#feels a bit flat and muddy right now

[trash-art-central-blog]

Slowly but surely understanding the different tools

[katsu28]

34 osc with sick reader 🤭

this is actually so fitting bc i'm sick rn and would give anything to have an osc to take care of me

oscar piastri x reader, 1.3k. mentions of flu + flu symptoms but nothing too detailed. request something from here :)

“You should’ve told me you were ill.” 

Oscar fixes you to the spot with a slightly disapproving frown as soon as you pull open your front door, though it’s offset by the bulging paper bags dangling from both hands. 

You step aside to let him in, fighting the throbbing in your skull at the sudden movement. You’ve been holed up in your flat for almost a week with a pesky cough that had quickly morphed into a full blown case of the flu, rendering you pretty much useless for more than ten minutes. It’s been a struggle, but you didn’t want to bother anyone, especially not Oscar. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” You croak. Your words seem lost on him as he strides towards the kitchen to unload his bags. Gingerly, you follow him, focusing deeply on not keeling over in your slow hobble to lean against the counter.

“I had to hear it from Lando instead. You told Lando you were sick and not your own boyfriend?” 

“I didn’t want to get you sick, Osc. Your job is hard enough as it is, you shouldn’t have to risk making it more strenuous because I gave you whatever I’ve got.” Your reasonings die off into a hacking cough at the end, inhales that rattle through your chest painfully. Oscar winces at the sound, and his face softens. 

He pauses in his unpacking of what seems like an entire pharmacy, rounding the island to come stand in front of you, concern evident now. “I don’t care if I get sick. I wanna be here to help you.” 

“Why are you so perfect? It’s annoying.”

“It’s a gift.” He brushes off your backhanded compliment with a small smile and a shrug, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. “You’re still burning up. I brought some medicine just in case you needed anything else. Also honey lemon tea, chicken soup, and a bunch of electrolyte drinks my trainer swears by.” 

You blink, a little caught off guard by just how prepared he is. “Tea sounds nice.” 

“I’ll make you a cup. When was the last time you showered?” 

“Are you saying I stink?” You huff, mustering the most offended glare you can manage. It must not pack much of a punch, because it doesn’t phase Oscar, given his non-reaction. “Fine, I dunno. Three, four days ago?” 

“Yeesh. You should shower.” 

“Yes, I know that, mister obvious,” You gripe. The corners of his mouth lift in an amused smile. “I just can’t stand on my own for very long at the moment. Not without feeling like I’m about to pass out.” 

“I could help.” 

“Are you seriously trying to get into my pants right now?” 

Oscar’s cheeks flush bright red, ears doing the same. “No! No, I’m not—I’m trying to be helpful, honest to god.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I am! A shower would help you feel better, and I can help make sure you don’t, like, fall and hit your head, or something.” 

“Oh. Really?” Oscar nods, looking sincere, and suddenly you feel the slightest bit bad for assuming anything else. “Um, sure. That’s really kind of you, Osc.” 

“Well, I have been told I’m annoyingly perfect.”  

“Wonder who said that.” 

“My very sick, very stinky, very cute girlfriend.” 

“Tread carefully, Piastri.” 

“Always do.” 

You feel at your most vulnerable in front of Oscar as soon as he turns the water on, even though you’ve showered together many times before. 

This time feels different. More intimate. You’re putting yourself in his hands and letting him help you because you know he’ll do it with nothing but the utmost care. 

He’s stripped down to his underwear so as to not get the majority of his clothes wet. Even in your fever muddied state, you can admire the strong plane of his shoulders, the freckles and moles dotting his skin. The way the water pools in the hollow of his collarbones before cascading down his strong chest. 

If you were feeling more like yourself, you’d jump his bones. For now, you’ll settle on leaning back against him in the spray of the perfectly hot water, taking the support he gives. 

“Can I use your nice body wash? The lavender one?” 

“Mhm,” You mumble, already halfway to slumber. 

Oscar’s hands are beyond gentle as he washes your body, murmuring soft directions punctuated with quiet stories about what’s been going on in his life since the last time you’d seen each other. It all feels very domestic, something you could even see yourself having with Oscar in the future. You’re far from that right now, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t sound nice. 

“Hey, hey, don’t go to sleep on me,” He murmurs, nudging you gently. 

“M’not falling asleep,” You huff, pouting. Oscar lets out a chuckle that vibrates through his chest.

“Good. ‘Cause we’re all done here,” He says, rubbing a hand down your arm. He flicks the tap off, guides you out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy towel around you before grabbing one for himself. He even goes so far as to dry you off before you can even think of doing it yourself. As he towels his hair dry, he studies you with watchful eyes. “You alright? Wanna go to bed?” 

“I’m okay,” You say, feeling well rejuvenated thanks to Oscar. Now that the ache in your bones has dulled to bearable enough, you take note of your hunger. On cue, your stomach growls loud enough for him to hear. 

“Hungry, I see,” He chuckles. You smile sheepishly. “Why don’t we put some clean clothes on and I’ll heat up the soup?” 

You manage to dress yourself without Oscar’s help. When you pad out to the kitchen snuggled deep in a jumper of his that you’d nicked ages ago, he's just putting out a steaming hot mug of tea on the counter for you. A pot of soup simmers on the stovetop behind him, as promised. 

“Feel any better?” 

“Loads,” You sigh, dragging yourself to sit on a kitchen stool. The mug warms your palms nicely when you wrap your hands around it. “Thank you, Osc. I meant it when I said you were perfect, y’know.” 

Oscar smiles warmly. “If taking care of you means I’m perfect, then you're a saint for putting up with me.” 

“Being with you is easy, Osc.” 

“And taking care of you is too.” 

“I wanna kiss you so bad right now.” 

Oscar’s cheeks go pink, eyes squinting into a bashful close lipped smile. “What’s stopping you?” 

You pout. “Don’t wanna give you whatever I’ve got. I’d feel so guilty if I did.” 

“Reckon you should give my immune system more credit. I’ll be fine,” He assures you. “And if I do get sick, you can take care of me without worrying about catching it again. Because, like, antibodies, or whatever.” 

“Oh, so you’re a scientist now, are you?” You tease. Oscar shrugs. “I guess one kiss couldn’t hurt.” 

He beams wider, looking like a cat that’d just gotten the cream as he leans over the counter to offer his cheek towards you as you roll your eyes. You’ll give him that much for the help he's given you today. 

Before you can press a kiss to his waiting cheek, he rears back, ducking off to the side and into the crook of his elbow a split second before a sneeze escapes him. Then another, and a third one. 

You gasp, shoving your stool back and away from him. “I knew it! You’re gonna get sick, Osc!” 

“No, that was…allergies.” 

“Oscar!” You whine, burrowing deeper into your jumper. 

“It was!” He protests, but even that is weak. You can see right through him. “You know I have that thing with dust. Totally not you.” 

“I will kick you out.” You try your best to look threatening, but an ill timed bout of coughing rips through you yet again, making you groan a little at the scratch in your throat. Your forehead presses against the smooth countertop, the coolness bringing a little solace to your heated skin. 

Oscar’s palm smooths along your back, voice soft and fond as can be. “No, you won’t. You like me too much.”

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[moonstruckme]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing and saw that your requests were open so I thought I’d shoot this over. If you don’t vibe with it don’t worry about skipping it. I was wondering if I could request a James x reader where they are living together and definitely love each other but they’ve kind of slipped into a roommate phase. Like they’re just living around each other and reader starts feeling insecure and scared and doesn’t know how to get back into normalcy. Maybe a little angsty with some fluff at the end

Thanks lovely!

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.4k words

When James comes in the front door, his shoes squelch. You look him up and down, dripping wet and mud caked up to his knees. You wince. 

“Rough practice?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” James says, dropping his bag by the door and heading for the kitchen. 

There’s an exhausted slump to his shoulders, and his shoes leave a muddy trail of footprints, and you hate to do it, but—

“Would you mind taking off your shoes?” 

“Oh.” James looks down. You see him follow the trail with his eyes. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” 

You hate yourself as soon as it’s out of your mouth, because that’s exactly the sort of thing you’d say if it wasn’t fine. And yeah, you’re a bit peeved that he’d track mud inside after you’d mopped the floors just yesterday, but you know he wasn’t thinking about it and you’d promised yourself just this morning that you were going to be nicer to him and now he’s sitting on the floor looking like his day is getting worse instead of better. 

You try again. 

“Um, I made dinner.” You step over him awkwardly, setting a hand on his head to help yourself. James doesn’t shrink from the touch, but he doesn’t lean into it like you could swear he used to either. The stove turns off like it’s relieved to do it, having idled for close to a half hour while you waited for James to get home. You wanted to try and eat together tonight; you used to do it all the time, but lately you’ve been having too many couch dinners by your lonesome. “Macaroni and cheese, is that alright?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” You jolt a little at James’ hand on your back as he reaches around you for a bowl, and he looks at you, lips quirking like you’re funny. 

You find yourself smiling back by muscle memory, a reflex almost forgotten. It lifts your heart. 

“So, how was practice?” 

James glances up at you, then goes back to filling his bowl. “I’ve already told you,” he says. “Rough.” 

“Oh, right.” You huff out a little laugh. He passes you the spoon, and you take it without really looking at him. “Sorry.” 

His answering smile is weaker this time. More a press of his lips than anything. 

“Don’t be.” He kisses you on the cheek, then goes, pulling out his chair at the table. 

You take your seat, too. A lot of these base routines have begun to feel empty lately. They used to be an assurance for you, like if you always wore your same paths into the carpet you’d become so entrenched in this house, in James’ house, that neither he nor it could ever let you leave. You loved knowing that if he was back from his run when you woke up in the morning, there’d be a glass of orange juice waiting for you on the counter. That when the flowers on your kitchen table started to wilt you’d come home to a fresh bunch, and that if you called and told him you were having a bad day lunch from your favorite sandwich shop would miraculously show up at your work. Those things used to make your heart feel full to bursting, because they meant he was thinking of you. 

Now you’re not sure what they mean. They seem like things James does because he’s supposed to, like part of a script, a routine. Chores. 

As soon as he’s sat down, he’s digging into his dinner. James eats like a boy. Wolfing, like someone’s going to take it away from him. You hope it means he likes it. 

“What’d you do today, m’love?” he asks through a mouthful.

And see, he says things like that. Calls you his love, asks about your day. It’s all started to fall flat. You know he’ll take whatever answer you give him, because you’ve begun to suspect he doesn’t really care. 

“Nothing crazy,” you answer honestly. “Shayna’s baby came early, so I’m taking on a bit more at work until they can find someone to fill in for her. So that’s a bit stressful, but it’s not awful.” 

“Mm.” James nods, but doesn’t offer more than that. His mouth seems to be perpetually full. 

You fork a macaroni noodle, pretending you have more appetite than you do. Truthfully, you’ve felt weird and off and vaguely nauseous all day. 

Last night had been a bit of a breaking point for you. It came on rather suddenly. You’d gone to bed long after James, but you couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t seem to tear your eyes from him, the way the moonlight snuck in through the slats in your blinds to fall across his sleeping face. He was so beautiful, and you loved him so much you didn’t know what to do with it all, and then you were crying. 

You’d wept silently, wishing James would wake up, but you were unwilling to rouse him and he wasn’t going to do it himself. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep with your pillowcase damp and cold under your cheek and woke to find James’ side of the bed empty as usual. Orange juice on the counter. 

“I was wondering if you might want to watch a film tonight,” you say lightly. “I saw they’ve put that sci-fi one you like back on Netflix.” 

“Ah, have they really?” James swallows, forks another bite. “Wish I could, but I’m supposed to meet everyone at Spoons in a few minutes here.” 

Oh. The realization hits you like a dull thud, smack in the center of your chest. He’s not eating quickly because he likes your food; it’s because he wants to leave. 

“Can’t you stay here?” Your voice is small. James looks at you like he’s not sure what to make of it. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart.” He offers you a smile. His fork clinks in the bottom of an empty bowl, and his chair screeches as it’s pushed back. James brushes his lips across your cheek as he goes by. “We’ll have to do it this weekend, though, definitely.” 

You know by now these sorts of promises aren’t meant to keep. They come written in disappearing ink.

He heads upstairs to change, and desperation grips you. It forgets he’ll be home later and puts you hot on his heels, your own dinner left on the table barely touched. 

“Jamie, wait.” He pauses with his shirt half off, looking over at you in the doorway of your bedroom. “Don’t you feel like we’ve not had much time together lately?” you ask. 

The plea is naked in your tone, and James’ eyes soften. He tugs his shirt off, straightens his glasses.

“I haven’t had time for much of anything lately,” he says, shrugging good-naturedly. 

It’s true. He’s been busy. His new coach seems to think the team has nothing but time, and as captain James is expected to commit even more than most. When he’s not at training, he’s keeping fit on his own or running errands for his mum or sleeping it all off in your bed. 

“But you should come tonight,” James goes on brightly. “Dorcas and Marlene will be there, it’ll be fun.” 

He tosses his clothes in the laundry bin and makes his way over to the dresser. You cross your arms, then uncross them. Parse your words. “I don’t…I just feel like you hung out with your friends last night.” 

“You could’ve come then, too,” he says, stepping into a pair of jeans. “They all love you, you know that.” 

“I don’t want to hang out with your friends.” It comes out sharper than you intend, though still less sharp than the look James gives you. He’s finished getting dressed but doesn’t make to leave. “That’s not what I mean. I like your friends, but it’s not…the same as spending time with you. It doesn’t count, for me.” Your voice softens on the last two words, knowing that for James, it might very well count. 

For him, you’ve gathered, social time is social time. So long as you’re there, he’ll feel just as connected to you as if you were curled up on the couch together having a private conversation. You wish your brain worked the same way, but it doesn’t. 

He’s looking at you with something like trepidation now, so you state it plainly. 

“I really miss you, Jamie.” A blockage rises in your throat. You swallow it back down. “I feel like…I don’t know what’s going on with us lately.” 

“We’re the same as we have been.” He looks confused, worse when your face pinches painfully. 

“And that’s all?” You try to blink them away, but tears burn in your eyes. “This is just what we do now?” 

“No.” James looks appalled, but you catch the quick glance he gives to the digital clock on his nightstand. “It’s only for now, just until the season’s over and Coach mellows out. Where’s this coming from?” 

You blink hard, angling your head away from him. “Nothing, sorry. I’m just being emotional.” Your breath scrapes on the way in. You pretend it doesn’t. “It’s okay if you have to go.” 

He shakes his head, and when you start back towards the stairs anyway, he says, “No, come on.” In a few long strides, he’s got your elbow. He tugs you gently back into the room. “Let’s sit down, okay? What’s going on?” 

“Sorry.” Your voice is pitchy and tight. You think you hear James inhale softly before he’s drawing you into a hug. It doesn’t feel quite like it used to, but it’s still warm, still nice. 

He sits you both down on the edge of your bed, arms still wrapped loosely around you. “What are you sorry for, baby?” 

“I was going to try not to make your life harder today,” you laugh wetly, pulling back from him to swipe under your eyes. 

“You don’t make my life harder,” James says, somewhere near to dismayed as he slides his hand to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t.” 

You give him a look meant to say, Oh, come on, but you’re not sure how it comes off with your face blotchy and snot starting to run from your nose. You take in a big breath.  

“I think I’ve made it harder more than I’ve made it easier lately,” you admit, looking at your bedcover and also at nothing at all. “I didn’t even really realize until recently, but I’ve just felt so…disconnected from you lately. It’s like even when you’re here, I’m just around you and not with you, and—” Your voice catches. You inhale again. “And I know you’re really busy, but I’m just trying to find ways to fix it.” 

James’ hand drops from your shoulder, into his lap, and you lift your gaze. He looks crestfallen. “What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly, his own voice starting to sound raw. “I can’t control these things. And we live together, I see you all the time. It doesn’t seem fair to ask me not to see my mates.” 

“I’m not asking you to do that.” You’re horrified. “But that’s just it, Jamie, it’s like we only live together anymore. Saying hi when you come in, waving when you go back out, those don’t count as quality time for me. And I wish I could get the same feelings from being in a big group that you do, but I can’t.” 

James looks at you helplessly. You shrug, just as powerless. 

“I know it’s not your fault,” you tell him. A tear drips off your chin. “I don’t know what to do, either. I just want you to know that I’m trying, okay?” 

James nods for a minute. Thoughtful, heartbroken. He lets out a big breath. Your arms come around each other at almost the same time, so in sync you can’t be sure who reaches for the other first. You’re trying not to get snot on his fresh shirt, but he palms the back of your head, pressing your face to his shoulder. 

“Okay,” he says quietly. “You’re right, we should both be trying more. I think I’ve let myself get so overwhelmed that I’m not…I’m almost not even thinking throughout the day, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with all of this by yourself.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, and a little laugh rumbles through James’ chest. He hugs you tighter. 

“It is a little bit, though, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying attention. But okay, let’s make a plan for now.” His hand splays out between your shoulder blades, and you clutch at the material of his shirt, both of you wordlessly trying to get closer as if you can make up for lost time. “Come with me tonight, please.” You go still, but James goes on, “I know it’s not a solution, but I can’t back out and I’d really feel so much better if you were there. Please, angel. And tomorrow, we’ll stay in and watch something. Not a film only I like,” he gives your back a teasing little squeeze, “but something we can both enjoy. Or we can just talk, or play a game, I don’t care. Tomorrow is our night, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you sniff, nodding and pulling away slightly so you can wipe your face. James joins in, pinching your nose clean for you and wiping the snot on his jeans carelessly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll try to clear my busy schedule.” 

He smiles. It’s like the sun beaming through clouds. “I’d appreciate that. Really hard to get ahold of you these days.” You let out a little laugh, and his grin spreads. “Good. So that’s for now, and at training on Friday I’m going to talk to Coach about cutting down on our hours.” 

You feel your eyebrows pinch. “Jamie, you don’t have to—” 

“I do,” he says. “I’ve been a wuss about it, but everyone on the team is miffed and it’s really my job to handle it. Coach doesn’t know everything yet, so I can at least give him some advice about how we operate best.” 

James palms the back of your neck, pulling you towards him and meeting you halfway. His forehead presses against yours. 

“I’m really glad you said something. Thanks for being the smart one, as usual.” Your smile is small at first, but James nudges his nose against yours until it blooms in full. “We’re gonna make it better, okay?” 

You swallow thickly. “Okay. Thanks, Jamie.” 

“Don’t thank me.” His voice takes on a tender quality, and you push your forehead into his. He palms your cheeks in response, stamping his lips to your forehead. “Love you, sweetheart.” 

“I love you, too.” 

That was never up for debate. 

[cherri3berri3s]

Bull in the Heather Pt.1┃Ticci Toby x reader

Warning: maybe brief mentions of self-harm, in-depth descriptions of manic episodes, active violence, verbal/physical abuse + drug use

Synopsis: After your bipolar boyfriend is placed in the psych ward on account of murder, you're faced with the task of understanding why and more importantly, what forces are leading to his odd behaviors?

Word count: 3k+ words Category: angst

Death plagues my senses.

Various flickering lights scattered across the dense room as the bright contrast etched into my memory. The white plastered walls were muddied with the occasional grease stain and random droplets of blood, more than likely a result of a petty fight from at least one of the patients. Not to mention the smell reeked of old urine and medical supplies, almost like being shoved inside a ginormous latex glove. 

They say it goes against human nature to ignore death and walk right to it, yet I still find myself rushing to embrace even the slightest glimpse of it. The sound of my flats obnoxiously clacking against the imperial textured floor strains my ears, making each step that more nauseating.

I feel sick. Almost as though my stomach could spill any second knowing what I know now. And still, I'm here to see him.

Walking eagerly down the dingy hallway, a man in blue right at my side. I feel the pressure of his gaze watching each movement I've drawn to make. Stopping abruptly at an isolated door, his calloused hands dashed straight to the keys buried deeply within his pockets.

"He's been raging like a bitch in heat for a couple of days now," the man before me remarked, a small hint of a southern accent peaking in between words. "Just don't do anything stupid enough to make the aftermath my problem."

" Trust me, it doesn't matter what I do," I announce, an eyebrow raised as my eyes dart to the name tag hung near his chest. "Watching him, you'll understand soon enough."

A vivid chuckle escapes his lips. Unfazed yet humored by the words that cheekily spilled from my mouth. Like clockwork, the clicking sound of the now-unlocked door rings throughout the hall. His hands impatiently awaiting my response to turn the knob.

"You think you can handle this one, don't you."

" I think I got this from here on out… 'Mr. Wright'." 

As sudden as it was, the door flew open. Revealing two other staff standing firmly on either side of  Toby; unburdened by the underlying unruliness of his demeanor. Sitting amongst the room of empty seats and active surveillance was none other than the one person I traveled all this way to see, the one person I needed so desperately to be near.

As each vigorous step loudly ricochets throughout the near-empty room, the only active movement other than mine was Toby's eyes furiously following my every move. His body remaining as still as it was long before I entered the room.

Seated across from him, I felt dejected. The sorrow in the situation briskly destroying the little pieces of admiration I'd been holding onto just for him. All the while those eyes I've grown to cherish seemed even more lifeless and dull than they did before. 

"Hi baby"  I said lightly. My gaze fixed upon the man I could've sworn I was beginning to understand even the tiniest bit.

His elbows laid across the table as support, bringing forth his scarred body just inches closer to mine. Our faces leveled to each other as a bewildered grin met his expression. 

"You worthless bitch." He says between gritted teeth, that smirk never faltering. "Don't walk your prissy ass on over here thinking we're gonna play house just that easily." He spat, lingering closely before slowly sliding back into his seat. His brows remained furrowed as his body simultaneously looked both calm and tense. His intense stare stuck on me in deep thought.

"...You put me here." He claims with surety.

"The police put you here-"

"You told them to bring me here,"

"It was either that or jail," I add harshly. The air in the room growing thinner as my once active attempt at being nonchalant slowly began to vanish.

"I still don't know what you are," I delicately claim, not once removing my eyes from the person in front of me. "And I still don't know what you do either," I pressed on. Focused on his abstract mannerisms. "But I'd be damned if after all of this you'd still want to hold what I don't know against me." I finished, irritated and worried.

"You'll know exactly what I can be once he's found me." He asserts, an eerie yet light-hearted smile meets his lips. His brows finally softening in its wake.

"Who's he Toby?"

"Him; The operator. The operator and all his little-" He begins, shortly raving on as I shake my head in detest. Uttering 'no' continuously out into the open.

"Not this 'operator' bullshit again,"

"He made me what I am," He proudly voices, almost confused as to why I despised the thought. "As perfectly fucked as it is, I can't wait for him to change you too."

"Don't tell me this shit! Toby, these police fucks found human remains linked back to you and all I've been trying to do is get your nut ass back home." I bitterly voiced. Toby's now partial silence and unmoving expression eating away at my thoughts. "Don't tell me this 'operator' bullshit is the reason."

"Not possible…" He confusedly says. Without warning, he leaps out of his seat, yanking my arm to move my body closer to his regardless of the table barrier. The staff unhesitantly sprinting to action yet soon stopping at my gesture against it. Leaning into my ear, Toby whispers-

"How can a body be found when I've burned them all."

"I never said how they found the body…" I reason in a low voice. My eyes never leaving his even after his fast-paced movements. Locked in his stupefied daze, I continue, " I know you're guilty, but right now,  I want you back home anyways." Our bodies trapped in an unmoving touch beginning to soften with his now lighter grip. "Just tell me why baby, tell me how to help you-"

"The cops tell you to say that?" His head tilts, smirk returning to his cheeks."Bad enough your ungrateful ass is why we're sitting here to begin with, right?" The grip he held on my arms once again continued to tighten, rage displayed all throughout his brown pupils.

"Not even a fucking fool with a dick for brains and a head between their thighs would wanna find their way home with you." Arrogantly, he plops down into his seat. Everyone else in the room left standing and on edge.

"Y'know, you've changed everything but the fucking situation at hand, and come to think I thought you were smarter than this Y/n." 

Glaring upwards, his clenched teeth continued to expose his thoughts.

"I know my place in this world, and it will always be by The operator."

Steadily, I found my way back onto my seat. Arms crossed just as the curly haired brunette across from me. "Why choose a life in all of this when you know damn well I've been loving you." I say, soft-spoken as his expression remained unfazed.

"I'm sorry, did you want me to play dress up too?" he chuckles, sneering as he looks me up n' down. "You wouldn't know what love is even if it fucked you to sleep every night."

"Tobias," I breathily utter, despondent in my approach. "Just help me understand this shit and I swear I'll get you outta here."

Playfully, he states "You think I've been needing you? You think I fucking want your help?"

"I think you're forgetting every sacrifice I have made and will continue to make for you." Leaning into the table, my arms still linked together, I assertively imply "You can kill me if you think I'd let it all stop right here."

"Well then, I guess you can add one more body to the list. You'd be a good human only if you were a dead one anyways, right my love?" He leans in closer, the table keeping us both distanced yet barely disengaged.

"Tell me now, what is 'The operator'?"

"May he have mercy on what's left of you after they're done." Toby muttered, leaning comfortably back in his chair. "Es ist zeit mein Vögelchen." He relays, a void yet cocky expression overtaking every inch of his face.

"You're a piece of work, Toby." 

Without a second to spare, one of the lingering staff swoops in. Tapping my shoulder to signal that they did indeed want me out of the hospital room. 

Swiftly getting up from my seat, I couldn't help but look to my lover one last time. His signature black gloves were long confiscated, exposing the tears in the brittle flesh of his hands from excessive biting. The gash in his cheek covered with gauze and medical adhesive tape preventing him from moving to the next best thing when it comes to his picking habits. 

As pained as I remained seeing him in such a bland and revealing setting, I couldn't help but get this twinge of understanding telling me that he was cleaner and possibly far healthier than before. 

Realizing I'd been distracted by my brief observations, I avoid settling the score, opening my mouth to speak to him once more.

"Is this your final choice?"

"Fuck you." He spit. Anger and aggression seeping from his lips in a final attempt to draw me away. The guard escorts me back to the main entrance impatiently as an air of embarrassment hit my cheeks.

Nearly stumbling out the door, I adjust my leather trench coat and place on my metal oval sunglasses. 

'What a waste of my fucking time. I already knew he would try pushing the buttons.'

"Y'know, even I could've told you that he's been manic all damn week." 

Shooting my head towards the unknown yet familiar voice, I immediately realized it was the same asshole who escorted me in.

"Oh wait, I think I actually did." He sarcastically shrugged, leaning against the entrance wall.

"Oh yeah? Well I think I need a fucking smoke." I pessimistically added. Reaching straight for my coat pocket.

"Well now you're talking my language, what kind?"

"Virginia slims." I said smoothly. Flickering the lighter until it sparked on the tip of the cigarette.

"Virginia slims? Might as well get you some Parliaments."

"Yuck," I exclaimed, making a feigned face of disgust. "You insult me."

Undoubtedly, the two of us erupted in a brief fit of chuckles. Amused by the other's bitchiness at such a time of momentary significance. However, the now swift silence ate quickly at the other's tongues. Leaving what felt like an odd bubble of time to speak what's really been on our minds.

"So, you come out here dressed like Carrie Moss and wonder why you get thrown back to the door?" He addresses. An eyebrow raised; less in a questioning way as much as it was humorous.

"That's far from what happened."

"Oh right, he told you about The Operator first, then kicked you out." 

Almost instinctively, my head speedily bolts back up to his face. Ignoring the cigarette lazily hanging from my mouth as I snatched it with both my pointer finger and my thumb.

"Sounds like he knew you'd bite off more than you could chew." He finishes. Pretending to analyze the situation as though he'd discovered the secret of the year.

"So what are you saying," I sputtered out intensely. No longer shying away from the truth that this guy knows something. "He thinks he's helping me?" 

"How charming of him." He smirks, indirectly answering my question. "Gee- I didn't think his balls were full grown."

Without a chance to process, he pulls out his own cigarette. The bent pack of Marlboro reds still shining in the afternoon light. "Before you got here he was just a twitching- time bomb with a strange habit of stuttering." Lighting up the cig, he takes one long inhale before releasing the strong vapor into the air. "I didn't think he'd control it the way he did just to tear you a new one."

" Correct me if I'm wrong," I rushed in, slight confusion riddling my face as my motives for understanding the situation changed. "But I didn't know hospital staff were allowed to dabble in their patients' personal lives. If that's what you are, Tim Wright." 

" I suppose," He said, placing the cig back onto its resting spot on his lips. Silence overtaking the mood once again, leaving only thoughts to fester.

Turning back around, I place my attention towards fetching my car keys to immediately get the fuck up outta there. Walking with haste, I momentarily stop to respond.

"Well it was nice fucking around but-" Briefly turning back, I realized that… he's gone. '...How freaky.'

Making it to my car, a white lined piece of paper remained folded onto my windshield. Hesitantly, I snatch the sheet straight off. Flipping it to see the bold words written in black Sharpie.

'He's always watching' Underneath, the note's signed by Tim. 

"How sweet," I snidely whispered. Paranoia and worry getting to my head.

A faint hint of gas drifts past my nose, wafting in the air alongside a more savory smell. Cans of diced tomatoes and marinara lay empty as scraps of cheese littered the counter. The T.V. in the next room serving only as background noise to keep my head temporarily occupied.

A full week had passed since I'd last seen Toby, and as tough as it was, I had gone on convincing myself that it wasn't too bad. Just more ominous and lonely than usual.

My phone rested on my ear as I remained attentive in a short-lived conversation with my mother. Extremely tired of the bullshit 'I told you so' responses I had been getting. It only took a day and a half for word to get around that Toby got thrown in the psych and suddenly, this woman couldn't stop blowing up my phone.

Dusting off my hands, I listened to her unfiltered banter as my arms crossed to my chest.

"I always knew I gave birth to a fucking felon. Had you done as I said almost two years ago now you'd still be home you rotten bitch! "

Pacing the floor in my white baby tee and low-rise bell-bottom jeans, I measly affirmed her every word. "You've done nothing but bring shame to me and break our family apart! All for that basket-case you laid up with, "

Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes. Harboring the truth of what I'd actually wanted to say, opting to only listen to her mouth run instead.

"You're an unwanted embarrassment that's made herself some psycho's TRAMP !"

"Ma," I said in a serious yet unfazed tone, "Have you been taking your meds?"

"Oh, so NOW I must be crazy for saying what I think needs to be said?"

Chuckling lightly, I switch my phone to my opposite ear. Amused by my mothers' rampage and active attempts to ignore my current concerns.

"Not crazy; unmedicated mama."

As she huffed in annoyance, her constant shifting can be heard on the other end. "I can't believe you're the only one of my children to do this to me."

"Do what ma? Talk?" I jokingly pressed on. An unintentional smile meeting my face. "Look, If you need more antipsychotics I'll gladly give you mine. Just go bake a cake or something. Maybe sniff some crayons…" 

"Listen here you ungrateful bitch, just bring the pasta you made over and…blah blah blah." Was all I heard amidst her next response.

 Interrupted by a deafening crash upstairs, my movements came to an immediate halt. Glass toppling over and crackling into tiny pieces echoes over the static of my phone. Sharp crunching can be heard as another set of footsteps resound throughout the whole house. Dauntingly, it stops near the stairs in complete silence.

If there was one thing I could thank Toby for doing, it was stressing about my safety so much that he taught me self-defense. Hearing the creaking of the steps, I recognized two male voices. Low and steady, not loud enough to differentiate. Watching idly behind the kitchen wall, I stand close to the archway, knife in hand.

For every step that made its way towards my direction, I positioned myself and prepared to make a silent move. Seeing feet just barely pass the walkway, I swing my arm around in a defective punch drawing attention away from my grasp on the knife.

Expectantly, the unknown visitor ducks away from the punch, discarding the knife as he begins restraining both arms above my head, roughly pinning me against the wall. As my back abruptly slams into the sheetrock, I instinctively lift my leg to kick him in the balls. Watching as he only gasps and clenches my wrist tighter, I lunge towards the guy's neck. Biting down as hard as I could without letting go.

In an instant, I'm yanked from the man by his 'friend' and restrained midair, not yet ready to go down without a fight. Struggling against my captor, I aggressively kick and punch before hearing the two voices word vomit defenses.

"Y/n, baby it's me! Scheiße…"

"Let me the FUCK GO-" I screamed, elbowing the one holding me in the throat.

Backing off towards the wall, I get a clear view of the pair.

Without a doubt, there stood Toby before me. His curly brown hair messily framed his face as he stood on edge and ready. Unlike his hospital attire, he wore a black " Smashing Pumpkins" t-shirt, loose jeans, and some black Vans. Next to Toby grasping his throat in a coughing fit stood a very familiar face as well, still recovering from the massive blow to his neck.

"What the hell Tobias," I said in a stern yet breathless voice. "You dickwads just broke into my fucking house!" I pressed on, beyond angered and befuddled. 

"Well no shit we did!" continued the man in a red flannel, "I'm glad we're all on the same page-"

"I knew you weren't some fucking doctor or whatever bullshit you said you were," I raged on, "You brought this fucking liar to my house?!"

"No, no, I brought Tobias to your fucking house! Now say thank you so we all could fucking move on," Tim sorely stated, rubbing his throat as he exasperatedly stares into my direction.

Side-eyeing the both of them, I calm down just enough to speak through a huffed sigh.

"What are you doing here?" I exhaustedly replied

"Damn, I almost thought you wanted me here," Toby said with a tilted head and a partial smirk on his face.

"Don't fuck with me-"

"I just got out, can I explain this to y-you later?" he brushes off, attempting to walk away.

"No."

"Great," Tim perked up, "Now we can talk about important things. Like how you brought out a damn meat cleaver to chop up dear ole' lover boy to pieces-" he calmly states.

 "I didn't know who the fuck you both were-"

"Well I'm glad you know now," Toby smiled, a gentle laugh escaping his mouth as he sits down on the couch. "I guess I came back here just 'cause I missed you so much" He muttered, tilting his head back to release a prolonged sigh.

"I find that hard to believe." I relay with an unamused look.

"Maybe you w-wouldn't if you were sitting your ass down with me," Looking up at me with wishful eyes, Toby doesn't budge. Taking a deep breath out, I find myself walking over to my boyfriend, his eyes never truly leaving mine as I sat close by.

"Mein vögelchen," he lets out in a soft tone, his eyes fluttering as his doe-eyed expression ate away at my thoughts

"You're an idiot." I breathed out, a distance still marked between us.

"I know," he whispered, his lips curled in an almost saddened reality. Hurt passing right on by as he longingly wanted to say more. "You still like me?"

"If I didn't, you'd probably be chopped n' fed to the neighbors' dog by now." I laughed, garnering a chuckle from Toby himself as he relaxed. "I'm actually surprised I didn't hear any barking this whole time,"

In a heartbeat, the room stilled. Toby looked to the side in a slow yet guilty manner as Tim refocused on the conversation. 

"I had no parts." Tim casually said, irritated nonetheless as he remained still by the window. Looking out occasionally as though there were more to spy on.

"What the fuck did you guys do to the neighbor's dog?" 

"I don't know, maybe you should ask him." Toby said, nodding to the window as if the dog could speak for himself.

"I need a fucking cigarette," I exclaimed, hopping outta my seat to make my way back to the kitchen. "You fuckers still haven't told me why you're here and now you've killed a fucking dog!" I passive-aggressively spit.

"He's not d-dead he's just knocked out," He claims, gesturing for Tim to pass him a light "Our little puppy friend is trippin' off some trazodone from the ward" He mumbles with the cig between his teeth, taking a long ass hit.

"Like that makes it any fucking better!" I add, "Bad enough your ass is already wanted for 'alleged' murder."

"Bad enough I had to break him out of the hospital for that exact same reason," Tim buts in, arm lazily thrown on the wall as he goes back to watching outside the window.

"Un-fucking-believable, un-believable." I shake my head, pissed that I'm now caught in the middle of it. "You need a chaperone and even your chaperone is a fuck up."

"Look, you wanna know why we're here?" Toby nods to me, resting his cigarette between his two fingers. "You wanna know what the fucking operator is?" 

"Yes, I think I actually do."

"Don't be stupid," he bites back, placing his smoke back onto his lips as his next breath in was rugged and deep.

"You have any visitors coming?" Tim questions, my head rushing towards where he stood.

"Hell no,"

"Great, well you both can be stupid later," Tim says, shutting the window and ushering towards the lights in the house. "There's someone on their way here."

Hurriedly burning out the ash on the tip of his shoes, Toby runs up the stairs with familiarity. Hearing a knock roughly shake the door, Tim looks at me, muttering a short plan as he rushes far into one of the rooms upstairs.

Listening to the steps loudly run throughout the house, I'm once again left to face the brief yet unanswered knock at the door.

"Fuck"

A/N: This shit took fucking weeks to finish and I'm far from actually being finished w/ the plot line. Anyway, there's a lot more in the works that I've enjoyed making

You’re free to reblog if you want!

© CHERRI3BERRI3S - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE OR CLAIM MY WORK AS YOUR OWN

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Lol not to seem too eager buuuutttt....may I request some good ole Four content? Ngl he totally gives off the vibe of a man who would definitely like worship their lover, ie body worship with Four. If you're down? ✨️👀

Can totally see him go absolutely 'heart eyes, lemme get my hands on you' if his lover wore like body jewelry, dainty chains and the like. Whether reader is doing this purposefully to like seduce their man away from the forge or something is up to you 😉❤️

Love your work as always 🥰

Absolutely!! I'm so in love with this request, you know exactly what I like! Enjoy <33

Every Time We Touch

Pairing: Four x Reader

Warning(s): Tooth-rottingly fluffy smut <33

Notes: Inspired by THIS lovely cover of "Everytime We Touch" by Cascada. For the love of god PLEASE listen to this. Also, Reader and Four are in an established relationship <33

Masterlist

You awoke at midnight; when the sky was dark, the stars bright, and the room silent. It began with your eyelids, fluttering weakly against the sleep crusting them together, and a sharp, quiet inhale that served more as a reminder to breathe than an actual attempt to drag air back into your still lungs, chest rising against the arm slung softly over the flat of your stomach.

Ah, so that's why the sheets felt warmer, and the weight at your side a bit too pressing to be a folded bit of blanket. Slowly, your neck turned, head tilting just enough to bury your nose in Four's soft, blonde locks, untethered by any such headband. He smelled like forge smoke and smoldering metal, with the barest hint of soap clinging to the tail of the scents, but it wasn't as offensive as you suspected it should have been. It was fine; you were no rose yourself, at least not right now.

Still, he was warm. Very warm, and very cuddly, considering the fact that his entire, bare front was smooshed to your side, cheek practically molded to the meat of your shoulder as the rest of his head curled into the junction at the base of your neck. Unhurried breaths filtered across bared flesh, stirring streaks of goosebumps in their wake, and it took every last shred of willpower in your body to cling to the remnants of sleep and pretend insomnia wasn't a thing you suffered from on the rare occasion.

It was a fruitless effort, seeing as your boyfriend breathed a soft hum, brows furrowing minutely as he was torn from sleep, the fingers at your hip curling around it a bit more solidly, pressing firm enough to feel the slight jut of bone.

"Morning," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and the smallest droplet of concern; nosing at the flesh of your throat, feeling the soft pulse of blood beneath sleep-flushed skin.

"It's not," you kept your voice low, if only in a halfhearted attempt to coax him to sleep again. Dry, sleep-tacky lips molded a delicate kiss to the bobbing column of your trachea, and Four shifted some in an attempt to regain his waking bearings, ear pressed above your heart as he continued to stroke your hip. It wasn't meant to arouse or otherwise tempt you–not yet, anyway–but you still felt your thighs twitch faintly beneath the fabric of your night clothes.

"I can hear your heartbeat," the Hero of the Four Sword murmured, though you suspected it was more to himself than anything. There was a short pause. His ear twitched against the top of your chest, and you swore you saw a flash of lavender in his muddy-moss irises. "Why are you up?"

"Dunno," was your response; mostly because it was simple. Simplicity was as much a gift as it was a curse, especially in the dark and dead of the night. "Can't sleep, s'all."

Four hummed. The noise vibrated softly against your collarbone. It was hard to see in the dark, but you were pretty sure he was smiling when he asked: "Can I get you anything?"

You shook your head; you hadn't the faintest clue what could cure this besides, well, sleep, but that seemed a bit out of reach at the current moment. Still, it was sweet. Very sweet. You could kiss him right now.

So you did.

It was a small peck–delivered to the crown of his head with such gentleness that you were sure not even the ever-vigilant Hero of the Four Sword would have caught it had he been asleep–but a small peck that was returned with a smooch to the underside of your jaw, lips pressed to soft, yielding skin, and a comforting squeeze of your hip. If he wasn't already molded to your side before, then he sure as hell was now. You didn't mind. You liked it when he got close.

A faint giggle filtered from your lips when the kisses–on your collarbone, neck, jaw–kept coming, each as warm and slow as the last. Your head lolled against the pillow to allow him access, a faint sigh of satisfaction huffing from your nose. In his eyes, through the vivid darkness, you swore you saw red, then blue, with a faint smattering of green and violet.

"I have an idea," the fingers at your hip began to tap a gentle, almost playful pattern, though it was the furthest thing from demanding. The muscles in your thighs twitched with interest, as did a few other key areas in your body, but you brushed them aside, allowing curiosity to take the wheel.

"What kind of idea?" you asked, a bit more awake now that the conversation seemed to be moving into the realm of deeper thought.

Fingers danced to the hem of your tunic, right where it rode up to reveal a sliver of skin; never dipping beneath, but feeling all the same. "The kind that'll help you sleep."

Well, you couldn't argue with that. Let it never be said that the Hero of the Four Sword wasn't a man of many talents, and while smithing and fighting were hard-wrought specialties, he was just as clever crafting an orgasm as a blade.

"Only if you want," Four finished after a hot, still beat, and you would have kissed him had the angle not been so precarious. He was giving you an out, like usual, though there was no way in hell you were going to take it.

Wordlessly, you turned on your side, if only to feel the soft bite of the thin chain around your waist, concealed beneath a layer of fabric. If only to feel the newfound press of his chest, and witness the way his eyes studied yours, searching for even the slightest inkling of hesitation. He wouldn't find it, but if he did, it was warm berry pie and snuggles for the rest of the night.

At this point, you would settle for either. At this point, his mouth and berry pie were one and the same; sweet and sour, ready to be devoured.

You slid an inch forward, acutely aware of how your thigh brushed against a very familiar firmness through the fabric of his leggings, and it was nearly impossible to keep from giggling at his sharp inhale. "I didn't know it was morning already," you teased lightly.

"I'll keep you up until morning," Four breathed before he went silent once more, expression dropping to a cool seriousness that perfectly matched the flashing lavender invading his irises. The hand not re-molded to the top of your hip cupped your left cheek, his palm saving it from the terrible fate of lying against a pillow. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," the word was but a whisper in the dark as your arm draped over the curve of his waist, the sound swallowed when a calculating kiss was pressed to your lips, so soft it may as well have been open-mouthed. A sliver of moonlight peeked in from the half-cracked window, illuminated blonde hair in an almost ghostly glow that made you wonder how much more beautiful he could get before it killed him.

Almost languidly, you let your fingers trail down his spine, bumping against each individual notch until a faint shudder rocked Four's body and the barest hint of teeth could be felt sinking into your bottom lip. He pressed close enough to nearly vanquish any sense of distance, the heat between your bodies mingling and growing to a level that was so wonderfully unbearable.

Four's leg hitched over your own. Thigh to thigh, fabric to fabric. What would it take to replace it with skin instead?

Your pinkie finger wormed an inch beneath the waistband of his leggings, padding at the soft flesh as the remaining digits spread over the small of his back; simply feeling in a manner that many nights before had taught you. A soft groan told you that he did indeed still like having his lower back touched, so you kept at it, alternating between featherlight caresses and firmer presses to feel the deceptive clusters of muscle lying in wait beneath smooth skin. By this point, you could feel him against the curve of your abdomen; pressing, but not insisting.

In turn, the Hero of the Four Sword allowed his fingers to tangle in your hair as he continued to layer kisses on your lips. He continued to cup your hip, thumbing nonsensical patterns under the hem of your tunic, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd felt this comfortable in the dead of the night.

It didn't take much for the soft, steady pecks to morph into something far more sensual, accented by the warmth of his tongue slipping into your mouth to slide and press into every individual crevice, with yours curling against his with every presented moment, though you still had to pull away at odd intervals to suck in gulps of breath, feeling the faint streak of saliva cooling in the corner of your lips. At long last, the hand on your hip began to push beneath the soft fabric. It slid up the expanse of your stomach, then, slowly, brushed over each individual bump of your ribs with soul-aching intent, stopping just beneath the swell of your chest.

"Can I touch you?" he murmured against your lips, eyes glinting earnestly in the pale, pale moonlight, and your body shivered with the decision that it would most likely die if he didn't.

Only one word slipped from your mouth, though it was enough. It would always be enough. "Please."

Four didn't waste a second. He cupped your chest somewhat tentatively, stroking a calloused thumb over the round bud of your nipple, eliciting a thick, warm shiver that swept straight to your abdomen. The tunic bulged and shifted as he continued his exploration, only pausing to brush a fleeting peck to the corner of your mouth. It was sweet, like him, and you began to move your hand up and down the hero's spine, pressing against the notches and divots at random, soft intervals, inadvertently coaxing his hips to rock forward with a gasp than rang in the silence of the darkened room.

His thigh bore down on your hip, and, for a fleeting second, heat burned low in your abdomen, simmering with something dark and wonderful and now. Your free hand tangled in his hair, tugging gently at the straight blonde locks in a manner that was leagues easier without his headband in the way. Four groaned low into your mouth, a sound that vibrated off of his tongue and onto yours. He began palming your chest with a newfound conviction, rolling a velvety nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and reveling in the soft moan the action coaxed from your throat.

"Link," the name slipped from between your teeth with startling smoothness, hanging in the still air like a prayer. Maybe it was.

"I'm here," he told you; gently, like an even softer prayer, and you shivered at the feeling of his fingers sliding back down your body to the hem of your tunic. Another kiss, slow and breathless, then: "I've got you."

A thin string of saliva bridged the gap when you separated; cheeks pink, breaths panting. Four's hair sat in mild disarray from sleep and, concurrently, all the tugging, but he never seemed to mind, so long as you would keep touching him like he was the last person in Hyrule. "I love you," you murmured as the string broke, then was reconnected as another sweet kiss was shared between the both of you. At the sensation of battle-worn fingers touching the bottom of your tunic, you moved your own hand down, shimmying the fabric up to your collarbone with a grin that betrayed just how ready you were.

"I love you too," was his reply, punctuated by the soft press of a kiss on the flat of your sternum. He didn't pull away immediately, letting you feel the lingering heat of his lips, the warm wash of breath as he spoke, smile bright against goose-bumped flesh. "So much."

It didn't take a genius to register the jump of muscle when your fingers pressed harder against the small of Four's back, nor the way he paused to take a centering breath before layering more pecks along the line of your body, each a hairs' breath below the last, scorching unseen marks down each available inch of you. It was tender, and it was exactly what you needed.

Then, he began to linger more, incorporating laving swipes of tongue and softer-than-silk pinch of teeth, all the while those beautiful, moon-swept, kaleidoscope irises molded to your face like one of you would burst into flames if the contact was broken for but a moment. A kiss to the center of your ribcage, where round bone gave way to a slight dip when pressed hard enough, and there was another scorching flare in your abdomen, accompanied by a familiar rush of wetness that you were almost uncomfortably aware of.

Four's thigh slid to rest on the bed as he scooted an inch or two downwards, not quite beneath the sheets, but you were almost positive you could have yanked them over the top of his head had you wanted to. You propped your torso up on a single elbow, still laid out on your side, and watched with barely contained interest as a hand settled on the waistband of your pants.

And, in the darkness of the familiar night, you heard him rasp amidst the rustling linens: "May I?"

The very thought made your knees uncomfortably weak. "If you want," was your reply, breathless as your cheeks flushed in the dark, though it did nothing to stem the excitement flowing through your veins. Fortunately, it was all he needed to hear before the Hero of the Four Sword, moved to grasp your hips, maneuvering them flat on the bed. Naturally, the rest of your body followed suit, until your back hit the mattress and the ceiling couldn't have appeared more disinteresting than it was in that moment.

Before you knew it, your bottoms were pulled down and discarded nearby, though he took special care to leave you in your undoubtedly-soaked underthings. The room was still dark, a testament to the reigning night, leaving Four a soft wink of shadow against the endlessly dark backdrop of your bedroom wall, but you'd felt as though you'd never seen him clearer; moving to kneel between your legs, hands tracing up and down your thighs as they spread to accommodate him. Moreover, he was still fully clothed, which felt vaguely unfair, but you chose not to comment at the realization that warmth still radiated through his leggings and seeped from the skin of rough palms. Palms that eventually moved to cup the back of your knees, lifting them a bit higher.

"I'm sorry I woke you," you blurted softly, a bit desperate to find a way to break the thickened silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, by any means, but he had been sleeping so peacefully until your own mind decided you were in for a rude awakening.

Four shook his head, though it was difficult to make out in the low light. "I don't mind," he murmured back, and you were hardly surprised when the first place his mouth found was the side of your left knee. A giggle bubbled from your throat at the first press of kiss-swollen lips. You couldn't help it. You were ticklish.

The Smith smiled against your skin, trailing more kisses from the inside of your knee to a soft line down your thigh, and, before long, you were squirming with the herculean effort required to keep from laughing outright, even as he continued, eyes glimmering with each cut-off noise that managed to escape.

"H-Hey, that tickles," you tried to say, reaching up to thread a hand through his hair, which only seemed to encourage the little bastard, if the way he grinned at you in the deep, dark night was anything to go by.

"That's the point," Four responded smoothly–with a chuckle that promised everything you wanted and nothing you didn't–and it was with great amounts of squinting that you finally noticed the lavender tint swirling in mossy-green irises. Goddesses, and you were nearly positive he couldn't get any more handsome. A beat passed, and you could have sworn the tips of his ears flushed a bit darker. "I like hearing you laugh."

Maybe it was the honesty in his tone; the raw, unfiltered emotion in those eyes that you were so lucky to call your own, or, perhaps, the way his palms cupped your thighs like they were something precious. Like you were something precious.

"I like you," the words slipped out before you could stop, or at least reword them, but Four never quite minded any late-night word vomit in the manner you did. For yourself, at least.

His smile could have illuminated the land itself. "Thank The Three," the Hero of the Four Sword chuckled, mostly at his own joke, and partially because you were also laughing, hand slackening in his hair, and it would be horribly rude to not join you.

This was nice. You liked this. No expectations, or rush. Just you and him. Just you and Link.

"Were you worried?" you managed to tease between giggles.

He didn't miss a beat. "Never."

A final peck was placed on your knee before the Smith moved to the opposite one, meandering licks and nips and smooches and everything in between to tender, shivering flesh. Your core clenched around nothing, and you were fairly sure your underwear was all but ruined after this. Even with your fingers woven tight in his hair, you didn't pull or twist, letting Four go at his own speed. It's what he would have done with you, what he always did with you.

You were torn from your thoughts by the first press of lips on the skin just above the hem of your undergarments. The scent of arousal was so strong that it was a feat unto itself to pull your mind from the depths of itself and glance down at your lover as he spoke.

"Can I use my mouth?"

"Please," was all you said, all you could bring your tongue and throat to form before exhaustion crept in, and your blood pressure hit the embarrassing high of someone practically dripping onto the sheets.

The Hero of the Four Sword was quick, gently shaking your hand from his hair before hooking his thumbs on the waistband of your underwear, shimmying them down your hips, then thighs, and ankles, discarding them with the same gentleness as your pants. He sat up just enough to press a kiss to each of your calves, grinning against smooth flesh when you giggled and squirmed.

"Link!"

It was hard to tell where exactly he was looking, but you still felt the sweep of a moss-tinted gaze sweep to your face, belly, core, chest, which allowed your own to shyly study the straining bulge in his leggings. Sometimes you swore he could get off from simply looking at you.

As if on cue, Four bent, legs unfolding beneath him to lay flat on the remaining bedspread, though you wouldn't be surprised if his feet dangled off the edge of the mattress. When he began to kiss your thighs again, it wasn't to tease–well, maybe it was, if you were being honest with yourself–but to feel the warmth of your skin, taste the salt of your sweat, and maybe, just maybe, hear the cut-off peals of laughter as you reacted to each swipe and nip and peck. But the moment you opened your mouth to speak, he switched tactics; nudging your thighs a fraction wider.

You sucked in a breath when his thumbs parted your lips, dripping with slick from what felt like hours of anticipation. The first press of the hero's tongue against the soft bud of your clit was a tentative one, eyes glued on your reactions through the darkness. Despite the sensation being far from new, your thighs tensed with the desire to clench and feel the pointed tips of his ears pressing into sensitive flesh, though you supposed you would have to settle with gripping the sheets with one hand while the other rested atop his head; untangled in hair, but willing to the moment it felt right.

The second stroke was longer as he tasted the entirety of you. A part of you wondered whose benefit the slow movements really were for, but it mattered not when he groaned into your folds, begging to lap anew like you were the first drink of water he'd had in years, all the while your legs trembled with the effort to keep from clamping down and never letting go.

"Fuck," you breathed, breathless as it was. Four's eyes were purple, green, purple, purple, like a brought of lavender so fresh it still had the verdant stems attached. The corners crinkled when he smiled. Your fingers dug into his scalp with the softest pressure, but you didn't grab him. Not yet. "Can I–?"

"Go ahead," the hero murmured between strokes, and your fingers did just that, tugging lightly at the rich blonde strands in an attempt to ground yourself against the nigh-overwhelming sensations. The soft moan that rumbled against your clit told you all you needed to know about that particular action.

Four's tongue flicked across your folds in a pattern that was too familiar not to recognize. You were awed by the realization that it was likely his name he was spelling atop your sex.

The first orgasm, when it came, wasn't a violent, era-shattering affair. It came slow, like the gentle crash of tidal waves on the beach, and while there were no stars or gloriously blinding fireworks, you felt the swell of heat as vividly as you felt his fingers grip your thighs as it washed from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes. There was something deeply romantic in falling boneless against the bed, chest heaving and eyelids fluttering, while two fingers slipped into your entrance on the tail end of the high, curling upwards in a practiced gesture that sent tendrils of heat skittering to your head and heart.

"L-Link," you gasped with every last bit of oxygen in your lungs, squeezing his hair in an unpredictable rhythm that only seemed to encourage the man between your legs, eyes half-lidded with love and lust in the pale, silver moonlight.

"I'm here," he said, only pulling back when you began to whine in overstimulation, bottom lip and chin gleaming in the dull light. His fingers remained in you, but you knew it was more to feel than anything.

I know, your mind whispered in the cool twilight.

At long last, Four sat up again, only to scoot forward to press a slick-soaked kiss to your lips, following the soft, insistent tug on his hair. You kissed him back with a sleepy determination, uncaring of the taste coating his tongue as it slipped into your mouth. The Smith's cheeks were a pink so vibrant not even the night could conceal, and, for a fleeting second, you made to reach out and touch him through his thin leggings, only to be stopped by a hand around your wrist.

"You need sleep," your hero murmured, just as the first rays of the approaching dawn broke through the window. Pleasure wasn't transactional, but you wanted to repay him all the same, even with how heavy your eyelids were beginning to feel.

"I need you," you mumbled; not a command, nor a request, because you were truly exhausted, and what was love without sacrifice? He didn't respond, not verbally. Neither did you, when he leaned to press a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth before settling at your side--hips tilted away and arms draped over your waist--tugging the blankets over the both of you. A soft shiver ran down your spine when he buried his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder, mumbling:

"Tomorrow, sunshine."

Your gaze flicked to the window and subsequent lightening horizon, and you smiled, head tilted to tuck your nose against the top of his head.

Tomorrow.

So I know this isn't very seductive, but I honestly needed to write a bit of a pick-me-up, so here you go lol. I also fear there wasn't as much jewelry as I hoped 😭

[cardo-de-comer]

Currently in game dev as a student and I’ve been looking over your art and concepts for a little bit now—I’m FLOORED. I haven’t checked on your art in a while and had forgotten just how much it inspires me.

Your style holds so much identity, and your skill bleeds through every brushstroke! The way you do silhouettes, the insanely unique and beautiful choice of colors, the ferocity in some of the expressions, the quality of your brushwork, again the USE OF SILHOUETTE AND FORM OH MY GOODNESS!!!

You have SUCH a striking visual style and the way you incorporate similar themes to tie character designs together in your world is incredible! I was able to pick out what I believed to be symbolism and understand it a few seconds after asking the question (it may have been explained in the text and I missed it, but the fact that I was able to draw a conclusion that quickly says a lot about your skills as a designer and artist!).

Please forgive me if this has been asked before by the way, but what program do you use? I have a number of them and am trying to work out how you managed to get the line quality that you do on the brushstrokes (they’re like. Creamy looking??? Does that make sense? They blend together very nicely but don’t blend so much that it muddies the contrasting colors you put on top.)

Anyways as I was reading the game idea you have, I was actively trying to envision how it would look and was immediately feeling a 3D-2D mixed style, especially since your artwork has a very clear visual identity that would benefit from being the focus rather than something like plain or simplistic 3D models.

And then I immediately stumbled onto the low poly model you made and fell in love. I had already thought a Disco-Elysium inspired + low poly (less development time, plus requires less budget for an indie project) would look amazing especially considering how your brushwork means that high-poly models might not benefit nearly as much from it. And I think it might be the right call to continue with that!

What perspective (2D/platformer, 2D platformer with depth [Ex. “Paper Mario”] top down, isometric, 3rd person, 1st person, etc.) do you envision when you think of your game idea?

Personally I feel like it’d work as a 3rd person perspective 3D game, but using extremely low poly buildings and set pieces that let the textures do the work. But keeping in mind that if every character is 3D and rigged, it can and will still take monumentally more time to make.

I could also see it going the direction of having flat 2D characters in a 3D environment (Like “Smile For Me”) which would take less development time and save more energy to focus on good gameplay.

I’d love to hear more about your ideas, and think that you should definitely give more thought to making that game a reality!

Just as a word of advice though, start small. ;^^ Don’t begin with your dream project, make some goofy little games first to get your feet in the water, then dive in once you have that experience. And don’t get too wrapped up in it either, take breaks and divert from the project every so often to regather your creative energy. Like doing game jams for example!

o7

first of all thank you for such a LONG text oh my god T_T I cannot express in words how much this means to me and even if I knew English well, I still wouldn't be able to tell you... I use drawpile a lot for sketches and light stuff like doodles! And Photoshop for more complicated works and render. If you need brushes I have them in this post on my side acc. As for ynstbh, well... Here goes the rambling haha. I was thinking about it being either 2d platfomer /LISA was my main inspiration at the start/ or isometric 3D thing. Isometric still wins in my head because it gives some space for movement in different planes, if that makes sense, my favorite example of it being player is walking through the City and at some point you see a tower on a foreground plane just getting up and running off the screen to ambush you later haha (yes, the City is like that. nothing unusual here). When this game idea first appeared in my head, I also wanted it to have some kind of frame, medieval-inspired, around the gameplay, that would change drawings depending on the location. But now I think that's gonna be too much visual noise. And I would love to make cutscenes because I like my 3d models and I like to animate stuff, although it would take an abysmal about of time to make backgrounds.. Also ynstbh would probably have a lot of dialogues, since I really love to show characters through their interactions with each other. Notably the Devil, who loves to break the 4th wall and look right at the player in his portraits.

Either way yeah, I know about starting small. Right now I only have experience in drawing, 3d, just a little bit of code (I think I forgot everything actually lol) and I'm just really good at googling problems. I hope somewhere in the future I will have enough energy to start. My lore and characters became really important and dear to me so I really hope to make sth with them. :) If game doesn't work out, I'm thinking to give an animated short a chance, I need to put this world somewhere or I'll probably go insane. Once again thank you and good luck with your studies! thanks for letting me ramble about ynstbh haha <3

[sufrimientilia]

The Regimen

cw: medical/lab whump, lab rat whumpees, noncon drugging

He woke in a restless and uncomfortable state. He was on the same thin, spring-loaded slab of cotton he woke up on before, with the sticky white sheets and the white fluorescent lights, plain obtrusive monotony all around him. It was all indistinct and hard to remember, hanging just out of reach.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The bed to his left was quiet, a messy clump of limbs and sheets with some face buried in between. He had yet to see that guy conscious. The beds to his right had more activity, the rest of them groggy and confused like he was. Nurses fluttered about at the start of the row. They usually went down one by one, and he was the third—fourth?—bed in line, second to last. It always gave him just enough time to know what was coming before it was his turn.

A man in a large white coat loomed at the foot of the beds. Muffled gasps and groans came from whoever was in his immediate attention. They weren’t faring so well. Two nurses hovered close, working hard to restrain struggling limbs, and for a moment all he could see was an arm raise and twist, contorting like an animal getting crushed and pulled apart.

He tried to sit up and realized his wrists weren’t restrained. Oh. Something about the novelty of it had him testing his limits, like he could finally lift his arms and stretch wide, but then he just flailed, all sluggish and clumsy, and flopped onto his side. He trembled hard from the wasted effort.

He was so tired. He absently watched the wild struggle of limbs, thudding and extending, skin pulling impossibly taut, until suddenly he blinked and the whitecoat had moved on to the next bed. The grunter from before was quiet now, head lolling. A different nurse worked to snake a long, long tube down their nose.

Now the next bed was getting the same treatment. Two nurses at each side, poking and prodding and prepping. The whitecoat stood back and took notes. At his nod, they gave a single injection at the crook of an arm, and the reaction was nearly immediate: eyes rolling back, muscles clamping up, contorting and twisting and gasping, gasping, gasping—

A cold sheen of sweat prickled across his skin. Sticky all over again. He tried to sit up and was left sprawling, weightless, so achy and miserable and weak it became clear why they took off those restraints in the first place. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere.

Panic was an abstract, foreign feeling when there was nothing he could do about it. His efforts cost him another few minutes, anyways. The next time he came to his senses, it was from the hard jabbing of a nurse hovering overhead.

The guy in the bed right next to him had his eyes rolled all the way back, mouth wide open, head lolling. The third nurse ran a tube against all the drool on his cheek to lube it up before lining it up with his nostril and-

His gaze swiveled back towards the ceiling. There was a nurse at his other side too, and she pulled away his shitty lump of a pillow to make him lay flat. He felt his arm get stretched aside, fingers pressing around for a vein.

“Mn… gh—” He tried to speak and nothing really came out. He tried to push them away and didn't move at all. Everything felt heavy, but nothing was heavier than the slow muddy guck of his mind.

He was fucked. So, so fucked.

The sharp slip of the needle came faster than he could process where the nurse got it from. He didn't even see the syringe, but he felt every bit of its contents go in— like bristling fire running up his arm, spreading and spreading, prickling and digging deeper and deeper down to his core.

He blinked so many times the world became a shutter shock of black. His jaw clamped hard. The tension suddenly went down the back of his neck, and the nurse waited until his mouth briefly snapped open to shove a folded towel between his teeth. It was warm and wet, bittersweet.

And then there was nothing. Burning, twisting, writhing, and-

—

He woke up. Or his eyes cracked open.

Buzzing, thrumming. Throbbing. It all hurt something fierce. Like he felt sicker than he could describe, sicker than he could even process.

Just, just miserable.

Blurry-edged fluorescent lights against a plain white ceiling. He swallowed and winced at the sting going all the way through his nose and down his throat. He tried to move and winced harder at the pain all over— white, hot, encompassing.

A nurse appeared overhead. The panic feeling came back. She propped up some sort of canister attached to a long tube, which hung suspiciously close to his face. She started pouring something into the canister, and just seconds later he could feel the warm heavy slosh of liquid. It thickened in the back of his throat and traveled down, down, down.

Out of instinct, he swallowed and swallowed because it felt like he was going to choke. Wasn't like it made a difference. The nurse kept pouring, and a cursory glance to the side let him know exactly what he had in store: whitened, rolled back eyes, mouth slack and wide open. Left brainless hollow, an empty puppet strung up by an ugly tube taped at a nostril.

A deep numbness settled low in his stomach. Like whatever he was being fed was making the most visceral parts of him go lax limp and lost. The feeling spread all over, piece by piece, every part of him melting away until his view of that plain white ceiling broke apart, darkened, and turned into meaningless blots.

Static.

—

The row of subjects were a scattered disarray of incoherence. Most of them were quiet. Bed One often groaned or cried out; they were the most resistant to the regimen, and it was only a matter of time before their dosage was raised. Bed Two took most of the attention of the bedside nurse, losing all bowel and bladder control, gagging and sweating and puking as if every part of the body needed to reject what was being given.

The others responded better. Bed Three looked to be at peace, eyes rolled so far back it was hard to see the absent euphoria keeping him adrift. Drool glistened across his cheek, and sometimes he even smiled or moaned.

Bed Four also looked at peace. He stared at nothing, eyes half-open and lazily roving back and forth. He didn't even twitch when a nurse peeled his eyelid all the way back. "Vitals within range. No signs of awareness.”

“Bed Five.”

“No change. Still maintaining his own airway.” This one responded maybe too well, but he’d get the regimen the same as the rest. Probably crash sooner than later.

The man in the white coat loomed nearby, taking his notes. He finally nodded and walked back to the foot of Bed One. "Prepare another round of injections."

[forsaken-at-one]

My first public fanfic, please be kind.

Pairing: F!Reader/M!Alpha!Luxray

Summary: An assistant of Professor Laventon get's kidnapped by an Alpha Luxray Looking for a mate.

TW's: Smut, dub-con, slight violence, mentions of dead Pokémon, Male Pokémon/Female Human relation, Poképhilia, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, cunnilingus, possibly bad English and/or grammar mistakes

Minors DO NOT INTERACT, please and thank you!

That's about all, if I forget anything please let me know!

Another Pokéball broke open releasing the furious beast with a strong gust of wind. With your entire team easily defeated you couldn't do much but throw another, your last.

The large alpha Pokémon had surprised you while cataloging Shinx in the crimson mirelands. You hadn't heard a thing, nor felt eyes on yourself when it suddenly pounced on you from the side.

You narrowly avoided it but lost your balance and rolled down a small hill landing in deep mud. You didn't manage to find proper footing again, and had to awkwardly swim-crawl away from you attacker. Feeling through the mud you felt a Pokéball and threw it.

You released one of your Pokémon but it didn't stand a chance, the muddy ground slowed it down and it's level was way below this bestial alpha Luxray. But your companions bought you enough time to wriggle out of the mire and climb onto solid ground once more.

But the mud still clung to you slowing your movement, and the Alpha curiously approached, surely wanting to toy with his easy prey. So unable to run or fight you started throwing every empty capsule you had crafted at your attacker.

Most of them were easily avoided, Luxray seeming more and more annoyed at your antics. Finally you hit it, but it unceremoniously broke out again giving you a warning growl. In your panic it fell on deaf ears and you chucked another ball at it. A hit again, but it broke out, now livid.

Now you had but one Pokéball left. You were just about to throw it while thinking a prayer in your head. Before the capsule left your hand the Luxray closed the distance with a swift pounce knocking you flat on your back.

It's paws firmly placed on your wrists pinning them next to your dizzy head. The impact on the ground had done a number on you, your head had harshly hit the dry, rock hard mud below. Your vision was blurry and the world was spinning.

From the corner of your your eye you made out small blue shapes approaching. The Shinx I watched before. You reasoned. They must be part of this Alphas pack. Before everything faded to black you felt little kitten licks on your fingers. And the pressure of the alphas paws on your wrists vanished.

Your eyes snapped back to him. He looked at you. You couldn't quite read the expression. He saw the Shinx approach you, one sniffing and nibbling on your hand, another was kneading your belly. Did they play with their half dead prey, or were they trying to wake you up, maybe comfort you?

Under normal circumstances you'd been ecstatic to observe and document such unique behaviors but right now you were busy wrangling back control over your body and slowly getting back up.

The Shinx startled at your movement, and the Alpha immediately took on a more threatening posture again. You tried speaking in a low calming way. "It's okay big guy, I just want to go home, I mean no harm."

His posture softened a bit. "Lux!" He hissed in a commanding tone. You had no idea what it meant but it send the Shinx running. Finally up you tried to slink away but to no avail. Before you got anywhere the Pokémon had you by the back of your neck.

Awkwardly hanging in your kimono top you had no choice but to wait and see where it would carry you off too. It easily traversed terrain you'd never be able to get through on foot.

Finally you reached a serene looking grove by some harsh cliffs. A cave, hidden behind some red shrubbery went deep into the rock. Near the entrance ran a pretty creek. It was idyllic looking. Considering that alphas often got the very best nesting grounds that made sense though.

He plopped you down inside the cave. It appeared to have been dug, with a main tunnel splitting into four chambers. There were Shinx running around and some Luxio eyeing you suspiciously. "Lux Luxray!" The alpha startled you with its sudden roar. All Pokémon in the den stopped for a moment looking at you, seemingly considering you.

With that everyone, the Alpha included seemed to disregard you. Not believing your luck you ducked out of the cave, finally having caught your bearings again. You spend the rest of the day looking for a way out, but alas this little paradise was surrounded by steep cliffs on all sides.

As the sun set clouds grew darker and it began to rain. Hesitantly you went back to the cave. The Shinx and Luxio still didn't seem to mind you, some even approaching you curiously, wanting to play.

Defeated and with no way out you finally got out of your mud covered top and pants leaving you in your linen underwear. You hung your dirty clothes on a branch hoping the rain would take care of the worst of it, and tomorrow you'd try to get away again.

Slowly the Pokémon went into different dens off of the main tunnel, there seemed to be a sort of nursery, softly padded with leafs, colorful flowers and grass. Here the Shinx all cuddled up to sleep.

On the opposite side of the tunnel was the Luxio dwellings. Fewer individuals slept here, only some sharing bedding, others seemingly preferring solitude. The walls were littered with scratch marks and cracks. They must play fight or even train here from time to time.

A room was vacant, but it was noticeably warmer. There were leafs laid out around an empty nest looking structure. Closer inspection showed remains of Pokémon, like small bone fragments, as well as remnants of fruits and berries, like a cherry stone. Did the pack bring food offerings to mothers stuck incubating their eggs here?

You felt hot breath on the back of your neck. You swung around and came face to face with the Alpha again. He was so tall you had to look up to meet his eyes. He turned around and approached the last chamber of this Pokémon den. He looked back over his shoulder expectantly. "Do you want me to come with you?" You asked yourself out loud.

And sure enough he seemed to nod. You knew surely he didn't actually nod, after all Pokémon couldn't understand humans right? But you indulged in the thought his random movement meant confirmation, so you trotted behind him, having him lead you to the last den.

It must be his dwelling. You thought seeing the many hunting trophies such as horns, claws and even skulls. An accomplished Hunter. I'm glad my skull hasn't joined the collection yet. But this made you pause. Why hadn't it actually? Maybe the Shinx liking you made him not want to kill you anymore? But then why did he bring you all the way here.

He settled on some soft looking leaf bedding that was clearly too large for just him. And then it clicked. This pack must have lost their lead female. From Laventons research you knew in this case the head male would find another mate, be it from his own pack or an outsider. If the young ones approved of her she would become the new den mother.

Oh no. Oh no no no! You thought. But it was too late. Having no patience for your antics anymore he got up and yanked you by the back of your collar into the floral bed. You were lying in his arms for lack of a better word. His belly brushed up against your back and he curled around you. Your head lain on the plush fur of his arm, while the other rested on your side. His chin placed on the top of your head.

It was comforting in a way. His fur had no right being this soft and his warmth seeped into your cold frame. This wasn't the worst, but you had to find a way out before he decided he wanted more cubs. You shuddered at the thought and instinctively he curled tighter around you in a protective manner.

You weren't sure what to do and were still to anxious to sleep so you started to trace your fingers through his fur and carefully massaging the pads on his large paws, easily bigger than your hands. He began to purr deeply and rhythmically. You felt his soft fur tickle you while he settled in comfortably and you couldn't help but mirror him. This was the comfiest you had been since arriving in Hisui. You slowly drifted into a warm, pleasant darkness.

A few days had passed and you had still no luck in climbing your way out of the grove and you found yourself growing attached to the pack. You documented all unique behaviours in your note book to show to the professor if you ever got back.

You had been naming the members of the pack. It consisted of eight Shinx and five Luxio as well as the Alpha but you didn't know what to call him yet. The alpha took four of the Luxio on hunts with him, one staying back watching over the den and little ones.

It dawned on you why you had found the Shinx you originally observed so far away. They were constantly slipping away trying to climb away. You and the Luxio barely kept them in one place. No wonder some got away the other day.

Before sundown the hunting party got back. Their prey appeared to be a Bibarel. Two Luxio were also carrying large folded leafs. To your surprise they were filled with an assortment of berries, herbs, nuts and veggies.

The Alpha watched over the others sharing equally and eating both meat and greens. It was fascinatingly human in a way. After the little ones were satiated you two ate the left overs. Though you only had some berries, an apple and a few nuts. You wished you could share with your Pokémon but they were still resting inside their balls.

It seemed to be time to sleep again seeing how the others headed to their respective dens. You headed toward what had essentially become your bedroom but the Luxray nipped at you. He headed outside seemingly wanting you to follow him again. This wasn't the routine you had gotten to know. You swallowed already having an idea what this might mean.

How do I get out of this without enraging it? You followed with your mind racing. He sat down by the creek. The moonlight made it glitter softly. You sat down next to him, leaving a bit room. Maybe he'd get the hint somehow? If only he was a human, I'd bet he'd be hot... wait what kind of thought is this even!? You chided yourself.

You felt the tip of his tail brush past your back. You glanced up at him in the moonlight. If nothing else he looked majestic, his eyes glowing in the dark. He was staring ahead, same stoic expression as usual. When he noticed you looking he turned to you slightly and his gaze softened.

Why did this make your heart stutter? The professor and village clearly told you they were instinct driven beasts but you couldn't help it when you looked into his eyes. He seemed to understand you, your words and motions. "Luxray..." He hummed softly.

"I wish I understood you..." You sighed.

"Lux lux." Were you really having a conversation with a Pokémon just now?

"I'm not a Luxray, you know that right? So we- we can't be ... together." You stare at the water.

He studied you face before coming a bit closer. There was that soft warmth again. You turned away.

"I know you're looking for a mate, but it can't be me, I'm a human." He tentatively put his chin on your head again. Instinctively your hand found itself in his soft cheek fur. "That purring again... You make this very difficult for me. You know that right?" He huffed in response, almost amused.

Despite your valiant effort he had closed the distance again and was sitting behind you. "Lux ray..." He mumbled seemingly lost in thought. Finally he leaned into your touch on his cheek. His naughty tail loosely curling around your body. The tip was radiating soft, tingly static.

Only your linen underwear offered no protection. Your breath hitched when it hovered teasingly over the soft skin of your breast. Then in a fluid motion the appendage ghosted down to your belly. Not quite touching you, but leaving a pleasant tingling where it came close to your skin.

Further down toward your - "N-no." You grabbed his tail. He huffed again, this time a bit surprised. You turned to face him again. His eyes were so intense. He gave you a playful headbutt knocking you on your back once more. "A-are you trying to-to seduce me!?" You spat disbelieving.

He moved back a little muzzle hovering over your core. The way he looked up at you. This expression, this was intentional, he knew what he was doing. His tongue lapped at your thinly clad womanhood. Hot breath fanning over it.

"No way!" You grabbed his ears harshly trying to pull him away. He yelped a bit but stood his ground. You weren't strong enough to pry him away and he was tough enough to not mind your pathetic tugging at his ears. His tongue lapped out again, you felt it through your underwear.

"Damn it, you can't do this!" You wanted to sound threatening but it came out as a plea. He dug his muzzle against your mound lapping again and again, the fabric getting soaked. You prayed it was only his saliva but when purred once more you knew.

He tasted your lust. There was a sort of smug satisfaction in his eyes. He pushed your underpants to the side gaining full access. Finally he dragged his wonderfully textured, hot tongue down the middle of your folds. His ears, still in your hands twitched at the little whimper escaping you.

"Please..." You whispered not sure if you were pleading for him to stop or continue. Heat spread through your body. His tongue circled your weak spot skilfully. When ever parts of his muzzle pushed against your flesh the delicious low vibrations of his on-going purr drove through your body making you tense up.

"Oh, Arceus... I - I " you wrapped your legs around his neck fingers loosening around his ears only to fist intensely into his cheek fur like your life depended on it. Any semblance of decency you had tried to keep up was now gone.

"Gonna cum..." You whimpered, all muscles tense to the max. An amazing little sensation flooded your senses and pushed you over the edge. A little shock perhaps, but you didn't ponder it, only riding the waves of release while holding onto that Alpha Pokémon for support.

He re-positioned himself. And you wanted to protest needing his tongue back at that sweet spot so badly. But now he gently pushed up your linen top revealing your supple breasts and nipples stiff in anticipation.

Another moan fell from your lips as he now masterfully used that tongue of his to tease them sending warm waves of pleasure through your body. While focusing on your pleasure he changed his stance a little so he was able to comfortably lower himself down onto you.

You felt something hot prodding at your entrance and your eyes flew open with the realization. Your slick allowed for him to easily enter you. You unknowingly held your breath as you focused on the wonderful sensation stretching you out. He was large. Had you seen his member before you'd thought you couldn't take him.

Your eyes snapped back to his. Half lidded, focusing only on the sensation he experienced. The cutest noise dropped from his mouth when he bottomed out. Perfect. For a moment neither of you moved. It felt like you were completing each other. Finally he slowly began to thrust.

Each time he hit your spot you felt tears well up in your eyes. Too much, too good. Him running his sharp canines over your skin pushed you over the edge again. He noticed and picked up his pace. Low grunts and growls escaped him. His teeth latched onto your shoulder. He bit down, not quite breaking skin but definitely leaving marks his thrusts became sloppy, his gaze unfocused.

Just when he was about to- you were pushed over the edge again. In your rush of pleasure your inside clamped down around him begging for his seed. And he'd deliver. Wonderful warmth filled you. Every crease and crevice. Still inside you the monstrous male collapsed on top of you.

The familiar sensation of his wonderfully soft fur brushing up against your skin. You felt him retreat from inside you. Still hot cum flowing out of your hole.

He rolled over to your side gazing at you. Despite yourself you now crept closer. He hummed approvingly taking you in his arms once more. You quickly drifted off still high on that pleasant feeling rushing through your entire body. He nuzzled his chin into the top of your head again making you smile in your sleep.

[thestrangesthell]

Afterlife Jobs and Civil Service

Seen a few theories and "plot hole" accusations flying around after Beetlejuice Beetlejuice and thought I'd add my own hypothesis on what the deal is with jobs in the afterlife.

This will contain spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice.

TW: This post will discuss suicide. Please only proceed if you are comfortable.

The short version: I think (for the most part) jobs are a choice and available to those who need to hang around due to unfinished business (even if they themselves don't know what that is). I think those who commit suicide do have to work for some time as it wasn't their time to die yet. They can't just board the soul train and move on to better plains. Instead, (and though rather sour in the mouth), they're met with the shock that it isn't over. This is Beetlejuice, after all. Death and life is hard.

Now, for the long version (and it really is long), read on!

Despite the fact I do personally think it's canon that those who commit suicide end up having to work (at least for a while) in the afterlife, we can't believe that purely because Otho said so. Firstly, the guy is living, pompous and has zero evidence for that statement. Secondly, he's not a credible source. He may have been "one of New York City's leading paranormal researchers until the bottom dropped out in '72," but his interest in anything can be boiled down to obsession with image and aesthetic more than a desire to get into the nitty gritty.

What we as the audience do see is people working in the afterlife that could have died by suicide.

There's the Road Kill man ("Thanks, I've been feeling a little flat!"), Juno (*who I will come back to) and most obviously, Miss Argentina. These people are working and likely (if not outright confirmed) died by suicide.

It's a weird thing to pick up on, but what about the skeleton workers?

Besides being a great visual gag, there's not really a clear indication of death by suicide here. We could, of course, suggest they died this way and have since been "worked to the bone" - as this is the Beetlejuice franchise after all, and lord knows pun-based humour is...well, pun-damental - but no other ghosts seem to have permanent alterations to their state. In the Beetlejuice universe, once you're dead, you're stuck that way. (Unless you get your soul sucked that is).

Well, that clears things up, right?

Maybe not.

For a long time, a lot of us in the fandom accepted the whole "in the afterlife they become civil servants" thing because, well, that was what we were told. But with the recent instalment of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice this is now dubious.

Why?

Betelgeuse himself.

Betelgeuse was largely assumed by many to have died by suicide. Various headcanons over the years include strangulation, hanging, poison, drowning, electrocuting himself - the list truly goes on. part of his charm is the mystery. But with the sequel, it is suggested that he died by poison from another. Delores.

Why is this an issue?

Well, if Betelgeuse didn't commit suicide, why was he Juno's assistant?

I have two theories for that.

Firstly, in line with this entire post - he died after Delores poisoned him and then chose to work up from the bottom to become Juno's assistant. He claims himself that his heart was pretty much blackened before he met Delores, so what's to stop him from wanting to take over in the afterlife after finding himself there ahead of his time? He probably feels robbed of life and hella opportunistic. It would support the theory of unfinished business and explain the random jobs we see him doing in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. From Guide to working Immigration, man's got one hell of a resume.

Then there's my second theory, which muddies the waters quite a bit.

We didn't actually see him die after he was poisoned.

I'll let that fester for a bit...

Ready to move on?

Let's talk about *Juno!

Juno, my beloved.

Despite recent questions surrounding her cause of death, I do personally feel the cut on Juno's throat was self-imposed. The issue fans have with how deep the cut is can be answered fairly reasonable. This is more practical rather than an effort for believability. Beetlejuice is high camp and smoke pouring from the throat of a ghost only adds to its ridiculousness. Plus, it helps back up my theory that those who commit suicide are required to do some type of work in the afterlife to make up for their shortened time on earth.

The reason I believe this is that Juno seems to really hate her job - or at least hate the crap that comes with it. If she had chosen to be a caseworker, (or been given a job similar to what she did when living), we'd perhaps see her be a little more understanding to everything that was going on. Instead, she's burdened by her paperwork, sick of having to deal with issues from baby ghosts and their "routine hauntings," and the poor woman is constantly haunted by the knowledge that Betelgeuse is out there.

(While we don't know their history, we do know that Betelgeuse ended up with a bit of a liking for Bio-exorcisms. I don't think she believes him evil any more than she considers him a nuisance, so we can only assume he got caught up in trouble that threatened Juno's line of work, leading to him getting fired.)

The real reason I can suggest that jobs are largely a choice are the recent additions to the Beetlejuice universe. I'm talking about Richard, Wolf Jackson, the Shrinkers, the Janitor and all of Wolf Jackson's squad, (plus a handful of others). They all have jobs, with some having more legitimate jobs than others.

This is where my theory really comes into play.

I think all of the above characters (possible with the exception of the Shrinkers) chose their jobs. Why? They have unfinished business - just as Barbara and Adam had unfinished business in Beetlejuice.

(Of course "they found a loophole and moved on" but this is more-so to explain their necessary absence in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. From a lore perspective, they could very well still be haunting the house for another 89 years. I (like many others now) believe the loophole was unfinished business. They had the family (Lydia) that they wanted all along and when she moved on with her life, they felt complete. Next stop: The Soul Train and The Great Beyond.)

When looking at these new characters, here's what I theorise for each of them:

Richard - Unfinished business: a family reunion. Richard died in the Amazon, away from Astrid and likely didn't get a proper goodbye. After saving her, thus seeing her once more, he could move on. It's possible too that he's not going to move on after Beetlejuice Beetlejuice due to waiting on more family to see again. But we don't know that, so I'll keep it short.

Wolf Jackson - Unfinished business: "keeping it real." Wolf Jackson seems slightly in denial about his situation. Janet has to continuously remind him that he in an actor because he gets too into the bit he's currently doing. I think the man gets completely convinced he is a spy/detective/investigator/whatever it is he is hyper-fixated on becoming. He's method, dedicated to his craft and won't move on until he feels he has fulfilled every cast-type possible for his range. He's gunning for a Gross-cer.

Wolf Jackson's squad (including Janet) - Unfinished business: supporting cast. Judging by how useless they all are, I'd hedge bets that they are actors too, waiting for their "big break" or recognition to feel satisfied with life (or death). In the Toonverse, celebrities are canon. If these universes are more aligned than previously thought, this could be a possibility.

The Shrinkers - Unfinished business: think big. These poor sods got on the wrong side of a witch doctor (although I really do think a certain B-man is to blame for this). We saw what happened when the portal to the living world opened. Those suckers saw a bid for freedom and went for it. I'd wager that they're somewhat forced to work for Betelgeuse. Maybe he's promised them 'head' (not that kind) if they do his dirty work. After all, he got his head back to normal size. Who's to say he hasn't promised them the same if they work for him? (Let's hope they read the fine print in that contract).

The Janitor - Unfinished business: a taste for revenge. To be honest, I think this guy either died by suicide or totally on accident. Either way, it was from ingesting something toxic. He's got a hankering for bleach and chemicals, who's to say this was just in death? I think he was content working in the afterlife, consuming these deadly toxins with zero repercussions.

Much of the same can be said for the Dry Cleaner. People need their clothes cleaned, he was good at it in life. Why not carry on if you're not ready to go?

Speaking of ready to go...

All aboard The Soul Train!

Another key point in Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is that (aside from Astrid, who was semi-forced to board), The Soul Train is something you board when you're ready to depart. Maybe some people are forced here and there, as there are guards stationed, but we are also reassured that Hell is an option for those who do truly fucked up shit.

(It's worth noting also that The Soul Train has other stops. The Pearly Gates, Elysium and another stop (my memory fails), all of which were DELAYED. Time works differently in the afterlife; maybe some people get jobs because the wait is truly an eternity.)

WOW, you made far! Congratulations for enduring my ramblings, here's a beetle for your trouble 🪲

After all that, here's what we do know:

If you died within a certain radius of your home, you're left to haunt it for 125 years.

If you died by suicide (and if Otho is correct), you have to work for an unspecified amount of time as a civil servant in the afterlife.

If you died via a horrific accident (Wolf Jackson, Janet and Richard), jobs are there for you and you don't even need the credentials to back up your experience.

You cannot leave the afterlife unless you are confirmed "dead dead", board the soul train, attempt to swap souls with a living person or get sent to Hell.

In summary:

Jobs are available in the afterlife. There's no expectation to "work" but there's not much else to do. If you're not ready to leave the afterlife, (perhaps you're still processing death, waiting for loved ones to meet you on the other side or even enjoying the weird and wonderful atmosphere), why not get a job?

Well...unless you're forced into one by a horny poltergeist. But that's a whole other post.

But hey, what do I know? I'm only living.

[discodeviant]

BILLY HARGROVE / STEVE HARRINGTON Post-S3 Alternate (No Upside Down) | Gen | <800

This is more a vision of mine than a fic, so please bear that in mind and enjoy~ :)

Also on AO3 Made for @harringrove-relay-race!

It’s midnight, and Steve is asleep at the wheel.

He thinks he is. He must be. In the midst of his slumber, when it’s just getting good and the dreams are turning into sunny vacations deep in the tropics, he swings back around towards a shoe box of a building he passed three minutes ago. It’s the only thing for miles unless he counts the road—singular, flat, no signs or other cars or wild animals to stop and honk at. He hopes it’s still there, bright and inviting, AHOY, STEVE HARRINGTON!

It didn’t read his name, but he thinks it called out to him.

Two minutes and it’s back in view, still twinkling like a star in the frigid, empty sky, which is strange for Hawkins, but which he hasn’t questioned just yet because he’s still dreaming.

AHOY!

It mocks him. He wants to laugh, but there’s no air moving through his lungs, and his heart isn’t beating because in dreams it doesn’t need to. He thinks it did once, knows it did for somebody outside of himself; a girl once, maybe a boy; a mirage in the back of his weary head. It’s vague, but the building is not. The sign blinks.

AH Y!

He hates it and doesn’t know why.

So with the car parked, he sits in the road where the barricade continues right alongside it. There’s neither an exit nor a footpath to the building, only a short, snowy hill, perfectly undisturbed; he fears and dreads to be the one who dips a muddy shoe into its face. He might not if there were another option, but the windows are frosty, his fingertips numb, and he’s losing his legs too. Safety travels from one box to another, and he opens the car door.

AH Y!

AHOY!

AHOY

Somewhere ahead, snow crunches; he’s out of his body now, looking around, moving between layers of his consciousness to understand that his own feet are still on the curb. When he returns, it’s buzzing like a hive, like television static just behind his eyes. Then he’s walking. The sign above him blinks again, and he blinks right back. Crunch, crunch, it’s styrofoam, a cat swimming in packing peanuts, soft and loud and soft again—someone’s around the back.

“Hello?”

It stops.

He steps forward on a ground that remains silent and doesn’t leave behind a single footprint to prove he’s been there at all. Maybe it’s a mistake; this is someone else’s dream, someone whose silence is broken by another of their steps leading away. Steve chases it at a snail’s urgency, trembling, a plume of air every time he breathes despite not feeling the least bit cold. Last he remembers, it was July.

He calls back again—“Someone back there?”—and stalks further up the hill, hugging himself tightly, not ready for an ambush if there were to be one.

Then a voice answers him from the dark behind the building. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

From the first word, Steve’s bones turn to ice, and he kicks up a cloud of nothing behind him as instinct rushes back and he finds Billy Hargrove at the rear door dressed in his Scoops Ahoy uniform. Billy’s freezing, blowing hot air into his hands, pacing back and forth until he comes forth to see Steve watching him from the corner, dumbstruck and remembering all over again. “Why are you—what?” He looks around then down at himself; the white tank and jeans he wears aren’t his own. “What?”

“I was hoping you’d make it out of there,” Billy says, weak and morose, utterly defeated. It’s only when he comes closer that Steve can see the scarring on his forearms and along the whole left side of his body, layered in thick strokes of pale flesh. They both hesitate, but Steve reaches a cautious hand out towards Billy’s arm, hoping for a hand to hold, skin to feel. When he touches the scars, they fade right into the canvas of sandy sheen that’s held onto him for so long, protected him from the real world, let him believe that true love and soulmates and destiny were possible. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you, Stevie.”

“Billy, hey—look at me.”

Slowly he does; just as easily, he unravels into Steve’s lukewarm palm as it warms to the stubble on his cheek and leads him to a plush, familiar mouth that kisses his guilt away.

“You did.”

Thank you for reading! Now, if you will, please look forward to the next participant of the relay race, my lovely mutual whose presence in this fandom I am always grateful for—@destroya-hargrove!

[howlingday]

cauiten of hte blake and yang maidne au

And so it begins...

First / Previously

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

"And finally: Blake Belladonna. Ruby Rose. Weiss Schnee. Yang Xiao Long." The headmaster of Beacon waved his arm to the four girls, who then took to the stage. Standing before an audience under a blinding spotlight, Blake fought the urge to cover her eyes. Looking to her fellow faunus, Ruby Rose, she noticed she didn't feel such hesitation and raised an arm over her brow. "The four of you retrieved the white knight pieces. From this day forward, you will work together as Team RWBY. Led by... Ruby Rose."

More cheers and applause followed. Ruby dropped her arm in surprise, while Yang immediately squeezed her new leader, embarrassing her by lifting her off the ground and swinging her. Weiss was moreso shocked, likely expecting herself to be made the Team Leader instead. But Blake looked past her team and to the headmaster, who gave a solemn nod.

Soon it would be time to talk.

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

"Dad! Dad!" Ruby called into the screen from her seat. Taiyang, on the other side of the screen, shoved her dad. "Dad, did you hear me at all?"

"I heard ya just fine, kiddo." Her dad said with a yawn. "Ya got into Beacon, right?"

"I said that weeks ago!" She whined, her wolf ears going flat. "I'm here now, and I-"

"Made team leader, right?"

"Oh, so you were listening?" Taiyang said with a scowl. "We're both proud of you, Ruby."

"I was up late doing an important job for your headmaster." Dad gave a grin. "And he's wanting me to swing by in a couple months." At this Ruby squealed.

"Would you keep it down over there?!" Ruby winced as her partner shouted over the barrier between them. She'd been so caught up in the excitement of the day, she'd forgotten she wasn't the only one with family to tell the good news to. "Apologies, Winter. My team leader decided she just has to be as loud as she possibly can."

"Hey, by the way, where's your sister?" Dad asked. "Coulda sworn she was gonna tell us with you."

"She got called to the headmaster's office. I don't know why, though." At this, the two men looked at each other with concern. "I-I'm sure it's nothing serious! She's just, y'know, got, uh..."

"It's fine, Ruby." Taiyang sighed. "I just didn't expect her to go to see Professor Ozpin already."

"It's probably because of her previous record at Signal." Dad explained. "She was a bit of a troublemaker back there."

Aside from a few pranks, not really. Maybe a little anti-bullying violence after Ruby showed up, but nothing to the point where she'd have to go straight to the headmaster's office. What could have happened that required her to go after her initiation?

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

"Ms. Belladonna?" Blake looked up from her seat in the waiting room. The deputy headmistress, Professor Goodwitch, eyed her from her towering position over her. "The headmaster will see you now."

She and Yang had been called to the headmaster's office for some reason. At first, she thought it was in regard to herself being the Fall Maiden. However, the inclusion of her newest partner Yang muddied the conclusion. Could this be because Yang was now her partner, or something else entirely? Yang hadn't left yet, so she was still in there.

With a nod, she stood up and entered the elevator leading to the Beacon Headmaster's office. The large room at the top was massive, almost dome-like with it's ceiling nearly obscured by massive, moving gears.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Belladonna." Professor Ozpin formally greeted.

"Wassup, Blake?" Yang informally greeted.

"Now that you are both here," the headmaster began, "I would like to congratulate you both on passing initiation. And with that said, I would like you both to properly introduce yourselves to each other."

"Of course." Blake nodded, then turning to Yang. "My name is Blake Belladonna, and I am the Fall Maiden."

"No way!" Yang covered her mouth. "You're a Maiden, too?!"

[agumonger]

Fuck it, male muscular torso art tutorial 🧵✍

Take my hand, let's draw pecs and six-packs together.

I usually start with a trapezium. Almost a tall rectangle. No, really. The "typical athletic male torso" is somewhere between a rectangle and a trapezium. You might want to begin with a basic front view, arms more or less lowered.

The chest takes from one third to almost the upper half of the torso, sort of. We can round the chest a bit, open it to connect with the shoulders. Abs take about half of the torso's width. I tend to emphasize the sides a bit, though. Make room for obliques and ribs.

Between the chest and lower pelvic area, divide in half but a bit higher, then do it again. You've got the base for the abs! The upper row is sometimes not visible (esp. in shorter people). Obliques generally start around the lower row, "folding" around it and the thighs.

Nipples vary a lot, actually! But anywhere in the lower half, mid-outer part of the chest is usually right. They tend to look higher when arms are raised, lower when... lowered, or hunching. Also lower on really bulky, near boob-like pecs.

Pecs can be really tight, really smooth, really flat... depends on muscle mass, fat, or genes! They can even have a small cavity around the center, usually more visible in thinner people, and anime characters. Clavicles like a SUPER flat V! Linked to shoulder position.

Be careful when defining abs, as skin is a continuum and it doesn't usually do hard cuts. At this point, references are golden, as they help you get a feel of their volume. Navel also varies in height, between 3rd-4th row of abs. The 4th row fuses near the pelvis.

At some point you might want to adjust the general shape with, say, the Transform tool. That's fine! I do it all the time, usually on the sketching stage, as lines tend to get muddy. As for serratus, this group usually follows the abs to the ribs in a gentle curve.

Once you get a feel of the structure, you may decide to simplify it a bit. Perhaps your character isn't that "defined" over there, that's good too! Just keep the basics in mind. Also, watch out for the latissimus. It belongs to the back, but you can see it sometimes.

Cleanup time! I like to use varied line width to make some shapes pop a bit more. Also, here are some notes regarding the shape I used for this particular character's torso. Each one is different! Can you guess who this is?

And we're done! Danny is here is actually being a bit of a tryhard right now... But since his arms are a bit separated, I added a bit of the latissimus shown earlier. Hope you found this useful!

[aparticularbandit]

(Am I) More Than You Bargained For (Yet) (IV)

Chapter Summary: “A club?” Mukuro echoes, her eyes widening the slightest bit, just around their corners but no wider.  No one else would notice that kind of shock.

Junko does.

The same way she notices that Mukuro’s eyes are now completely grey and devoid of life, the once stormy blue cloudy and absent.  They aren’t even stormy anymore; storms at least have shades in the grey of their clouds, at least move here and there with the wind, at least have layers and depth.  But Mukuro’s eyes are flat.  One singular color.  Dead.

(What happened to you? rests on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t ask.  That would be like saying she cared.  She’s too mad to care right now.)

Brought to you by a discussion @tobiasdrake and I had about what it would look like if Junko and Haruhi ever met.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

“Bath.  Now.”

Junko shoves her sister in the direction of Yasuke’s bathroom before she even gets her shoes off.  She doesn’t wait for any objections, instead prattling on as if Mukie is listening to her (she would have, once), “Leave your clothes in the bathroom when you’re done.  I’m going to torch them.”  She waves a hand dismissively.  “I’ll have something for you that’s not that mess.  Don’t whine about it, they’re totally not fixable.  Trust me, I know.”  Then she glares at Mukuro’s muddy boots.  “And clean your shoes every once and a while!  You weren’t born in a barn!”

Mukuro doesn’t say anything.

Mukuro doesn’t say anything.

In fact, the only thing Junko hears in response is the soft click of the bathroom door and the spray of the shower turning on.  She stands outside of the door and yells out, “Make sure to get behind your ears!”  Then she heads into the living room, drops onto the couch, pulls over her current project (in what feels like an infinite backlog), and starts stitching.

After a few minutes, Junko stops and stares at the project.  No.  Not that.  Then she shoves it to the side with a scowl.  She needs to stitch something else, hates that she knows that, and immediately switches to a new project.  As she does, she notices something – all of those energy drinks seem to be hitting at the same time; the haze of exhaustion that has been following her around seems to have disappeared entirely.  Then again, that might not be the energy drinks.  That might just be her sister showing up again.

She hates her.

She hates her.

It doesn’t help that Junko still thinks of the bathroom and bedroom as Yasuke’s, of the apartment as theirs, even though he’s been gone for months, living in the dorms at Hope’s Peak.  Sure, he’d returned over the last break, but it wasn’t for very long and came with the acknowledgment that Hope’s Peak didn’t even want him to be doing that.  He’s been gone for a while.  It’s still his, but really, it isn’t anymore.  It’s just hers.

Maybe it has always been hers.

The stipend from Yasuke’s internship at the nearby hospital only gave him enough for a small apartment, and when Ryoko moved in, he gave her the singular bedroom, choosing instead to sleep on the couch.  That didn’t matter; for the first few months, she’d had too many nightmares to sleep alone and found him in those early morning hours before dawn just to burrow her head in his chest, to hear his heartbeat firm and steady beneath her as he wove his fingers through her hair.  It was the only way she could sleep.

But Yasuke always needed to leave early for his internship, always woke her by his shifting when he did.  That must have been when her body learned it didn’t need sleep; that must have been when she gave up on the general idea of rest.  She can’t remember enough specifics of her life before to say that’s true, though.  She doesn’t like to think about her life before.

And here Mukuro is, fucking that up.

Junko hears the shower turn off, and so before Mukuro even enters the room again, words spit from her lips, “Why the hell are you here, Mukie?”  She doesn’t stand, doesn’t storm toward her, just stays sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under her, furiously stitching.  “I spent the last three years trying to build a life away from you, and you fucking—”  She pricks herself with her needle; her blood spills onto the white fabric.  Of course, it does.  She grits her teeth and keeps sewing.  “You told me to run away, and I ran, and you fucking followed me.”

(It’s not like she hasn’t been trying to make Mukuro show up.  She has.  But now that she’s here, Junko finds that she doesn’t want her.  Not because of a stupid, fake movie.  Not when she’s been at more risk at her job.)

Mukuro walks into the room wrapped in Yasuke’s towel, and the hot steam billowing out from the bathroom smells like blue raspberries, but the putrid stench of whatever is wrong with her follows, too.  Her skin still holds that ghastly, deathly grey shade, like it could slough off at any moment, and her stringy hair hangs even more limp than it already was.  She has bags beneath her eyes darker even than Junko’s, when her lack of sleep catches up to her.  “I’m sorry—”

Their father’s brand gleams stark against her dying skin.

“Don’t apologize.”  Junko throws the now completed fabric at her.  “Here.  You need new clothes.”  Then she storms off to Yasuke’s her room and slams the door behind her.

She waits for Mukuro to knock.

Mukuro never knocks.

~

Junko wakes early – if one can call it wakes when she didn’t sleep, when she spent those hours sitting in bed with her knees pulled up against her chest the same way she did before her becoming, despite how exhausted she still feels, occasionally picking at threads in the comforter until the sun rises and she can pretend that she got a lick of something she hasn’t – and creeps out of the bedroom with the understanding that her sister, coming all the way from wherever it is she was, would be exhausted and therefore conked out on the couch.  But as she walks to the bathroom to begin her morning routine, she hears Mukuro say, soft enough that she can barely make it out, “Fenrir’s gone.”

Good, Junko wants to tell her.  I’m glad.

But that would mean admitting that she’d heard Mukuro in the first place.  Worse, it would mean opening herself up to an actual conversation with her, and right now she wants that just as much as she wants the word Fenrir entering her life again.

So instead, Junko ignores her.

Junko carries about her morning routine as though there’s nothing different at all – bathe, curl and dry her hair, expertly apply make-up, pick out the perfect outfit – only to smell something cooking in the kitchen.  (She didn’t have any food.)  Her nose curls.  A few minutes later, she picks up her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and stops in the kitchen just long enough to say, “If your shit job is gone, then you can come to school with me.  It’s boring, but it’s less boring than being stuck around here all day.”

Mukuro stares at her over a spread of uneaten food.  (Where did the food come from?)  “You’re not going to eat?”

“Do I look like I’ll eat that shit?”  Junko gestures to herself.  “That stuff’ll just make me fat.”  She sneers.  “Like you.”

Mukuro isn’t fat.  If anything, Mukuro is even thinner than Junko herself is.  Her skin doesn’t even look like it fits, like the baggy skin of the baby elephant in that one book they’d read as a kid.  (She’d shared it with Mukuro; he hadn’t thought it worthwhile to let her have anything cute, anything fun.)

Still – it feels good to say it.

On the way out the door, Junko throws Mukuro her bag.  “Here.  Make yourself useful.”  She expects Mukuro to bite back, the way she always did when they were little.

But she’s too far gone for that.

“Yes, Ryo—”

“Not that name.”  Junko locks the door and glares at her.  “I’m Junko now.  Not that sniveling weakling.  Got it?”

Mukuro stares at her, blunt, no light in her eyes.  “I thought that was just a name for the magazines.”

“No.”  Junko presses her lips together.  “You told me to hide, Mukie.  I got really good at hiding.”  It’s the softest thing she knows to say anymore.  Then she turns and stalks off, waving a hand dismissively in the air.  “I’m surprised you even bought one of those trash interviews.  It’s just a bunch of lies, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you waste your money?”  Junko rolls her eyes.  (She can hear Mukuro plodding along behind her.)  “You’re so stupid.”

She knows the answer.

It doesn’t make her feel any better.

~

Mukuro can’t start school immediately.

It doesn’t matter that her sister is here, Mukuro still has to pass the entrance exam to prove herself before being allowed to officially join the school.  So while Junko is in class, Mukuro is there, too, just somewhere else in an entirely separate part of the building, taking a test on stuff she probably doesn’t even know.  Junko can’t imagine a mercenary organization teaching their members algebra or grammar or anything like that.  You don’t need to know world history to know how to shoot someone or the best place to stick a knife between their ribs for the quickest, quietest death – and while those are impressive skills on their own (probably), they’re not the sort of thing schools like this one test for.

Still.

(She’ll be a shoe-in for Hope’s Peak, too.  By then, she’ll have a use for her.  But until then—)

Haruhi shoves Junko about halfway through the first class. “You’re not saying anything,” she complains.  “You always talk about everything, and now you’re not talking about anything.”

“That’s a real nice way of asking what’s wrong,”  Junko shoves a hand through her long pink hair – she hasn’t even put it up in her standard twintails today.  She doesn’t always.  It’s not like she’s some video game or light novel character who only ever has one hairstyle.  She just didn’t want to waste the time making them perfectly even today.  That’s all.

“I’m not asking what’s wrong.  That’s boring.”  Haruhi crosses her arms and leans back in her seat.  “Your sister looks weird.  Like maybe she died or something.  Isn’t she supposed to be in that boys’ club or whatever?”

Junko lifts one shoulder and lets it fall.  “Yeah.  Sure.  Whatever.”  Her teeth grit together.  “Can we not talk about this?  She sucks, and she’s here now, and we’re just gonna have to fucking live with it.”

I’m just going to have to live with—

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, is she going to help us with the movie?”  Haruhi presses a finger between Junko’s shoulder blades – presses, like her fingertip is a cigarette that needs to be put out, fingernail digging through the thin cloth of her shirt.

(Junko hasn’t been making her uniforms entirely wholesale.  That’s a waste of time.  She’ll modify the one she has until it’s barely recognizable, sure, but that doesn’t change what it initially was.  It’s a cheap piece of fabric.  That will never change.  Even the Hope’s Peak uniform Yasuke has is cheap.  Slightly better than the one she’s wearing now, but not by much.)

At Haruhi’s words, Junko rests her head on her desk and closes her eyes.  It’s cool.  Hard.  (Comforting, if that.)  “Probably.  She doesn’t have anything better to do.”

“Well, duh.”  Haruhi’s eyes probably narrow in frustration.  “There’s nothing better than that.  And she’ll join the Brigade, too, right?”

Junko wants to say no.  To tell Haruhi off.  She doesn’t want Mukuro infiltrating the club.  She doesn’t want to feel like this life she’s created for herself has to include Mukuro any more than it already did.  She would rather shove Mukuro to her own wasted space – on some sort of athletics team, maybe track or something – than have her around with them, with her friends.

(She has never referred to the Brigade as her friends before and actually meant it.  It’s such a weird word.)

But.

But.

Yuki still isn’t technically part of the Brigade.  She’s still part of the Literature Club.  Which technically means they’ve only ever had four members: Haruhi, Koizumi, Mikuru, and herself.  They’ve never been able to officially be a club, even though Haruhi insists they are – a Brigade by title, since they can’t be a club yet, and that likely won’t change even if they gain enough members to apply.

But that’s the point.

Mukuro could be their fifth member.

Until they find another – better – one, at least.

“I’ll ask her,” Junko grumbles out as she checks out of the conversation.  “Later.”

~

“A club?” Mukuro echoes, her eyes widening the slightest bit, just around their corners but no wider.  No one else would notice that kind of shock.

Junko does.

The same way she notices that Mukuro’s eyes are now completely grey and devoid of life, the once stormy blue cloudy and absent.  They aren’t even stormy anymore; storms at least have shades in the grey of their clouds, at least move here and there with the wind, at least have layers and depth.  But Mukuro’s eyes are flat.  One singular color.  Dead.

(What happened to you? rests on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t ask.  That would be like saying she cared.  She’s too mad to care right now.)

((Being mad is just another form of caring.))

“It’s not a club yet, but it will be if you join.”  Junko purses her lips together, makes a tsking sound of sorts, and crosses her arms, refusing to meet her sister’s eyes.  It’s the closest she can get to letting Mukuro know she doesn’t want her there without saying it, and as it is, she’s not sure it gets across.  In fact, it probably looks more like she’s annoyed with the idea of the club not being official in the first place instead of annoyed with her.

Before Mukuro can say anything, Junko shifts her bag higher on her shoulder and strides toward the clubroom.  “We’re making a movie.  Come with us.  See what you think.”  (As though she hasn’t already told Haruhi more than once that Mukuro would be an additional cast member for her to play around with.)

“The movie where that girl attacked you?”

“She didn’t attack me.”  Junko rubs her forehead.  Mukuro was never this dumb before; maybe Fenrir ate her brains.  Wouldn’t surprise her.  “Look, just—”  She groans, unable to even finish the sentence.  “You can hold the camera.  Or something.  I don’t care.  Haruhi will give you something to do.”

Mukuro’s brows furrow.  “I already have a—”

Junko doesn’t listen to the rest of what she says, instead striding off, walking a little faster, heels click-clacking as she does.  Whatever task Mukuro thinks she has doesn’t matter.  She’s already failed.

Obviously.

[cranjournals]

#001: Hana and Xe (OCs)

Date of completion: September 01, 2024

Program: Clip Studio Paint (iPad)

Xe (right) belongs to Roman!

This piece I remember trying out after watching a video about painting faster and making a piece look finished with less time investment, but in the end I still spent a long time on it orz But speed is something you only gain from practice!

Notes:

The lineart was kept pretty rough, with this being an early screenshot I took in the rendering process. The brush makes things softer, but the lines did end up muddying my colors and making things harder during rendering

Adding soft gradients to key areas of my flat colors like the cheeks, fingers, and joints provided a solid foundation for my colors

I painted over a majority of everything by the end, which was fun but I did a lot of it on the fly, so I struggled with defining the hair. It had to look natural and flowy, and detailed, but maintain a good rhythm so the strokes wouldn't look repetitive. I'm not yet experienced enough to have an intuition for this, so all I could do was render a bit then go "no that's not right".

Something the video mentioned was controlling the areas where you concentrate detail, since detailed areas will look more finished and draw attention.

I put a lot of focus on detailing the hair and used hatching marks to intensify colors/shadow in the face while leaving the bodies very rough with broad brush strokes.

I remember the process for each hair piece being something like defining the shape of the strand/chunk in the darkest color, coloring just inside that shape with the midtone, then adding the highlights by splotching on the darkest color, the transitional red, and finally the highlight color and using a small brush to line along the edge of the chunk and make it pop. Not too efficient at all, but pretty relaxing!!!

In the end, months later, I'm still not mad about how this piece turned out, but I do think it could be better. I'm not satisfied with the anatomy now and should've found a good reference, and I think Xe's expression could be stronger, and that I should've spent more time softening up his face. There wasn't a plan for the background at all, and it's pretty lazy and messy. I feel like I stumbled into the result, and I should plan better with some more proper thought put in than "I want to try painting like this" because I always knew it was going to be a full piece!

That said, I did get some good experience out of this, and I learned a lot! In my cleaning closet piece I used what I learned here to stay loose and finish out the piece while keeping it rough, and actually planned out the background (a little bit)

[littlestarnb]

And radio silence broken

Left the marina on the 11th of February, crossed the trent all fine, did shardlow-willington on the 14th-16th of Feb with my partner along for the ride

Since then I've done several days single handing, had my mom and sister on board, and a friend who also wants to buy a boat once her daughter is older. I've discovered I am a BAD teacher when it comes to boating, and I actually much prefer boating alone. That being said I love having my partner on board and we work very well as a team, he makes the tea whilst I steer and it works out very nicely.

See below for where I'm at now and a look at the work I've gotten done so far

I'm currently just above the Cudworth flight of locks (11 in total, I think it's a 76' rise all in all but i may be wrong as I don't have my map to hand), I should be tackling those with my partner next weekend

Last weekend my friend came to refit the subfloor, he's an incredibly talented carpenter and he's done an absolutely immaculate job. We chose not to secure it down and to instead drill finger holes and leave them free for the moment as when it's a bit warmer I'll get them up and treat the rust in the cabin bilge.

Whilst trying to identify the source of the water running down my stove pipe I discovered that it isn't the chimney collar leaking but the seal around pipe itself. The fire rope is old and basically disintegrated when i knocked it so ive bitten the bullet and pulled that and the sealent out. It wasn't previously leaking CO but it definitely will now so the fire is out of action until I reseal that. I'm in two minds as to how I go about doing that, as I want to retile the surround fairly soon and I'm not keen on sealing it twice... BUT I officially vacate my flat in 3 weeks time and it's so very cold at night right now, so I think sealing the pipe twice seems like the only option for my health!

The start (or end, I guess) of the coventry canal near Fradley junction is grim. The banks are all collapsing and there's very few mooring spaces, and with the bottom lock at the junction onto the rest of the T&M closed until the other day all the proper mooring spots were taken. This resulted in me and a friend mooring up in the dark without proper lighting (note to self, get the tunnel light fixed as a priority), she held a torch and I steered. I get terrible night blindness and I don't have any depth perception anyway, so it was more than a bit unsafe. But we managed and found some mooring strip, which felt like a blessing from the heavens! I've moved on from that mooring now but it was a lovely spot, it even had its own woodpecker and I do feel a bit sad to have left it.

It still all feels very surreal, in 3 weeks I'll live on a boat full time. Whenever I'm in my flat now I find myself wishing I was on the boat, but as I've not actually moved in yet when I'm on the boat I find myself wishing I was with my cats! I'm almost packed to move, just got some large furniture to store and then I'll be good to go.

The boating community makes me feel very warm and full of love. On my way into Barton-under-needwood a couple saw that I was single handing and helped me through a lock. Today a kind gentleman held my center line whilst I moored up as there was an awful crosswind making things very difficult. He then returned 20 minutes later with a sandwich and a kettle of water to top my flask back up after I'd mentioned I was out of gas! I could have cried I was so thankful. I'm now full of great pub reccomendations and I feel very connected to life again.

Here's some pictures of the last month, next post will likely be once I'm fully moved in three weeks from now

Muddy shoes on valentines day, views, locks, horses, another bit of river, a very sweet dog friend, new sub floor, and a glance at my view from the tiller

I am living life I guess

[reid-elliott]

The Brutal Middle Stage—Worse Than The Muddy Middle

How? It’s basically the same thing. You’re somewhere in The Middlelands—dry, flat, huge, and empty. Even the vultures don’t bother circling. It’s that bad.

The Brutal Middle Stage can be anything you want. Right now, for me, it’s this:

I’m burned out at work.

I’m getting bored with my own story.

I’m wondering why the hell I think someone else will read this if I’M losing interest.

Somebody stop the bus. I’d like to get off here.

My characters are talking, but I don’t know what to do with what they’re saying. Then I feel psychotic because I’m hearing these voices—people I created, people I actually enjoy spending time with!

WHEW! That actually felt good.

The Brutal Middle Stage has me pounding my head against the desk, the wall, whatever hard surface is nearby. It feels like failure that hasn’t failed yet—because there’s still plenty of time.

I pride myself on being a pantser—someone who writes without a detailed plan, letting the story unfold as I go.

But here’s the kicker: I actually have a playbook for THE ENTIRE REST OF MY BOOK.

I call it a playbook because I categorically refuse to call it an outline.

And yet—here I am, stuck in The Middlelands.

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

What Keeps Me From Quitting?

If I say stubbornness, stupidity, or a bit of both, will that get me to the next level?

Hate to tell you—but in my case, it will.

I’m a little touched in the brain for even writing this, knowing damn well I plan to share it.

I’m REALLY stubborn because I’ve poured sleepless hours, bottles of Excedrin, and too many daydreams into seeing MY book on a shelf—one that’s not just my own.

If me being me is enough to keep going, then I’m still in the game.

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

What About the Slumps, Reid? You Said You’re Running on Empty.

Yep. And yet, I’m writing this.

My mind still works.

I still have something to say.

If this is the best I can do right now, then as long as I do it well, I’m good.

Rants, rages, and ramblings? Part of the process.

I ain’t done yet. And I don’t need Hal to open the pod doors.

I got this.