#feeling vaguely embarrassed about drawing stuff like this but whatever

[helmeppocel]

yeah dude whatever this is. Take it. referenced from a robin figure bc ppl are doing a redraw trend of it on twitter lol

(figure under the cut)

[hannahssimblr]

She seems brighter when she comes back, though we all ignore the blotchiness of her face, like she’s just been crying. Her lashes are a little wet too, making them long and spiky like she’s a girl from a cartoon. She and Liam are smiling into each other's faces now, mumbling vague reassurances, giggling together as though what just occurred was so silly, and hasn’t caused any genuine hurt to either of them. 

When he kisses her on the cheek she flinches slightly as though there is something objectionable or embarrassing about the way that he touches her, and in that moment his insecurity makes sense. 

I think everyone feels bad for her then and wants for her to feel included because they start asking her questions about school which she answers enthusiastically, making sure to look very interested and engaged in what everyone is saying. It occurs to me that she’s a nice person, that she’s making an effort with others and being polite, and perhaps my initial judgement of her formality was unfair. I think I should try harder to be a nice person too, but then I wonder if it’s even in my nature to be that way. I’ve sort of already embraced being a bastard and allowed it to define me. 

“Tell everyone what you want to do in college,” Shane encourages, and Evie fiddles with the ends of her plaits. “Oh, well, art, I think.”

“You make art?” I say.

Immediately her face reddens. It must be a side effect of her kind of complexion. 

“Yeah, I suppose I’m okay at it.”

“Everyone says she’s great at it.” Liam says proudly, as though we are discussing his accomplishments and not Evie’s. “I haven’t seen her drawings yet, but the girls were raving about her. She draws in her sketchbook every day.”

“That’s cool.” I speak pointedly to her and not him, “What do you draw?” 

“Just whatever I see. Landscapes, people, sometimes still life, like stuff that’s lying around in the mobile home. I really like doing it, because when I’m drawing I don’t have to think about anything else.”

I smile. Somehow it’s comforting to hear her talking about art in a way that’s wholly familiar to me, as a meditation, a form of escapism.

“Jude is an artist too.” Jen says. “Ye have something in common.”

“Yeah, I’m studying art in college next year. I already have my place in the Berlin Academy of Fine Arts to do a degree.”

“Oh, so you’re studying abroad?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be good. Four years in Germany, I can’t wait. I’m actually leaving at the end of the summer,” which is… about seven weeks. My palms prickle and become damp with sweat but I keep smiling. It’s fine. Everything will just fall into place as long as I don't get stressed. 

Claire interrupts our conversation with her return, and kneels whispering urgent sounding things to Evie. I don’t hear anything but the delightful phrase “throwing up everywhere” and wonder with utter dread what exactly constitutes everywhere. On the couch? The rug? Up the walls? Well, at least it’ll be motivation to clean the house for once. Still, I’m struck by how much I fucking hate Kelly Healy in that moment, and consider suggesting that Jen clean up her vomit as penance for inviting her in the first place. 

“I can get my dad to come and collect us,” Liam is saying as he and Evie are getting up to help.

“Is everything okay?” says Jen, and Evie smiles tightly, “Yeah, just Kelly’s sick, so we’re going to have to take her home and look after her and stuff.”

“You don’t have to go, Evie, you can stay here with us if you want.”

She shakes her head, “No, I do. I want to go with them,” she turns to leave, but Jen quickly catches her wrist, “Hey, you should come to Dublin with us this weekend.”

“Huh?”

“Jude and I are going to an exhibition, and you might really like it.”

Usually I’d be pissed off that she’s changing our plans without consulting me first, but it seems like a good idea to me, actually. Maybe it’d be nice to go to an exhibition with someone who enjoys art, and not just Jen who walks around pointing at things and saying I could do that if I was bothered.

“No pressure at all,” I assure her, “but yeah, if you want to, you’re welcome. We’ll mostly be hanging out in the city for the day anyway so whatever you feel like doing.”

Jen pats her hand and gives her a meaningful look, “I’m just saying, it might be nice to get away for an afternoon.”

Evie grins. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her look all night, “I’d love to.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[mintmoth]

Your oc's are so cool!! It's such a surreal feeling to get back into a fandom and wake up up find that one of my favorite artists is also there. Say, quick question do you plan on making executions for your oc's or do they survive? Well whatever you do I hope you'll have fun with it and as always remember to be well hydrated and take breaks, I hope your doing well mint.

BXDISBSK OH HELLA!! Also thank you 😭😭 I'm glad you're enjoying my silly dr2 art and my oc planning lmao

Honestly I was originally planning on having only 2 ocs specifically because I wanted one to kill the other in order to maintain the same group of survivors in the end lmao. I'm still trying to fully work out the setup and inevitable execution because the plot writing for dr2 is really tight and well progressed imo, so I feel like adding anything would weaken it-

BUT I'm also just having fun and being silly so I know it doesn't have to be perfect it just needs to let me have fun really lmao

I'll add a readmore but I'll ramble about each of them a little if anyone has any interest

First up is the first one I made, Haruka (forgive all of their basic bitch Japanese names, I can't do the fun wordplay to the level I wish) they're the ultimate ballerina, and by extension also nonbinary kind of feminine leaning androgynous but can be masc if needed because they can do any kind of role required of them for a performance

When they're tossed into the dr2 mix they'd probably be found being a third wheel to the dynamic duo that is Akane and Nekomaru, since they're also technically more athletic and would be stretching and practicing every day. I want to sit down sometime and draw them and Akane engaged in a flexibility battle and Kazuichi walking in on them and screeching because they look so creepy

Haruka is planned to be a murderer and I'll definitely get some drawings out once I flesh out my concepts for their execution more

Next up is Nao! She's the ultimate sharpshooter and yes that is a little vague but it's because this includes bows and such on top of typical guns. Hell, she probably even does well with throwing stuff if there's enough focus

With the dr2 cast she'd be mostly a friend to Ibuki and Kazuichi, their eccentricities are endearing to her, plus if either of them just want to ramble about something they're working on she's gonna listen for hours. Honestly they're such a movie night squad to me. Also post game I feel like she's like a girl in the same way I still see Kazuichi a guy, like in the vaguest terms cuz they're both just Themselves and are gonna have fun with it now since they're apart from society. Ibuki isn't included only since I feel like she'd struggle less, but this is the bi/pan gender fuckery trifecta of the group to me

Oh yeah and Haruka kills her. I've got the death already planned out and ideally I wanna do a cg style emulation for it but idk if I can swing it lmao I'm not very good at style emulation tbh

And last but not least is Tōru. I didn't plan on her existing so idk how I'm gonna get rid of her in time for the end hmm. But she's the ultimate tattoo artist and has the most fleshed out backstory of the three but it's embarrassing and I know it LMAO

Basic run down- and stick with me here- she lives with family that work under the Kuzuryu clan, so she's done a lot of sick yakuza tats, partially because of her skill and mostly because this shit is so good that her tattoos have like, an "aura" that influences the viewer a little. So these dudes have extra intimidating tattoo bullshit going on- BUT ANYWAYS so things start and she can recognize Fuyuhiko and Peko and knows what's up with them, but neither of them have officially met her so she's like "oh thank fuck they have no idea that I know who they are I'm gonna avoid these assholes like the PLAGUE"

But of course that won't hold forever but it just makes me laugh like chapter 3 Fuyuhiko trying desperately to be kinder to everyone like "yeah, maybe I'll see if you're good enough to tattoo me some day" and she's choking on her drink because Haha About That-

But yeah hopefully I can rope one of my friends into having their oc knock her off because I think that would be funny like, getting down on one knee please kill my oc tragically

[chettyspagetti]

Headcannons I may draw one day who knows but it’s mainly dumb things kids do

-Neil gets his dads attention by tugging on his shirt

-Spacekid has ate bubbles and tried to blow it with his mouth

- Neil will tell Spacekid to do stuff for him and not tell an adult, then tell them like 2 minutes later

-Spacekid and Neil are horrified of Thunderstorms cus they are sensitive to sound and will hide under their covers and cover their ears

- Neil when nervous will mumble all of his words and then not repeat it

- Spacekid tries to copy what other campers do since he can’t see social cues but they ALSO can’t tell social cues well so it’s just the blind leading the blind

-Neil has a favorite parent when he’s a kid and it’s his mom , but as he gets older he likes them both equally (Him and his dad are just Goofy and Max)

-Spacekid canonically can’t read so I assume his handwriting is just shit

-Neil will give up on a hobby if he instantly isn’t good at it (unless it’s to prove a point, then he’ll do whatever it takes to do it)

-Spacekid is scared of the easier bunny I just have a gut feeling about that

Okay some shippy stuff cus I don’t rlly care about cannon

- Neil and Spacekid like to talk about science ofc, but other things like comic books and other nerdy shit (pretty cannon)

-Neil is Nerdy and Spacekid Is Geeky

-Spacekid is a very touchy kid and will find a way to squirm his way next to Neil

- Neil does appreciate how Spacekid is the only kid that listens to him , he’s just too prideful to admit he likes it

-Spacekid can’t tell the difference between friendship and a crush so he fully assumes whatever he feels towards Neil is just really good friendship

-Neil had a melt down when someone suggested he might like Spacekid (he didn’t tell them it was him just vaguely told his feelings towards “someone he knew”) because he was scared if he did like he’d get severely bullied

-Spacekid is super independent, and Neil sure does notice when he ISN’T around. At first it’s nice for a break but later on Neil is very much impatiently waiting for him to come bother him again

-If asked Spacekid will say “Uhh yeah I think Neil’s cool :))” and that’s kinda it so it gives the impression he doesn’t like him like that. Hes just really stupid , and 10!

-Neil journals about his feelings and it’s incredibly embarrassing to do for him. He’s burying his face in his book and rubbing his face hard out of it being hard to think about

-They exclusively hang out at night , it’s less embarrassing for Neil and he can be more open and less stressed . Either in one of their tents , the docks, or general outside (away from everyone else )

- When there is quite moments at night they’ll hold hands for a little bit , and it’s nice

- Spacekid offers his cape as a blanket, and even though it’s gross to Neil he still uses it

-They both have no idea what any of this means and both are too scared to move forward in any way

Neil doesn’t want to accept he feels like this (biphobia), especially because it’s Spacekid . Spacekid would much rather keep the friendship then try to push for something more and loose it . And so a stale mate ensues (this is when they are older like middle school when they are more aware)

[simmonsized]

17 for the fic writer meme?

17. talk about your writing and editing process

Alright so I am kind of embarrassed about this tbh.

It's not like a big deal or anything, y'know, it's just like. For writing, I tend to just get really lost in the sauce of whatever idea I have in that moment. This might result in large chunks of scenes for stuff that doesn't exist yet, or just some vague notes of things I would like to happen if I wrote a thing, sometimes entire timelines for aus and whatnot you know. If I'm feeling delirious about it I might just draw instead and that's not writing but you know, these things happen.

If it's an existing work, I usually have like, a list of things in my head I want to happen by the end of a chapter, but I will let it meander as much as it needs to before I get to the end, because instead of killing my darlings, i largely let them roam free haha

since don't tend to write in a particularly linear way, either, my chapter files are a fucking mess hahaha They're all out of order, I'll have chapters halfway done months or even a year before I can post them, and not be done with anything in between.

Individually, it'll often be like: finished section, few lines of a pesterlog, supposedly finished section, something I still need to write, partially finished section, complete pesterlog, something I still need to write, finished section, probably hopeful ending (but who knows!! not me!!)

if I feel like I'm having a hard time focusing on what the characters are doing in the scene, that is when I'll straight up start doing just dialogue in large sections (i really love writing dialogue, even if I do it goofy style), and then add in the movements and background of the scene later. I like a good flow to a conversation, even if it's like, awkward and stilted, so if I have too much blocking of characters going on while also actively trying to construct a conversation, my brain goes "actually no fuck that toss the body language for now, let the fools talk" which usually works in my favor c:

My editing process is a nightmare. Since I write on my phone, I will just continue to do that until I reach the end of the draft, and then I will be like, okay I am done with the draft. Time to load up googly docs and Sprinto the robot and completely retype the whole thing on my laptop, for however long that takes me. Hours, if needed. This is usually where my typos show up lol I'm a fast typer but I don't look at my keys and you know, stuff happens. This also usually ends up being the phase where I accidentally add 1-2k extra words; going over it sometimes helps me realize there are things that need clarifying, or I'll feel like "this moment could have gone on longer" and I'll add way too much to a pesterlog, you know how it is.

And I know, okay, that editing is supposed to cut things, and I know that my chapters are already too long but!!! it's for fun!! it's fine!!! I'm fine!!! I do not have a beta, due to my crippling shyness, despite how much I will ramble, if you poke me even a little. It really is just "batter up, hope this reads" and off it goes hahaha

I'm so sorry I hope this says anything I don't expect anyone to read that.

[can-of-w0rmz]

A thing popped up on my feed just now about everyone having bad days, there’s always a tomorrow, etc etc, and it kind of popped into my head in a way I’d never thought about it before – I haven’t had a “good day” in at least the past four months for sure, and maybe even the past few years if I could remember that well. I’ve felt relief or comfort occasionally (mostly if not entirely through escapism) and I’ve been emotional about that relief or comfort at various points, but I haven’t felt happiness or joy in at least half a year. And whatever small amounts of comfort or relief there were, they didn’t come remotely close to making the day that they happened in a “good day.”

It isn’t even like shit happens halfway through the day either, every day I wake up and immediately just feel intense dread with the consciousness that I’m awake, and it takes going about my day to try to relieve it a bit. It just never works that well. I’ve tried everything – I go outside and go for walks, I drink plenty of water, I make an attempt to eat better, I try to limit scrolling, I try to be productive, practicing drawing and reading and looking over stuff for school in September, looking after my siblings, talking to my family and having lighthearted conversations with them.

It just never works. All my art nowadays feels soulless and empty, I’m not proud of any of it and I’m dreading doing the subject for A-Level where I’ll just have to start churning out stuff I hate and which I dread forcing myself to make for a grade. I can’t get really passionate about any of my books anymore. I just look back on when I used to and feel embarrassed about it. It isn’t that they feel stale or anything either though, they do still feel familiar and vaguely comforting, just kind of dull and meaningless. I almost feel kind of bad about cutting my hair a bit again because it feels like any effort to do anything with myself is wasted on someone who doesn’t really care. Sure, I felt vaguely relieved enough to post about it – but I also kind of looked at myself in the mirror the same evening and thought, “what was even the point? I’ll be the same anyway and it’ll grow again.”

I can’t be like this when school starts and I have to be around people again. I’m sick of constantly coming into school being despondent and sick and all-round just coming off really ill-tempered, for lack of a better word, and I’ve only gotten far worse since then. The only problem is I don’t even know what I’m really supposed to be outside of this. And regardless, nothing I do to try and stop it is working. I can’t live in the real world constantly being unable to do anything, I can’t live like this, I can’t always be tired and always be sick and always just need “a little more time “. I can’t do school like this, I can’t make friends or have any kind of social life at all like this, I can’t even lie around my house like this without it being agonising. I can’t live my life waiting for options that might never pop up or by the time they do, have the damage be done. And nothing I do to make it better is working.

[goddessofroyalty]

Trying to figure out what I have/haven’t typed up yet and realised I hadn’t typed up this bit of the “Silco trying to get this baby out of him” stuff.

Fandom: Arcane

Verse: Zaun Family

Pairings: Vander/Silco

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg

-----------

Sevika can admit she never planned on standing in the office of a heavily pregnant omega about to try and justify why the task she had been on had ended as a massive fuck up. Even with the office being a tiny one above a bar, and the task she had been given to scare off a rival upstart gang from moving in on their territory.

To be fair though, Silco and Vander were probably Zaun’s best chance at getting any progress. The only people who have a plan that actually sounds like it just might work and the guts to do what has to be done that they stand a chance at actually doing it.

Can’t be helped that them being mates as well means they’d want to have a couple pups and that the way of getting that involved Silco looking like he’s got a melon shoved under his skirt.

Sevika has to give him credit that it hasn’t stopped him continuing most of his work even with the puking and the not sleeping.

“Tell me what happened?” Silco asks, reaching for a tin on his desk that Sevika would assume contains tobacco if not for how he’s currently not allowed to smoke. Going by the face when he opens it she’s guessing whatever was meant to be in it isn’t there. “First go to the top draw and bring me the package in it. Should be wrapped in brown paper.”

It’s an odd request from him but Sevika doesn’t need him more annoyed than he likely already is so she gets the package from the draw he vaguely gestured to and brings it over.

Silco doesn’t say anything in acknowledgement, not that Sevika expects him to. But she can’t help but raise an eyebrow as he pours some of the contents into the teapot he has over the small gas-light on his desk, pouring the rest into the tin.

“It’s tea,” Silco answers her unasked question. “Apparently it is supposed to bring on labor. I’ve been drinking it for over a week now and this pup remains stubbornly inside me.”

Sevika doesn’t know what to say to that. The pregnancy an awkward topic considering who only even knows Silco because of his work trying to overthrow Piltover’s oppression. Because of his reputation for violence and ambitious plans. Things that seem at odds to the fact he’s currently heavy with pup.

The way she normally deals with it is by pretending the pregnancy doesn’t exist as much as one can.

Silco neatly puts the lid back on the tin and puts it back where he got it from. Placing the lid on the teapot as well before looking up at her.

“I have the feeling I’m not the only one in this room who has been let down by what I was led to believe something would do.” Silco picks up the teapot and pours its contents into the mug he has on the table. Sevika can’t help but watch his hands as he does it.

“For example, some explosions not detonating like they were meant to,” Silco says and Sevika’s gaze shoots back to his face at it.

“He was a shit at fighting as he was at making bombs.” Stupid bastard had gotten himself killed by the band of upstarts almost immediately. It would have been embarrassing if not for the fact that only Sevika had managed to get out of there with only minimal injury.

If anything the group is probably more convinced they’ll be able to move in.

“If I had some not shit people with me I’d have been able to get them to get the message.” Instead Sevika got a bunch of weaklings that wanted to have the benefits of being associated with Silco and Vander but not actually strong enough to do what needs to be done.

“I’m sure,” Silco says, bringing the mug up to drink. Once finished he puts the mug down and leans back into the chair. A hand of his coming to support his massive stomach as he does. “But I suppose I have some blame for underestimating the capability of the group to being with. I’ll get Vander to deal with it.”

“If you give me the people I need I will take care of it.” Sevika would have taken care of it just fine if it wasn’t for the luck of any skill of those with her. She doesn’t want this fuck up to end as having her be seen as the incompetent one.

“I’m sure you would,” Silco says, as he reaches for the mug again. “But after what happened I think we need to personally handle the matter, and, unfortunately I am in no state to deal with it myself so Vander will do.”

“What about me?” Sure the logic makes sense but Sevika hates the idea of not finishing a job she’s been given.

“You can always join Vander. I’m sure he would be happy to have you go with him to personally introduce him. If you feel up to it of course.”

“Yeah, I’ll be up to it.” Sevika would more than happily introduce Vander to her new friends and pay them back for the humiliation they gave her while she’s at it.

[shina-moon-art]

Hi thanks so much for answering the ask I'm glad I wasn't being weird and I get that about kuzan and Ann if I can ask though if Ann was put in a SBS page like they do with the rest what would you put in I'm planning to ask the same to justscrolling76 but was wondering what you think her hobbies and other trivia stuff would be!

Hmm I have to admit I had to look up what an SBS is, unfortunately I’m anime only until I’m caught up (which is still a good 500+ episodes away) but anyway! If I were to do an SBS for Ann (and whatever other characters I’ll inevitably get asked about) I’d probably start with simple things like age, favorite food, what she thinks of the other high ranking marines.

I only know Ann through the perspective of a reader (no being the artist doesn’t give me sneak peaks or extra information lol) but this is what I personally think for your question…

As a marine Ann doesn’t have a lot of time for hobbies but in the meager amount of free time she has I think she quite enjoys journaling and people watching! I like to think journaling is something she did before the marines but now she’s more determined to keep up with it in the hope that Ace could one day read them. She really only ever wrote when they visited an island or something particularly interesting happened on the Oro (encounters with Whitebeard and his children are generally a hot topic in her older journals being that the crews were for the most part friends) but yeah her older logs have lots of time in between each entry. That’s not to say they still don’t (marine business takes up a lot of time yknow and she doesn’t like people seeing that she has a journal, there’s too much potential for exposure even with how purposefully vague she’s kept them since she joined the marines) but she’s gotten good a remembering the little details, enough so that what would once be a paragraph worth explaining what she’d been up to between entires is now several pages worth. On the rare times she brings her journal with on assignments and actually gets free time (both already rare enough let alone happening together) she likes to draw whatever she can see, usually it’s the island she’s stopped at, food, or just people she’s close to.

As a kid on the Oro Jackson she definitely had plenty of free time and spent most of it doing as much as she could (ever the workaholic) she hates being bored or having nothing to do so she learned how to do things on the ship quite quickly but her all time favorite thing to do was to piss off shanks and buggy (less make them mad and more embarrass them) she made it her goal to get the red of their faces to match the red of their hair and nose respectively but despite how much she teased them the trio was always close together and enjoyed the trouble she got up to with them even more than the trouble she’d get into herself.

Sorry if this went on a little long, like I said I have a lot of thoughts on Ann but try not to take anything as concrete truth. I’m looking forward to what @justscrolling765 has to say on this though! Also if you’d like feel free to give yourself a name to sign off with anon I’ll always know who you are so feel free to ask as many questions as you’d like :)

[mirrorballdazai]

Hey! Can you explain a bit more your comparison between it and st kids? I don't really understand. Have a nice day <3

gladly !!

there are LOTS of parallels between the st and it kids on so many levels, but what i was focusing on in that post was the difference between the two in relation to sex (and other “adult stuff” like cigarettes, but mainly sex) and how that shows different ways to cope with trauma and what the kids symbolize as a whole in the show/movie/book

first off let’s remember that the losers are all 11 years old, if i remember correctly only stanley is 10 in the book. the members of the party are 12 in the first season and obviously they grow up, so at what is right now the end of the show they’re all 14/15.

both groups face struggles like bullying (which is often rooted in racism, homophobia, ableism and other things), abusive or neglectful parents (or in max’s case, siblings), personal fears and obviously there are the supernatural plots, so monsters and whatever pennywise is (i didn’t finish the book yet but i think he’s an alien or a semigod but anyway).

the interesting thing is that even if the it kids are younger they show a knowledge of some, idk how to word it, “adult things”. for example some of them smoke — in the movies i’m pretty sure beverly is the only one who does it both in the og and in the remake. the thing that really stuck with me though is that they all know what sex is or even just have a vague idea of it (for example eddie in the book doesn’t really know what exactly is, but shows that he knows that it’s a thing). they make jokes about it and say/think sexual things in general. it’s also connected to eddie’s visions since in the book he sees a man with syphilis who offers to do yk sexual stuff which is connected to his fear of being ill and stuff.

on the other hand the st kids never show to know what sex is, except for max that talks about “happy screams” in s3, which makes sense because max is supposed to be the one who knows more stuff in the group, the one who lived in a city and all that. el then mentions again these “happy screams”, and when someone (i dont remeber who exactly i’m sorry) asks what happy screams are max interrupts el who was about to answer and says that it doesn’t matter — which could be for many reasons. maybe she is embarrassed or something, but when i first watched it i thought “ah she probably doesn’t want to kind of ruin everyone’s innocence” since she showed stress only after that-person asked what happy screams are, which shows that they don’t know what sex is at least in max’s mind.

the question now is why. there’s this difference between these groups, but why? for mainly two reasons.

1. show different ways to cope with trauma

my theory is that stephen king wanted to show how less innocent kids can be after trauma and abuse. he wanted to show the cruel reality, the one where kids are not that innocent even when they’re very young, especially after bad experiences. those experiences make them want to act like grown ups, talking about sex, joking about it and stuff like they think adults do.

stranger things does the complete opposite: the kids are an ideal. if you think about it even after their traumatic experiences they stay sweet and innocent — because let’s be real, they never act really bad. maybe they’re a bit bitchy or something, maybe they distance themselves from the others, but they never do REALLY bad stuff. i mean they acted like mike was a criminal in s2 because he cheated on a test/essay, or because of the graffiti thing. mike also says “everyone graffitis the bathroom stall”, which is true! they act like he’s a really bad kid for doing something normal kids do on a daily basis! another example that i love is that when will is feeling bad he clings to his childhood even more, whether that be playing d&d or going trick or treating or drawing. those are normal things kids do. when max faces depression and anxiety she stops talking to basically everyone — which kids often do, it can even be selective mutism in some cases. and there are many MANY other examples !! like el and mike’s relationship — whenever they’re stressed they scream about how much they love each other, they cling to each other and their relationship, because it was their first crush, their first love (even if you think they never really loved/had a crush on each other it was their first relationship you know?). being each other’s partner is a part of their childhood they cling onto when they’re scared.

2. because they symbolize different things

the losers are an example of how reality is: even things that are supposed to be pure and innocent can be cruel, “dirty”. they’re the symbol of a society that puts each person to their limit, sometimes making them the worst version themselves.

the party members are an ideal. they represent innocence, the “good” in a world full of bad people, bad ideals, bad decisions. they’re a symbol of hope, because a world that is as ugly as theirs needs hope.

+ i also want to point out that it as a whole has a grey type of morality — the kids do bad and good things and at one point you don’t even know what to think about them. richie is a kid that deals with this feeling of alienation from his friends (canon in book and in the movies, but for different reasons), he’s overall a sweet guy, but also makes offensive comments — sometimes these comments are even racist, or fatphobic, or ableist. henry is a character you’re supposed to hate from the first to the last moment, but you’re sometimes even supposed to emphasize with him because at the end of the day he’s been abused his whole live. while in stranger things the characters are inherently good or bad. a black and white kind of morality.

[yesimwriting]

Crossing lines

General Kirigan/the darkling x reader

Summary: This was requested by my friend @vvsdiamond28 who also writes and has a really good kirigan x reader story up right now! The request was basically for a fic in which the reader is out wandering at night and runs into kirigan while he’s in the banya and then they get to talking and some other stuff before he admits to only trusting the reader and giving her his real name. This gets kinda steamy bc of the request and bc the story called for it lol but it’s not full smut bc i decided that it would be better to do that as a part 2 so that i could add some jealousy tension haha

a/n i think im back?? Ive been working on requests a lot and ive really enjoyed writing regularly again. A small side note, after rewatching revenge of the sith im kinda in the mood to try writing an anakin fic 😭 pls he was my OG fictional crush,, so either send help or a request for him or something, Anyways,, back to this fic--ahh i had fun writing it but i still feel awkward writing steamier stuff so be nice!! 

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Those that wander in the night, lost in uneasy thought--there’s probably a lot that can be said about them. But I can’t think of anything to be said about me. Nothing good comes from walking around a place full of powerful and tense people in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t take much effort to interpret my actions as suspicious, and yet I continue forward. I’m an idiot--just because I can’t sleep doesn’t mean I have to wander around campgrounds. My presence is barely tolerated here, I shouldn’t try backstroking in waters I can barely tread. 

But still, I walk, eyes more fixated on the open night sky than anything else. The moon is as full as an overflowing glass, the stars twinkling as if desperate to compete with a light it will never be able to duplicate. I sigh, pressing my lips together. Maybe the stars and I have more in common than I thought. Normally, that would be a good thing. 

Letting out a weary breath, I continue forward, away from the relative safety of the main tents. I’m still on the grounds, I’m approaching the border where the tents of higher ranking officials are. That should make me more nervous, but if anything it almost eases me slightly. 

General Kirigan is not the type to be friendly, and yet our interactions have always been laced with a touch of intimacy I can’t quite explain. We’ve been alone together more and more frequently, and I think that’s how I like him best. It’s strange, but when we’re alone some of his sharpness dulls, leaving space for something I might consider humor or actual personality on anyone else. He probably speaks to many girls like that when they’re alone together--a fact I have to fight to remind myself of--but it’s the closest thing to friendship I have here. Maybe it’s foolish to hold onto that, but I can’t bring myself to release my grip on those sentiments. At least not yet, when the kind moments are still rare and fleeting and no line has been crossed. 

The danger, however, comes from the prospect of not recognizing lines before they’re crossed. Even now, as I walk aimlessly in the night, pacing in hopes of exhausting my thoughts, I’m crossing lines in a much more literal way and even these are ill defined. I must be in new territory now, and even that I can only vaguely recognize because of the strangely humid scent that surrounds this area of the grounds. 

I’m near the banya. I didn’t intend to wander here, but the thought of splashing water on my face is too tempting to pass up on. I move closer, finding a sense of peace in having some direction, even in a small way. 

When the promise of water is only steps away, I begin to regret everything. There’s a figure in the bath. I freeze, ready to attempt to shrink away in hopes of disappearing before I’m caught. This could easily turn extremely awkward even though I technically haven’t done anything. Most people don’t bathe at this hour. Who bathes this late at night? 

I keep my eyes on the individual, trying to make out who they are and how aware they are of their surroundings in the dim light. Pale skin, dark hair--unbelievably attractive torso. My eyes linger there longer than they should. I force my gaze upwards, towards their face as if that can erase my ogling. Embarrassment leaves my face burning--I’m not the ‘ogling’ type, and this person doesn’t even know I’m here. I keep my eyes on them as I step back, taking in unaware features as best I can in the dark. 

I know them--I--Saints, it’s Kirigan. 

Fantastic. Of course he has to be even more impossibly attractive while shirtless and wet. I turn my head upwards sharply, more desperate to not be caught than ever. I would never, ever recover from being caught. Whether he’d tease me or be angry with me, I don’t know. I also don’t know which option I’d prefer. 

I step back again, my gait wider due to my urgency. Snap. The sound of both a twig and my chance of a stealthy escape being shattered. I cringe, craning my neck to the left in a desperate attempt to make it clear that I wasn’t watching him. I take another desperate step, ready to duck behind a nearby tree. Maybe he hasn’t seen me--maybe he’s distracted and assumed that some kind of rabbit or something passed by. He may not actively dislike me, but I’m not sure any semblance of favor he may have for me extends to this situation.

“Y/n.” His tone reveals nothing but his level of certainty. Ignoring him will only make me seem guilty. 

I pause, keeping my gaze off of him. “Yes.” It wasn’t really a question, and yet I still answer it like one. “I was--I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get some air, and I was walking kind of aimlessly and I ended up here and I didn’t think anyone would be here.” Why do I feel like I’m making this situation worse? “I’m sorry--I’m gonna--I’m going to go now.” This is the kind of embarrassing moment that will come back to me when I’m trying to fall asleep at night. I know it.

“You know the polite thing to do after intruding is to make eye contact.” 

I don’t think my face has ever felt this warm before. At least he doesn’t sound angry, but his voice doesn’t reveal that much. I raise my gaze carefully, turning my head slowly. “I didn’t mean,” I exhale slowly, “It wasn’t my intention to intrude.” 

He straightens slightly at my words, exposing more of his chest. I stay still, eyes trained on his to avoid an accidental lapse. “You could make it up to me by offering conversation.” Kirigan’s tone is deliberate, his words measured and calm. I don’t speak, feeling like I’m being presented a test I don’t understand, but most of our conversations leave me feeling like that. “Only if you’re comfortable.” 

And just like that, I’m backed into a corner. A challenge. To deny him now would be to expose the effect he has on me. My chin raises a fraction of an inch as I take in that assured half-smirk. “Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?” 

Kirigan arches a dark brow, assessing my response. “Then sit,” his voice has not changed, “You want air and I want company.” 

I don’t think anyone that looks as good as he does shirtless has ever had trouble finding company, especially with the smooth way he speaks. Despite this, I step forward to accept his challenge without calling him out on his coyness. Each step is the crossing of another invisible line until I’m near the water’s edge. I make sure to keep my nightgown at a respectable length as I sit down. 

I make a point of extending my legs towards the water while leaning back so that I can’t be easily accused of being a coward. “I feel the need to warn you that I might not make particularly interesting company.”

He angles his head to the side slightly, drawing attention to his jawline and neck. I force my stare to focus on the water. “I’ve never found you uninteresting.” 

There’s something resigned in the way he says this. On instinct, I look up, taking in the slight softening of his features. The release of his usual sternness only adds to his beauty, a fact that I’m already resenting. 

“You may be the only one.” It’s not meant to be a deprecating comment, but I’m not sure my partial laugh softens my bitterness. I hope it does--I’d rather his interest than the interest of my entire unit. 

Kirigan shifts forward, the water moving with him. “Do you think that any coldness you’re experiencing has to do with you?” 

The question has me drawing my eyebrows together. What else could it be? I shrug, “I’ve considered it.” 

He nods once, eyes hardening slightly. “Do you always have trouble sleeping?” 

The personalness of the question shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. Kirigan seems to only understand boundaries when he’s the one setting them. “Not really.” A partial lie--this time I’m glad I can’t quite bring myself to look at him. “It’s not uncommon for me, but it’s not something I deal with every night.” 

I risk shifting my eyeline when I hear the sound of water moving. Kirigan’s now resting an arm on the rim of the pool, wet skin dangerously close to my ankle and lower calf. “It’s not always easy,” his voice is low now, “Being alone with your thoughts.” 

That’s not the kind of reply I’d expect from him. I blink twice before turning to study his expression. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him seem so tired--so weary and human and in need of something. The line between his eyebrows and the far off quality of his eyes leave me with the strong desire to give whatever it is he needs to him. The urge to reach out, to touch him in hopes of breaking him free from his odd trance leaves my stomach knotted. That line is too clear to cross so recklessly.

I need to chase away the serious atmosphere he’s created. “Is that why you bathe so late at night?” I let myself smile, “To avoid thoughts?” 

“I like the peace of it.” Something akin to amusement touches his words. “And for the record, little dove,” the nickname is pointed and earns him an eyeroll, “The warm water doesn’t exactly chase away thoughts so much as encourages others.” He pauses. “You understand, considering you can barely look at me.”

This is the most embarrassing thing to have ever happened. The suggestive jilt to his words has to be intentional. Damn him. I turn my head, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I can look at you just fine.” 

“And if I were a Heartrender and could hear your heartbeat your pulse would be normal?” The question is teasing, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

The warmth in my face increases, spreading down my neck. Kirigan’s expression remains smug. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.” 

“No?” He leans forward, angling his head so close to me I can faintly feel the warmth of his breath on my lower calf. “I find myself amusing.” 

At least being around him like this is getting easier. I open my mouth, ready to provide some sarcastic comment I haven’t thought out yet. My mouth clamps shut on instinct when I feel his touch on my ankle. The faint contact quickly grows, his fingers brushing up my ankle and calf, leaving drops of cool water across my skin.

“What are you doing?” That’s a--a fair question, right? I’m not sure, rational thought slipping from me more and more with each passing second. 

“Nothing, really,” his reply is quick. “Nervous?” 

There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I roll my eyes, fighting against my instinctual fluster. “No,” a full lie, “You’re just getting me wet.” 

“Barely.” When he’s not busy being brooding he’s not much better than an irritating child. He retracts his hand slowly, fingers grazing my skin slowly as he submerges his hand beneath the water. The loss of contact should feel like a victory. It doesn’t. “Y/n,” he shifts closer, back straightening.

There’s an odd seriousness to his demeanor that almost leaves me reeling. “Yes?” 

He beckons me forward. I hesitate, but comply, letting myself shift closer to the water’s edge. Kirgan’s lips part, but no words leave him before he moves his arm, purposefully splashing water over my thighs and bottom of my nightgown. I let out an instinctively annoyed sound. “That is getting you wet.” 

“Kirigan!” My tone is as menacing as I can make it, but he continues to grin. There’s such a lightness to the look I almost forget to be annoyed. Almost. “I should tell the entire Second Army how much of a child you are.” 

My threat does nothing, his smile softening without fading. “They fear me too much for your stories to make a difference.” He says this flatly. “All of them except you.” 

I don’t know if I’m supposed to make something of that comment. A brief moment passes in which I think his eyes come close to softening. Maybe that’s a side effect of seeing the world as you want. Wait...what do I want? Him? No, no, I can’t. 

Okay, he’s objectively attractive and sometimes I think I may see more depth in him than he wants to be capable of. But that doesn’t mean I’m allowed to want anything with him. Even if he was trustworthy enough for me to be with him in any capacity...even casually, it could never happen. Nothing good could come from having relations with the highest ranked general and I doubt he’d ever want me like that. He likes to fluster people and I’m an easy target. I just accept it because being some level of entertainment to him is better than being nothing to everyone. 

“I don’t think there’s much point in fear.” It feels like a fair answer. The fairest answer I can manage, anyways. 

He sighs, the sound heavy. His hand stretches forward cautiously. I watch him and make no attempt to stop him from touching my lower calf. His fingers trace absentmindedly across the skin. “Of course you’d think that.” 

Again, I don’t know what to make of his words. Or his actions. He couldn’t find anything wrong with me just slightly adjusting my position. It’d be a polite way to remind us both of the natural order of things. But then again, someone like him is allowed to be mad about anything. And I’m not sure I want to remind us of our place. 

Actually, I’m completely sure that I want the opposite of that. But admitting that to myself is enough of a risk. I’ve already crossed thousands of tiny lines and what I want will require us to cross a thousand more. 

“I’m a little surprised you’re not reminding me how foolish a notion like that can be.” 

He lets out a tiny breath as he shifts even closer to me. “Maybe I’m enjoying your foolishness.” 

“I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or the opposite.” 

The slightest hint of a smile is visible to me beneath the moon’s glow. There’s something about darkness that adds beauty to things. I wait for him to reply, but instead of speaking his  hand moves further up my leg. I struggle to hide my reaction to his long fingers trailing up my skin.

He’s touched me before, sure. Tiny moments in which he’d push a strand of hair out of my face or wipe at a bit of dirt on my cheekbone. More recently, he had gripped my hip firmly to guide me through a crowd of soldiers. He had been in a hurry, stealing me from a conversation with the only member of my unit that’s been somewhat friendly to me. It wasn’t serious--he had just been rushing me because he only had a minute between meetings and apparently he had too long of a day to not take a moment to speak with me. 

“Are you alright, Dovey?” Normally, the nickname and all of its variations earns him an eyeroll. But everything is a lot less humorous with his hand half up my lower leg, leaving a trail of cool water wherever he touches. 

His fingers press more firmly into my skin. “Yes, I’m fine--it’s just late.” 

“Hm…” Kirigan breathes before tilting his head slightly. “You’re warm.” I stay silent as his hand shifts slightly. “Perhaps too warm.” 

If I’m hot that has absolutely nothing to do with fever. “I’m fine, General, I promise.” 

“Come closer,” he says, “It’ll take me no time to check.” 

...A little too convenient. My nightgown is still embarrassingly damp from the last time I eased tonight. “Please tell me you don’t find me that naive.” 

“Naive? No.” He lifts his hand slightly. “Warm? Yes.” I still don’t trust him. “I’m not going to do anything. I promise.” 

His eyes are dark and the limited lighting of the moon doesn’t offer me much in my analysis, but what I can see makes him seem genuine. “Why do I feel like that’s not the first time you’ve had to say that?” Despite my comment, I move towards him. 

The back of Kirigan’s palm is pressed to my forehead for less than a second. He brushes his hand down the side of my temple, rotating his wrist so that his fingertips can touch my cheek. His hand then continues to move down my jawline and then my neck...and then finally trails down my collarbone. I bite my tongue to avoid exhaling audibly at the contact. 

“Warm,” he concludes with a tsk, and yet he doesn’t withdraw his hand. “Though that could just have to do with the climate.” His thumb slips beneath the sleeve of my nightgown. “Perhaps you could benefit from joining me.” 

I bite my tongue to avoid letting out a surprised, embarrassingly enthusiastic squeak. I don’t know what’s gotten into him...maybe it’s the night air and the prospect of being fully alone. I should be strong enough to break whatever spell he’s starting to place on me. But I’m not. I’m really, really not. 

He pulls on the sleeve of my nightgown slightly. “I’m…” 

“Unless you’re nervous?” Another damn challenge. To shy away from this would be to expose myself. He tugs on the sleeve a little more assuredly, exposing my shoulder to the humid night. “Do I make you nervous?” 

His voice comes out a shallow rasp. I feel it straight in my core. “...Not more than you should.” 

“More than I should?” 

Ugh--too honest. I let myself get distracted. It shouldn’t be too difficult to explain what I meant. He knows he’s feared. He wants to be feared. “I’m sure we’re both aware that there are a fair amount of cautionary tales revolving around you.” 

His hand falls next to my lap. Oh? I didn’t expect to miss the contact between us so much. His expression seems to have fallen slightly as well. Was it my response to his question? It felt fair and straightforward without being too blunt. “And you believe every cautionary tale you hear?” 

There’s something stiff about the way he asks the question. His moodiness is making me miss his touchiness even more. At least then I didn’t have to feel like I made a mistake. Did I say something wrong? “Should I?”

“It depends on whether or not you plan on being brave.” 

“I told you...I don’t see much point in fear.” 

“And yet you’re still there.” A bit of humor returns to his voice. “Why is that?” 

Rolling my eyes, I shift forward, letting my legs dip into the water. This is as far as I should let this go. I’ve already lost too much more control. “Better?” He’s strangely tense again, a hint of something bitter playing at the smug look he tries for. “You alright?”

“Of course you’d ask me that.” He says this with a tired sigh. “You can never make things easy.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

He shifts backwards slightly. I can feel the distance between us like I’d feel a pebble in my shoe. “Do you believe all the stories about me?” 

Is he still bothered by that? “I didn’t mean it as literally as you’re taking it. All I meant is that people are intimidated by you, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s the way things have to be, you’re the only Shadow Summoner in existence and the army needs you to be intimidating so that they can act on your guidance.”

“The way things have to be,” he echoes, his voice strangely weighted. “There’s a specific kind of loneliness that comes with being feared by everyone.” 

Oh--I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him feel defeated like that. I reach for his hand without thinking, pulling his fingers towards my lap. “I don’t--I’m not scared of you.” It’s a weak attempt to comfort him, but it’s the only one I can think of. “That probably doesn’t mean anything, but I--” 

His hand turns in my lap, squeezing the exposed part of my thigh. “It means something.” Kirigan’s voice has hardened in a different way. “You’re the only person I’m certain of.” 

Everything in me seems to tighten at that. At the implication of something so personal from someone so closed off. “Kirigan, you don’t have to be as alone as you feel. You talk to me all the time and you do so in a way that makes it easy to forget the cautionary tales.” His hand moves further up my thigh. I fight as I try to remember our usual dynamic. “You’re the only one that talks to me like that.” 

“Have you ever considered that maybe the others refuse to take to you because of the favor I’ve shown you? The instinct to stay away from me is strong enough to extend to those around me.” Kirigan’s hand moves higher up my thigh. “To be near me is to involve solitude.” 

“I don’t care.” The answer leaves me too quickly. “Being near you is worth it.” 

He leans closer before resting his chin on my knee with no hesitation. “Careful, you don’t understand the line you tread.” Kirigan places his hand more firmly between my thighs. “Or perhaps you do...perhaps you know what you want to cross.” 

This time I can’t help the airy sigh that leaves me. Kirigan pushes against my thigh slightly, separating my legs. I feel his breath on my inner thigh before I know what’s going on. I can’t move, I can’t think, I can’t even breathe. That inability to do anything but feel my heart pound against my chest only worsens as I feel his lips press into the inside of my thigh. His lips trail up my skin before his teeth gently sink into the top of my thigh. 

“Is the line you want to cross?” He breathes the question so softly I feel like I’m being coddled. Everything in me feels too hot to think of any kind of coherent response. Kirigan uses his free hand to pull the fabric of my nightgown as high up my thighs as he can from his position below me. “Or maybe this is the line you want to cross?” Kirigan pulls me forward so suddenly I let out a tiny gasp. I’m not fully on the edge of the banya. “Or perhaps this one?” He kisses the skin of my inner thigh gently. Each time I exhale too loudly, his teeth graze my skin. He gets harsher with each passing second. “Lay down.” 

My body listens to him on instinct. How is this happening? How am I this powerless to fight against something that’s so clearly wrong? The sound of water shifting causes my entire body to tense. He’s pulled himself out of the water. Kirigan moves above me instantly, water dripping from his toned chest and dark hair and onto my still damp nightgown. 

Before I can speak, he’s on me completely, his lips pressing against my jaw. He kisses down my neck, his teeth grazing against my skin sporadically. He pulls away from me by tracing his tongue across my collar bone. I let out something dangerously close to a moan. “Such pretty, little sounds.” 

“Kirigan--” 

“The only name I want you to hear from your lips is the only name that I’ve not given myself. The only name that holds meaning to me.” 

His lips graze where my skin meets the hem of my now soaked through nightgown. I’m not sure the poor lighting is offering me enough coverage now. There’s no way the thin fabric leaves much to the imagination while being this wet. He kisses up my chest and neck until his lips reach the shell of my ear. 

“Aleksander.” The name is grace in the form of a breath so soft it’s more like I’m feeling the name than actually hearing it. 

He presses his lips against the spot on my neck directly beneath my ear. I exhale into the contact. “Aleksander.” As I test his true name on my tongue, his teeth dig into my skin much more harshly than before. 

I let out a partial squeak at the sudden shift in pace as his hands grip my waist. “Say it again. Say my name again.”

He traces his tongue gingerly over the skin he just aggravated with his teeth before I can speak. The soothing sensation is so much I can barely find my voice. “Aleksander.” 

His hand bunches the bottom of my nightgown, raising the fabric to my hips. “...Say it just like that.” Kirgan’s rough hand slips between the bone of my hip and the fabric of my hip. “Like I’m the only one that knows you like this.”

“Aleksander.” I breathe as he traces invisible patterns into my skin with his lips. “Aleksander.” Each use of his name earns me extra attention--a stronger hold on my hip, a more adamant nip at the base of my neck. I feel my need for him so heavily I swear it’s leaked into my bones. “Aleksander.”

When he pulls away, I fight the urge to whine. The night is still humid, but with the absence of his touch I feel like I’m shivering. He regards me silently for a long moment before shifting his weight again. I feel my heart stall in my chest as his hand softly brushes a strand of hair out of my face. He lets his hand linger there, at the apple of my cheek. The entire world seems to stall as he leans down, his hand cupping the side of my face as his mouth inches closer to mine. 

“I can feel the fluttering of your heart.” 

Any poor defense dies in my throat as his lips meet mine. He gives me no time to think about what’s happening as he presses into me even harder. Kirigan holds my face as his teeth graze against my bottom lip. My mouth opens slightly in surprise, giving him the opportunity he needs to slip his tongue into my mouth. His tongue slowly brushes against mine, coaxing me into total, delirious, compliance. When he starts to pull away, I react, my hands flying forward to grab his hair. He lets me get away with tugging him towards me, prolonging the kiss as he bites my bottom lip. 

One of his hands leaves my face and travels up the hands holding onto his hair. He pulls me off of him easily, pinning both of my wrists above my head with one hand. “Easy,” Kirigan warns, “You’ve been such a good girl, let’s not ruin it before we’ve started.” 

A tiny sigh leaves me. I can feel the pride he takes in that as his hand trails further down my body. His fingers ghost along the hem of my underwear teasingly. 

“Is someone there?” I’ve never damned the voice of a stranger more. 

Panic and dread roll in my stomach. I’m going to get caught like this, with my nightgown bunched at my hips beneath the General Kirigan. An unclothed, wet, General Kirigan. “I’m bathing.” 

Okay...good...Aleksander spoke. Anyone with common sense would run at the thought of invading on Kirgan’s privacy. It’s a good thing that the soldier had the sense to linger behind a thicket of bushes. “Pardon General, but there’s been a crucial development. A new strategy should be thought of as soon as possible.” 

No. No. The thought of losing contact so entirely, of having a moment that should have never happened be ripped from me before it’s even really happened is overwhelming. I feel my lips pull into a pout. Kirigan’s hand adjusts on me, his thumb pressing teasingly over where I’m neediest. I bite my tongue to avoid making an inappropriate noise. 

“Five minutes--I’ll be in the strategy tent in five minutes.” 

“I’ll tell the others, General.”

Great. I hear the stranger disappear, his feet crushing twigs and grass as he leaves us. Aleksander’s attention returns to me quickly. Disappointment swells in my chest as I take in the solemn look that crosses his features. His hand moves to my chin quickly before pulling me into another deep kiss. It’s too short lived. 

“I have to go.” 

Frowning, I lift my hand to trace my fingers up his arm. It’s softer than I should allow myself to be, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Not when this is probably never going to happen again. “Do you?” I mumble to myself, half joking.

He sighs once, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “No pouting.” 

Now that whatever little bubble we were in has popped, I’m capable of normal feelings. Including shame. “I am n--” 

“Easy, little dove, I’ll remember all of this when I find you again.” 

This...this is going to happen again? “You’re going to find me?” 

“I haven’t yet heard your voice crack on my name as I undo you.” He punctuates the promise with a kiss to my jaw. “Again.” Another kiss. “And again.” Another brush of his lips as he finally pulls away. “And again.” 

My breath catches itself in my throat as he moves off of me entirely. Damn whatever change in the war that’s pulled him away from me so suddenly. I sit up as he stands. I’m not sure where to look now that he’s not in close enough proximity to cloud my thoughts. I should leave as he dresses, but I can’t quite bring myself to. It doesn’t feel safe, not when the man that interrupted us could reappear at any moment. Not when I want to hold onto his presence like this as long as possible. 

 He squeezes my shoulder warmly as he passes before bending down to press one more kiss next to where his hand is. 

“Soon,” he promises again. 

--

General taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[mysteriesofloves]

since i don’t know when i’ll have anything new to share, here’s a tumblr-exclusive tiny cut scene from the milk and honey route, either during chapter 4 or 5 (it’s been so long i don’t really remember). friendship fluff ahead ♡

She hears him awkwardly stumble over pleasantries through the door before it’s even open, but she still snarks, “Don’t you knock?” when it does.

“Who are they?” he says, shutting the door behind him. He gives her a once-over, surrounded by a throne of pillows on the bed, but doesn’t comment.

“Friends,” she says, with poorly masked contempt. She clicks the keyboard of her laptop as he takes a careful seat on the edge of her bed. “They think you’re my boyfriend, and showing up here unannounced isn’t helping.”

“How embarrassing for you,” he says. She raises a brow, and he raises a hand in return. “Just saving you the trouble.”

“What are you doing here?”

“There’s a party at Durfee. I came to see if you wanted to go.”

“Oh, of course,” she says. “I would love to spend my night getting hit on by drunk, horny freshmen.”

“Right. You’d much rather stay in and watch–“ he leans over to look at the screen of her laptop. “Project Runway. This is Jenny’s choice of reality show, too.”

“Well, there goes any enjoyment I derived from that.”

Dan just stares at her. “Have you talked to anyone about getting that Don’t stick your hands into the enclosure sign for your door?”

She sinks further into her pillow fortress, looking away from him. He nudges her foot. “What’s up with you?”

“I’m…” she waves vaguely over herself, then lifts her duvet to reveal the heating pack on her abdomen.

“Ah,” Dan says, an easy little nod. “Does that mean you want me to leave?”

“Do whatever you want,” she huffs.

His brows draw, tapping a finger to his chin. “Spend my Friday night in getting bullied by you or out getting drunk with my Anderson Cooper wannabe roommate. Tough choice.”

She turns away, curling up into herself. “Hey,” he says, softening. “Obviously you. Do I look like I actually enjoy college parties?”

“You look like you got pushed into lockers in high school.”

His hand smoothes over the covers, finding her knee and squeezing. “And now I’m spending the night in with the girl who did the pushing.”

She kicks at him until he gets up with a laugh. He moves towards the door, and she says, smaller than she means to, “Where are you going?”

“Be right back,” he says, slipping back out the door. When he comes back, it’s with a steaming mug. “Here,” he says. “This’ll help.”

She sniffs it; chamomile, the box his own left in her cupboards, with honey mixed into it. “I know that,” she says. “Why do you know that?”

He shrugs without looking at her, gesturing for her to move over. She does, careful not to spill, and he rearranges the pillows to fit himself among them. “My mom,” he says after a moment, voice quiet. He smiles down at his hands, shaking his head listlessly. “She’d tell me all this stuff that a preteen boy definitely doesn’t want to hear. She said if I was uncomfortable I’d be a bad brother and boyfriend, and she didn’t want that.”

Blair holds her breath until she feels it ache, then swallows down a gulp of tea. “I miss home, too,” she offers.

He nods absently, stilled pulled into his thought. She can see it there, held taut between his brows. “Yeah,” he mumbles finally. “But the home I miss isn’t the one that’s there right now. I guess…I don’t know, I guess being here has made it hard to adjust to what home means now.”

She thinks she knows what he means. Before all this, there was a clear picture of home in her head. Now, here, with the droll of foreign voices outside the wall, the pillows moulded to fit the shape of him, his warmth—like the warmth of the tea, soothing and sweet—makes the definition take on new meaning.

“I didn’t mean to bring you down with me,” she says.

He shrugs again, pulling up one of the pillows into his lap. “Misery loves company.”

Blair raises a brow at him. “What’s the pillow hiding?”

He rolls his eyes. “C’mere,” he says, patting the pillow. Hesitantly, she lowers her head, tucking her knees up and hugging them tight to her chest, maneuvering her cup so she doesn’t spill. His fingers come over her temple, massaging firmly.

“This okay?”

Blair bites her lip, shuts her eyes, lest she do something completely pathetic, like cry.

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s nice.”

[surlybobbies]

Professional cuddled dean and touch starved cas. Or the other way around.

im sure canonically speaking that they’re both touch starved but i think dean would be less inclined to admit it. cas is the cuddler here (though spoiler alert: they’re both cuddlers by the end)

Dean doesn’t get it, but far be it from him to judge Cas’s choice of employment. Goodness knows, after all, that “Professional Cuddler” is downright respectable compared to what Dean has considered doing in his 32 years of life. 

Still, doing yoga in the middle of their living room wearing only a pair of thin sweat pants? (”If I have to spend my days in bed, I have to get my exercise somehow, Dean.”) 

Completely uncalled for.

Dean beelines it to the kitchen and fixes his gaze on his goal: the coffee maker.

Cas, occupied with the Warrior 1 pose, picks up on Dean’s discomfort and incorrectly guesses its cause. “Keep looking at me like that and I’m going to think you don’t like me, Dean.” His tone is teasing.

Dean’s concentrating on making his coffee. He’s definitely not thinking about the sight of Cas’s back muscles flexing in his stretch. “Too early for this, dude. Got in late last night.”

“You sound like you need some stress relief,” Cas says. “You know there’s a professional cuddler living with you, right?” His voice is slightly strained this time, and Dean’s afraid to look behind him to see exactly what tempting pose Cas was in. 

Dean takes a few gulps of coffee, savoring the punch-in-your-face bitterness, and stares at the backsplash. The thought of being pressed up against Cas’s body has Dean wanting a cold shower. 

He must take too long responding because Cas’s voice is curious when he says, “Are you actually considering my offer this time?” 

Dean’s turned Cas down multiple times before. He turns around this time and meets Cas’s gaze. Thankfully Cas is sitting back on his legs, his palms on his thighs, watching Dean. He’s still ridiculously hot and still fucking shirtless, but at least he’s not in downward-facing dog too. “Do I get a discount?” Dean asks.

Cas’s eyes are wide and blue, still a littie surprised. “Free of charge,” he says. He sounds a little breathless.

“Fine,” Dean says, lifting his mug to his lips. He’s hiding his heated cheeks. 

Cas is climbing to his feet. It’s a slow show of the muscles in his chest and abdomen, and Dean’s suddenly not sure if he’ll survive what’s coming. “Let me grab a shower,” Cas says, rolling up his yoga mat. “I can meet you in an hour?”

“Your place or mine?” Dean says dryly.

Cas rolls his eyes. “My bedroom. One hour.” He leaves the room, his yoga mat tucked under an arm and Dean, helpless, wrapped around his pinky.

----

Fortunately (or unfortunately) Cas is dressed when Dean walks into Cas’s bedroom. He’s in a soft grey T-shirt and a clean pair of sweat pants. He smells like shampoo, and Dean’s weak in the knees as soon as he shuts the door.

“So how do you usually do this?” Dean asks, his knees at the foot Cas’s bed. The sheets are fresh, the pillows fluffed.

Cas sits down on the left side. “Usually I introduce myself. I ask about comfort zones and boundaries. I remind them that there is no judgement. Then I make a joke if I think they need it.”

“Do I need it?” Dean asks.

Cas is smiling. “You do seem a little tense.”

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

Cas pats the mattress. “Climb in, then.”

Dean does. He’s terrified, but he does. He lays his head on his pillow and faces the ceiling.

Cas joins him shortly, but he doesn’t touch Dean yet. He turns on his side to face Dean and asks, “Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with or unwilling to try?”

“Dude, so long as you aren’t grabbing my junk I think we’ll be fine.” Dean doesn’t mean to be so crude but he’s in Cas’s bed, and if he’s going to be thinking about his junk, it’s definitely going to be here.

“Hands above the waist,” Cas says, a faint smile on his lips. “Of course.” He lifts his arm: an offer. “Shall we?” he asks.

If Dean were a poet he’d describe the feeling of Cas’s embrace wrapping around him as the feeling of coming home. But he isn’t a poet, so he just sighs into it and nestles his face into the crook of Cas’s neck. He’s being sappy, he’s being embarrassing, but Cas’s arms are locked tight around Dean’s back like he never wants to let Dean go - so Dean closes his eyes and pretends that’s possible.

“Usually I instruct my clients in better ways to cuddle,” Cas says, “but I think you and I can work with this.”

Dean both hears and feels Cas’s voice against his ear, and if he moved his face just a little forward, he could press a kiss to Cas’s throat, the origin of every loving word Dean has heard over the past two years. “’Better ways to cuddle’?” he asks, a murmur against Cas’s neck. “This not good enough for you?” 

Cas’s shiver is easy to detect. He swallows. “On the contrary,” he says, “I think this is my favorite position now.”

Every sign in the universe is screaming at Dean to make a move, so he does it without sparing a thought for the repercussions: he takes a steadying breath and presses his lips to Cas’s neck. It’s impossible to mistake as anything other than what it is: a kiss, and one that lingers.

Cas sucks in a breath at the contact. His arms tighten around Dean reflexively. Dean can feel the nervous movement of Cas’s throat against his lips. After a moment’s pause, Cas says breathlessly, “I take it back; I can think of one better.”

Dean’s face is aflame, but he lets Cas tilt his chin up with a hand. 

Cas takes a moment to gauge Dean’s reaction. Whatever he sees must be a dead giveaway, because Cas’s eyes soften. His hand skates down Dean’s arm, a comforting, grounding warmth. He leans in and kisses Dean softly.

Dean kisses back. It’s suddenly everything to be in Cas’s hands, to be in Cas’s life, knowing he would only ever touch Dean with love. Dean pours his gratitude into his kiss and swears on all the deities listening that he’ll do everything in his power to make Cas feel as loved as Dean feels in this moment.

He draws back first, but only because it’s too much. He has to hide his embarrassment in Cas’s neck again. “Do that with all your clients?” 

It’s a joke, but Cas’s reply is immediate and sincere: “Just you.” He kisses Dean’s temple and holds him tighter.

“Good,” Dean mumbles. Then he says, more softly than he means to, “We gonna do that again?”

“Only if you want to,” Cas says. 

“Do you want to?” Dean doesn’t know why he needs to hear confirmation, but he holds his breath and clutches Cas’s shirt, silently begging.

“I’ve wanted to for as long as I can remember.” There’s only truth in Cas’s voice.

Dean relaxes into Cas’s hold. He breathes easy and presses closer. “I hope you’re ready to work some overtime, then,” he says.

“It’s hardly work to be cuddling you, Dean.” Cas is smiling; Dean can hear the love in it.

They stay in bed cuddling the rest of the day.

---------

tag list:

@super-powerful-queen-slayyna @lifeisingrey @crisp-tiger-riot @fangirlingtodeath513 @levicastho @dmsilvisart @hello-vague-stuff @bold-sartorial-statement @massivefaceperson-blog @livebloggingmydescentintomadness @shelterfr0mthestorm​ @neo-neo-neo​ @elegybot​

[onebizarrekai]

v3′s art is comically terrible for a professionally distributed game in a series: a compilation

in this not-essay I will list all of the mistakes and problems I have spotted in v3′s art. don’t worry, it’s entirely for fun and I’m doing this on a whim, so please feel free to not take this seriously but also it’s hilarious and embarrassing how ridiculous this is like what happened did they speedrun the whole production or what

see, there are some things you can take as meta like “they made it bad on purpose to allude to the downfall of tv shows that have been on air for much too long” but I have a very strong feeling this is not the case due to the nature of some of these errors

disclaimer, the more I study this art, the more I fear that the artists were underpaid and underslept, so if this is in fact the case, I am so sorry to all of them but also I’m going to make fun of the art anyway

anyway let’s get started!

if you study this image for longer than 5 seconds, you will see that kaede is the only one fully shaded and keebo is literally just his normal sprite pasted into the image. every other character is just an ordinary ref, hence most of them facing the exact same direction with neutral expressions on their faces. it looks like a bad edit, and is probably one of the worst pieces of art in the game. it kind of gets better from here on, but my roasting will not.

with that out of the way, here’s the problem that officially bothers me the most and clarifies my viewpoint of “this is not meta and an actual lack of company communication”

this freaking cg, which seems normal at a glance, but some wiseass was like “oh, kaede is a girl, so obviously she’s going to be shorter than the Male Protagonist™” ah, that’s funny. because if you look at the character bios, kaede is, in fact, one inch taller than shuichi and not like 6 inches shorter as she is shown here.

also shuichi’s shoulder is disproportionate and horrendous and he looks vaguely like a jojo character, but I wasn’t even thinking about that until right now.

thanks guys, 50% of the fandom who has never bothered to check these bios thinks that kaede is like 5′3 (did the developers really put so little thought into her to the point where drawing her correctly in the game didn’t even matter??)

also I would like to point out that, even though this isn’t related to the art itself, yes, a character kaede’s size being only 117 lbs is unfeasible, but this applies to literally every character in danganronpa ever and it’s not new news that it’s unrealistic

update: someone in the tags informed me that in versions of the game that use centimeters, like the japanese version, kaede is actually shorter than shuichi, which just adds another thing to the list of weird decisions the localization team made for no reason. that said, after confirming this, kaede is 167 cm in the original, while shuichi is 171 cm, which are approximately 5′6 and 5′7 respectively, but one inch is still nowhere near as drastic as it is depicted above. (in spite of this, I would rather depict kaede as slightly taller, so I’m probably going to keep doing that.)

the journey continues!

bro if you want kaede to have shoulder length hair then stick to it to begin with

you can pretend this is at an angle all you want but they definitely committed the shorter kaede sin a second time

wait a goddamn second.

DO YOU SEE THIS

no………… it wasn’t kaede who shrank. it was shuichi who got taller

speaking of which, can we talk about how shady the perspective is in this elevator pic? look at shuichi and kokichi in comparison to kaede. kokichi, who is canonically 7 inches (edit: or 5, if you’re loyal to the original) shorter than kaede, looks taller than kaede. he’s growing too. what steroids are these gays taking

running into the room, electric boogaloo: I don’t think tsumugi is supposed to be the same height as kokichi

gonta… gonta you’re lookin a bit like a jojo character there

I love how kaito’s head looks kind of like it was pasted onto his body. why is he the same size as shuichi? shouldn’t he be high school bully size or something? his torso is teensy

ah yes, white angie.

I love this cg but why is shuichi’s right hand so much bigger than his left hand

I also love how this cg looks like they literally took pictures of trees and pasted them into the background, especially on the left. the shadows are so weird, especially closer to the ceiling, it’s difficult for me to believe they didn’t do exactly that.

return of Enlarged shuichi

puberty update: kokichi is now taller than shuichi in spite of shuichi never missing leg day. what crimes will he commit

I have to mention it, guys. this has to be one of the worst danganronpa cgs. kokichi’s facial proportions look atrocious. look at the way his face sticks out like his jaw is in the wrong place. his scarf is a pasted texture. that’s it. this moment was so iconic but the cg just looks so… so… off. like something is terribly wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you know what? let’s get into that ‘pasted texture’ thing.

let’s imagine you’re an artist working on a professional game. you’re assigned to draw cgs of kokichi ouma, who has a checkered scarf from hell. sure, it will be terrible to draw, but you only have to draw it once at a time! plus, perspective is pretty important, right? can you be bothered? nah, actually. let’s just copy paste a checkered pattern into the cg, because I’m sure nobody will notice. it’ll blend right in with the other cgs that someone actually put effort into drawing his scarf in, right?

no. the answer is no and I very much noticed. this genuinely looks terrible and I would understand taking a shortcut like that in fanart or even an indie game but this is a full price pc and console distributed game

(an addition: look at kokichi’s TINY HANDS in that last one)

meanwhile, they straight up forgot to color in kokichi’s scarf in this cg.

dude. I forgot about whatever the hell this cg was. anyway look at keebo please just look at him

lovin kaito’s baby arms

real talk, maybe you could argue that he’s missing muscle because he’s deathly sick, but most of his cgs don’t line up with this, and his arms just look disproportionate to his torso size (granted this is a consistent problem across all danganronpa games and a lot of characters have this weird problem, like hajime, but also kaito is bigger than hajime so I kind of have higher expectations of him) maybe it’s his stupid goatee and the way he reminds me of yasuhiro?? it creates this illusion that he’s older than he is and so I keep expecting him to look more like an adult

oh, also rantaro is missing some of his accessories in that video he made–you know the one–but I don’t wanna go back and screenshot it

also you may have noticed that I’m skipping all of the monokub cgs because I literally do not care about them and I’m not even bothering to check and see if they have artistic mistakes in them

JIMMY NEUTRON???

hey um uh kaito you seem to be missing your neck

hey guys do you like my pregame fanart

so, that done, the sprites are also pretty terrible at times. they’re not as interesting to go through, however, and downloading the full sprite sets for every character and studying every single one of them will drive me insane, so I’ll just sum some of the ones I noticed up. I made things for kaede and shuichi before deciding I wasn’t going to get into it, so here are these.

that said, other mistakes include kokichi missing his purple highlights in all of the sprites encompassing a specific pose, stray pixels all over the place on everyone, and everyone also has heavily inconsistent shading, but literally all I think about is how pregame shuichi is unshaded and two of kaede’s pregame sprites have glaring outfit change mistakes in them

anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my ridiculous ramble. in all seriousness, there’s this looming presence of some lack of communication in the development team, like with all the art and design inconsistencies, pieces and sprites that look rushed, stray pixels, and missing basic proportional stuff. these are the kinds of things that you supposedly have to pretty much have in the bag in order to get jobs in professional businesses, so it’s really weird to me that this game suffers from so many of these problems. it’s like they tried to make the art so much more crisp than the other games, but it fell on its face as they realized it was going to take longer to draw everything and they started to rush. it’s weird, because the coloring itself looks normal–it’s just sloppily drawn, and the proportions are a mess once put into the context of perspective. many of the cgs look like they were drawn by different people, and I’m still not over the fact that half of kokichi’s cgs have his scarf pasted in as a texture.

the moral of the story is that if you’re selling a game at full price that also happens to be in a series that has had 3 very good games in it already the stakes should probably be higher than this. v3 has been out for more than 3 years and it’s still $40 (did it cost more than that before? I sure hope not), and the overarching quality of the game is just not as high as the other games. I’m not saying that the other games don’t have any problems with their art at all, they’re just not as glaringly obvious and every artistic choice in those games feels intentional.

regardless, I had a blast roasting the art at 2am, so maybe you got a kick out of all this chaos.

[libidinous-weeb]

Just Because (Bakugou x Reader)

Tags: 18+, dub-con/non-con (but it’s got a lighthearted(ISH) ending), overstim, degradation, mind break (kind of??? i guess?? not really), unspecified gender but reader has a puthy

Summary: Reader is a villain and annoyed that Dynamight won’t get off their ass when they do crime. So they capture him and decide to fuck about it. This started as me just wanting to lewd Bakugou in a discord server, but as per usual, i got carried away.

enjoy. or don’t. your choice ig lol. also not beta’d so sorry the capitalization is stupid.

when you perch your self on top of Dynamight’s lap, he’s confused at first. when you slide so close you’re sitting on his crotch, he starts to get the picture. he wants to ask you what the fuck you’re doing but he’s suddenly tongue tied. he’s confused about what you’re doing as he tries to wriggle away, but you don’t let him up. you have him on a bed somewhere, with his legs bound and his wrists trapped in quirk canceling handcuffs.

you start to grind on his cock, moaning quietly in his ear. he vaguely knows you, and you’re making him so hard, harder than he swears he’s ever been in his life. he vaguely knows you, and you’re making him so hard, harder than he swears he’s ever been in his life. he’s so embarrassed you have this effect on him. he’s Dynamight! a big time hero! he should have control over this situation, and someone like you with your soft lips and even softer thighs and perfect little ass that rubs up against him in the best way possible...you shouldn’t be the one that’s able to make him lose his iron like grip on his self control.

when you shove your tongue down his throat, it shouldn’t feel this good. he shouldn’t be moaning like a goddamn girl. he shouldn’t feel so good that part of his mind goes blank when you touch and kiss him. he shouldn’t get so flustered and his face shouldn’t be turning cherry red just because of some fucking extra. he shivers, and tries to fight the urge to tilt his head back as your hands move from his chest down lower and lower...

when you finally touch him through his pants, he bites his lip, hard. it’s just your hand, but it feels amazing. you aren’t even directly touching him, and he feels like some kind of pathetic teenager. he starts hoping you don’t notice how his hips are slowly rolling towards your touch.

“H-Hey! Stop—I said stop it!” he cries out, as your mouth moves from his lips to his neck where you kiss and suck and bite.

“I’m gonna have so much fun breaking you like this,” you whisper in his ear. “You’re not—you can’t...be thinking you’re gonna—“ you cut him off. “I’m gonna fuck you. Hard. And you’re gonna beg me to let you cum. I’ve wanted you inside me for so long, and I’m finally gonna make it happen. You’re not gonna stop me—you can’t. I’m gonna make you cum over and over again, no matter how much you beg me to stop.” his eyes widen a bit in surprise. “Y-You what? Why? Fucking cut it out! Let me go, you fucking freak!” he feels trapped, panicked. still, he’s not scared of you. he’s scared of the effect you have on him.

he’s kissed before. had sex, even (not often, but he’d die before he ever admitted that out loud), so why does it feel like he’s on fire right now? why does his body want this so badly when he doesnt? you pull his shirt over his head and bunch it up by his hands, which are restrained with the cuffs. then you slide your hand down his pants as your mouth moves to his nipples.

“Fuck, n-not there...” his nipples were sensitive and you sucking and teasing and biting at them makes him feel like he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. you aren’t even jerking him off, just groping his dick while you toy with his chest. he’s trying (and failing) to steady his voice while he yells at you. “S-Stop fucking...touching me already!” his voice is loud but it trembles when it escapes him. the way he lies beneath you, eyes clenched shut, his face hot and red, panting and trying to turn his face away from you as if the sight of you is too much for him...it’s too fucking hot. the way quiet moans slip out between words and the way he’s biting his lip to keep himself quiet...it’s all too irresistible. you need to have him, now. you slide his pants down and position yourself over his dick. “Don’t fucking—“ you cut him off with a harsh slap to the face, then grab him by his chin. “Shut. Up.” you momentarily stun him into silence as his eyes meet yours.

you hold his cock steady as you slide down on him and his eyes roll to the back of his head as a loud, desperate moan leaves him. “F-Fuck, wait! I can’t—!“ he cums. Dynamight, the pro hero, cums the second he bottoms out for the first time like a goddamn virgin. he gasps as his orgasm rushes out of him, surprising you both. he gets even redder still, something you didn’t think was possible. he keeps his eyes shut, brows furrowed as he tries to catch his breath. you laugh. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Big bad Bakugou’s so pathetic that my pussy makes him cum in under 30 seconds? Not so scary now, are you? Where’d all that attitude go? Come on, let’s see it!”

he still doesn’t open his eyes. he’s made of tougher stuff than this. he shouldn’t be brought to his knees by some extra’s fucking pussy. even with the way you slammed down on him out of nowhere. you’re just so tight and hot and soft and feel so fucking perfect...

his eyes shoot open in desperation when you start moving. “W-Wait! I can’t! I-I really can’t! Do-Don’t fucking—nnhg...fuckfuckfuck, stop fucking moving!” you wrap your hand around his throat and apply pressure. he’s grimacing now, all angry and squirmy, trying to free himself from you. you look him directly in the eyes as you choke him.“I told you. You’re not gonna stop me. I decide when it’s over. I’ve just gotten started. I’m gonna make you cum over and over and over again. And you’re gonna lie there and let me. You don’t have a choice. Got it?” you start gyrating your hips, fucking him in earnest. you keep your hand on his throat, letting him breathe but reminding him who’s in control.

he clenches his hands into fists, legs and body shaking as you take what you want from him. he bites his lips so hard to keep himself quiet that he draws blood. you kiss him and clean it up with your tongue as you run it over his lips. his cock feels like it was made for you, long and curved and thick. he still won’t look at you as you keep fucking him, getting close to your first orgasm. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” instinctively, katsuki opens his eyes and looks at you. you sitting atop him, back arched, breasts pushed forwards, thighs shaking, head thrown back with bliss written across your face...

“AAAAH FUCK!” katsuki cums again. it hurts but it feels so good. despite the fact that he hates this, he can’t deny how fucking hot you look, perched on top of him, cumming all over his cock. “You-You got what you wanted...right? so get-get the fuck off of-mmmh-off of me.”

you open your eyes. katsuki sees how hazy they look as you regain the ability to form words again. “N-No. Not done yet. Wanna come more.” Your airy, lighthearted chuckle confirms what katsuki had suspected. you’re fucked out but still drunk with lust. your first orgasm made you only want more. you started moving your hips again.

“F-Fucking shit...fuck...”at some point, bakugou couldn’t think anymore. he didn’t know up from down. the only thing that mattered was you, your fucking pussy, and how much your torture hurt in the best way possible. he stopped begging you to stop and started babbling about how good it felt, and how perfect you are. “God, FUCK you feel so fucking good, fuck, don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop. Please. Just keep fucking me, pleasegodpleasepleasepleaseyesyesyes—FUCK! Fuck, it feels so good. Love it, I fucking love it, FUCK! I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t fucking stop, please! FUCK, I can’t stop cumming, I can’t! I fucking love you, fucking love your pussy, fucking love, FUCKING YOU!”

when your hips gave out and you slumped over his chest, bakugou slid his cuffed hands behind you and flipped you both over. “Don’t fucking stop, pleasepleaseplease—“ you were in the same state as he was. you positioned his cock to your hole as he forced it inside you. your legs shook as he started thrusting in you, short sharp movements like a fucking dog. he was so desperate he was humping you like a fucking dog, and you loved it. “please bakugou, dynamight, katsuki, please fuck me more. i want it so bad, please! fuck, it still feels so fucking good, you and your perfect fucking cock, fucking me up over and over and over again—“

when you finally decided to stop you had both made yourself cum so many times you lost count. bakugou’s cock hurt. he’d cum so much he’d started having dry orgasms. and you were a mess. your pussy was sore. you’d squirted and dripped all over his cock so much there was a puddle underneath you both. you tried to stand but your legs kept shaking. the cuffs around bakugou’s wrists made a beeping sound and then opened, but neither of you registered it.

by the time both of you had regained some sense, you had sat up, and reached into a bedside table near the mattress in the abandoned warehouse you had him in. you shakily handed him a bottle of water as you grabbed one for yourself and did the same with some vending machine peanut butter crackers or some shit. You didn’t look that closely when you bought them. “Here. This is all I got right now. Take it.” without thinking, bakugou reached out to take them, then froze as he looked at his unrestrained hand dumbly. “How...?” “S’ on a timer. Wasn’t gonna kidnap you forever.” he blinked, then took your offering. you both sat in silence as you ate. you pulled out a large sharp knife from the same drawer and katsuki immediately tensed, worried you were going to attack him. “Hey. Here.” you handed him the knife. he stared at it, then you, then stared back at the knife. “It’s to free your legs, stupid.” he stared at you. “What? I’m a villain, but I’m not a monster, Katsuki. Not my fault you’re so fuckin irresistible.”

“You...You’re not gonna kill me?” “Nah. Just wanted to fuck ya. And it was totally worth it. you can arrest me now or whatever. Oh, and there’s some clothes for you in this drawer too, and some baby wipes. No shower though.” you sniff your armpit. “Eugh. Didn’t think to bring deodorant.” katsuki looks to you, and blinks at you owlishly. he finally speaks. “W-What the fuck was that? Why—How—“

“Reasons.” you say, and leave it at that.

[bananasmores]

Talking about what I’ve learned recently about art block/motivation in a way that I hope is helpful 

I have art block more often than I don’t have it, I think I just always have it and sometimes I can push art through the cracks of it very rarely, but it doesn’t seem to go away at all; making art has always been uncomfortable for me (personally) I’ve always been really frustrated because the only thing I’ve been passionate about is art, but if you don’t have any strong interests besides art and a vague idea of ‘getting good enough’ then you dont have things to draw and things come out stale and lifeless. honestly the best art advice that i didnt understand well enough when i heard it the first time, and only really GOT when i fell ass-backwards into figuring it out, was “find interests/hobbies that arent related to art”. 

if you let obsession with improvement and nothing else get ahold of you, it’s going to get out of control fast. ‘why am i not better yet when all i do is think about this and try to paint ladders on the wall to get out of this hole’. it gets really embarrassing to yourself.  It’s really really hard if you have this mentality but you have to draw for yourself, learn to be self indulgent. I’ve read literally those words a hundred times and didnt fully absorb them in a way i could act on, so i dont know that typing them here for other people having the same problem is helpful.  actual actionable advice that has helped me with this specific problem: -chase passing interests in anything, just enjoy things. put the idea of art out of your brain, itll come back. (personally the way that worked for me is “im very passionate about this subject and i want to tell people about it AND communicate how it makes me feel”)

-have secret hobbies to let yourself be bad at. pick up a new creative thing and make stuff that way without focusing on improvement, just enjoy whatever comes out of playing around. make some kind of pseudonym/secret blog/whatever so you can collect what you make. even if youre not trying to improve, its going to happen and being so new to something that youre constantly improving a ton is exciting and this will help you feel something about creating things without expectations. its especially fun if the specific avenue you go with has a reputation for being “cringe” or “childish”. have fun, cringe is fun.

  -if you post art and then keep checking back to see if people like it: holy shit do not post something when you’ve just finished it and you’re proud of it; make the art and then drop it in the queue for a few days away, make the time longer if youre antsy about it. try really hard to not tie your feelings to other peoples reactions to your art.

-i dont know how universal this is, maybe it’s just me being avoidant, but i make art and personal accounts separate, and turn off notifications for art accounts. if its important and for professional stuff, have a contact page. if its a tumblr sideblog where i doodle horses, i turn the askbox off. i don’t remember who said it but “i drew this for myself but you can look at it too if you want” has stuck with me and has been one of the most helpful things about art ive heard.

i think because of the entire Capitalism Thing, if you do art for a job, there’s a feeling that if it’s real work it needs to be miserable and hard or else you’re goofing off. but if you burn yourself out for years because you think art as a job needs to be torturous or it’s rude to people working other jobs then.obviously thats not sustainable. take care of yourself and your mental health. ive worked a lot of (non art, physical industrial) jobs and while i’m glad to do art now, please remember you’re a person before you’re your job title. (especially right now)  i hope this is understandable, ive been dealing with this issue (+avpd) for years and am finally starting to get ahold of it and i want to shorten this struggle for anyone else that has it if at all possible.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here