#feels a bit flat and muddy right now

[trash-art-central-blog]

Slowly but surely understanding the different tools

[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

[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."

[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.

[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.

[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?!"

[atarahderek]

So I saw Wish tonight...

Here are my first impressions:

While the animation is quite beautiful, as one would expect from the Mouse House, the storyline is serviceable, the songs are a standard mix of pretty good and pretty meh, and the villain is actually quite enjoyable, those elements just don't carry the film. The storyline is only serviceable. And not like Moana serviceable, where you can still enjoy being immersed in the world, drawn in by the memorable characters, and walk away with a hyperfixation on Polynesian navigation (or was that just me?). It was...entertaining enough...but left me feeling like something was missing.

Which is ironic, because they tried to cram everything into it. That was their mistake, really. They wanted to make as many references to other Disney films as they possibly could, and most of them felt shoehorned. The only reference that felt genuine to the world was basing Asha's seven closest friends on Snow White's Seven Dwarves. Everything else just felt forced. Magnifico made several puns in a row that all directly reference Disney properties, and they were just corny. So bad they came back around to being funny. But I'd rather they be funny for the right reason. And some of the references were so obscure that the vast majority of viewers aren't going to get them (e.g. Little John the bear, who is just called John).

I went into the movie knowing what the basic plotline was: Well-intentioned King Magnifico created an island nation where he hopes to protect everyone and their wishes from destruction, but as his power grows, he becomes corrupted by it. Asha, discovering that Magnifico is hoarding wishes, decides to start a revolution. It's actually a good commentary on government accountability, how easily power corrupts, and why you should never ever EVER give all your resources and rights away to a government that claims to have your neighbor's best interests at heart. Basically, this movie is anti-socialism. The characters voted their way into that system and have to effectively shoot their way out. Magnifico wants them to believe that he (i.e. the state) is the highest power there is, and no one is allowed to question that. Which is a great commentary. It really is. But it falls flat because the message gets muddied. The Aesop gets broken. Because while Wish says there is a higher power than a human-built and human-operated state, that "higher power" is...stardust. And if that's not corny enough, that stardust is said to be in every one of the characters, if they just "believe in themselves." So in the end, Asha's "higher power"...is human-built and human-operated. Yep, the movie tried to get theological, and it completely screwed the whole message up until it came full circle to the message that man is the highest power, and you shall bow, mortals, before whoever holds the wishes, be it an orphan king or a peasant who has an in with the orphan king's ex-wife. The writers could've avoided screwing over their message by developing their magic system more thoroughly and building an entire fantasy religion for their fantasy land, as so many other writers have done countless times over, so that it's still established that there is a higher power that transcends anything man can build, and therefore those who are oppressed by tyranny can look to that power to help them break free. But that would've taken time away from the big Easter egg hunt they wanted to set up. So their movie's message is a very atheistic, "Put your hope in nothing at all, because nothing is more powerful than politics." And the reviews show that people aren't fooled into thinking that that's somehow inspiring. It's a depressing message, and no amount of sparkles poured on it is going to make it any less so. It's just going to make it cringe worthy.

Now, if you can overlook that bit, or take the "stardust" to actually refer to the image of the God who made the stars, then you can see this movie as allegorical for faith overthrowing tyranny. But you have to squint. You can make this movie a case of Death of the Author, but you'll have to shoot the author yourself (metaphorically, Tumblr; don't give me grief just because you're so literal). If you manage that, what you have here is actually a lovely and entertaining little film.

Now for what I liked about the movie: Magnifico was actually the reason I kept watching. I do like how they showed his descent into villainy, rather than making him a straight up villain from the start. He had good intentions and was quickly corrupted by the power he wielded, even though he wanted to use that power to protect his people. He ended up inflicting the very thing he feared most on his people, becoming the hypocrite every well-intentioned extremist is. His villain song can't hold a candle to Scar, Frollo, Facilier or even Zira, but poor songs notwithstanding, he does deserve a spot among the Disney villains of legend. And we get to see him become that villain in a manner that, though a bit rushed due to the time constraints of the medium, nonetheless felt very natural and realistic.

My biggest complaint with Magnifico's character is not actually with him, but with Queen Amaya, who is not a villain and was shocked and appalled when Magnifico became one. She didn't get enough time to process that. She basically went, "Welp, he's evil now, so I'm gonna side with the teenagers and then file for divorce. Gonna really enjoy that alimony, too." I would love to have seen her express a mixture of sorrow, rage, regret and a desperate last grasp at hope for restoration--all the standard emotions that come with grief, especially over the loss of a relationship--but all I saw out of her was indifference. We got to see Alma ugly cry over losing her husband before going on to lead her own little magical kingdom; why couldn't we have that for Amaya? Pedro only ceased to have a physical heartbeat. Magnifico's very soul died. One would think that would be cause for even deeper grief from the loved ones left behind. I'm aware that watching your innocent spouse get carved like a turkey really piles on the PTSD, but what about discovering your spouse is the one doing the carving? Would that not hurt just a wee bit more?

All in all, this film is worth the price of admission, but only for the matinee. You won't be missing much by waiting until it hits Disney+. This is a movie that has a good shot at becoming a cult classic in a decade or two. But it's not going to find much love until then. The talking cat sequel from the Shrek franchise is always going to overshadow this film. Guess there's currently only room in the fans' hearts for one hybrid animation Spaniard trying to keep a wishing star out of the hands of a magic hoarder.

Also, if Dalia doesn't want those Magnifico cookies, can I have them?

[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.

[spheresr4cubes]

So, I got into the Moomins

LINK: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14216768/1/Long-Time-Gone

Moomin Valley -- Long Time Gone

Nuuska (Snufkin) finally meets his father and hears the strange tale of what kept him away for sixteen long years. //TW: Dissociation, alcohol, drowning.

CHAPTER TWO (2/4)

            It was a beautiful, clear day, and it did not take long to set sail. The local children of Dunsinane came and ran alongside the Sea Symphony as she floated down-river, building speed, and waved her excitedly off. The marsh slid lazily by, birds and turtles watching from their seats on half-sunken logs as the steam engine finally kicked on, and the ship began to chug. Fredriksson waved Muddler into the pilot house where he’d set himself steering and pointed to a rope hanging from the ceiling. Muddler pulled it, and a perfect A-flat major toot-tooted from the off-vent pipes above them. Juksu leaned contentedly over the bow, breathing the fresh air and feeling the deep rumble of the engine through the wood. He wondered if Nuuska would’ve liked it.

            After an hour, the ocean came into view, and by lunch, they were well out of the muddy river and into the deep, blue open water.

            “Not just oatmeal, this time,” Fredriksson said and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Muddler, bring up the sandwiches, will you?”

            Muddler opened up the hatch in the floor of the pilothouse and climbed the ladder down, and Juksu poked his head in after him.

            “There’s a kitchen down here, did you know?”

            “We’re grown-ups now,” said Fredriksson, “and no grown-up should be living off of black coffee and oatmeal alone.”

            “I rather like coffee,” said the Muddler, holding up the plate of sandwiches for Juksu to take. “But even I’ll admit last time was a bit much. Hold on, I’ll grab the juice.”

            He did, and it took some doing to bring the three glasses up. Fredriksson set their course and locked the steering wheel, and the three of them raised their glasses.

            “Right then!” said Fredriksson excitedly. “To science and magic and one last adventure!”

            And the echo went up out of the pilothouse and into the bright, blue sky: “One last adventure!”

*

            “One ‘last’ adventure?” asked Nuuska as he passed the bottle. “Why so final?”

            Juksu took a sip and rubbed the bottle mouth with his thumb: “Well, it was meant to be final. Muddler had a wife and two children, I had you, Fredriksson had a contract with some big city somewhere, and of course Muminpeikko had just had his own boy and couldn’t come, and… that was it. After just one more, just one more, we’d ‘settle down.’ As if I ever could.”

            Nuuska picked at the grass: “We never would have, more than likely. I know I haven’t.”

            Juksu watched in the periphery as Nuuska touched something hanging under his shirt but said nothing. Instead, he took another sip.

            “For about a week, it was smooth sailing,” he continued. “The Sea Symphony was a good little ship, and we barely had to alter course at all. It wasn’t until that last night that our luck started to turn.”

*

            The Muddler turned over two cards on the ship deck and groaned at the result: “Oh, I’m no good at stuff like this!”

            “C’mon now, it’s really not that hard,” Juksu encouraged, his pipe out the side of his mouth. “You have one la sirena there. Where was the other one?”

            “How should I know? What’s a lassy renna anyway?”

            “The mermaid, the mermaid card.” He pointed to the fish-tailed woman on one of the turned cards. “You saw the other one earlier, so where was it?”

            Muddler scratched his fuzzy head under his soup pot hat and turned over another card in the grid. The second mermaid smiled up at him.

            “See, there you are!” said Juksu, leaning back against the wall of the pilothouse. “Have a little faith in yourself, my friend. Go on, try another one!”

            Muddler did, taking the mermaids away to the side, as Fredriksson came up from below deck, dusting off his hands.

            “Hmm,” he grumbled, “maybe I should have put in stairs instead of a ladder.”

            “Lah man-oh,” Muddler read to himself.

            “Knees bothering you?” Juksu asked, and Fredriksson grunted as he came to sit beside him. “You’re not that old.”

            “I’m quite literally old enough to be your father.”

            “That’s not much older at all, in my experience.”

            “Ell core o’ zone,” said Muddler, then disappointedly turned the card back down.

            Fredriksson looked up into the dark night sky: “Looks like rain.”

            “We’re getting close, aren’t we?” asked Juksu, puffing a ring of smoke.

            “We should be there in the morning, weather permitting. So far, the wind is in our favor.”

            “Does that really matter on a ship without sails?”

            “The least resistance we have, the better. At least until we get that gemstone—then it’ll be smooth sailing anywhere and everywhere we want!”

            “Lah es-call-era,” read the Muddler.

            “What’re you playing there?” Fredriksson asked curiously, leaning forward, and his nephew held up the card he’d turned over.

            “Oh, it’s a matching game! I’m getting good at it, I think, but it’s all in a different language, so I have to look at the pictures.”

            Fredriksson took up the pile of matching cards and thumbed through them: “Oh, I recognize these! My great-aunt had something similar, though she used them to tell the future, not play games.”

            “The future, eh?” asked Juksu, sitting up. “How?”

            “Well, let’s see. Muddler, hand me the rest of the cards, please.”

            Muddler gathered up the rest of the grid and handed them over, and Fredriksson shuffled them thoroughly before laying out one, two, three cards on the ship deck.

            “It goes like this—the first card is the situation.”

            He turned the card on the left side, and a red fish in blue water stared hungrily up at them.

            “The second card is the action you take.”

            He turned the center card, and an open hand extended out to them.

            “And the third card is the outcome.”

            He turned the card on the right side, and a plump woman stared at them with bright, expectant eyes. Juksu and Muddler looked down at the cards, then at each other.

            “So, you’ll catch a fish,” laughed Juksu, “shake the fish’s hand, and it’ll turn into a beautiful woman? That’s a nice future, I’d say.”

            Fredriksson chuckled: “That’d be nice. But really, it’s what the card symbolizes. Maybe I’ll have a fish and have to give it to a woman. Who’s to say?”

            “I want to try!” chirped the Muddler and took the cards to shuffle them again. He laid them out between the three of them, one-two-three, and turned them over one-by-one.

            “A shrimp… a hand again… and, uh… I don’t like this game anymore.”

            They stared down at the card, la muerte—Death, complete with a skeleton and scythe.

            “Don’t worry,” said Juksu comfortingly. “It’s just for fun anyway.”

            “It’s not fun! I like Uncle’s fortune better!”

            Juksu took the cards and shuffled, then laid them out, one-two-three. He turned the first.

            “El diablito, a devil—”

            The second.

            “La manzana, an apple—”

            The third.

            “El corazón, a heart. Well, that’s promising, isn’t it.”

            “How biblical,” joked Fredriksson. “I wonder who the devil is in this situation.”

            Juksu laughed and sat back: “Oh, you know it has to be me! What fun! I wonder who Eve will be.”

            “There’s no Eve in the deck,” said Muddler grumpily, thumbing through the cards.

            “Well, there’s a woman card, isn’t there?”

            “Yeah, but you didn’t get her. Uncle did.”

            “The plot thickens! Too bad there’s no gemstone card, or else we might see if we’ll be successful.”

            Fredriksson laughed and leaned back against the pilothouse as well, looking up to the sky. The stars were blinking out now, almost entirely hidden.

            “I’m sure we will be,” he said, folding his hands over his belly. “What’s the very worst that could happen?”

            The water was calm as the Sea Symphony chugged along, the inky sky lit only vaguely by the hint of a moon. Fredriksson manned the wheel, a handheld radio murmuring from where it sat on the windscreen ledge, and Juksu tapped his pipe against the deck railing.

            “How far are we now?” he asked as he came to stand in the pilothouse.

            “About forty nautical miles, as of that last cliff.” Fredriksson’s ears wiggled excitedly. “I’ll drop anchor and sleep, too, as soon as we get there.”

            Juksu patted him fondly on the shoulder: “Well, don’t stay up too late, old man.”

            “Mphm,” replied Fredriksson with humorous annoyance.

            Juksu opened the hatch and climbed down the ladder, shutting the door behind him. The ship creaked contentedly all around, and the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling glowed with a low flame. Muddler gave a whine from within the single hammock, kicking a little. Juksu sighed and shook him gently: “Wake up, Muddler. C’mon, wake up. You’re dreaming again.”

            Muddler gave a gasp and sat up, rubbing his eyes: “Excuse me, sorry… I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

            “No, I was just headed to bed. Really though, how on earth does your wife sleep with you kicking like that?”

            “Oh,” said Muddler, embarrassed, “I-I don’t move around so much with her, I guess. Maybe I’m just more comfortable at home?”

            “Sleeping on buttons and screws and window latches?”

            “No, no, we have a much softer nest, these days! Hosuli and little Sniff aren’t very fond of hard things.”

            “Had another one, did you?” Juksu asked idly, pulling off his green overcoat and hanging it on a hook.

            “Yes. He’s very small and even more of a scaredy-cat than me, which is nice… is that mean of me?”

            “I shouldn’t say so. I think it’s alright to feel good about being better at something than someone else, even if that someone else is a baby.”

            “Oh, that’s alright then, I suppose.”

            Juksu yawned and leaned down into the lower bunk of the actual beds. He settled in, folding his arms behind his head and looking out the starboard porthole at the moon. It was bright for a waxing crescent. Was Nuuska looking at it, too? Was Mymble?

            “Are you okay?” asked the Muddler, his concerned head looking over the edge of the hammock.

            “Yes, of course. Why?”

            “That was a very heavy sigh.”

            “Oh, did I sigh?”

            “No question about it.”

            Juksu resisted the urge to do so again: “It’s just a beautiful night.”

            Muddler must have picked up on the slight waver of uneasiness: “Is that really all?”

            “What else would there be?”

            Muddler said nothing. Perhaps he didn’t want to embarrass him—whatever the case, he eventually said, “I don’t know. Sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” said Juksu. “It was kind of you to ask.”

            At that, he turned away from Muddler and curled up.

            “Night.”

            “Good night.”

*

            It was late when there was a break in the comfortable, even rippling of the sea against the ship. Juksu grumbled and turned over without opening his eyes.

            Something in the air had shifted—he frowned, sniffing—not a chill per se, but the crispness of change, like the first breath of winter or the snapping of a twig in the woods. His whiskers tingled, his nose itched, his ears rang a bit. Slowly, Juksu lifted his head to listen. There was the Muddler’s soft breathing, the creak of the ship, the turning of the waterwheels, the hum of the engine below. If he strained, he could hear the radio in the pilothouse above them. Nothing seemed the matter, yet the Foreboding remained.

            Quietly, he sat up and slipped on his boots. It was as he stood that something heavy thump!ed against the port side with a splash, rocking the ship. Juksu caught himself on the wall, and Muddler awoke with a fright: “It wasn’t me!”

            “It wasn’t you,” Juksu assured him, looking out the port-side porthole. There was nothing out there, no rocks, no other ship. Just waves, dim moonlight, and a thin strip of black land on the horizon.

            “What do you see?” Muddler asked. “What is it?”

            Juksu turned to him, confused: “There’s nothing!”

            Immediately, an even stronger thump! hit the starboard side, sending both of them tumbling. They managed to find their footing and hurried to the ladder upward.

            “What’s happened?” Juksu asked as he threw the hatch door open. “What’d we hit?”

            “We didn’t,” Fredriksson said suspiciously, ears perked as he peered out the windscreen. “Listen.”

            He had turned off the radio. Juksu and Muddler crept carefully up, quietly. Something splashed astern and slammed into the back end of the ship so hard that she leapt forward and askew. Juksu hung out of the pilothouse doorway and peered out into the deep darkness… and a massive shape rose up from the sea. The dim moonlight shone through it as it dove on to the deck of the ship. Sea water rushed against the pilothouse with such force that the wood cracked and splintered, the bow dipped down under the waves. Juksu and Muddler fell forward and caught themselves on the dashboard.

            “It’s a fish!” Juksu shouted, and Fredriksson struggled with the wheel to right the ship.

            “What?!”

            “It’s a fish made of water!”

“I didn’t see anything on sea monsters here!”

“Well, your books were wrong, then!”

            “Alright, if we can just get to the harbor—”

            The shape rose from the port side and crashed against the waterwheel, snapping it and flooding the pilothouse as the ship leaned starboard. The ship wobbled back to port, and all three of them slipped out and across the deck, catching on the shattered railing.

            “What do we do?!” Muddler cried, scrambling to hold on.

            Fredriksson pulled himself up from where he’d nearly slipped through the bars: “Just hold on! There’s no way we can swim all the way to land!”

            “We might have to!” Juksu yelled, though squinting out at the distant mass of land, he wasn’t so sure.

            Suddenly, the ship lurched, and they were thrown over the railing and into the frothing sea. Fredriksson managed to grab Muddler’s collar and pull him up as he surfaced, the ship teetering beside them. He pushed him toward the hull ladder, and Muddler climbed up, reaching down to help him up, too. Juksu’s head popped up from the water, and he reached out. Muddler grabbed his hand.

            Something pulled.

            A cold, strong current ran under Juksu’s feet, and his head disappeared back under the water. Muddler clutched his hand as tightly as he could, his paws slippery. The ship leaned over them with the force of the pull, and Fredriksson grabbed on to Muddler’s other arm as his nephew fell away from the ladder, now half in the water and half out.

            Bones popped, lungs burned, but they would not let go.

            To Muddler, all there was was dark, but Juksu could see him above him, holding on, gritting his teeth, unyielding. It would not last. It could not last. Their grip weakened, just for a moment, and Juksu’s hand ripped away. Muddler was pulled back out of the water and out of sight.

Juksu kicked and tried to swim, the pressure mounting behind his eyes, the burning in his throat unbearable. The creature, whatever it was, whatever it wanted, paid no mind and dragged him down into the deep.

[venomous-qwille]

I start with a quick comp sketch ! This step is necessary because art is chaos and once you actually start painting you will be glad you have something to look at and remind yourself what the fuck you're doing. Once this sketch is done I line it and figure out the way the water is going to make shapes- I can use this water layer later (set to multiply) to instantly add depth:

Next is the underpainting layer- I come from a trad painting background and it's my fervent belief that this is the real secret sauce to lovely colour. Go ham: add as many bright, saturated colours as your little heart desires- the more textured the brush the better. Some artists who use this technique like to stick to complimentary colours, personally I prefer to live on the edge and make it up as I go. Follow your heart: (Extra tip- turn your line art into a mask and fill it with a very saturated colour- red, purple or blue etc- avoid black at all costs, we want to keep aaaall desaturated colours away from the early stages of our painting. Only add black at the very end- it will stop your colours getting muddy when you use the eyedropper tool)

Lol looks terrible right now, but don't feel bad. It's all worth it in the end.

Time to paint the rest of the owl. No really, smother all your beautiful vibrant hues in gross desaturated colours which are much closer to real life. Use a textured brush to block in the values/shapes and forms- you should still be able to see some of your bright underpainting peaking through! Once you have put down your more saturated block in you can start to play with fun things like blood and iridescence. Iridescence is all about contrasting desaturated/saturated hues which share a value- if you look at the below two pics and squint you will see that the tail stays the same 'value' in both- one just has flat colour, whereas the other has very saturated colour of the same value slapped on top. Your eyes will always read changes in value contrast first and colour second! As artists we can abuse this to great effect.

I always use HSB sliders to track the value & hue relationships on my work as I paint:

If I'm feeling extra powerful I will use the RGB sliders:

HSB sliders let you understand and make changes to the colours in your painting really fast! RGB sliders however allow you much MUCH more subtle control, and playing around with these will teach you a lot about hue/value relationships but learning to read them is a goddamn arcane art. If you can master RGB sliders you will essentially ascend to art godhood (I am just a novice). The down side is the RGB method is very very time consuming to use & learn. To get an iridescent effect e.g on Moon: use your colour panel (whether you are going RGB or HSB) as you paint to shift blue hues to purple and cyan while always keeping the value the same. Use these colours to pick out the highlights. Try to avoid using white/desaturated brights when attempting to make something look nacreous- you will just end up mucking up the value levels/exposure of your art and lose out on a bunch of colour opportunities. Speaking of colour opportunities.... if you are working on mers leverage the water- any opportunity to have light bounce around in your image is an opportunity to add more colour. I used it to add extra contrasting greens because why not.

Ok that was a bit of a tangent. As I rendered out the rest- eg the net and the fishy patterns I just focused on opportunities to add colour contrast wherever I could. For example- adding yellow to moons tail- even a tiny bit kinda helps the iridescent purple/blue pop a bit more. The goal is just to keep adding more and more colour until your brain melts and you're like fuck it I'm done.

Anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk.

Shallow Water

[janddinlondon]

11/26/24

Today was a fantastic day of adventure! A quick breakfast at the local bakery Ole & Steen (mmm cardamom bun) and then we headed into the heath. Hampstead Heath is 790 acres of wild and lovely - and muddy right now - public park intersected with what feels like miles and miles of walking paths. We wandered around for quite a while along with many other walkers, most accompanied by all varieties of off-leash dogs. It was paradise! We got some incredible views of the London skyline from the higher points in the heath

London skyline in the background

We walked through the park to the next borough of Highgate, where we visited the famed Highgate Cemetery. With graves going back hundreds of years, many of them crooked, cracked, faded, or with tops ajar, this place is exactly what a cemetery should be! We saw the final resting places of some famous individuals, including Karl Marx, Douglas Adams, George Michael, and pop artist Paul Caulfield.

There were foxes trotting around the cemetery as well!

After a lovely lunch at The Flask in Highgate, we walked back through the heath to our flat and put our tired feet up for a bit. Then, back to the King William IV pub for the third night in a row for: mulled wine, g&t, and a couple of beers.

Last, we enjoyed a delicious Italian dinner at Villa Bianca.

Looking forward to traveling into central London tomorrow and seeing Harry Potter and the Cursed Child!

[unknownjpegs]

smoking

His shoulder is sore when he wakes up. Slept on it funny, he thinks, stretching his neck and — 

The back of his head bumps into something. Benji reaches to adjust, think maybe he’s shoved himself up against the wall again, but it’s not a hard flat plane. Its hair, and his fingers glance over a forehead…oh. 

The night comes back to him, bleary yank through memory. This bed isn’t his. It’s in the center of the room, instead of the corner, and it’s on the floor, and it’s Xavier’s. In Xavier’s house, his bedroom. Benji glances down. 

A pale arm thrown over his stomach, hand tucked around the opposite side between him and the mattress. 

He grins sleepily, awareness pulling clear like the shroud’s coming off him fully. Everything focuses a little more. His own hand slides from the far side, where his dangling knuckles brush the floor, to rest over that forearm. Clutch, maybe, but he’s dozing. Can’t be blamed.

Easy to sink into the comfort of a body behind him, warming his back. Warming his neck, too, with soft puffs of air. He realizes that sweet face is pressed into his hair, strong nose tucked behind an ear. Which is how he also becomes aware that the breaths are a bit faster than they oughta be for somebody sleeping so deep.

 Which is how he becomes aware that Xavier is moving, which is how he becomes aware that there’s a cock getting pressed repeatedly against his arse, which — 

Which is so obscenely Xavier. Face in his neck, humping at him like a dog even as he sleeps. 

It’s so him. Weirdly romantic, mildly disgusting, slightly pathetic. And that triple-threat of descriptors in his brain has Benji barking out a sudden, very loud laugh.

“Sorry,” he croaks immediately. Xavier jolts awake.

His hips don’t stop for a second. Then he freezes, yanked with that same sort of sudden awareness that Benji’d woken up to. For the briefest moment, Benji’s heart crushes a bit. Worried he’ll pull away.

But it’s Xavier, isn’t it. Weirdly romantic, mildly disgusting, slightly pathetic. So Benji feels a tongue swipe below his ear, nose pressing to the same spot, and then in a sleep-rough whine: “Oh, man, you smell like me.”

He shudders a bit at that. At how much Xavier manages to fit in the sentence. Benji turns to face him. Xavier doesn’t move his arm away, simply bends it to splay a hand over his back instead of his chest. 

“You were feeling me up in your sleep, y’fuckin’ pervert.” 

And then his throat gets tight, because Xavier has a disarming grin to begin with, but when he’s just woken up? This close to Benji? Might as well have reached a big hand into his chest and squished his heart. 

It looks a little sheepish, though. “Hope that’s not —”

“It isn’t,” Benji says quickly, truthfully, because it feels like Xavier might say bad or crossing a line. And that’s not a conversation he wants to have right now. Everything is fuzzy and good and Xavier is so fucking beautiful when he’s just woken up. He’s not about to muddy that with a headache.

“Okay good.” Xavier reaches up and paws at him. “‘Cuz like, fuck, y’know?” 

He grins at the monosyllabic, sleepy slur. “It usually take you awhile to boot up in the morning?” 

“M’so booted,” Xavier heehee laughs, like he’s still stoned. It makes him feel dizzy. “Sooo booted.”

Benji pushes his hands into that hair. Not sure why. Just because he can, because Xavier’s touching him, and because he wants to — because it feels right and good. This closeness has his fingers twitchy, nervous; more than a bit nerve-wracking, waking up to somebody like this. That shiver of intimacy, the anticipation of it ending.

But Xavier sighs happily, tilts his head back into Benji’s hands. Mumbles: “Yeah, more of that,” like he doesn’t want it to end, either. Benji’s stomach flips. His mouth feels dry. His mouth — 

He pulls away, face hot. Rolls off to the side, disoriented at how close he is to the ground (he sleeps on the fucking floor, Benji thinks), and pushes himself upright with his hands on his knees.

“Hey.”

Benji pauses. Stares down at him, long limbs fallen in exactly the place he’d just left. 

I was just there. Shut up. I fit there. Shut up, shut up.

He shakes his head, throat tight. Turns… looks over his shoulder to spare another glance. Xavier’s eyes are closed again, dozing. He’s too tall for the sunlight to catch his face — Benji thinks he’d be extra pretty like that. Like a painting. Instead it washes light lower, glints off the ever-present golden chain and casts a flashing reflection across the floor. And there’s a soft grin on that pink mouth and his hair sticking up in places that Benji wants to smooth down and he’d spend the whole fucking night touching him, only touching him, and and and— 

“Need water. Brush m’teeth.” 

Except he just needs space. Needs to step away because if his heart keeps pounding like that, it’s gonna pop out onto the floor. Thud. Squish.

(On the floor. He sleeps on the floor.)

Xavier huffs and grumbles like a content dog as he retreats out of the room. The mattress shifts like he’s getting comfortable again. 

Fuck. Benji plucks his toothbrush from his bag with shaking hands. Hurries to the bathroom. Takes the corner too close, too quick. His shoulder bounces off the doorway, jostling him. Aches.

Maybe he’s still high? Maybe he’s having a reaction. He’s not. Benji knows he’s not. He feels focused, level-headed. Too focused. Awake, so fucking awake. Full of adrenaline. The lights in the bathroom are bright when flicks them on. Looks at himself in the mirror. In the mirror of Xavier’s apartment.

“Fuck.”

 Maybe having a panic attack? Oh fuck, he might be having a panic attack. He puts a hand over his heart. He uses Xavier’s toothpaste — tube almost gone — and stares at himself in the mirror. Stares at Xavier in the mirror. Xavier is standing behind him. Xavier is leaning down. Pressing his nose to Benji’s shoulder. 

The dull ring in his ears tapers off, and the panic ebbs. The arms around his stomach are grounding,  instead of overwhelming. Benji glances away from the mirror, because he can’t…look, anymore. 

“Do me next,” Xavier grumbles. Hooks his chin over Benji’s shoulder and pops his mouth open. 

A laugh startles out of him, followed by a drawn-out eugh. Xavier snickers. 

“You are proper fucking disgusting, do you know that?” 

“Yes.” He closes his teeth around skin, and when Benji glances up after spitting he’s getting eyed up in the mirror. “You like it.”

“I hate it,” he lies, laughing again. They switch positions fluidly. And Benji could leave. Could get some space, while Xavier splashes water on his face and brushes his teeth, too. 

He could. He doesn’t.

Stands there, feels fucking stupid standing there, staring at him in the mirror. 

Xavier prods him in the stomach. “You taking awhile to boot up too? Need me to press your reset button?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Benji chuckles, shoving away from him and the ridiculous, suggestively quirked eyebrow. “S’awful. You gotta shut up.”

When his hands glance off Xavier’s side, warm skin, he pauses. Xavier pauses. They look at each other for a long moment, Xavier’s toothbrush hanging loose from the corner of his mouth. His grin falters, eyes sweeping over Benji — lingering on his neck. His own smile slips away, mouth slack and lips parting.

“Hurry up.” He breathes. 

Xavier’s loud, barking laugh shatters the tension. “Oh, dude.” 

“Hurry. Up.” 

Xavier bounces from foot to foot, eyes scrunched at the corners. “You impatient?” 

“Xavier.” 

“You’re so impatient, man, you want me so —”

Benji tucks his hand into the waistband of Xavier’s joggers, knuckles glancing over the valley of his spine and across his tailbone. Uses the grip to tug him backwards, eyes trained on the way the fabric pulls taut at the front. He’s very clearly still hard. Xavier whines and it draws his attention up. He sees his own expression in the mirror around the curve of Xavier’s shoulder: focused and hungry.

“Yeah the fuck I do.” It’s an admission, of sorts. Right now, it doesn’t have to be anything more than arousal, and Benji’ll ignore how it falls into the center of an overlapping circle. Ignores what the other one is labeled. 

“Hurry up, Xavier, an’ go lie down.

“Ooh. Have I told you I love it when —“

Benji laughs again. Little too high, little too loud, little too nervous. Blames it on the slight headache, his still-dry mouth. He shoves Xavier gently through the hall, gesturing towards the mattress.

“Yeah, yeah. G’on.”

Benji’s first in the bedroom. Turns when he notices the lack of warmth at his back — does not think about how particular his senses have tuned to Xavier, to notice that sort of thing. Does not think about how well he knows that touch, now, how last night it had dragged on and on and wound him up so fucking mad. Everything fuzzy and sweet. Does not think about the look Xavier had gotten in his eye. How Xavier —

Is currently stretching in the doorway, his hands resting on the pull-up bar spanning the top. Pose and expression so fucking boyish and inviting that Benji finds himself walking back as if entranced, despite the unamused scowl. 

“I think it would be fun if you made me?” Xavier tries. He’s making a solid attempt to do that annoying pout thing, but grinning too wide to accomplish it.

“Uh-huh, I bet.” Benji teases. Stands very close to him, head tilted up. “Got something particular in mind?”

Xavier licks across his teeth, grins, chest rising as he swallows back a laugh. “In pants, actually.”

Two pairs of eyes drop to his joggers.

“Figured. Okay. Come on, I —“ and he pauses, because owe you one or want to get you back sounds…transactional. Even though that might be what he would go with, flirting. What he had gone with, in the past. Same scenario, but it’d been somebody — somebody else. Because now, this is Xavier. And it feels wrong to put it like that, even though last night he’d felt so overwhelmed with gratitude and…

Well, he’d just been overwhelmed, is all. Grateful for the attention, but more than that in a way he’s not yet able to think about. Much less verbalize. All he knows is that it’s a feeling he wants to share, rather than perform some sort of trade. 

Takes a second to get situated on the bed, because Xavier snatches him around the waist and they end up falling in a rowdy grapple, shoving and laughing. Just as quickly as the heady tension exploded, it ebbs to the side, secondary. 

Eventually Xavier’s on his back; tossed there, panting and eyes bright. He’s lifted on his elbows, so Benji fits himself up against the long line of his body, chest to ribs, and presses into the center until he falls back. 

Benji props his head in his hand, looks down at Xavier with a normal amount of eagerness. 

He hopes it’s a normal amount, at least. Xavier looks familiar, like this.

“You remember that time—“ he starts, smoothing his palm up his stomach because he can’t help but touch, “when you —”

“Yeah,” Xavier interrupts, breaking off in a heart-wrenchingly cute, huffed giggle when Benji’s fingers coast his ribs. “Yeah, oh dude, trust me. I don’t know which time you’re talking about but also I know exactly which time you’re talking about because I…” he takes a breath from the rambling, “I think about every single one. Like, all the time.”

Me too. 

Benji trails his fingers over a reddening line, a divot, above the curve where Xavier’s shoulder meets his neck. At some point last night, he’d pulled at that chain a little too hard to keep him in place. Probably when he’d received that big purple hickey on his stomach. 

Glance down to find it there, still. As if it might have disappeared between that high, devastatingly soft perusal and now. 

“A’right?” He asks. Xavier only mumbles affirmatively and shifts beside him. His brow is pinched, pulls tight until a line appears between them when Benji keeps swiping his thumb over that chain mark. He does one of those big content sighs that makes him feel as though the air snatches right out of his own chest.

A good noise. Benji presses his fingers to the indent. Debating. Staring. 

He leans down and puts his mouth there, on that red line. Then pauses. Keeps it just a kiss. A peck, really, so fucking chaste for them it’s a little embarrassing. And he…he debates. He stares.  Pulls back to stare some more. Strokes his fingers over the hair behind the mark; fuzzy, so specific a red Benji thinks he could match paint colors to it. 

Huh. He thinks. 

Go on. Go on, do it.

It’s not mine to do. 

Debating. Back and fucking forth.

So Benji puts his mouth there anyway, divot under his tongue. Seals it over with a sucking kiss.

Pulls back to look. Staring. Staring.

“You are,” Xavier breathes, making him startle, “absolutely killing me, man.” 

Benji glances up from that spot to find big, moss-green eyes on him. He shudders. They’re all liquid, heat behind them, molten, and Xavier still looks sleepy. Half-lidded and heavy, eyelashes fluttering. 

“Now you know how I felt, you prick.” He whispers back, rubbing his thumb along a prominent collarbone. “What d’ya want?”

Xavier laughs soft and pitchy. What he whines next makes all Benji’s bouncing thoughts merge into one hot, boiling mess: “Wanna, uh, Benji — wanna cum. Want you to make me.”

Benji allows Xavier to take his wrist, brush his hand over the front of the tent in his sweats.

It gets a whine, but not as needy and petulant a noise as when he pulls it away. Those hips lift, chasing, but Benji pushes them back down with a firm hand. 

He wants this to be maddening. Wants Xavier sensitive, which it seems like he already is. Wants him to feel that floaty thing dancing around the edge of his thoughts. Wants him to feel light like the reflection of that chain on the mattress, soft like hair in Benji’s fingers.

“M’just gonna do this,” Benji announces  roughly. Settles against his side, one palm petting up and down his stomach. He squirms up, because Xavier’s torso is so absurdly tall he can’t reach, to kiss his neck. Touch coasting over his chest while he works skin beneath his teeth.

“I can’t…Benji, I need — I can’t just —”  Xavier breathes. It’s nearly a sob and it hitches higher when Benji reaches to pull the waistband down a bit, lets it snaps softly back halfway down his cock. Xavier jolts off the bed with a wet gasp and his hand flies up to clutch at Benji’s arm.

“Shit, haha, oh…never mind. Okay, yeah, I can.”

Benji glances down, mouth filling with saliva at the sight of it resting on his stomach, tip red and leaking. He must have been going at it awhile, before Benji woke them both up. Must be sensitive.

There’s an wild smirk on his face when he tucks it back into Xavier’s neck. Grants a series of gentle, close-mouthed kisses up the column, right to the point behind his ear. Gets his nose there, where he smells the most Xavier. Thinks maybe he’s got that going for him, the scent thing, because it’s good. He feels surrounded. Warm and familiar and so, so distinct.

I could pick this out from a lineup, Benji thinks, heart thumping. I could pick the color of his hair out from swatches. 

He knows that might weird to say, as both admissions creep up his throat. So instead he puts his mouth to Xavier’s ear. Tells him how gorgeous he looks, how pretty, how fucking mad it drives him. Says a lot of things. Lots of daft things. Might actually let that bit about how good he smells slip out. 

Whatever. Xavier likes it. He’s making an awful lot of noise, hips squirming and lifting as Benji speaks. Interrupts himself, sometimes in the middle of sentences, to kiss his neck. Tilt his chin up and lean over to swipe his tongue along his throat, nip at his jaw. 

“P-please, f-fuck, fucking hell,” Xavier gasps, and yeah. Yeah, he likes it. He doesn’t mind it, even as Benji starts getting syrupy. Starts letting some of the sweet shit he’d held back the night before, when the weed had it all fuzzy on his tongue and ready to go. 

You look so good when you’re relaxed. You deserve to relax more, gorgeous, and you deserve to cum. You should definitely cum, fuck, you’re hot when you do. All the time, but, I could watch you do that forever. I think about it a lot. I -- 

Benji sucks another bruise into his neck. So many of them now that he’s losing space. Looks like Xavier’s been fucking mauled, he’s gonna have those under his shirt, he’s —

“Fuck,” Benji sighs, and jostles them both as he swings up. Leg over Xavier’s stomach, far up enough that he won’t brush against the twitching cock on his stomach, but close. “Fuck, you’re gonna have these awhile, huh?”

Both hands coast up Xavier’s chest, fingers careful over all the marks. Xavier staring up at him, face tightly scrunched like he’s in pain. Mouth open, wet from how much he’s been licking at his lips, moaning and begging. Lots of fucking begging.

“Xavier, m’thinkin’ about how you — oh, fuck.” He chuckles. “You’re gonna have these under all that gear. Walk’ around looking like this underneath all of it.” 

Benji groans, the noise dark. He feels real possessive, imagining that. Thinking about people looking at Xavier, because he’s so damn pretty, of course they’re gonna look at him. Appreciating and not knowing that he’s got all that underneath his clothes. Marks that Benji had left. Left in his bed, on a lazy morning, with Xavier whining for more. 

“Yeah,” Xavier agrees, bobbing his head. All he can really muster, it seems. Benji grins and leans down, catches his panting mouth in a kiss. He keeps his eyes open, sees how Xavier’s flutter shut as he licks along his tongue. Just when it’s getting good, real fucking wet and hot, Benji pulls away. Keeps his eyes on a pink, spit-slick bottom lip as he rolls back to the side. 

“I was,” he admits, tucking himself against Xavier’s writhing body again, “I was also imagining that if you wanna fuck me, y’know, at some point — it should be like that.”

Xavier grunts, tosses his head back.

“It should be — I’d get on top of you. Need to see you under me like that. F-fuck, you’d feel real good, huh? You’d fuck me real good if I let you, Xavier. Wouldn’t you? You'd be good to me.” 

He nods desperately, green eyes locked on Benji’s. Moving more, all fluid and desperate, hips rolling up like he’s imagining it, mimicking the movements. 

“I could do this,” Benji breathes, tucking back into that place and breathing over the bruises. He drags his hand up Xavier’s chest, frames a pec with his hand and squeezes. “While I ride you.”

He thinks maybe he should give him a second to adjust to that, considering the decibel and raw, unhinged quality of the noise Xavier makes. And he considers tempering that touch. Softening it. He really does consider it.

And then he keeps going the same pace, the same mean pinch and squeezing touch. It's a little too rough, maybe, because Xavier lets out one of those hitching sobs. He twists away from the touch and then pushes back into it, chest shoved forward with an unspoken yes, that, more please.

“Sorry, mate,” Benji coos into his ear, laughing roughly. “Here.” 

He reaches up and slides his thumb into Xavier’s mouth, dragging across his tongue to get it wet. Puts it right back in place on his chest, a mean press over his nipple again. Circles it, listening like he’s fucking siren-possessed by the volley of noises Xavier lets out.

Benji switches — has fingers on one side of his chest; then when he’s nice and worked up, leans down to fit his mouth over the other. Tongue gliding around the peak, teasing outline until Xavier really starts shifting. A big hand finds his hair when he bites down once, laves back over it with a swipe of his tongue. 

After awhile the noises taper off, become muffled. Benji pauses to check in, glancing up to find Xavier has slapped a hand over his own mouth. Gaze wide and shiny, distantly fuzzy, over his fingers; they roll back in his skull when Benji’s eyes find them. 

“Xavier,” he huffs, snatching away the hand to press it into the pillow beside his head. “Don’t do that. I wanna hear every fucking noise.”

Needs to. Needs to hear every noise. Because he likes knowing he’s doing a good job of it. Likes the praise, even if Xavier’s not being real talkative right now. He’s just being loud.

Real loud. Throws his head back, face pointed towards the window above the bed, and moans wildly.

“And don’t do that either,” Benji chuckles, nosing up his throat. “Can’t see you that way. Wanna watch.” 

“I’m —“ Xavier gasps, blinking rapidly. Benji gets him by the chin and pulls his face down. Locks their eyes together with an intensity that makes Benji groan. 

“Gorgeous?” Benji finishes for him, knocking their foreheads together. He feels himself getting sappy; feels the need to tourniquet that desire, but —  but he ignores it, ignores that mean derogative whisper in the back of his skull. Lets it go. Lets the wound bleed out, instead. “Prettiest fuckin’ guy I’ve ever seen?” 

“I’m gonna die, Benji,” Xavier laughs desperately. “Fuck. I’m—”

“Close, yeah? You’re close?”

“Ah-uh. Yes, oh, shit.” 

“Yeah.” Benji glances down, watches his cock twitch against his stomach. “Yeah, you are.” 

He rolls a nipple between his fingers, darts down to kiss the red-abused flesh before coming back up to kiss Xavier properly as he drags a nail down his chest. It must be overwhelming, that series of motions, because Xavier kicks his feet, arches off the bed. Breaks their kiss about it, which he’s not too happy about, but then—

“Fuck, Xavier, there you go." He urges. "Gonna cum for me, good boy? C’mon chellame, yeah.”

Benji freezes.

It's not noticeable. It's just a split second. A slip. The nickname spilled out with all the rest of..everything. Like a wound opened, oozing, nothing to stop the bleed. Bad stitches. Shoulda tightened the tourniquet.

Except it’s fine. Xavier doesn't notice; he's gone, not capable of translating, even if he had the capacity to hear it. Which he absolutely does not have, at the moment, because he’s — well.

He’s better than fine; the orgasm hits him, then. A ripple of movement following Benji's filthy commentary. His body bends, spine curving to press his heaving chest against Benji. The warmth is good, the shocks of it ego-boosting — but Benji wants to watch. He leans back a bit, hand to Xavier's sternum, to let his gaze drag appreciative circles around Xavier’s face.

Gorgeous, as usual. And even better now. His eyes shiny and lidded, far-off only to be immediately squeezed shut. Mouth split open on a final whine, expression pained while it tapers off by a bitten lip. He watches, thumbs stroking over cheekbones. 

And Benji — when he glances down, a possessively smug coil slithers into his chest and drips liquid-hot into his gut. The mess on Xavier's heaving stomach, from him; the flush on his cheeks, from him.

“Fuckin’ hell. How d’you even manage this much?” Benji laughs, nose scrunching at the mess, pooled sticky under the tip of his cock. Still red, still twitching; the myriad of thoughts that racket through his brain at the sight make his face real warm. Absolutely disgusting, those mental images. Things he should be ashamed of. Downright nasty. 

He tucks ‘em away for later. Right next to this whole thing.

“A-are you kidding me.” Xavier pants. He reaches up to wipe a hand over his face, slide the same fingers into Benji’s hair. He yanks a little. “I — Christ.”

Benji is suddenly jostled by those two big hands sliding down to cup his shoulders and shake, then push him away a few centimeters. Xavier holds him at a distance, eyes narrowed yet amused.

“If you sold your soul for like, fuckin’ dick magic or something, you are legally obligated to tell me.”

Benji laughs, Xavier shakes him, Benji laughs harder.

“I’m so serious, dude, what the fuck? What do they teach you over there at Hogwarts? Like, dick magic. It has to be. Or they put it in the tea." Xavier snaps his fingers. "It’s gotta be in the tea.” 

“Hogwarts,” Benji says, incredulous. “Shut up, you wanker.”

“No you,” Xavier volleys back. Then, when Benji opens his mouth he interrupts: “No you.”

And it’s that simple to dissolve into easy, ridiculous banter. Another ebb of energy, frantic but lacking the feverish desire of a moment ago, that feels natural. In a way that Benji appreciates from hook ups. In a way that scares him. He likes when he can laugh with someone after. Likes when it spreads all fuzzy and comfortable in his limbs.

Except, some distant part of him thinks, who sorts a two hour train ride, ten hour flight, treason charges, the risk of life and a bad case of jet lag for a hook-up? 

[thexgrayxlady]

What I read in October and November

The Drowning City by Amanda Drownum - 2.75/5.00 While it was a fun adventure in an interesting setting, the character motivations felt muddy. I wanted to like the complicated politics, but the plot was sometimes hard to follow and didn't involve as much necromancy as I would have liked. I'd still give the next book in the series a chance if I found it at the used book superstore.

Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield - 2.00/5.00 I don't think this book is bad, it was just sold to me as something it wasn't. If this was recommended to you because you loved Into the Drowning Deep and wanted to scratch that deep sea horror itch, you may be entitled to financial compensation. If you're interested in a slightly surreal meditation on grief, with very pretty writing check it out.

The Lights of Prague by Nicole Jarvis - 2.50/5.00 As a debut novel, it's pretty good, but I wasn't quite feeling it. I didn't realize that it was going to be as romance focused as it was, but that's my bad. I just thought I was getting something a little more Castlevania. The setting is fantastic and well described. I am all about the gaslamp fantasy right now. The magic feels really magical and fantastic in a way that sometimes a harder magic system doesn't.

Unfortunately, the main characters are a bit flat and I don't think the story was served particularly well by having both POVs. They have more chemistry with every other character they interact with than each other. I loved Domek's relationship with Kaja, but Domek on his own does not have a strong presence on the page. Ora has a very strong Not Like Other Pijavica vibe that gets old very quickly. She views the rest of her kind as monstrous vermin to an extent where when she feels betrayed by Domek being a lamp lighter, it feels disingenuous and unearned. If we saw more pijavica like her, who just want to go about their unlife in peace, that betrayal would hit much harder. The ending has a bad antagonist pileup that leads to none of the antagonists feeling as impactful as if the author had just stuck to one.

Even with all that in mind, I think the author has a lot of potential and I would love to see how she develops as a writer. You could tell that she had a good time writing this.

Dracula's Child by JS Barnes - 3.25/5.00 I genuinely like this book, and it's interesting to read a Dracula sequel written in the style of the original novel. It builds slowly, but the letters, journal entries, and newspaper clippings are mostly short, so the book doesn't feel quite as long as it is. Unfortunately, it also makes it really easy to put it down until it really gets going. But when the horror starts to hit, it really hits. All that being said, it was good to catch up with my good friends Jonathan and Mina. However, I just preferred The City of Doctor Moreau.

Murtagh by Christopher Paolini - 4.50/5.00 This is a completely biased review. I don't know if I can confidently say that this book is good, only that it brought me immeasurable joy. I loved every second of it. I would absolutely 100% read another seven hundred pages of this. Hell, I would read another 700 pages of Murtagh and Thorn doing slice of life things and side quests.

I love Murtagh and Thorn's relationship so much. They are so good to each other and deserve to have fun and act their age and not have so many responsibilities and problems thrown on them. The scene where they were just playing together is by far the best scene in the book.

I haven't read the original quartet since high school so I don't remember much, but I feel like this book does a good job getting you back up to speed. I feel like Murtagh approaches magic in a very different way than Eragon and sometimes it's very interesting and creative and sometimes you get, "Fuck it. Brute force time." Like, there is something very entertaining about a character both sorting out a magical laser beam and going, "I don't have time to figure out a clever way around your wards, so I'm going to harden the air around your head and you're going to suffocate."

As a board certified, card carrying Oldest Daughter, I liked that Murtagh was really bitter about how things turned out for him. I completely understood why he would rather swallow broken glass than ask Eragon for help. I know people thought that Murtagh and Thorn were too angsty and made stupid choices, but they are very young and have been traumatized for their whole lives, so they deserve some bad choices and bad emo poetry. As a treat. And Thorn deserves to say snarky things about said emo poetry. As a treat.

I know that some people thought that the torture went on for far too long, but I was down for it. If anything, I would have wanted more.

That being said, I have my gripes with it. The pacing is weird, and while I was just vibing and having a good time, I could see why someone wouldn't like it. The ending is very abrupt, and I wasn't the biggest fan of how some things played out. Paolini is not very good at writing poetry. I would have preferred fewer poems and Thorn snarking more at the ones we get.

The main villain's name is really stupid, and I couldn't get over it. I know it's not pronounced the way it's spelled, but I couldn't get over it. There are definitely more than a few moments where the author is too clever for his own good. Like, dammit Paolini. don't use an archaic spelling of a common word, when it looks so much like a typo, on the first page. It sends the wrong message about the quality control that went into your book.

I still think that Paolini isn't good at writing romance. While Murtagh and Nasuada are, by thin margins, his least bad romance, I'm happy it's kept to a minimum. While I'm not sure I'd read a future installment, I hope that it is similarly in the background because there are scenes from To Sleep in a Sea of Stars that I cannot unhear. I am scared by them. I am entitled to financial compensation.

In the most affectionate way possible, I hope that this book finds its way to the lonely middle school girl who needs it.