait, what?” Her comparison struck him so odd as to be funny, and it caused him to pause so long before starting the final line of the letter, he nearly forgot himself and let ink drip onto the scroll. Thankfully, he caught himself in time and moved the brush away. He’d have to start a whole other letter if a stray splatter of ink found its way onto what was supposed to be an “official” document.

He twisted back to look at her, and saw she had a sheepish smile on her face. She shrugged. “I don’t know, seemed like a fitting saying.”

Zuko shook his head and was glad that his own smile was hidden by the mask. “That was a really bad attempt at a metaphor.”

“Not if that bad banana falls on his head,” she insisted, and he honestly couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. Why would she be joking with him, after all?

“Is… the fake letter the bad banana?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

“Well, the fake threat of officials coming from the Royal Palace are. The letter’s more the peel.”

Despite himself, despite everything, he almost laughed at that. At the sound, the waterbender seemed to realize the banter starting between them and thought better of it. She cleared her throat a little.

“How’s it coming along?”

Right. Back to business. But… the banter was a good sign, wasn’t it? Maybe if he won her over a little bit, she’d help convince the others that he should be the one to train the Avatar firebending. That was his ultimate goal, anyway.

“Nearly finished,” he replied, picking up the brush again and getting back to work. After a moment, he leaned back a bit to scrutinize his handiwork. “There’s only one thing left.”

“Where to take it?”

“Well—before that. The signature stamp.”

“Oh.” It was clear by the fall of her voice that she understood his concern. “Do you… know it?”

He knew it well enough—most of the Ministries’ seals were variations of one another, and incorporated some part of the seal of the Royal Palace. He’d had them all drilled into him relentlessly during his schooling, so much that he doubted he’d ever forget one. “That’s not the issue. I can recreate it, but it definitely won’t look like it’s stamped.”

“I think I can help with that, too. Can you write it on another scroll?”

Unsure of how exactly she could help, Zuko did as she asked anyway. With careful strokes he replicated the seal to the best of his memory. It was a pretty good rendition of it, that was for sure, but any other thoughts he might have had on it were interrupted by a soft crackling beside him.

The waterbender was shaping the end of a small block of ice while staring intently at the seal he’d replicated on the scroll. When she was finished, she carefully pressed the carved end against the still-wet ink, then used that to stamp the scroll beside the written seal.

“How’s that?”

He compared it to the one he’d written. “Almost. This line should be a little more tapered, and that one just a bit straighter.” Zuko watched as she made the adjustments and made another stamp. He nodded his approval. “Won’t the ice melt into the ink, though?”

The waterbender shrugged, unconcerned. “All ink is, really, is charcoal and water and a little thickening ingredient. I can just evaporate the excess water if need be, but it probably will be so little it won’t make a difference.”

Beneath the wood of his mask, Zuko’s eyebrow lifted in startled appreciation. “You know how to make ink?”

“I know how to make a lot of things,” was her reply. She moved her fingers over the seal he’d written with a fluid twist of her wrist, and the black ink glistened in the lantern light.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, just as she was poised to re-ink the seal. “It should be red.”

Quickly, he rummaged through the storeroom until he found what he was looking for—a small porcelain container with the iconic red seal ink that every letter-writing Fire Nation citizen had. He removed the lid and set it down next to the extra scroll.

“Here.”

With precision, she removed the outermost layer of ice on her block to clear away the black ink still clinging to the corners and contours she’d carved, then dipped the end into the container. Once the seal was coated in red, she hesitated and looked at the forged letter scroll.

Sensing her question before she asked, he directed her to the proper location for the seal, then held his breath for the brief moment she hovered directly above the scroll with the seal before pressing it firmly against the paper. When she drew back, Zuko looked over the letter, nodding.

“This looks…”

“Pretty official,” she finished.  “Do you know where it should go? Or who we should leave it for?”

“Yeah. But… it’s gonna be a little more involved.”