#first proper oc reveal?

[crystallizsch]

💜: oops. i dont think this is where the christmas lights were supposed to go, vice housewarden ~

🐍: you had a single job, prefect. how you managed to get us this tangled is beyond me.

[clerichs-xi]

klaus when he trolls the guy he's protecting/crushing on only to realize his crush really is that out of his depth

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Guys! In just a few days (May 24th) we could know Riku and/or Kairi's new KHIV outfits, if we get a KHIV trailer at the Playstation Showcase. Though I know that KHIV hasn't been confirmed there or anything.

And if there is a new KHIV trailer, I know there's no guarantee we'll get a new outfit shown. Because at least going off of the KHIII outfit reveals, it took us a little while to see Riku's and then finally Kairi's. But still. -fingers crossed-

[yooniivrse]

pottery date | myg

summary. you never expected to find pottery so difficult, so it's a good thing that your boyfriend is right there, ready to help guide you with his gentle hands.

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pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationship au, fluff

word count: 1.1k

content: yoongi and oc goes on a pottery date / yoongi helps oc with pottery / yoongi realises how much he loves oc 🤧

warnings: they’re both very much in love, thats all 😭

a/n: this was inspired by a random tiktok. i have no idea how pottery works so i apologise if any of this is inaccurate. this ended up being shorter than my usual drabbles lol. feedback, likes, reblogs, comments and asks are all greatly appreciated!! i hope you enjoyy <33

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main masterlist

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Pottery is a lot harder than people make it out to be.

You were convinced you’d be a natural at this. After all, how hard could it be to mould some clay into a simple bowl or vase? But now, as you sit at the pottery wheel with a lopsided, uncooperative lump of clay before you, the task seems almost Herculean.

The pottery studio was a hidden gem, tucked away on a quiet street. It was a warm, relaxing place filled with the earthy smell of clay and the constant hum of pottery wheels. This place was Yoongi's idea, after revealing that he had been attending classes for the past month and had completely forgotten to tell you. You had been annoyed with him at first, but your mood instantly changed when he invited you to attend a couple’s class with him.

Now you understand why he had such a smug smile on his face when he suggested it.

You glance over at Yoongi, who sits beside your wheel. His eyes are focused, his long fingers carefully shaping the clay into a perfect cylinder. He wears a simple beige top and dark jeans under an apron tied loosely around his waist. His grown-out hair falls across his eyes in small waves, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“How are you so good at this?” you ask. He looks up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m just lucky,” he says with a small shrug. "I've also attended more classes than you, so."

"Yeah, which is totally unfair."

Yoongi chuckles. “Want some help?”

You sigh, glancing down at your creation. “Please. This thing looks like it belongs in a horror movie.”

He chuckles, wiping his hands on a damp towel before approaching your wheel. “Alright, let’s see what we can do.”

He pulls his stool closer to you and wraps his arms around yours. Your fingers intertwine on the clay, and his breath fans across the side of your face. His touch is warm and reassuring, his presence somehow making the task seem less daunting. He shifts your fingers slightly, guiding your movements with gentle precision.

“Okay, press down a little more here,” he instructs, his voice low and soothing. “And use your other hand to steady it. See? It’s all about balance.”

You follow his guidance, feeling the clay start to yield under your touch, smoothing into a proper shape. The wheel hums softly beneath your feet as you find a rhythm, the clay cool and malleable against your palms.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. “You’ve got it.”

You relax into his embrace and Yoongi rests his chin on your shoulder. The pleasant, citrusy scent of his perfume overtakes your senses, and for a moment, everything else seems to fade away.

It’s just the two of you, your head resting against his shoulder as you let him control most of your moves. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back and his calloused hands that gently move over yours as you mould the clay together.

“You make it look so easy,” you say, glancing sideways at him. His focus is intent, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips. You ignore the urge to place a peck on the mole that lies just beside his nose.

“It’s all about having the right teacher,” he replies, and you playfully roll your eyes.

Yoongi leans back slightly, letting you take control. You can feel his watchful eyes on you, his presence a comforting weight at your side. He remains close, offering guidance with small nudges or murmured suggestions when you falter.

Occasionally, he whispers words of praise and encouragement in that stupidly attractive voice of his and smirks to himself when he notices the flush on your skin.

As the minutes pass, you find yourself becoming more comfortable, the awkwardness melting away. The clay responds to your touch, smoothing into an even form that vaguely resembles a bowl. It’s far from perfect, of course, but it’s yours.

“Look at that,” Yoongi says, admiration in his voice. “You’re a natural.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. But it’s better than what I started with, thanks to you.”

“We make a good team,” he says with a grin, that gummy smile lighting up his face.

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Before leaving, you drag Yoongi along to the pale, wooden shelves that line the walls, displaying an array of colourful mugs and vases with unique shapes and intricate designs. You inspect them all in awe, marvelling at the ones you find pretty and keeping them in mind as inspiration for your next piece.

A small mug catches your eye. It’s coloured in a light shade of cream, with baby pink bows painted across the exterior.

“Would it be taking inspo if I just copy this design?”

Yoongi chuckles softly, stepping closer to you to take a closer look at the mug himself. “Mhm, probably.”

You let out a disappointed sigh. “It’s so pretty though.”

He watches you stare at the mug like it holds the answers to the universe, unable to help the smile that draws across his face. The butterflies in his stomach flutter around at the sight of you looking so fondly at something so mundane.

The urge to kiss you is suddenly overwhelming. He’s so close to you that he can see the few moles dotted across your face and neck, and the faint pigment of your favourite lip gloss shining on your parted lips. In fact, he’s so close that it would take little to no effort to press his mouth to yours.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he squeezes your hand for a few seconds—a secret message that you originally came up with after sensing his hesitance to PDA.

I love you.

The action pulls your gaze from the mug to Yoongi’s face, eyes slightly wide with surprise but clouded with affection, lips curling from a smile into a grin as you mimic the action.

It’s stupid how you still manage to make him feel like this after all these years of dating. He’s embarrassed by the faint warmth that envelops his cheeks, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

God, he just fell in love with you all over again.

[euphorajeon]

For 1k celebration! How about my time and jungkook with it??

Also congratulations my love 💖

opposite of sun

— request: jeongguk + my time - bts

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, angst

— word count: 1.8k

— warnings/tags: idol!jk, college student!oc, mild angst (it's rly mild i promise!), they're best friends (i rly gotta stop writing this trope,,,)

— summary: jeongguk has a peculiar way of dealing with time difference.

— author's note: hello luv! thanks for requesting :) i really enjoyed writing this one eheh i hope you enjoy reading it too~

masterlist

There are a few things Jeon Jeongguk does not like about his life as a singer.

One, that constantly looms above his head, is how busy his schedule is. His days are filled to the brim with performing, song recording, photoshoots, video shoots, company meetings, and a long list of things in between. Some days, he could barely stay awake. Some days, he forgot the last time he ate. Some days don’t feel like days because all he saw was the inside of a building. Some days he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Two, the lack of privacy. There’s always someone watching his every move, waiting for him to fuck up. This extends to his closest people as well, his parents, his brother, even his non-famous best friend, you. Jeongguk could not forget the time he accidentally revealed he has a long-time girl best friend on a livestream. The media went crazy, trying to make headlines that would cause the most noise with wild rumors and assumptions. It took the PR team almost a month to divert the media attention to something else, along with a livestream ban for Jeongguk for three months.

Three, the one he’s facing right now, is time difference. As a singer, Jeongguk travels a lot to other time zones outside of KST, oftentimes resulting in jetlag. It’s not too troublesome when he visits another Asian country, the time difference only one to two hours, but when he’s on the other side of the world like now, it feels like his whole world is a jumbled mess.

Jeongguk plops down on the couch in his hotel room, glancing at the clock on his phone screen before tapping the FaceTime button. His reflection stares back at him as the call rings, the only thing visible on the screen just his eyes and sweaty strands of hair. He’s running his fingers through his damp hair when the call finally connects.

“Sorry, sorry! I— wow, eyes. And forehead,” you say in lieu of a proper greeting. Jeongguk grins, even though you can’t see it.

“Hi, Bun,” he greets. “Whatcha doin’?”

Jeongguk’s nickname for you is fairly new, only conjured up after his accidental slip on livestream, but it rolls off his tongue easily as if he’s been calling you Bun since you were both thirteen, when your friendship first started. It stems from his fear that anything has ears and if he says your name, someone somewhere could use it to dig up information about you. Although you’d rolled your eyes at him the first time, he knows you appreciate the thought.

Also, contrary to your friends’ beliefs, bun here stands for bread, not bunny. It’s known to the people who know you that you love bread. Steamed bun, milk bun, melon bbang, chocolate bread, cheese sticks, anything. But despite this knowledge and your protests, your friends still hoot in teasing whenever Jeongguk video calls you and drops the nickname. Jeongguk tries to prevent his grin from blossoming more when he sees you pretending to ignore your friends’ teasing.

“Studying,” you answer with a roll of your eyes, before a grin matching the one on Jeongguk’s face overtakes your feature. “What about you, superstar? Bet it’s more exciting than…” you glance at the paper in front of you, “the study of the economic impact of singer Jeon Jeongguk on South Korea.”

Jeongguk laughs. “You are not studying about my economic impact on SK.”

You hold up a finger, snatching the paper off the table to shove it into your phone camera. Then the pair of your eyes appear above said paper, hogging Jeongguk’s screen much like his eyes are hogging yours. “Read, Jeon Jeongguk. Read,” you say menacingly.

The words on your paper blur in his sight as he focuses more on the dark bags under your eyes. Even through a shitty video call connection, it’s apparent that you haven’t had a good rest for some time.

“Bun, have you been sleeping okay?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and you stare at him like he has three heads. “Jeon, I’m a college student. Asking me that at two AM is like asking you if you’re resting okay.”

Jeongguk sits up from his leaning back position on the couch, alarmed. “It’s two AM over there? It’s— fuck, it’s two AM. What are you doing still studying, Bun? You should be sleeping right now.”

All the exhaustion he felt from the flight, the jetlag, the rehearsal right after just evaporates the moment he realizes you’re still studying in the hour you should be sleeping. He should’ve been there with you, studying and reminding you to get some rest when the hours got late. He wishes he were there next to you.

“He’s a celebrity so he wouldn’t know what this feels like, huh?”

That was one of your friends, off camera. It sounds a bit distant but Jeongguk caught his words perfectly. Although he’s not wrong, Jeongguk could feel bitterness rising in his chest, one he fights so hard to suppress lest this causes a fight between you and him.

“Sorry, Jeon, he’s just stressed about the midterms. Don’t take it to heart, yeah?”

Jeongguk forces a smile on his lips, one tight pull of muscle that’s far from his grin earlier. “No, he’s right. I wouldn’t know how it feels like being stressed about the midterms just like he wouldn’t know how it feels rehearsing for a performance only an hour after you landed in New York. It’s okay.”

Ah, the bitterness still slips out. He’s tired. He feels guilt slowly replace the bitterness when he sees your downcast eyes. He shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Fuck.

“Sorry, Bun. Not your fault.” He sighs.

“It’s fine. We’re all tired.” You give him a small smile. “You said you were rehearsing for a performance? What performance?”

“Surprise performance, actually. It’ll be in Times Square later at six.”

There’s a gasp from your side of the call, before a short squeal is heard. You glance at someone behind your phone, letting out a chuckle. “You just spoiled a surprise performance to a very excited Yeseo,” you say.

“Since when do your friends listen to my songs?” Jeongguk laughs disbelievingly. He knows your college friends by name, and as far as he does, no one in your friend group actually listens to his songs enough to get excited at the prospect of a surprise performance.

“Last week. She heard ‘Yes or No’ when I was going through your album and hasn’t shut up about it since.”

“Thanks, Yeseo,” Jeongguk says. “It’s on the setlist for the performance later.”

A bang on the table. Then Yeseo’s excited shriek sounds, making your other friends on the table groan. Tell your boyfriend to shut up! one of them says. You stuck your tongue out at whoever it was before getting up from your seat, taking your phone with you. The image of you from a low angle as you walk away from your friends almost makes Jeongguk chuckle. He misses being able to see your double chin live in front of his eyes.

“Apologies for Yeseo. She’s very excited,” you say when you’ve settled down somewhere more quiet. “Are you excited for the performance later? Confident?”

“I will be if I know you’re watching,” Jeongguk hums. He fixes his best puppy dog look as he looks at you with so much hope in his eyes. “Will you? It’ll be on YouTube, six PM New York time.”

“That’s … hold on,” you tap around on your phone, the image of you on his screen shaking as you do. “That’s seven AM here in Korea. I’d probably be asleep, though. Midterm’s at nine.”

Jeongguk pouts. “Time difference sucks.”

“It does,” you agree. “But time zones aside, our times are already different. Like, if you have a recording for a music show in Korea at six AM KST, I still wouldn’t be able to attend. Because—“

“That’s why you never come? Because the recording is always early in the morning?”

“No, because they’re always on weekdays. And I have class. Or work. I’m not one of your rich fans, you know.”

“But you’re my best friend,” Jeongguk sulks, his frown deepening.

“Your college student best friend. Who has classes, essays to write, papers to do, midterms, finals…”

Jeongguk is quiet. There’s a pop up notification on his phone, telling him rest time is over in 15 minutes. His manager must’ve set this reminder when he was rehearsing, knowing very well about his tendency to lose track of time when given free time. Suddenly, all your differences flash before his eyes, and it feels like a gaping chasm in your friendship. Did you always feel this far away from him?

“I wish I were a college student too,” he whispers wistfully. “Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“You are, though?” you sound genuinely confused. He doesn’t know if you missed the longing tint in his voice or just decided to ignore it. “You’re still enrolled in Global Cyber University, right?”

“Yeah, but,” Jeongguk sucks in a breath, searching for words that say what he wants to convey without actually saying them. He comes up empty, though, with every combination of words sounding as desperate as the last. Eventually, he settles on: “It’s different.”

“Ey, it’s different to accomodate people like you. No one in their right mind would go to a regular college if they have a schedule as crazy as yours.” You shake your head while waving your hand around, misinterpreting what he means by different. “You know, your fans must be so proud of you. Attending college while performing all around the world.”

“Are you proud of me?” The words tumble out before Jeongguk’s brain can catch up. In hindsight, it’s a normal thing to ask your best friend. But maybe, in the tiny corner of his mind, sits something he doesn’t want to admit yet: maybe he wants more.

“I am,” comes your instant reply. “I always am, Jeongguk.”

In the darkness of the night, under a single lightbulb lighting up your face, Jeongguk sees 15-year-old you, hugging his lanky figure and saying you were proud of him for finally debuting. Your dreams! They have come true! you’d said. Your eyes were shining, hopeful, excited for what’s to come for him. Although you’ve lost the child-like enthusiasm, Jeongguk knows you’ll always support him in anything he does.

Now he’s the one who’s lost. In your eyes, dim with exhaustion but full of warmth still. You have your cheek in your hand, lips moving. The words you’re saying sound like a buzz in his ears, only catching a stray one that’s unusual for your vocabulary: melancholic.

You’re still talking. He doesn’t care.

“Do you want to come to New York?”

Time difference sucks. Jeongguk’s solution?

Get rid of it.

a/n: thank you for reading! requests are still open but pls note it will take time for me to write them all hehe

[lol-ktr]

♡- - UNCONTROLLABLE - -♡

I'LL TEACH YOU SOME MANNERS YOU LITTLE BITCH.

・❥・~ ꜱᴛᴀʀʀɪɴɢ. Kenpachi Zaraki

・❥・~ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ. Since joining one of the most powerful divisions, that of Captain Zaraki Kenpachi, you've made a name for yourself with your superiors, especially your captain, who finds you rather arrogant towards him, which has led him to teach you manners towards him and your superiors in his own way ;)

・❥・~ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. 18+ ONLY + MDNI !! fem ! reader, size difference (very big difference lol), violent sex, Kenpachi has no mercy and won't hesitate to let you know that you're a piece of shit, dirty nickname, unprotected sex, dirty language, multiple orgasm ,eating pussy, hair pulling, slaps on the buttocks, obscene pose, kenpachi has a monster under his pants…

・❥・~ ᴡᴄ. 3.5k

・❥・~ ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ. Heyya, this is the first time in my life that I'm writing something, be it Reader, smut, fluff…. and for my first time I want to do it with a smut of a character I like a lot since since 2020 I only read smut I never started writing oc or Reader, so here is my first “work” with something quite violent, if people can give me critics, or advice I'm happy to receive them to improve myself, good reading : ') (ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, I USED GOOGLE TRANSLATION TO DO IT IF THE WORDS DON'T MAKE SENSE THANK YOU FOR BEING COMPREHENSIBLE! )

Before you could react, you felt the crushing pressure of your captain's reiatsu in front of you. You found yourself kneeling on his bed, when you opened your eyes again, you were in a dark room, the air thick and stifling, only a faint glow emanating from a torch on the wall, revealing the imposing silhouette of your captain, Kenpachi Zaraki, his piercing gaze and ferocious smile fixed on you. Surprised by the sudden appearance of your captain in front of you, you ask, "What is this place?" looking around, trying to keep your cool. "This is where I break rebellious spirits like you" he advances slowly towards you, declaring, "You think you can defy me with your arrogance?"

You stare at him, your heart pounding. "I won't back down, no matter what you do."

Kenpachi smiles, a joyless smile. "We'll see." He raises his hand, his reiatsu crushing you, forcing you to sink into his bed, starting to remove his Shihakusho, his movements slow and deliberate.

A wave of panic washes over you. "What... what are you doing?" you stammer, your eyes widening as his torso is revealed. "You're scared now, aren't you? I can feel it from here," Kenpachi sneers, tossing his Shihakusho aside. "I'm not going to kill you, but you're going to learn to obey."

You try to wriggle, still held by the force of his reiatsu, desperately seeking an escape. "Damn, let me go, bastard..." you were red with embarrassment.

Kenpachi advances with his sadistic smile, his imposing presence filling the room. "In this division, we respect strength."

Before you can react, he grabs the collar of your Shihakusho and, with brute force, tears it in two, revealing your bouncing breasts. You remain frozen, eyes wide with panic. Kenpachi sneers, throwing the pieces of your Shihakusho aside. "I show you what respect means, in the most brutal way possible."

Panic completely overtakes you. "Wait, captain... I... I'm sorry!" you try to say, despair mixing with fear in your voice.

He shakes his head, his gaze merciless. "Too late for apologies. You're going to learn now." You feel your heart racing, fear paralyzing you. The pressure of his reiatsu increases, forcing you to your knees. You know this lesson will be brutal and that Kenpachi will show no mercy.

"I'm going to teach you proper manners towards your captain, little bitch, even if I have to strip every thread of your uniform to do it." he declares with relentless coldness.

You close your eyes for a moment, your heart racing, your thoughts racing as you realize Kenpachi's intentions. Panic completely overtakes you, every fiber of your being screaming in terror. The sexual tension is palpable in the air as you find yourself at the mercy of Kenpachi Zaraki, your body shivering with anticipation, mixing fear and excitement. This lesson in respect will be etched in your memory forever.

Kenpachi roughly rips off your bra, sending it flying across the room, revealing your naked, tense breasts. You gasp in surprise, your breath quickening as you feel a mix of excitement and apprehension at your captain's audacity. In all his ferocity, he pushes you forcefully against the bed. "Ah-!" You feel his hot breath on your skin, his expert hands exploring your body with wild intensity. He grabs your breasts firmly between his powerful hands, crushing them with force, mixing pain and pleasure in an indomitable way. His agile tongue attacks your breasts, licking them with bestial voracity. Each lick is accompanied by a slight bite, igniting a burning excitement within you. You arch under his rough caresses, silently begging for more, to be taken with unmatched ferocity. You moan in pain and pleasure. He suddenly kisses you on the lips with burning passion. His tongue forces your lips open, exploring your mouth with insatiable voracity, not giving you a moment to breathe, leaving you voiceless and completely under his control. "I'm going to show you what it means to be dominated," he growls between kisses, pulling back and detaching from your tongue with a growl, leaving a trail of saliva connecting you, causing him a smile of satisfaction.

His large hands grab your hair at the roots, forcing you to get on all fours on the edge of the bed, facing the empty space, finding yourself nose to nose with his crotch, still holding you firmly by the roots of your hair, rubbing your cheek against his member still clad in his loose pants.

Despite the black color of his pants, you could still see the visible shape of his monstrous erection, causing you a small wave of excitement. "K-Kenpachi..." you looked up at him from where you were, with a red face of embarrassment, tears of frustration in your eyes. Kenpachi looks at you with that mocking smile making you shiver, as he pulls you by the hair closer to his face. "It's Captain for you, that's one of the first rules you were taught when joining this division. No familiarity with your superiors," you look at him with a mix of anger and shock, unable to look away from his face marked by that stupid smile.

He puts you back in front of his erection. "Take off these pants for me and make me happy," you felt humiliated by this situation. With a trembling hand, you slowly pull down his pants, revealing his impatient manhood. Your shocked gaze fixes on his huge, erect member ready to be taken in your mouth. You feel both intimidated and eager to give him satisfaction. With a slow and deliberate gesture, you approach him without him asking, your moist tongue brushing the tip of his glans, before enveloping it with your eager mouth. You savor every inch of his manhood, using your tongue and lips to give him intense pleasure. The moans and growls that escape his mouth only fuel your own excitement, him gripping your hair with pure pleasure.

You continue to suck him with devotion, focusing on his reactions and adjusting your technique, moving up and down his member to offer him maximum pleasure. Kenpachi, overwhelmed by his uncontrollable desire, thrusts brutally without any warning, holding your head, withdrawing and thrusting his erect member into your mouth with brutality, literally fucking your face with brutal intensity. You are caught off guard by his strength and domination, tears forming at the corners of your eyes, your hands gripping the edge of the bed to hold yourself in place, while his manhood penetrates your mouth again and again. Your muffled moans of pleasure escape between the thrusts, as you look up at him with eyes filled with lust and submission.

The pleasure builds in you as his movements accelerate, pushing you towards ecstasy. You savor every moment, enjoying the sensation of his domination and the release of your own urges.

"Damn, you like that, huh? Feeling my cock fucking your face, making you moan with pleasure. You're a real slut. I love that. And you know what? I'm going to take you even harder, make you scream until you can't take it anymore. I'm going to fuck you like never before."

You feel Kenpachi's erection harden even more, a sign that he's about to reach his peak. He continues to move your head on his hardness, aided by your tongue and lips, until he reaches the height of his pleasure, pouring his hot elixir into your mouth. Kenpachi abruptly withdraws his cock from your mouth, leaving a trail of semen on your lips. You both catch your breath, he looks at you with a satisfied smile, his breathing still ragged. "Swallow that cum, damn... Who would have thought you'd be so good at this? I'm going to make you moan and fill you with pleasure until you lose your mind, fuck you in every position imaginable, make you scream and make you cum again and again."

Kenpachi pushes you, crouching over you, pulling your pelvis up, your legs still covered placed on his shoulders. He rips your pants off in one go, revealing your manhood still clad in your underwear, you moan in surprise. Kenpachi smiles seeing your soaked underwear. You look at him with a burning gaze of desire, ready to be devoured.

"Look at you, little bitch. You're so wet and ready for me. I'm going to lick you until you can't hold back anymore, until you beg for more." With a brutal gesture, he grabs your underwear and pulls with brutal force. The fabric tears under the pressure, separating with a sharp noise. You find yourself naked in front of him, vulnerable and exposed.

Kenpachi tosses the torn underwear aside, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. "Now, you're exactly how I want you," he murmurs in a hoarse voice, his hands running over your bare skin.

You moan with pleasure as he plunges his head between your thighs, his expert tongue exploring every inch of your intimacy. You arch under his caresses, completely surrendering to his talent.

Kenpachi looks at you intensely, his tongue sending waves of pleasure through your body. He takes his time, savoring every reaction you have, every moan that escapes your lips.

His hands firmly grip your hips, immobilizing you as he continues to lick you with an almost disconcerting expertise. "Ahh.. Captain, it's so good, keep going...", your breathing becomes increasingly erratic.

But suddenly, Kenpachi stops at these words, lifting his head to fix you with a cruel smile. You feel a wave of frustration and need surge through your body as he ceases his caresses. "What did you say?" he asks, his tone merciless and threatening.

"I-I was saying it felt so good... Why are you stopping?", you look at him with a mix of desire and confusion, eyes half-closed.

"You want me to continue? You have to beg for it." Kenpachi's piercing gaze cuts through you, leaving you breathless. "Did you think I would let you come that easily?"

You look at him, shocked by this statement. "No," you reply firmly, despite the burning desire within you. "I won't beg you..."

Kenpachi raises an eyebrow, surprised but amused by your defiance. "Really? You prefer to stay there, in this state, rather than beg me?"

"Yes," you say, your voice trembling but resolute. "I won't beg you."

Kenpachi stands up slightly, making you fall, his cruel smile widening. "Then you'll have to stay like this, frustrated and unsatisfied. But I warn you, you won't last long."

He steps back, watching your reactions with sadistic interest. You feel humiliated, your body tormented by an unbearable desire, but you refuse to yield.

Minutes pass, each second increasing your frustration. You struggle internally, your body demanding the pleasure he abruptly interrupted.

"One more time, you only have to say one word," Kenpachi whispers in your ear, his tone gentle but relentless.

You close your eyes, fighting against the overwhelming sensations. Finally, you open them again, your resolve wavering under the intensity of desire. You can't endure this torture any longer. "Captain, I... please," you start, your voice broken by humiliation and need. "I-I beg you... Continue..."

Kenpachi smiles, victorious. "What exactly do you want?", he asks, savoring your submission.

"I want... I want you to continue, to make me come," you beg, your voice trembling. "Please, Captain... I'm yours, I beg you, make me come..."

"That's better. Now, I'll give you what you want, but remember that I'm the one who decides." He grabs your thighs with force, squeezing them, and dives back between your thighs, his tongue resuming its expert movements, exploring every inch of your intimacy with renewed passion. Your moans of pleasure fill the room as you lose yourself in the sensations, overwhelmed by the ecstasy he gives you.

The sounds of your pleasure are so loud they resonate throughout the barracks. Anyone passing by could hear your moans, an undeniable testimony to the fierce passion Kenpachi inflicts on you.

"Captain... yes, it feels so good... don't stop..."

Kenpachi intensifies his movements, his tongue playing with your most sensitive spots, bringing you to the brink of orgasm. You feel the orgasm rising within you, uncontrollable and powerful, and this time, he doesn't stop, letting you reach the peak of ecstasy.

"Come for me, little bitch. I want to feel you tremble under my tongue."

With a cry of pleasure, you surrender completely, the orgasm crashing through your body with overwhelming intensity. You cling to the bed sheets, your moans turning into screams of pure ecstasy. Kenpachi doesn't stop. He continues with relentless intensity, his tongue and fingers exploring every sensitive part of your intimacy. You feel another orgasm rising within you, even more powerful than the previous one.

"Captain... I... I can't take it anymore," you moan, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure.

"Oh, you can take more like the arrogant little thing you are," he murmurs against your skin, intensifying his movements.

Minutes pass, each second bringing a new wave of pleasure. You come again and again, your body arching under the intensity of each orgasm. Your moans turn into cries of desperate pleasure, filling the barracks with their echoes.

"I told you, you'll come until you can't hold back anymore."

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of unending intense pleasure, your body collapses, exhausted and trembling with satisfaction under the waves of orgasms Kenpachi has inflicted upon you. Kenpachi finally withdraws, leaving you panting and overwhelmed by ecstasy, your body still shivering with pleasure. Your breathing is ragged, your skin covered in sweat. The electrifying sensations coursing through every fiber of your being are both exhilarating and exhausting, leaving you in a state of near-unconscious bliss.

"Please... no more," you murmur, your voice broken by exhaustion.

Kenpachi, still smiling with satisfied cruelty, stops for a moment, his eyes shining with a triumphant gleam. With a brutal gesture, he violently turns you onto your back, pinning you firmly against the bed, your body exposed to his domination.

"No more? Do you really think I'm done with you?" he says mockingly, holding you firmly by the hips, his gaze roaming your exhausted body with a greedy glint in his eyes. He gently rubs the tip of his cock against your sensitive folds, taking his time, savoring every moment of your supplications, making you shiver with anticipation and desire.

"No... I'm at my limit, I can't take anymore," you whisper, tears of fatigue streaming down your cheeks. You feel every vein and every contour of his powerful erection caressing your lips, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. He plays with you, barely brushing your entrance, the light contact driving you crazy with desire.

Then, with an almost cruel movement, he slightly pushes his head into your entrance, just enough to make you squirm and moan with desire. You can feel the heat of his erection against you, waiting for only one thing, for him to take you with all his might.

Without another word, Kenpachi grabs your hips with brutal strength and penetrates you in one thrust, his cock filling your already sensitized intimacy. A cry of pleasure mixed with pain escapes your lips as he begins to take you with relentless passion.

Each thrust is brutal, each movement filled with wild intensity. You cling desperately to the bed, your body shaken by the force of his assaults. The sensations of pleasure mixed with pain overwhelm you, carrying you in a whirlwind of indescribable sensations.

"You'll take everything I have to give," his movements becoming even more imperative as he thrusts into you again and again.

Kenpachi continues to take you with fierce intensity, showing no signs of slowing down. Your moans fill the room. Each thrust from Kenpachi sends waves of pleasure and pain through your body, making you almost insensible to anything except the sensations he gives you.

Outside the room, members of the 11th division pass by their captain's door, exchanging surprised and uncomfortable looks as they hear the muffled sounds of pleasure emanating from inside.

They quicken their pace, their faces blushing slightly at the thought of what's happening on the other side of the door. Inside, Kenpachi continues to take you with relentless vigor, changing positions to better penetrate you.

He lifts you and places you on your stomach, pulling you by the hips and hair towards him to better take you from behind. The thrusts become even deeper and more brutal, each movement making your breasts bounce with uncontrollable force. You feel his hands gripping your buttocks firmly, squeezing and slapping them from time to time to intensify your pleasure.

"You like that, huh? Feeling my cock filling you again and again."

Your moans become cries of pleasure as he continues to pound you mercilessly. The division members, though embarrassed, can't help but listen as they pass by, some whispering shocked comments to each other.

You feel you're about to explode with pleasure again, but Kenpachi shows no signs of wanting to stop. He turns you over again, this time putting you on your back facing him on the bed. He grabs your hips and starts penetrating you with even more intense thrusts. Your breasts bounce with each movement, the sight of your bouncing breasts amplifying his desire.

"Come for me, bitch," he growls, his face displaying a smile of brutal satisfaction.

He continues with ferocity, not stopping even after your relentless orgasm. Each position he takes is more obscene than the last, pushing you to your limits and beyond. Your cries of pleasure mingle with pain, filling the barracks with their lascivious echo, each member of the division knowing exactly what's happening in the captain's room.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of uninterrupted pleasure, Kenpachi reaches his own climax with a guttural growl, spilling into you with burning intensity. You feel the heat of his cum filling your insides, each drop marking your total submission.

"That's how you should be, filled, obedient and satisfied," he says, slowly withdrawing, his satisfied smile on his face, leaving you panting and overwhelmed by pleasure, your body still shivering with pleasure. He gets up from the bed and looks at you with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. You feel his gaze weighing on you, assessing the effects of his brutal lesson.

He grabs a towel and wipes the sweat from his body, then quickly gets dressed, his gaze still fixed on you. You try to sit up, but your muscles refuse to cooperate, leaving you breathless and defenseless.

"Stay there and recover. Next time, you'll know better how to behave."

He leans toward you, his hand gripping your chin with brutal firmness, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He gives you a possessive kiss on the lips, his tongue invading your mouth with dominating force.

"And don't forget who's in charge here."

After having finished his brutal lesson, Kenpachi straightens up, giving you one last look before leaving the room. The air still impregnated with his intimidating aura. With heavy and determined steps, he leaves the room, leaving the door open behind him. In the hallway, several members of the 11th division gather, attracted by the noises from inside.

Kenpachi advances towards them, his face displaying a mix of satisfaction and discontent. The division members freeze, feeling the tension in the air as their captain approaches.

"What are you looking at, you bunch of idiots?" he growls, his eyes flashing with anger. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

The division members look at each other nervously, some lowering their eyes to avoid Kenpachi's piercing gaze. One of them, more audacious, tries to speak.

"Captain, we... we were just worried, the noises were... unusual."

Kenpachi fixes the brave member with a piercing look, evaluating his response with suspicion.

"Unusual, huh? And since when is what happens in my room any of your business, huh?" he snaps, his voice filled with defiance. "You're supposed to be soldiers of the 11th division, not neighborhood gossips."

The division members lower their heads, realizing they may have crossed a line by intruding on their captain's private affairs. Kenpachi continues to stare at them, his expression hard and unyielding.

"Get back to your posts and forget what you heard. Otherwise, you'll have to deal with me," he declares in a grave voice.

The men quickly nod, dispersing in the hallway with a mix of relief and fear. Kenpachi watches them leave, his gaze still as piercing. Once alone, he shakes his head with a sigh, wondering what his men might think of him. But deep down, he knows that their respect is not what concerns him the most. He has a job to do, enemies to face, and he will not let anyone, not even his own division, stand in his way.

Back in the room, you slowly start to get dressed, your muscles still sore from the ordeal. You hear the murmurs of other division members through the open door, their voices filled with curiosity and fear. Despite the humiliation, a part of you cannot help but feel a certain satisfaction at having survived Kenpachi's intensity.

You know this will not be the last time you have to face his ruthless nature, but you are determined to show that you can endure his trials. Each encounter with Kenpachi makes you stronger, and even if it means enduring his brutal treatments again, you are ready to rise to the challenge.

[gracemain919]

The Priest (oc): Short story

(The Fungus universe)

Summary: You try and distract the Priest from a very important duty.

Tw: Yandere, oral sex, slight mentions of murder and abuse

You Can’t Leave Without a Reward.

No… you shouldn't have heard that. Yet, you did. An unintentional snoop that caused you to overhear a certain mission. One where the Entertainers would wreak havoc over an enemy site… The mere mention of such actions struck fear into your mind. The site wanted any enemy to stay weak, so this could cause so many losses… So many deaths…

This leaves you with the results of many unsure decisions. Body covered with the most unstable towel at the empty dinner table.

You were never a flirt, you had never tried to get any of their sexual attention, yet strangely enough, this was your first idea. Which to come to think of it? You were regretting it by the second. God, if you fail you are just going to look stupid and idiotic, but you had to at least try.

The entertainers worked in a group, special missions like that required the three of them. If one doesn't show up, the mission gets delayed along with a very long earful by the present members.

So you just had to hold one of them back just long enough… and the only one that felt less dreadful to choose was Henry. The Priest. He was strong-willed but… it was better than choosing Doppelganger.

Waiting around the empty room, the clock getting dangerously close to the hour. He always showed up in the dinning room before missions. For the mere fact of grabbing a drink. He would get there… At any moment… He should…

As more time passed, the sweatier you felt. The towel felt like it was crushing your lungs by the way your breath was being stolen by panic. If he didn't come… No, he will. He will-

It was like an angel had come. The door suddenly being opened to reveal the familiar older man. Bag in hand, he strolled inside before abruptly stopping. He seemed surprised by your presence and attire, his eyes only glancing at your body before diverting his gaze toward your face with haste. As if ashamed of his wandering eyes.

“My lord, didn't expect you to be here. Did no one wash your clothes?” he asked, making his way to the fridge… Grabbing himself a drink, turning back to you.

Ok, you had his attention… Now… what do you do? You didn't think so far ahead. Fuck!

“Uh, no. I had… clothes. I just thought…”

Come on, you had to think. You could say something better. You just had to think.

“I thought you… uh, deserved a reward today. Yeah”

Came out with the worst stutter you ever thought was possible. No joke, no one would ever even consider that as flirtation. Nevertheless, the man seemed moved. Curiosity displayed clearly on his features, along with a slight shade of red on his cheeks. Almost unnoticeable if you aren't paying proper attention.

“A reward? I must say I would appreciate anything you give me. Yet… for what reason may I ask?”

“Uh, because… because,” Your eyes lowered for a second, trying to come up with an answer. “Because you are extremely… helpful and you have worked hard for the people on your floor… so I want to thank you for that.”

You smiled, trying to push away any doubt in his mind, but his broken gaze towards the clock scared you. He eyed the time with slight worry before turning toward you once more. “What may the reward be?”

God, he isn’t an idiot… Why is he acting like this?

You fiddled with the towel, your fingers playfully circling the fabric. Your bust was practically on display, the towel only covering the bottom half: barely. “Just a very well-known reward… Wouldn’t you like that?”

You would think you look like a good meal. The corrupted flaunt over for ankles, so imagine your surprise when he looked away. “I’m sorry… my lord. I have something to do. Maybe when I come back-”

“What!” your anger couldn't help but show, but you quickly retracted your sentence. Eating away your own venom and swallowing it whole. “I mean why?”

“I… have something to do. I'm truly very sorry I can't indulge you in such acts at this moment”

“If you refuse you will return to nothing” the words came out suddenly and coldly. Failure wasn't allowed and if the sweat that coated your skin was any indicator, it would indicate how little options you had. “I got all prepared just for you… to turn me down?” You played the part, pouting, and everything. Observing as his resolve and will started to falter with each passing moment. Just for a little while… that's all you needed.

However, he didn't seem sure. His eyes returned to your form, tearing into your skin while debating the clock. Every single flick to the clock breaking your already hurt dignity. So, in a moment, in a mere moment, you made a decision. One that barely crossed your mind, still your body followed. You let the towel drop to the floor showing everything you had to offer. Every inch of your skin was exposed, while the bottom half of your body was hidden by the dinner table. A treat just inches away from his grasp…

….

To hell with the mission. How many times has the Doppelganger come in late for less dire reasons? Hundreds!

It was as if a light switch was flicked. Suddenly the distance between the both of you started getting smaller and smaller, each step around the table sending shivers down your spine.

“Fine, I will take your… gracious gift. My lord,” the man muttered, his voice breathless as he stood by your side. Fingers up your neck in gentle caresses while his eyes were focusing on all the wrong places. His eyes showed glee, the clock long forgotten by the way he tilted your head, trapping you in a deep kiss.

A familiar warmth invaded your mouth but you accepted the sensation. The man himself let out a sly moan before taking a moment to breathe…

“I love you. Truly” the man said, a sigh leaving his lips as if he was in a dream. “Let me just…”

“You can do anything,” you said plainly, not being able to hide the blush on your face, but Henry chuckled shaking his head. “I don't wish to do anything with my clothes off, my lord.”

Huh… peculiar.

His hands settled on your closed hips, a faint smile on his face. He gave the flesh a squeeze before gently prying your legs open for his patient gaze. He took his time eyeing every nook and cranny you so kindly bestowed upon him, yet the main event had to be done, and he was more than willing. He got down on his knees causing your mind to backtrack on everything you had ever wished for. You wished for failure and success, so the end result was never going to please you. So it only made sense the disdain building in your heart by his every touch.

In spite of the disgust you felt, you couldn't lie and say that they didn't make you feel… pretty. You felt wanted… in a way even if it only was for your body or your presence.

The way his soft hands sunk into your things before dipping his head. You felt his breath on your regions and any proper lover would look and watch their partner during such acts but you preferred to observe the clock. Anything to distract you from the wet feeling of his tongue giving your cunt some delicate attention. One hand poked at your thigh, pushing it aside while the other opened your precious flower for his ministrations.

The quiet room soon started to echo your decisions. The laps of his tongue along with the slight moans leaving you both. He acted as if eating a divine meal and you felt disgusting in a way… You weren't divine, you weren't anything special, yet he practically drooled by your mere taste.

The sensation almost made you forget the time… 25 minutes. 10 trying to convince him and the other having to sit in this humiliating position. Legs raised in order for him to indulge in his tastes, hardly taking breaks to breath air. Truly impressive, you could feel flattered…

Your body started feeling hot, resting your head against the chair as your legs tightened against his head. Practically griding your body against him in search. In search of a release, one he felt happy to give, only if the door didn't open right in the middle of it.

….

It seems the entertainers will have to reschedule such a mission. Oops.

(Since he won the pull. So here is the story;-;)

[bonefries]

Outlast Trials | Fanfiction | Mostly SFW + Depictions of gore / little bit of suggestive groping.

The Fox and the Hare | Franco Barbi x (Reagent OC) Sister Elizabeta

This picture is now the cover for this one shot I wrote about Eli and Franco! This is the story about the first time Eli reveals to Franco that she wants to cannibalize his heart. I've never really written a fic before so I gave it a try. (Please go easy on me. Writing is not my first skill.)

(Outlast Trials story, you have been warned.) Writing under the cut!

"5 AM in the Goddamn morning." Franco's voice rumbled from his bed at the less than pleasurable sound of the morning intercom. The crackling static of the Murkoff speaker as it popped on to inform him that he has 15 minutes to prepare before his first appearance of the day.

His blanket would shuffle as he struggled to slump himself forward, clearing the morning gunk from his throat and rubbing the dust from his eyes. Lifting his ring finger to his face, he delicately massaged the thin layer of his eyelid. In this gesture he would push away the pesky tears that pooled along his waterline.

"Marone." He would roll off his tongue in agitation. There are few individuals that opt to run his stage so early before sunrise.

This was, even for him, too goddamn early. However, it was all a part of the contract. On call at whatever moment of the day Murkoff desired. In exchange, Franco is given his milk and honey. The heroin operations intact, his clientele happy and paying, and his protection guaranteed from whomever senior Salvatore may still be trying to throw his way to disturb his little slice of heaven. Though, one did think about the audacity it took for him to be so inconvenienced by waking up early for work. He was, after all, complaining from his large and private bedroom that was custom fitted with all of his nice things. From his silky bed sheets to his hardwood armoire that held his finely tailored wardrobe. The things he can't help but want because of his upbringing in a luxury lifestyle. Back then, young Barbi could have whatever he wanted so long as it didn't require Daddy's love and affection. "Who the fuck wants to be in there at ass crack'a dawn." Franco would take a deep breath, the air hissing through him as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. The already irritated Barbi had no intentions of getting dressed this first time around as he searched his bed for his evening robe. As he sat on the edge of his sheets, he would run his fingers over the side of his head to feel how his wound was fairing. It was a regular issue that he has long since discarded serious care for. The chemicals Murkoff pumped into him at regular check ups somehow managed to keep the infection in line just enough every time. But, it was still a chronic pain. And of course, the dressings he had gone to sleep with were off once again. He could never manage to get them to stick as he would toss and turn throughout his appointed resting periods. At his bedside of course, sat his precious Lupara. He'd grab the gun with a haste most only saw in soldiers hurried to war.

"I'll be fucked if some spunky little cunt is really lookin for a fight this early in the mornin." He spat with a jagged scowl.

If it truly was some reagent with the balls to be so punctual, he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing him in his proper work attire. Hell, the only thing he truly bothered with were his socks and shoes. The small man had every intention of looking ridiculous for the poor sucker he was hoping to find. --------

"Good morning Mr. Barbi." Said the man behind the glass. Waiting for Franco at this gated entrance as always. "Up yours, scum pig." Franco would snarl, with no hesitation and no eye contact to spare. Never had he cared for the authority around him that Murkoff provided. This may be their set up, but this was his turf, as far as he was concerned. Once he was past the gate and through the doorway, he would be in the facility. With Lupara over his shoulder, he would stop to stare out into the distance of the Docks. Searching for anything out of the ordinary.

The morning silence was deafening. “So fuckin early even the rats ain’awake yet.”

Franco stated as he stepped along metal staircases and wooden hallways. The disgusting smell of sulfur, like that of rotting eggs. The fake simulated cries of seagulls and the moist sloshing of water and carnage against the cargo ship. He would make his way to the rising platform that laid beneath the hatch, expecting to find someone perhaps within the bridge. As his footsteps trebled against the metal panels of the floor, his predatory intuition made clear that his prey was not too far off. Something in the air changed, a presence, a frequency. A silent alarm, if any. And it made his trigger finger itch.

But his gut warned him to hold steady. And gently, Franco pushed open a door to the bridge control room. The red lighting in the room would make it rather easy for someone to sit still and eventually slide by quietly. Like a conniving little rat. But this wasn't the case, as the intruder made no real efforts to conceal themselves.

A figure hunched over a box of junk and trinkets. The sound of objects being picked up, inspected perhaps, and dropped back in. Though there was something odd about the way that they did, as there didn't appear to be much urgency in their gestures. At least not the kind that you would expect from most reagents.

"Who the fuck is that!?" Franco asserted. Aiming his Lupara with a ferocity that came quicker than the pull of the trigger.

It wasn't more than a second before the hunched figure rose to their full height, head turning slightly to capture a side eye view of Franco's threat posture. Their gaze presented with a very silent and eerie calmness despite the gun pointed to them.

"Thats an awful rude way to greet 'a girl so early in the morning, Mista' Bambino." A voice with a short fuse for patience spoke out to him. You could hear the small gasp that wormed it's way out of the mobster's lungs after being addressed. Franco would drop his hostile pose with Lupara still in his hand. Motioning his arms forward, he gestured the way one would when asking for a hug.

"Lizzy!" Shouted the Barbi.

The giantess gave Franco the quick up and down. Her eyes hung in a way that made them look so soft, but sad. The same way a Forget-Me-Not makes you feel by it's name.

"Doooon't you Lizzy me buster! Yous was just aimin'that goddamn Lupara at the backa' my head!" Her shoulders would jerk around, a small medicine bottle in one hand while the other put up a scolding finger.

Franco would note that she didn't look like her typical self. While she dawned her ever holy reagent bindings and gear, something was unkempt about her.

Her hair was frizzy and bedridden, her make up was fading and tacky along the features and creases of her face. Loosely fitted from her body was a hand made evening jumper. The material looked surprisingly close to the silk of his sheets back in his bedroom. Lastly her stockings were put on in a hurry. They were already full of tears and holes as they pulled against the shape of her legs. For her that had been good enough, and she had walked into the trial shuttle without any shoes.

The two would walk forward from their respective spots in the room, meeting each other half way.

"No, no, Lizzy! You know I'd never take a shot at ya! I-I ain't seen ya in a week I wasn't thinkin it was you!"

Franco's demeanor would shift ever so quickly to that of a begging pup as he put his hands together. Pleading with Lizzy that he was not out of line. That he did good hesitating before letting his trigger finger do the talking for him. "S-Sugar." He would stutter, his expression failing to show any real confidence in his display.

Lizzy would roll her eyes and shake her head. The finger that did the scolding now gently brushing through the front patch of Franco's hair.

"Yeah well, I didn't have much of a choice Barbi doll." She said.

Her nails gently pushed the strands of greasy hair into their signature swirl on his forehead. The gentleness of her motion reflected in the way it felt. A slight tickle on top of the skin, oh, it was something so minor that could make a man like Franco purr.

She could melt him like butter. His knees could turn to jelly on the spot as she stroked his hair. Like being praised for good behavior while he batted his eyelashes at her. Despite how disheveled she would consider herself in the moment, she was his Madonna. An icon he'd get on his knees to worship while he pleaded for her forgiveness and her blessings.

"One of tha'rookies in my cell block is havin a tough time with a nasty stab wound. I said I'd go get them somethin first thing in the mornin." She explained. The tone of her voice suggesting that she was, in fact, the one looking for forgiveness.

"I didn't mean to wake ya up Frankie- Honest. But yous was the first in rotation today." Lizzy tried to assure him, her fingers clenching lightly to his chin. Making him look into her eyes while she tried to reason her actions to him.

Her hands were so soft, except for her pointer finger. He could feel the callused tip of it, making it stand out against the rest. The spot where she pricked too much from sewing without a thimble or machine guard, surely.

Smitten, his mouth would curl into a dotting smile. How he wished she would give him more than just this simple restraint. Though, the thought would quickly pass as his expression changed. Resembling that of a mean and feral tom cat. Scrunched together, like there was a bad taste past his tongue and teeth.

"Wait wait. You got up at this time for some....random newbie! Lizzy. C'mon what'dya get outta helpin these people!" Franco would argue. He was more upset on her behalf than she was.

In fact, she didn't seem to protest the task at all.

"These people ain't got nothin for you. You fuckin know that. Whats'tha sense in goin through.......through this kind of bullshit! Eh?" The little man would kick his leg limply as he let his fuse run without much thought to his outburst. Lizzy offered no real response other than a puff of air. Her red painted nail would lightly poke Bambino on his nose while she uttered something.

"Look Frankie. You might get a nice cozy spot all to ya'self but I share a parlor'wit a buncha other people. Some'a them need someone to look out for them alright?" The woman didn't say much else other than to point out that it was a simple act of kindness for a wounded stranger. "They're just taking advantage of'ya Liz." He grumbled and grabbed her free hand by the wrist. Holstering Lupara for the moment, a thing he rarely did when he was out and about.

"They ain't workin hard like you do, baby. They're just lookin to get what they can outta ya, and then suck you for every last drop you got." Franco's tone would once again reach a level of irritation. He hissed in a low volume and moved to hold her hand in his palms.

"You can't just go willy fuckin nilly doin shit for these people. They're gonna stab you in the back the second they get the goddamn chance."

The way Franco said it truly reflected how often he looked over his shoulder. One could imagine that he never meant a hand shake a day in his life, or that his fingers surely ached from how often they were crossed behind his back. It takes a rat to know a rat, and he has been both rodent and thief in his day.

"Frankie, you're ova'reactin. It's just a little medicine, sourpuss." Lizzy would puff her cheeks out, unbothered by the assumptions Franco was making. She calmly slid her hand away from his grasp to gesture as she spoke.

"Besides....Gave me a reason to come see ya'didn't it?" She giggled at the statement, her fingers running down the open lining of his evening robe. Adjusting the fabric slightly, Lizzy would cup the side of Franco's face. Feeling the heat from his cheeks that she couldn't see on him now.

Franco just stared at her. His thick eyelashes flickering as he blinked in confusion and bashfulness. He didn't want to admit he had gotten a little overworked about the situation, but he had to muster up an excuse of some sort, right?

"Y-yeah. So what if it did? I ain't gonna thank'em! And now I'm all fuckin worked up and out here in my fuckin pajamas!" The man whined. A wincing pitch to his voice that made one feel like they were fighting with a child.

"Fuckin...mothafucka.." Bambino growled to himself. Massaging his eyelids softly once again to push the waterworks away.

"Aw, my poor Bambino. Always cryin, never'sad." Lizzy would bend down to kiss his temple. A faint smear of red tint from her lipstick that she'd had on since the day before. It's darkness was only visible if you really looked for it under the red light of the bridge. Franco's sad moans would cease after this short reward, but only briefly.

For Franco, especially at this time, it still wasn't enough.

"Mother...May I?" He winced and groaned. The sound he made was pathetic to say the least. Like a pained beast, begging to be put out of it's misery. He ran his hands up the woman's sides, gripping them securely much like the way he would grip his precious Lupara.

Lizzy's eyebrows would raise in surprise by his assertiveness in this moment. She scoffed and shook her head. "You'know I ain't got time't fool around wit' you Frankie." She protested. Looking into those sad puppy dog eyes of his. Lizzy had a strong will, but sometimes the break line was thin. She sighed. "C'mere Barbi Doll. Give mama some sugar." She beckoned him with her finger. "Marone...." The mobster buried his face into her belly without a moment's notice. Whispering sweet nothings into the pit of her stomach. His sweating skin sticking to the cool silk that hung loose from her figure. Nosing at it like a desperate animal in heat. Breathing in her scent like it was the last thing he’d do. "Look at what ya'do t'me..." The words crawled out of his mouth like a bum from the gutter. Desperate and yearning.He could never have what he wanted most from her. No matter how many times she appeared on his stage. A dream that was far off, but he had played in his head one hundred times over. The idea of getting warm and close to Lizzy in such a manner made his heart skip and his head spin. He couldn't even catch his breath to properly word the excitement it brought him. So instead, he tried to show it through physical affections as he tugged Lizzy closer to himself. His hands cusped just under her wide and soft curvature. Lizzy's expression would go from soft to perky and surprised at the sudden affections. “What do I do to you, Barbi Doll?” She whispered the question into the air as the tension built itself up. The musk was thick from the stage’s fake salt and morning fog that poured from machines in the walls. "You make baby crazy, Liz…” He groveled as his legs failed to hold him up any longer. Holding on to her ankles for dear life as he looked up at her face. His palms rubbing past the holes in her stockings, occasionally slipping a finger under the fabric to circle her skin tenderly. He would heave slightly as he leaned forward to kiss at the shimmering fabric. The woman stared intently at his display of affection. At the vulnerable state he was willing to subject himself to so he could hear her affirmations. And all she could do was watch him as he kissed at her feet. His lips were dry and sticky as he peppered trails up each leg. One at a time. An alarm was going off somewhere inside her head. The way Franco appeared at the floor before her made her skin hot and her stomach warm. A smirk would creep at the corners of her face, only emphasized by the red lipstick colors that stained her mouth. “Bambino…” Lizzy said. Franco’s short breaths paused as he made eye contact with her upon his title being named. “You know what you make me want to do?” She questioned.

Franco's eyes would light up at the opportunity to ask her. What did he make her want to do. How did she feel? "Mother...Please...." His voice was eager and hurried, like it was being squeezed from him.

"W-what do I make you wanna do, Mother... Tell me. Please." Franco's head was almost on the ground as he bowed it to the question.

"Mother please." The man child begged.

"Heh.." The tall woman snickered and cleared her throat. The air hissing as it sucked in past her teeth that she bared. And if it hadn't been for the lighting one could swear that she had the grin of a predator. Sharp and wanting. Drooling. Itching to snap down on bone and flesh.

Franco's eyes darted back up as he stared from below. The silence getting heavier and heavier with every second that passed. Waiting for her answer.

Before he could gather the air to speak and cut through the quiet, he was hoisted into the air. Lizzy having put down the medicine bottle to give herself more control and range to handle Barbi.

"My Little Baby Barbi Doll." She sang. She pulled his small body close to her so they were nose to nose. Holding him as if he weighed nothing more than a toy to her. Her facial features formed what could only be described as an intoxicated expression.

"If I had it my way..." She giggle-whispered. Her high pitched tone jittering as though something was very funny to her.

"If I had it my way, Barbi Doll. I'd reach my hand right through that little barrel chest'a yours." Lizzy circled her finger nail lightly over the skin above Franco's heart.

"I'd push past your ribs...until I could feel'ya heart between my fingers. And yank it right outta ya. Tubes and all." As Lizzy detailed the viscera of the scene in her head, you could hear the peak of the pleasure she took in describing it. In some twisted way, it made her heart flutter and gave her butterflies in her gut.

Franco's jaw was nearly on the floor as she hushed her desires right into his ears. They locked eyes, and as his mouth was agape, Lizzy's grin was that of a hungry....wolf. No.

He was the wolf here. Lupara, echoed in Franco's head. He still had Lupara, but he dare not grab for it. He knows how much Lizzy hated when he handled the gun around her.

No not a wolf. A vixen. And right now, Franco was the hare. The foolish hare that laid it's head in the maw of the fox. At any moment she could snap her jaws right on his little neck and do him in.

"I would take a bite outta your heart like a fuckin fruit. Frankie." The woman's lips twitched into a sadistic and hungry little grin and she leaned in close to whisper into Franco's ear. "And I bet you taste sweet. Sugar-sweet. Like milk, and honey."

The sentiment was enough to make Franco's mind go over the edge between fear and arousal. He was speechless, short circuited. Not a clue this side of hell what to say to her.

She sighed a longing sigh, as if she had just been minorly inconvenienced. "A girl can dream..." Lizzy would cut off her thoughts quite abruptly.

Putting Bambino back on the ground, his eyes widened with fear and uncertainty. Was she serious? Franco didn't actually know the answer, but his face was hot and flushed so much so that the sweat dripped from his skin. He took a deep breath and asked.

"Y-you wanna eat me?" He said with little behind the question. His teeth clenched from the anxiety. His mouth hollowed with confusion to Lizzy's true motives.

Their gazes would meet and there was a short pause. Lizzy wiped the corner of her mouth with the tip of her thumb and snickered softly.

"You heard me, Barbi Doll. I just wanna. Eat. You. Up."

She hunched over a bit, lowering herself to his level to place a deepened kiss on his lips. It caused Franco to moan lightly with relief as her touch was a comfort he had been missing for days. His temper was short because he felt ignored. Neglected even. But this was just the pick me up he needed, despite how he came about it.

But, the answer was still unclear. Although it wasn't something Franco saw any worth in dwelling over. Not after the heart skipping moment he just felt with Lizzy. Not right now.

A sickening bond that was ever growing between the two of them.

"One'a these days, Dollie. But not today,alright?" She grabbed his chin again and jerked his face lightly and playfully. His eyelashes fluttered at the motion.

"You gonna walk a little lady to the exit shuttle then?" Lizzy requested.

Franco whom already felt a lingering intimidation radiating from Ms.Lizzy, would hold no argument as he hooked his arm around her waist. He had no qualms with escorting her along with the medicine bottle she acquired.

After all he just wanted to get back to bed. He had thoughts to think over, and desires to dream of before the real trials of the day began.

-End

[kingofbodyrolls]

End of the World: shower drabble (m) | myg

you take your first real shower in four years (with Yoongi).

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: post-apocalyptic, dystopian, survival (it’s just undertones from the main story). This one is just pure fluff with some implied smut → Tropes: established relationship → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 1.2k → Warnings + triggers: mentions of the war, bombings, deaths and such. Unprotected sex (it’s more implied than anything else), kissing, oral (implied), shower sex (implied). → Author’s note(1): this is just a really short drabble for the sweet anon that wanted to read about OC’s first shower [link to the request here] 🥹 the fact that she hasn’t had a proper shower in so long 😭 so here it is! I hope it was okay 💜 Also, this technically takes place in the middle of ‘End of the World: A Flickering Hope’, this is from their first day at Whalien52 💕 → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue

It’s not that you haven’t washed in four years—just that you haven’t had a proper shower. Does the rain outside count as a shower? Hardly. But that’s been your life: rain showers. Better than nothing, right?

Your hair, tangled and knotted, might need cutting if you can’t brush it all out. Yoongi’s hair has grown so long he could tie it in a pretty ponytail or a man bun. 

Meeting Whalien52 has given you and Yoongi many things—one of them being your first real shower in years.

In the past, you could go a few days without a shower, no big deal. If you were home and didn’t have to socialize, showering didn’t matter much. But now, with grime, dirt, and sand clinging to your skin, you long to wash it all away. You want to feel clean and fresh, to rinse off the horrors of war, the bombings, the deaths... The only memories you want to keep are those of Yoongi. Oh, how you wish you could forget the rest, erase it, turn back time. But Yoongi? Him you want to keep forever.

“Are you coming, babe?” Yoongi’s voice from the bathroom interrupts your thoughts.

Oh, right. He’s waiting for you in the shower. Naked.

You can already hear the water running, hitting the tiles. The sound prickles your skin, quickening your heartbeat. You want it so badly—to feel the water on your skin, to soak, to be washed clean. Your mind drifts back to that time in Yoongi’s house when he washed you and took you on his bed afterward.

Your skin heats up, goosebumps rising all over. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you had a fever, but you’re just excited for your first real shower in years. You’ll have to thank Jungkook and Taehyung for building this. You guess you owe the whole crew for many things, one of them being a new home and new friends.

You enter the bathroom, the hot steam enveloping you. It feels humid, but you don’t mind. Your smiling face greets you in the mirror, though it’s already fogged up, making it hard to see your reflection. 

In a hurry, you shed your clothing, letting everything fall to the floor. These clothes might not survive a hand wash; you might have to throw them out. But it’s no matter. Jungkook has gifted both you and Yoongi some of his big tees and sweatpants, and that will be fine for now. It’s your first day here, and now you can finally have the shower of your life.

Wrapping your fingers around the shower curtain, you drag it to the side, revealing your naked boyfriend. A soft smile graces your face as your mind races with illicit thoughts.

“Is it hot?” you ask, extending your hand into the spray. The water hits you, feeling both prickly and comforting. It’s not too hot; it’s perfect.

“Come in and find out,” he smirks, sticking his tongue out teasingly.

You step into the tiny shower space, barely big enough for two. Pressed against your boyfriend, you struggle to breathe as the water soaks your hair, trickling down your face and naked body. It feels foreign but good. You take deep breaths, letting the moment envelop you; the warm water wraps around your body, cleansing it of grime and blood. Yoongi pulls you into his embrace, his strong chest and heartbeat grounding and calming you as always. The water dances on your skin, covering every inch of you and Yoongi, gently cleansing. It feels magical and surreal.

Yoongi moves his head to your neck, teasing your skin with his mouth. His tongue licks and he grunts into your neck, “This is amazing. I missed showering with you.” You hum in satisfaction, because yeah, you’ve missed this too.

Your hands move over his body, scrubbing him clean of dirt without shampoo. You feel something poke your stomach and look down, “You’re hard?”

He giggles, “Well, can you really blame me?”

You giggle, biting your lip teasingly as one of your hands finds his erect cock and you begin to stroke him. The shower becomes stuffier, more humid with your panting and moans growing higher and higher. You always want him and can never get enough.

When you’ve given his dick enough attention with both your hand and mouth, he turns you around and fucks you against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. It feels nice with the warm water still caressing your skin, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. It becomes hard to breathe. Both of your breaths are short, and you climax together in a panting mess, while the shower washes away the traces of your essences.

“Showering feels so nice. Especially with you,” you giggle, kissing him.

He hums, and you feel it against your breasts. It feels like love, whispering that everything will be okay.

Yoongi picks up a shampoo bottle, squirting some liquid into his hands, and then begins to wash you completely clean, even washing your hair like he did all those years ago. You relish the feeling of being cared for, momentarily forgetting what’s happening outside these walls, outside this hideout. You savor the sensation of being taken care of, because you’ve taken care of so many. It’s okay to have someone else care for you. It’s okay.

Yoongi’s gentle hands coax out the grime and tangles, each touch a soothing balm to your weary soul. The water cascades over you, washing away layers of dirt and despair, leaving you feeling reborn. His fingers work through the knots in your hair, a tender reminder of the care you had forgotten you needed.

The steam wraps around you both, creating a cocoon of warmth and intimacy. You lean into Yoongi’s touch, letting out a contented sigh as his hands glide over your skin, massaging away the tension of years spent surviving. You moan softly, feeling a new wetness pool between your legs, and Yoongi chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that vibrates through you. When it’s your turn to wash him, he shivers under your touch, releasing needy sounds that make you laugh, because you have the same effect on him. The water, the touch, the shared intimacy—it’s a ritual of cleansing, a renewal of hope.

After the shower, you wrap yourselves in soft towels, feeling lighter, cleaner, more human. You’re spent too much hot water, but it was much needed. You slip into the clothes Jungkook provided, the fabric soft and comforting against your freshly washed skin. Brushing your teeth with new brushes feels like a luxury, a small act of normalcy in a world turned upside down. You’d been using your long ones for too long. It’s nice. Everything’s nice. You’re hopeful. Hopeful for the future. Everything is going to be alright.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you go to bed with freshly washed hair, freshly washed skin. Next to your boyfriend. You get to sleep in a proper bed. A real bed. And it feels like a good mattress too. You feel like you’ve won the lottery. Lying down in the bed, with Yoongi beside you, feels like a dream. The mattress cradles you in its softness, and you marvel at the simple pleasure of clean sheets and a real bed. You close your eyes, letting the events of the day settle into your bones, a quiet certainty blooming in your chest. This is your first day at Whalien52, but you already know that every day that follows will be filled with hope and possibility. Everything might just turn out alright for you.

→ Taglist:@idkjustlovingbts@lovelgirl22@gimeow@sweeetas@viankiss @goldietigers294 @this-most-assuredly-counts @futuristicenemychaos @funnygirls-things @ysljoon @livingformintyoongi @as-hs-blog @urmomluvsrose @yasmineixyjay @purpleheartsandarock1 @alextgef @coree730 @wobblewobble822 @coldcoffee2121 @zzoguri

okay fuck you tumblr for not making the tags work! rip, I don't get why it isn't tagging people *cries*

→ Author’s note(2): I’m really sorry if this is shit… I’m really struggling with my writing, but when I read anon’s request I got a burst of inspiration and decided to write it down. I’m sorry if it sucks.

[sibbydoo]

[⚔️🏹] CAMP HALF-BLOOD

It’s been a while since I’ve drawn my Camp Half-blood OCs! Meet Danny, Cherra, and Zeno <3 there’s more info on them below the cut +my first proper sketches of their redesigns from last year!

CHERRA [❄️🎸] — Child of Boreas

“I don’t think we really stop being afraid. We learn to be braver about it, though! No one ever tells you that.”

Cherra is not a half-blood, but more an actual spawn of Boreas, the Greek god of the north wind, and of winter. Her father is known for his cruelty. Tangled between a curse that Boreas plans to unleash into the world, and being made as the catalyst to make that happen, Cherra did the only thing she could think of: she fell from the sky, and away from her father’s domain. No one in Camp is sure how she ends up a few miles from the borders, but she awakens with no memory of the fall, nor the destiny that was forced upon her. Will an eternal winter come for the world after all?

ZENO ADARES [🌊🏹] — Child of Apollo

“The sun’s gonna explode at some point, but it won’t happen tomorrow. Breathe. Think of now—whad’ya wanna do?”

Growing up a surfer kid and being an absolute geek about all-things-ocean, literally everyone thought that Zee was Poseidon’s kid before he revealed the god that claimed him. Zeno is a charming, sprightly young demigod who stayed in Camp since he was eleven, and in the years since he proven himself to be good at many things; mainly being a great archer, an even better, and being, I quote, “Camp’s Best Brother”. To those who hated the sun, he had a way of getting to you. Kinda like sunbeams peeking through a heavy curtain. Heck! Not even Hecate’s kids are safe from the guy’s…weird ability.

DANIEL FALLON [🌙🔮] — Child of Hecate

“Oh, please. The cards only tell me what’s ahead. But my choices? All mine. These cards’ got nothing on how I choose my future.”

From a long line of witches came this fella, with his stacks of weathered books, cool cards, and a resting bitch face that could…possibly rival Ares’. Children of Hecate tend to follow a ‘trifecta’ of knowledge, possibly due to the trio nature of their mother goddess: Maiden-Mother-Crone, Three torches, Three moons. Daniel leans toward divination, the Mist, and necromancy. He has a cat who can talk—well, more like he can hear her. It was an accident involving communing with the dead, and now a spirit possessed her. Her name is Sabrina.

SOME SKETCHES FROM LAST YEAR:

[generalgrievoussummerbod]

Another Inktober piece 😃

11 - Snack(s)

Kenabres, 4175 AR. Approximately one day before cultists attack the Defender's Heart.

(Best to click for better image quality, tumblr’s mangling the preview)

My KC, Dornik, distinctly remembers waking up in agony a few days ago and hearing Some Fucking Blond telling everyone to throw their mortally wounded body in an accommodating ditch, so now they're choosing violence~

Might be easier to read the panels individually on mobile, so I've included them along with some ramblings about characters and designs under the cut 😊.

Panels!

I love writing and drawing these characters so much aaaa, they're all DISASTERS and their designs are so fun. Everything about Wenduag's design is just chef's kiss I've never not had fun making art of her! Those eyes! Those adorable cheeks! Those damn spider leggies! She's so expressive and awful I love herrrrr.

Dornik and Daeran are both great for challenging myself. I'm not imagining Wenduag is tiny, Dornik's just a pretty strong orc who's nearly 7ft tall, and learning to capture that built-like-a-mountain vibe is so rewarding. (Because orc. More orc so good yesssss.) This picture is taken seconds before disaster (Dornik in all their 8 wis glory has yet to twig that Wenduag might take their hilarious joke as an endorsement) because what are beloved OCs for if not taking Ls?

With Daeran, one of my favourite things about his portrait is how vaguely unsettling it is, especially with his eyes, and I really want to capture that when I'm drawing him. His unhinged energy is so important to me 😍, and the idea of that rhythm of high energy-sudden stop (the first mask drops, revealing a second, equally beautifully crafted mask which is also but not entirely more true)-high energy dance is what inspired me to make this in the first place. That, and the escalating-curveballs dynamic you can have between him and your Commander 😍 just an absolute pair of menaces 😍.

And Cami's just always a delight to draw, she's trying hard (well. sometimes) to be so proper but underneath there is everything So Wrong With Her (Cami romancers if you're reading this you're strong and fearless and have all my support). There's such a threatening aura to play with and the contrast between her self and the facade she's trying to maintain is marvelous enrichment for the art brain.

[grumpyeagleandfriends]

À Terre II | Poe Dameron x OC/Reader

A/N: Reader is a Resistance pilot that was captured during a solo reconnaissance mission. They escape by hijacking a ship. Gravely injured and hanging by a thread, they rejoin the Resistance by crash landing just outside of the base on D'Qar. A certain distraught squadron leader runs out to help. 

Hurt/Comfort. Gratuitous, self-serving one shot TWO PART story. I have rewritten the first chapter in addition to adding on a second installment. This time it's in Poe's POV. I don’t like using “y/n” so I give the reader a generic, 1 syllable Star Wars name in the middle of this bad boy.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ve been daydreaming about this for months years, so I finally decided to write it all out.  There’s a little bit of a long set up, but I’m not sorry about it.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions blood and torture. Shellshock/PTSD vibes. Cursing. Tons of graphic medical stuff. Injections (so needles).

Word count: 5,439

Masterlist

Blood was everywhere when he finally made it inside the cockpit...

Even after he got her free from the safety harness, when all he could do was keep her calm and alert until the med techs arrived, he noticed the way she looked at him, the way she pulled it together to focus every time she nearly fell asleep. Hol hadn’t been able to properly talk, but with every command he gave her, she nodded and tried her best to comply. 

The metallic iron smell of it nearly knocked him back when he opened the canopy. It covered everything. Her shaking hands, her hair, her flight suit, he even found it coating the inside of her mouth after he coaxed her to let him take away the life support mask. 

He desperately wanted to give her water to see if she could drink, but there wasn’t any to be found in the cockpit. He wanted to put her in one of his jackets to help stop her from shaking, but the patch of trees she crashed landed into was too far from his quarters on base. He wanted to scream at her for being so goddamn stubborn, but he couldn’t shake the way she desperately clutched onto his hand. 

They hadn't been careful enough when extracting her. There wasn't enough time to wait for proper immobilization equipment to be brought out to the crash site. Between Hol's blood loss and the ship leaking dangerous fluids into the forest, they made the difficult call to just move. 

Seeing that utmost trust in her eyes, alongside the fear and the pain, was what really scared him the most. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he let her die there, not after she clawed her way back to them.

He had no way of knowing at that moment, but the jostling when they lifted her out caused a broken rib to puncture one of her lungs. Poe couldn’t keep from blaming himself for his own role in that.

The second they placed her onto the hover gurney, her condition began to rapidly deteriorate. One of the med techs caught sight of her blue fingertips and immediately diagnosed a collapsed lung. Poe only just managed to clamber out of the cockpit to see it all. He stood frozen on the wing of the ship while he watched them cut open her flight suit to reveal her bloated chest. The bright glow of a laser scalpel quickly appeared and they made an emergency incision between her ribs to let the trapped air escape.

Once they got her breathing again, she was loaded onto the back of the waiting med truck and they took off. Poe was left to follow behind on the back of a ship technician's speeder bike.

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

He sprinted into the medbay only a few moments after Hol was rushed in on the hover gurney. Bypassing the waiting area and going directly through the sliding double doors was unusually easy. In hindsight it should have struck him as odd that no one stopped him, but the overstretched med staff meant that no one paid him any mind when he planted himself against the back wall in triage.

As promised, Kalonia’s team was already primed and waiting to receive her. Poe had to crane his neck to be able to see, but he counted at least seven different med techs helping transfer her over to the exam bed.

They began working like a well calibrated machine, her dirty flight suit was sliced open and quickly stripped away. As soon as they were connected, the more sophisticated diagnostic scanners lit up and began  displaying the worst of her injuries. Images of her chest cavity were produced on a monitor near the end of the exam bed, along with her vitals.

From where he stood, Poe was able to catch Hol’s foot beginning to subtly twitch. He wondered initially if he had just imagined the movement, but the surrounding med staff began to take notice as well.

“Eyes are beginning to flutter, she might be starting to come around.”  

Dr. Kalonia took a step back as her staff continued their work. She pulled aside the young medic who had been down in the cockpit with Poe. He began rattling off the details of Hol’s condition when found and how exactly she was transported. After a couple of minutes he began gesturing over his shoulder in Poe’s direction, causing Kalonia to promptly look up. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of him standing back by the door. 

Shit…

His back stiffened in preparation for an argument that never came.

“Dameron, get over here!”

She issued the instruction like an admiral as she pointed him over to the top of the exam bed.

He didn't think, he just immediately crossed over. The moment he was within reach, she grabbed hold of his arm and brought him to stand where she was.

“Do exactly what you did down at the crash site, alright? Talk to your pilot. Keep her calm.”

Hol’s head gently lolled to the side on the padded exam table, her face slack and eyes half-lidded. She went still once more just as he took his place. He cupped her face in his hands, noting how cool and clammy her skin felt against his palms.

Kalonia stood to his right, a penlight ready in her hand to test the reaction of her patient’s pupils.

“C’mon, Tarmin…” She called while carefully tugging open Hol’s eyelid.

Immediately, there was a weak moan, greatly muffled by the respirator mask. Hol tried to roll away from the touch, but Poe’s hands braced either side of her head.

“Hey, hey- it's okay. Easy, kid, easy.” He whispered, holding her in place just long enough for Kalonia to work.

“Settle down, Lieutenant.” The doctor spoke as she pulled away. “You crash landed on D’Qar. You’re in medical.”

Poe didn't let go once she finished. He continued cradling Hol's head, his short nails scratching at her scalp in some attempt at providing comfort.

Her body was fully exposed under the surgical lights, revealing the extent of the damage that he wasn't able to see back in the cockpit. The bruising along her abdomen and rib cage was mostly black, as if there were large ink blots staining her skin. There were blaster grazes on her right side, localized swelling where her right forearm was clearly fractured, wounds in her lower abdomen...

So much of it jumped out at once, he found it hard to focus on any one injury long enough. He began to wonder just what sort of state she was in before the crash.

Hol emitted another faint groan, one where he could distinctly hear a wheezing sound that came from deep in her chest. Her body jerked from the force of a cough. Red flecks of blood appeared inside the clear respirator mask.

Slowly, she began to blink against the lights. A worry line formed in the center of her forehead.

"No...n-no… "

It was hoarse and strained, but everyone standing around caught the audible plea. Hol's good hand suddenly lifted in an attempt to bat away those touching her.

Dr. Kalonia cursed.

"Restrain her! I'm trying to insert a chest catheter here!”

Padded white cuffs were produced and promptly attached around each of her limbs, securing her to the exam bed.

"Hol, look at me." Poe commanded. He cupped her jaw as he leaned directly over her, giving her no choice but to comply. He made himself the only thing she had to look at. His shadow worked to shield her eyes from the glaring overhead lights while also blocking her view of the med staff.

Her gaze was glassy and unfocused, but she was thankfully looking at him.

"You've got to relax." He urged, his hand smoothing her tangled hair back off her face as he spoke. "We’re trying to patch you up, alright? Let us help."

She blinked at the sound of his voice, and though the distress on her face didn't fade, she went still on the exam bed. Her eyes remained set in his direction.

"There you go, sunshine..." Poe quietly praised, using once again the affectionate name he knew she absolutely hated. "Keep those eyes on me, don't worry about anything else."

His attention never left her, but he was aware that Kalonia and another med tech were beginning to work at prepping the incision site to insert the chest tube. He wasn't convinced that Hol recognized who he was or even that she was somewhere safe, but he couldn't risk her getting freaked out by the procedure being performed on her chest.

There was still visible fear in her eyes, but she never looked away from him. Her struggling thankfully ceased as she began to lean into one of his palms bracing the side of her face.

"You're safe, you know that?" He found himself reminding her. The pads of his thumbs traced over the outer shells of her ears, trying again to ease the visible discomfort he saw etched in her face. "Promise you, babe. You're good, we've got you."

Hol winced before swallowing. His brow furrowed as he watched her lips suddenly part.

“Poe…"

Her voice was painfully raw, and normally the sound of her saying his name would have been reason for relief, but he only worried that she was wasting her energy trying to talk.

“Yeah, hey, Hol.” He greeted in a whisper, dipping just enough to brush his lips to her hairline. "It's me. I'm right here."

He frowned when she tried to say something more, something longer and impossible to parse.

"Shh-hey, no, that's enough. Don't want you to talk anymore." He gently scolded. "We’re going to do like before, okay? You relax while I run my mouth.”

Poe doubted she remembered their conversation down in the cockpit, but she thankfully fell silent. Her eyes remained on him as he kept quietly talking to her, blabbering on about how lucky she was to get out of briefings and inventory duty for the next few weeks, about how she was going to sit back on the medbay's best painkillers and watch the trashiest holovids he could find.

He knew deep down that she probably wasn't following him entirely, but he was trying to reassure himself at this point more than her. He was keenly aware that none of what he was saying was guaranteed, but he had to give himself something to hold on to, because imagining anything else simply was not an option for him. 

She had to pull through this.

She had to be fine.

Minutes passed like that, Hol's unfocused gaze trained on Poe's face as he worked at keeping her distracted. Kalonia was able to successfully insert the temporary catheter into Hol's chest, which would assure the function of her uninjured lung until they could patch up the other.

Poe listened closely as a medtech outlined all of the crucial information, providing him with the rough plan of how her treatment would proceed. Once they finished stabilizing her most grave injuries, she would be taken back for surgery. There would be some additional testing after, which would take a couple of hours...

The explanation suddenly stopped short when an alarm began to sound from one of the machines. The level of the urgency in the room immediately started to bubble over.

"Heart rate is increasing!" Someone announced.

Poe visibly paled as he watched Hol's eyes roll backward. His hands still bracing her head, he desperately looked up at the med staff, searching for some kind of instruction.

"Dameron, out!"

Kalonia swooped in and firmly shouldered him out of the way.

Before he could object, a med droid approached and began to usher him towards the door.

"Doc, what's going on?" He demanded, sidestepping the mechanical arms reaching for his shirt. "What's wrong?"

His question went ignored. Hold was entirely obscured from his view. There were too many people now surrounding the exam bed.

"She's seizing! Start anticonvulsants and prepare for a transfusion!"

"Master Dameron, the team needs to prepare the patient for surgery. You must leave."

The med droid's pincers whirred as it closed in on Poe.

"Don't tell me what I have to do!" He snapped, the outline of his jaw more pronounced as he spoke through clenched teeth.

In a moment of sheer stupidity, he pushed back hard against the unforgivingly solid metal chest. He clearly forgot that these droids were built to easily lift the deadweight of critically ill patients of any species.

The mechanical arms tightly wrapped around him, securing his own arms to his sides. They closed, crushing him flush against the droid's metal body. The gesture was completed so quickly that he could feel the air being forced out of his own chest.

Poe feebly kicked, but it was useless. The droid easily hauled him back out through the double doors and towards the waiting area.

________________________

The word about who crash-landed into the trees traveled like wildfire across base. All of black squadron, Finn, BB-8, several of the x-wing techs and pilots from various outfits formed a large group just outside of the medbay. Each of them had duties elsewhere that they were purposefully ignoring, choosing out of loyalty to be present while one of their own hung in some grave state between life and death. They were the ones who threw back countless drinks in the mess hall together, who organized a massive fantasy Gravball league that nearly sent the entire Resistance into chaos, and who pooled their commissary credits to throw each other birthday parties.

They were all present to witness the painful moment Poe was forcibly escorted out of the sliding double doors leading to triage.

"Shit!-alright, alright! Let go!" His shouts ricocheted down the hallway as he finally managed to yank himself free. The force of the motion caused him to promptly fall to the floor.

The others watched as he quickly scrambled up from the ground, stumbling and hurrying to kick at the back of the retreating med droid.

He missed, which only served to enrage him further. The doors promptly closed behind the droid and Poe spun around— his mouth set in a tight line while he began to inexplicably search his surroundings. His chest rose and fell for several beats. His face twisted into a sneer before he abruptly lashed out at the nearest object, sending a trashcan flying with his boot. The steel barrel was thankfully empty, but the sharp clang sent a shockwave across the medbay.

The few people waiting in the sitting area immediately stood up to vacate the space.

Finn was the first to take a step forward to intervene, but he was halted by a large hand on his arm. He turned his head to see Snap, skin still humid as if he came straight from the refresher.

"Best to stand back and let it pass." The pilot urged with a sad shake of his head. "His scenes are never pretty."

Finn didn't want to agree, but as he stood and watched the scene unfolding before them he couldn't find any reason to argue. Snap and the others would know better. They did know. 

Poe’s hands were pressed to the back of his head, his fingers laced together as he glared at the closed doors. He could have easily pushed his way back through, but he inexplicably remained where he stood. His eyes shot a deadly amount of spite toward whatever was happening on the other side of those doors— information that, for the time being, only he knew. 

His arms fell heavily to his sides. Ignoring the uneasy looks following him, he turned and traipsed over to the first row of waiting chairs, silently throwing himself down onto one of the seats.His legs stretched out while he leaned back, his arms folded over his chest.

He continued to stare at the doors, a hard glint in his eyes for the faceless goliath wrecking untold damage on the other side.

The others slowly filtered over to join him in the waiting area. A supportive hand would occasionally grip his shoulder or linger on his knee, but no one said anything. Those unvoiced questions sat heavy above their heads.

BB-8 remained near Poe’s feet, unusually still and silent.

Hours grudgingly crawled by. The light outside faded away and began to just barely creep back over the horizon when someone finally came out to speak to them.

Poe was the only one to be escorted back behind the double doors. Dr. Kalonia stood there waiting for him, still dressed in some of her surgical garb. Thankfully, her mask was off, because her facial expression alone was able to answer his most crucial question.

She was alive.

Kalonia began to turn before she motioned for him to come along.

"Follow me, Dameron..."

________________________

They walked together down the main hallway of the medical wing, back to where Poe knew the overnight patient beds were located. He remained silent as Kalonia gave the run through of everything— what exactly happened when he was forced out of triage and what they were able to correct during surgery. Internal bleeding was what caused Hol to begin seizing. They performed a blood transfusion that stabilized her enough to undergo surgery, but they hadn’t been confident that she would make it through. The surgery itself took hours, but they were successfully able to localize and stop the bleeding in her abdomen and patch up her punctured lung. They installed a more substantial drainage tube in her chest to allow excess air and fluids to escape so her lung could continue to heal.

She would need to be kept asleep so her body could focus on repairing itself, but Kalonia was going to let Poe see her while they performed some additional tests.

They came to a stop just before the smallest room along the hallway. Due to space constraints on base, most of the rooms along this corridor housed multiple beds. This room was only for patients in a bad enough state to justify being kept isolated from others.

Kalonia stood aside to let him enter first.

They had Hol lying half-covered on an exam bed, her chest was mostly obscured by bandages. The first thing he noticed was that she was clean now, so much so that it made his head spin. 

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, because of course they were going to scrub away the blood and grime before putting her on fresh bedding. But still, the contrast from when he found her sitting strapped in that downed ship was startling.

Several machines were attached to her body. She was hooked up to a respirator and receiving fluids intravenously, but Poe also caught sight of the aforementioned drainage tube extending from a patch of bandages in her side. It ran all the way over the edge of the bed into a receptacle on the floor. Her injured arm was wrapped in bacta strips and immobilized with a splint.

He remained a few feet away from her bed, a distance that he decided would be safe, because it felt too dangerous to touch her. His eyes slowly took in every piece of equipment being used to keep her stable, at first he began to count but stopped himself when he reached double digits.

His brow furrowed the moment he noticed the padded white cuffs still attaching Hol's wrists to the bed frame.

"Why is she still strapped down?" He demanded, his voice oddly distorted from hours of not speaking.

"It’s just a precaution for now.” Kalonia began to explain, seeming to choose her words cautiously. “She’s still on anticonvulsants to help reduce the likelihood of further seizures, but even while sedated there are still some tremors. With the location of the drainage tube we can’t risk her moving too violently or ripping it out when she wakes.” 

Poe blinked, taking a moment to process the information. 

"How long does she have to keep the tube?”

“No more than 2 to 3 days.” 

He nodded while he chewed on his lower lip, his eyes still trained on Hol. 

“Look, Dameron…” 

She interrupted his thoughts in a gentle tone that was meant to be comforting, but it only made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. Dr. Kalonia was known for ruthlessly running the medbay like a battleship. They went back far too long, he knew to brace for the worst whenever she started to go soft.

Poe turned to face her, the pit of dread he felt low in his stomach was only growing. He would have given anything in that moment for them to fall into their traditional roles, for him to be the one injured and for her to be yelling at him. - Dammit, Dameron! Either make yourself useful or get the hell out of my medbay!

But she only continued to speak in that horribly gentle tone.

“As Tarmin’s commanding officer, there is something else that you should know.”

She walked him around to the opposite side of the bed, where there was noticeably less tubing.

“During the examination before her surgery, I noticed some smaller injuries that made me order full lab work.”

He watched as she lifted the bit of blanket covering Hol’s legs. 

“I found infected injection sites on the insides of her arms and thighs, then these small circular burns on her ankles.”

Immediately Poe began to understand the rationale behind her delicate words.

He'd seen those marks on more than a few Resistance members who managed to escape capture. He sported similar ones himself after being captured on Jakku...after the Finalizer.

“We found traces of antipsychotics, nerve agents, and truth serum in her system.” Kalonia continued to explain. 

He bowed his head as he listened, the sour taste of bile was creeping up in the back of his mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose while the facts began to register in his mind. His teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek, he forced himself to slowly exhale.

"There are chafe marks on her body from restraints. The partial break to her humerus looks like it's from prolonged strain during intero—"

He couldn’t let her fully pronounce the word. 

"Alright!”

He didn't have it in him to yell anymore, but the tension in his voice filled the space like a streak of lightning.

To her credit, Kalonia never flinched at the sound. She stood patiently, unwavering, her face neutral as she watched him. An uneasy silence settled over the room.   

He took a shaky breath, being mindful to adjust his tone before continuing.

“It’s okay.” He spoke softly, voice trembling despite his efforts. “I-I got it, Doc.” 

He turned to face away as he desperately tried to calm the tightening in his throat. The corners of his eyes were sharply stinging. The best he could do to regain control was to continue biting down hard on the inside of his mouth, inhaling and exhaling through his nose.

After a couple of minutes he scrubbed both hands over his stubbled face. With the heels of his palms he rubbed at his eyes until he saw stars. Slowly, much too slowly for his liking, he was able to push his own agony down enough to recenter.

Poe turned to face Kalonia once more. He cleared his throat. 

“She's not going to be in too much pain when she wakes up?” He demanded. “You can keep her comfortable, right?”

She pointed his attention to the IV stand by the head of the exam bed.

"I can't promise when she wakes up that she won't be in some pain, but we can adjust the medication through her drip and it'll take effect almost immediately."

He nodded. His hand combed through his hair before he slowly approached the bedside once more.

Poe stood and watched Hol's face for several minutes. He searched hard for any signs of movement or distress but found nothing. Her features were mercifully still and serene for the moment. She was protected under the fog of artificial sleep.

“How long are you going to keep her under?”

The question was spoken in a near whisper. 

“Depends on her vitals, but at least a day, maybe two.”

Kalonia took the time to show him her vitals displayed on the monitor near the head of the bed, providing a brief explanation of what the numbers currently meant. For the moment, everything hovered just barely inside the acceptable range. It was far from ideal, but it was at least temporarily stable. They would have to see over the next few days how she progressed.

While standing there together, they witnessed a ripple of stiff movement pass through Hol’s limbs.

“Whoa…” Poe visibly straightened, alarm written on his face as he began to think the worst.

Kalonia’s hand found his arm.

“Those movements aren’t another seizure.” She assured him. “It’s a residual effect from nerve agent exposure. Think of it like the nerves in her body recalibrating.”

Poe nodded in quiet understanding, but all he could think about was the excuse Kalonia gave him earlier for keeping Hol restrained— how she didn’t want her to hurt herself. There was some logic behind it, he could admit that much. But now that he knew some of what happened to her, he could barely stomach the idea.

They allowed him to stay in Hol’s room overnight. Kalonia had a cot brought in for him to sleep on, but only under the condition that he promised two things: to use the refresher across the hall and to actually get some sleep.

When he was finally alone with her he felt oddly numb. There in the nearly dark ward of the medbay, he stood over Hol’s bed and just watched her. It took several minutes for him to work up the courage to approach, but he did it. His hand briefly rested on the metal railing, as if he was grounding himself before he finally reached to touch her.

His fingers snaked between her own as he slotted his hand over her's. Immediately he realized that her skin felt strangely warm, prompting him to reach up and feel the side of her face. A quick look at her vitals confirmed his suspicions, she had a low-grade fever beginning to form. 

Poe made a note to point it out to one of the medtechs when they would come to make their rounds. He touched her hand once more before he stepped back to take a seat on the unfolded cot.

From there he watched her rest. He felt the heavy pull of exhaustion on his body, but sleep was the last thing he wanted for himself. His mind was all over the place, thinking about too many things at once.

Leia would come to visit her soon. He knew that much. Once she was past the worst and strong enough to speak, they would make her issue a report and do a formal debrief in front of Leia and her counsel.

It would be long and grueling. She would have to relive everything in great detail and be thoroughly questioned. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know all of the facts himself, but he definitely knew that he didn’t want to put her through having to recount it too many times. Those meetings were meant to be classified, but it wouldn’t take long before everyone would know.

Poe so desperately wished that he could save her from that part—when everyone on base would begin to look at her differently. He knew that it was inevitable though. While he sat there next to her bed, watching over her while she slept, he could only think about what was to come.

He knew that for however long she stayed asleep in this room, she was at least protected from all that was waiting out there. The thought comforted him some, even if it was only temporary.

He also knew that the two of them needed to talk about a lot of things once she woke up.

Her position in Black Squadron needed to be rethought. It was a massive understatement to say that her flying under him was unethical. Before Hol left for Batuu they tried to be discreet about their relationship. They both told themselves that they were doing a good enough job keeping things secret, a delusion that went well past the point of denial. They thought their regular heated arguments in front of the others and their general refusal to touch each other would provide ample cover, but their sneaking off to fuck in supplies closets hadn't always been the most covert. But now that she was back, Poe was ready to throw discretion out the window. 

There were without a doubt other positions for her as a pilot, other opportunities, but it was going to be difficult convincing her. Making her understand that it wasn’t a punishment would be delicate.

He would talk it over with Leia, with some of the other squadron leaders. He would confess that he was the one in the wrong, and readily accept whatever disciplinary action came his way. They would figure something out for Hol. They had to.

Poe knew he also owed her an apology. He could have handled things differently when she volunteered for the mission, he could have spoken his mind while remaining supportive. His only memories of that conversation were just of him dressing her down, desperately trying to pull rank as a last ditch effort to keep her from leaving by herself.

The truth was that he was so fucking proud of her. During the weeks she was gone he had been livid, walking around with anger bubbling under his skin at all times. But now all he wanted was for her to hear how proud he felt, because he didn't want to leave her with those memories of their final argument.

She kept her head cool and found her way back. She survived whatever hell she fell into and fought her way out. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how she managed to pull off the execution of that landing. She had one broken arm, was trying to evade being hit with no comms system, all while coming in on fumes.

A medtech came by a couple of hours later, which woke Poe out of a light sleep.

He sat up and watched from his cot as they administered medication, checked the tubes and wires around her body to make sure nothing was out of place. 

He mentioned the fever, which thankfully hadn't climbed any higher. They started her on another course of antibiotics.

“She looks peaceful, doesn’t she?” They asked him at one point.

The very moment he heard the word a bitter taste spread across his entire tongue, making his mouth twist downward in a frown. He knew they meant well enough, but his head still snapped around to look at them in disbelief.

Because "peaceful" had never been Hol. 

Conniving.

Stubborn.

Impulsive.

A pain in his ass.

There were easily ten dozen choice adjectives he and quite a few others on this base could use to describe Hol Tarmin, but peaceful was definitely not one.

Peaceful was a word that people used to describe the dead. 

And his girl wasn’t fucking dead. 

The very idea was something he couldn’t dwell on for too long, because of the way his foundation had very nearly crumbled during those weeks she was gone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt panic the way he had at the crash site, thinking at any moment he would be forced to helplessly watch while she slipped away from him, like watching water slowly leak out of his cupped hands.

It felt selfish to have those thoughts while she was lying there in front of him, but he was keenly aware of how impossibly lucky they were to get her back — how impossibly lucky he was.

@idkwhattoputheress @boghag-after-dark @faveficsblog @flyleaf-girl @whatthehekko @maplemind @foxilayde @arctrooper69 @pascalsaac @booktvmoviefangirl @tattooednursewrites @wild-lavender-rose @alexlynn16 @euphorealis @pioneergirlsie @lilhawkeye3 @theedgeofmagik @x-wing-dameron @kik51199 @isretroavibe @mrs-kidflash @rawrimacarebear @peterwandaparker @kassdyer @holdingthegun

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[zablife]

Shelby Christmas Spectacular

Summary: The Shelby family and their friends gather for a memorable Christmas party.

A/N: Written for @little-diable Chi's 17K celebration. Two lines in bold are borrowed from the Christmas scene in The Godfather. I admit I deviated from the x reader requirement so I hope that's okay. I wanted to find a way to honor all my moots' lovely OCs. (See the end for credits.) Fair warning this might be the worst thing I've ever written, but at least it was made with love 🤍

Warnings: drinking, cursing, mention of a weapon, mention of illness, hint of nsfw

Frances had been right suggesting the enormous Christmas trees in each room of the Shelby home. Something in her caring nature had sensed the change in Mr. Shelby’s spirits leading up to Christmas Eve. Now her preparations were being praised by Tommy’s partner, Lucy, who went room to room admiring the ornately decorated boughs. She did raise a concern over the candles on the tree in the parlor, wondering if it might be best to extinguish them before John's lot began running circles around the tree. However, she thought better of it knowing Tommy’s trusted man, Don would be standing nearby. 

The gentle giant was a comfort to them both this past year and she trusted him implicitly with the protection of their home. Nothing very bad could happen to you with Don by your side, Lucy thought, recalling the days when he’d saved Tommy from himself when she couldn’t.

As she passed through the hall, a servant delivered a telegram on an ornate silver tray. "Who do you know in Hong Kong, ma'am?" the girl asked with awe struck gaze. Lucy plucked the card from the curious maid, squinting at the small type. Having a grand time. My wife and I will return in January." She read the last line once more in a haze of disbelief.

"So he married her?" Tommy rumbled with satisfaction, pleased to hear his cousin was finally settled with the witty and well-connected Mei Chang. Wrapping his arounds Lucy, he gave her waist a gentle squeeze of appreciation he too had someone loyal by his side.

Lost in their own world, they scarcely noticed the click of Polly's high heels against the polished wood. That is until her voice rose sharply behind them. "Married?" she cried.

Lucy attempted to hide the telegram, but Polly captured it between her fingertips at the last moment, reading the lines that exposed her son's secret.

"Thought that's what ya wanted, Pol," Tommy remarked, only to watch the lines of her face crease in despair.

"I wasn't there, Tommy," she noted sadly.

"We'll have a party as soon as they return," Tommy assured her, glancing tentatively at Lucy who was doing her utmost to bite her tongue. She was perhaps the last person one might expect to give a party in Michael's honor, but the placation seemed to soothe Polly so she didn't object.

There was no time to consider the proposal now anyway, Frances brightly announcing the youngest Shelby siblings, twins Sylvie and Sonya, were on the line from London. Any lingering sadness vanished as Polly practically sprinted into Tommy's office to be the first to speak with them.

A tear came to her eye as she listened to their cheerful greeting which sounded very far away. "I'm sorry I couldn't make the last performance of the year," she apologized, thoughts drifting to their graceful form en pointe.

"It's alright, Pol," Sonya assured her softly.

"We've been so busy with rehearsals, we wouldn't have had time for a proper chat anyhow," Sylvie added.

"I'm coming in the new year then and you'll tell me all about playing Odette, hm?" Polly hummed.

"I ...erm...wasn't chosen as Odette," Sylvie revealed, failing to conceal the bitter disappointment in her voice.

Polly's head snapped up at that moment, ready to battle with the ballet master she longed to torment each time he snubbed her nieces in favor of another dancer. "I'll make a call," she promised, fingers subconsciously stroking the flick knife in her pocket. "No, Pol!" the girls replied in unison.

Polly could only chuckle at their solidarity, knowing they'd have her head if she interfered. They hadn't changed a bit from their days running thru the fens as wild reckless wains who abhorred being told what to do.

"Alright," Polly conceded, relinquishing the knife's handle. "I'll stay out of it so long as you two keep out of trouble. Do you hear?" Even as she said it she didn't believe they would, especially during their upcoming break when they would likely spend their nights in clubs. "No galavanting with Chi!" she added sharply.

"We won't," they replied in static monotone, tired of the lectures about their friend who had been deemed a bad influence after John and Arthur learned of her penchant for priests and professors.

Wishing them a happy Christmas, Polly passed the phone to Tommy who undoubtedly wanted to be sure they'd extended an invitation to tonight's party to Alfie and his wife Rose. Another chorused reply came down the line in one long exasperated sigh. Apparently it was a great insult to suggest they shouldn't have been trusted with the task.

Tommy rolled his eyes as he selected a cigarette from its case, allowing them to playfully berate their older brother about his lack of faith in them. Wishing them well for tonight's performance, he ended the call, eyes drifting toward the cars arriving in a long line down the front drive.

Of course Ada would be the first to appear, her glamorous new style on display for all to see. He smirked to himself as he took in the sight of her bright red lipstick specially ordered in New York and shipped to Boston by the caseful now that she could afford it. His sister had dressed to impress this evening and he was curios to see who she'd chosen to escort her when he nearly choked at the sight.

Her old friend Irene stepped from the car moments later, arm wrapped snuggly beneath Ada's gloved hand as they ascended the steps of Arrow House. "Are they..." Tommy began.

"Together?" Lucy offered, meeting Tommy at the window. She only shrugged at the question, uncertain of the details, though she quickly made a note to find out.

The car no one seemed to be able to place was the expensive Bentley, a newer model which put Tommy's to shame. As Bonnie and Vano passed, a long, low whistle rose from their mouths in appreciation of such a fine automobile.

"Don't you be lookin'!" Johnny Dogs scolded as he followed in their wake. "M not just gonna be lookin'," Vano whispered as he jabbed Bonnie in the ribs. His eyes roved the emerald green paint and polished chrome accents, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Nodding politely to the driver now exiting the car, he thought of nothing but a carefree joy ride later when no one would know he was missing.

He might have thought the car was impressive, but his jaw dropped at the sight of who exited moments later. A strikingly beautiful woman with tan skin and dark hair adjusted a scandalously low cut gown beneath her fur.

"Who is that?" he asked Bonnie.

"That's Eva Nelson and you best not look at her either, dinlow!" Bonnie advised, averting his gaze as Jack Nelson glowered at them. "He'll take a garrote to your balls for less," he gulped.

Vano only chuckled in reply, the cloak of youth and stupidity providing ample protection against Bonnie's warnings.

"Thought you were here to see Evie?" Bonnie remarked, watching his friend carefully.

"I am," Vano replied, straightening his jacket to impress Mr. Shelby.

As they reached the front door, they were quickly parted by a large slobbering animal barreling toward Tommy. As the enormous mastiff left a shining trail of saliva in puddles along the carpet, his owners followed behind with wide smiles.

"Tommy!" Alfie called out, arms outstretched in cheerful greeting, his cane nearly bashing Bonnie on the head.

"Alfie," Tommy barely acknowledged, preoccupied with the whereabouts of the dog. "And Cyril," he added with a slight start to his voice and a wince upon hearing the crash of something breakable in the next room.

"We couldn't bear to leave him alone for the night. I hope you don't mind," Rose commented with airy nonchalance. "Besides we know how fond you are of him." It was clear by the barely concealed grin of impish delight she knew that to be false. Alfie couldn't help the roar of laughter upon seeing Tommy's reddening face only made worse by the appearance of a distraught Evie.

"Dad, my ducks!" she shrieked, waiving her hands in perplexed gesturing which told him nothing of the flapping and honking created in Cyril's wake.

Momentarily distracted by the half-eaten wheel of cheese in Evie's hand, Rose began to snicker. They were full fledged giggles by the time Polly came rushing in to chide the teen. "For fucks sake, Evie, put that back!"

In a failed attempt to hide the cheese behind her back, she felt Polly tug her arm away to assess the damage. Noting the prominent teethmarks gnawed savagely into the rind, Polly cast a horrified glance at Tommy who was pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off an inevitable headache. He would need more than the one permitted drink to get through tonight, he thought.

After Arthur had been found drunk in the stairwell earlier in his Santa costume, he'd promised Lucy to stay sober in order to chaperone. Now the job would have to fall to nurse Charlotte as Tommy urgently motioned for a maid to bring him three fingers of whisky.

Then he called for another at the sight of Finn stumbling from a nearby closet, Santa suit around his ankles and striped underpants on display for all to see. "What the fuck are you doing, eh?" Tommy asked in exasperation, assuming Finn had shirked his duty in favor of more amusing activities. "Pull your trousers up, there are children here," he hissed at his younger brother.

Clutching at the fuzzy red material, Finn retorted, "It's the bloody kids who pulled 'em down. What did Esme put in those cakes?" Just then a chorus of war whoops erupted down the corridor, a sugar fueled search party giving chase. Finn scrambled away as they rounded the corner, continuing to hunt their uncle in manic delight.

Alfie escorted his wife into the drawing room with Rose clutching at her sides, wheezing through tears as she told her husband she'd found a new appreciation for Christmas festivities.

Jack and Eva Nelson were not as amused by the scene before them, Eva making snide comments about everything from their pitiful decorations to the lack of champagne. Jack didn't attempt to correct her, hoping to stay on her good side long enough to fuck on Shelby's desk later. A literal and figurative fuck you to his former business partner.

Blissfully ignorant to the scheme being concocted before him, Tommy leaned into Polly to discuss another pressing matter. "Pol, there are some people here not on the list." He eyed Luca Changretta, wondering when his old enemy had snuck past his guards.

As he approached the uninvited guest, he quickly realized Luca wasn't alone. A petite blonde with a slight baby bump took Luca's hand, her warm smile melting the ice in Tommy's cool stare.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm Emily Changretta," the woman announced cheerfully. "You have a lovely home," she complimented her host.

"Thank you," Tommy managed with a tight smile. Turning to Luca he asked through gritted teeth, "And why are you in my home, Mr. Changretta?"

Luca shrugged as he attempted to apologize for the business with Solomons last year, a gesture Emily insisted upon to clear the air before their child was born. He stumbled as he chose his words, the act of humility quite unfamiliar to him. "Anyway...I come baring gifts to show there's no hard feelings on my end," Luca confided, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Misreading the gesture, Tommy pulled his revolver from his side at lightning speed. Seconds later he heard another gun cock beside him, realizing Don had been watching in the shadows.

As the crisis unfolded, Emily shielded her bump with an ear piercing shriek. She watched as Luca raise his hands into the air, a good natured chuckle tumbling from his lips as he assured her, "It's okay, honey. They don't trust nobody." He instructed her to remove a small box from his pocket and she did so with trembling hands. Holding it up for Tommy to see, Luca lightly shook the contents with a taunting smile.

Tommy could only sigh in relief as he holstered his gun and gave Don the signal to stand down. Reflexes sharp with lingering adrenaline, Tommy deftly caught the box as it came sailing through the air at him. As it clicked open an expensive set of gold engraved cufflinks sparkled back at him from the velvet lining and he furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Just tryin' to help you dress better," Luca said with a wink. Tommy's jaw clenched at the old insult resurfacing. It was clear Luca would never tire of making jokes at his expense.

Apparently that wasn't the only thing he had in mind to annoy Tommy, having brought a Sicilian business associate with him as well. Stefano Spinietta was a loathsome man who wore too much hair pomade and reeked of pungent cologne which lingered in every room he passed through. He also boasted endlessly about his family's importance and a girl back home desperate to become part of it.

As Lucy became the fifth person to hear his speech, she rolled her eyes and whispered to her horse trainer May, "I'd wager a tenner that Nina despises him more than I do." Needing a break from the head splitting boredom of the self important little man, Lucy went in search of better company. She felt a bit guilty leaving Ethel and May to chat with him, but knew they were more than capable of handling the pretentious weasel with their caustic wit.

In no time she found Ada and Irene, the women showering her with compliments on her new velvet green dress. "Please thank your mum for me, Irene. She really outdid herself this time," Lucy requested.

"She's the best dressmaker in Small Heath," Irene agreed.

"I think you both share that honor," Ada reminded her with a proud grin. She never tired of discussing Irene's gift for working with fabrics, even if the woman was too modest to admit her talent.

"Have you seen the dress Arthur bought for Heaven?" Irene asked, changing the subject to something other than herself.

"She looked stunning until Arthur vomited down the front," Charlotte replied, joining the conversation and the party for the first time that evening.

"Charlotte! I'm so sorry Tommy saddled you with Arthur tonight," Lucy apologized. She quickly filled a cup with punch and offered it to their employee turned close personal friend.

Charlotte dismissed the notion with a soft laugh. "It was no trouble. "Minding Arthur is like minding a sleepy kitten," she assured Lucy, clinking their glasses together in a show of solidarity.

"Not like Tommy then?" Lucy joked, everyone now thankfully able to laugh at the times Tommy had cursed and thrown things at the woman tasked with helping him walk again.

"God, Tommy was more like a savage lion!" Charlotte quipped, earning a hearty laugh from Lucy.

"Still is!" Lucy added jovially.

The women had hardly noticed Heaven appear, despite the stark contrast of her flowing white hair in a sea of brunettes. She had fashioned a new outfit out of the clothes she packed for the next day and somehow looked even more stunning than when she arrived.

"Heaven's back!" Ada exclaimed, waving her over to them.

Making her way through the crowd, Heaven appeared anxious and a bit out of place until they realized why. In her right hand, she awkwardly held the wrist of a little boy shivering of cold and clutching a stuffed toy to his chest.

Knowing that Heaven never knew what to do around children, Lucy took the lead. "Who have you got there?" she asked, looking down at the small child with a look of pity. His clothes looked far too thin for the weather and his teeth chattered loudly despite the gramophone playing a spirited jazz tune.

Heaven only shrugged, releasing the boy's hand as Lucy bent down to have a chat with him. "My name's Lucy. What's yours, love?" she asked in a warm, welcoming voice.

"Isaac, ma'am," the polite child replied, shifting his weight as he grew nervous with the attention of so many people.

"And who have you got there?" she asked, pointing to the toy he was squeezing beneath one arm.

"Mr. Giraffe," he sniffed before falling silent once more.

"Hello, Mr. Giraffe, what brings you all this way?" Lucy asked the toy animatedly.

Eyes flicking down to the well loved friend he always carried, Isaac confessed, "He's here to see Mr. Shelby. We need to ask a favor for my mum."

Lucy stared up at Ada and Heaven who only returned quizzical looks. None of them had ever seen the boy before and they certainly didn't know of his ailing mother, bed ridden back in town. However, the toy now looked familiar to Ada who gently asked to see it.

As Isaac held the one eyed friend to her patiently, she gasped at the recollection of Tommy donating it after Florence left home. The child was indeed telling the truth that he knew her brother. She nodded determinedly to Lucy, taking Isaac by the hand to see Tommy.

He was a brave lad, asking Tommy for help without tears and was swiftly rewarded with treats and the company of the other children. He settled in beside them as Emily taught them card games, whispering her best tips for counting cards. By the end of the evening Isaac was driven home with a belly full of cake and a doctor to see to his mum.

Waving goodbye from front steps, Tommy and Lucy stood arm in arm beneath a star filled sky. They sighed in unison, the long day wearing on them both.

"It's been quite a night, hasn't it?" Tommy recollected, too tired to think of the guests still lingering inside or the enormous mess to be cleaned after Cyril chased Evie's ducks through the lower level of the house bringing a couple of Christmas trees crashing down.

"And we've Michael and Mei's wedding breakfast to plan," Lucy pointed out.

Tommy hummed in recognition, no further words spoken between them. Lucy merely offered the comfort of her presence without the need to fill the silence. However, internally she was going over Frances' unofficial count of the mayhem: 12 guests too drunk to drive, 11 frantic maids to serve them, 10 pound missing from the safe, 9 bottles of whisky consumed, 8 stolen hubcaps, 7 smashed vases, 6 traumatized ducks, 5 suspiciously sticky piles of paperwork in Tommy's office, 4 men in need of stitches, 3 carpets needing cleaning, 2 overturned trees with broken ornaments and 1 ruined Santa suit.

She vowed not to think of it all now. Not when she'd yet to have a dance with Tommy. So she gently guided him inside to sway beneath a sprig of mistletoe. Resting her head on her lover's shoulder, she leaned into his strong frame with a contented sigh.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Tommy asked.

"Me? Oh, just you," she admitted with a giggle.

"Was tonight everything you wanted?" he inquired thoughtfully, cheek pressed to the top of her head.

She nodded slowly, grazing her cheek against his shirt front. "Everyone together and no fucking fighting?!" she exclaimed it like the miracle it was.

"We pulled it off," Tommy announced, leaning in for a celebratory kiss.

The tender moment was soon interrupted by Arthur's rough voice and the sound of mud caked boots sliding on hardwood. Still half drunk, Arthur staggered into the room. Pushing his hair from his forehead, he grumbled, "Fookin' kids!"

"Who, Arthur?" Lucy snapped.

"Isaiah and Vano are fightin' in the garden, Tom," Johnny Dogs finished the thought as he poked his head around the door frame. "Somethin' about Evie," he shrugged.

"Fuckin' hell," Tommy huffed, striding out to confront his daughter's suitors.

"Daddy, wait!" Evie cried out as she heard him stomping down the hall toward the back door. She grabbed hold of his coat tails, attempting to halt her father and his infamous temper.

"It was nice while it lasted," Lucy commented, holding up the hem of her gown to rush after them.

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

"It's rubbish isn't it?" Cillain asked, peering over the script he'd been reading aloud for the past twenty minutes.

A snort of laughter erupted from across the sofa, Clara's hand clapping over her mouth to stifle her giggles. "I didn't want to say anything..." she began before Cillian cut her off with a hearty laugh of his own.

"You didn't have to," he noted, tossing the pages aside as he pulled his wife into his arms. Cocooning her in his warm embrace they sat for some time silently considering the confidential pages of the Peaky holiday special.

"Stephen's taking the piss surely," Clara said as she thumbed through the pages of new characters and scenarios never once mentioned in the show. "It reads like..." she attempted to find the least offensive term to describe the disjointed work.

"A screwball comedy," Cillian offered.

"I was going to say fever dream," she confessed, looking up at her husband's striking blue eyes to determine how serious he was about the project.

"I know what you're thinking," he smirked, taking her chin in his hands. "But we'll hire Brummie to polish it for us and it'll be grand."

Clara gave him a worried look, "Isn't she the one who likes to bring out Tommy's dark side? I'm not sure I want to live with you whilst you channel him!"

"What about the American?" he asked with a deep sigh.

"K? I do enjoy the sentimental moments she creates," she remarked wistfully. "But I don't know why you're disregarding the other projects you've been sent. The romantic comedy about the tattoo artist with purple hair or the drama with the Kurdish Italian academic?"

However, he hadn't quite been listening, another thought suddenly stealing his attention. “You know, if we did this holiday thing, Marianne would be perfect for Lucy,” he mused, thinking of the enormous success of his friend's recent play and her rave reviews.

"You're actually entertaining the idea?" Clara asked hesitantly.

"Well I don't have to decide tonight. Let's forget about it for now, yeah?" he suggested, eyes growing heavy. "I want to enjoy the peace and quiet while we have the house to ourselves."

"A silent night," Clara agreed with a nod, leaning in for a deep kiss that would surely distract them both.

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

Credits:

Brummie (as herself) @brummiereader

Charlotte (Tommy's nurse) @toms-cherry-trees

Chi (as herself) @little-diable

Clara Murphy (Cillian's wife) @cillmequick

Don (Tommy's employee and lover) @the-makingsofgreatness

Emily (Luca's wife) @darklydeliciousdesires

Ethel (May's gf) @shelbydelrey

Eva (Jack's wife) @evita-shelby

Evie (Tommy's adopted daughter) @novashelby

Heaven (Arthur's wife) @call-sign-shark

Isaac (boy from Small Heath) @garrison-girl-08

Jiyan-a.k.a "the Kurdish Italian academic" (Cillian's love interest in Shadow of the Sea) @lunarubra

K (as herself) @runnning-outof-time

Lucy (Tommy's partner) @mischievouslittlecreature

Marianne (Cillian's theater protege) @look-at-the-soul

Mei (Michael's wife) @vivianleighwishesshewasme

Mr. Giraffe (Florence Shelby's stuffed toy) @teenwolf-theoriginals

Quinn-a.k.a "the purple haired tattoo artist" (Tommy's love interest in Misadventures) @moral-terpitude

Rose (Alfie's wife) @justrainandcoffee

Stefano (Sicilian bastard) @peakyswritings

Sylvie & Sonya (Tommy's twin sisters) @pacifymebby

Vano (a gypsy boy travelling with the Golds) @wonderlanddreamer

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

Tag List:

@alanadetigy 

@severewobblerlightdragon

@lovemissyhoneybee

@theshelbyslimited

@kittycatcait219

@callsign-fangirl

@theshelbyclan

@red-riding-wood

@elenavampire21

@lyarr24

@the-fangirl-diaries

@kmc1989

@everythingelseisextra

@stilestotherescue 

@helen06dreamer

@pietroxreader 

@galactict3a

@ietss

@mostly-marvel-musings

@writeroutoftime

@yolobloggers

@outlanderuniverse

@anilovessadbooks

@tremendousstarlighttragedy

@elliaze

@leenieweenie

@snickersmee

@niktwazny303

@copinghex

@margaret-morriss-secrethideout

@hecatemoon87

@ryecosse

@dandelionprints

@cillianmurphyfanatic

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@mrsarnasdelicious

@justlulu

@rangerelik

@babayaga67

@kmhappybunny240

@babaohhhriley

@literishdegree99

@padfootdaredmetoo

@smailaway

@aesthetic0cherryblossom

@allie131313

@xiluvfictional-men

@mrs-bellingham

@duckybird101

@writers-hes

@neonpurplestars89-blog

[rbrooksdesign]

"DMT-EDMT Series for December Geometry #11"

From another perspective...

Yesterday's post (#10)

The Butterfly Fractal 1 (BF1) is a fractal resulting from the simple doubling of quantity "1" -- 1 -- 1x2=2 -- 1x2x2=4. --

When you lay it out into its "Butterfly-like" array, you can see that every "1" becomes a new source for the self-similar, re-iterative redundancy of the same "fractal" pattern within.

The BF1 pattern is repeated on both sides (of the "wings.”)

Today:

Let's connect some dots between several different perspective views of the same information on PN28 with the PN6 embedded within.

Right side: this was Yesterday's post (#10): Shows the BF1 with four levels of "1's" from bottom to top. The PN6 (RED circles) goes up p=2 levels, while the PN28 -- building off the 2nd level, goes up p=3 levels.

TOP Left side: Same info in number symbol form, i.e. the individual "1's" are given their respective numerical symbol: 1=1, 1 1 =2, 1 1 1 1=4. Additionally, the p=3 levels that the PN28 shows reveal a second p=3. -- or 2x3=6 total levels. 28/2=14, 14/2=7 and 7--14--28 are the other 3 (of 6 total) divisors of 28. (NOTE: PN divisors include the PN itself, but by definition, PN are made up of the sum of ALL the divisors except the number itself, e.i. PN28 =1+2+4+7+14, not counting the 28 in the sum total. We call them "factors" (or proper divisors) as divisors-number itself = factors.)

BOTTOM Left side: Contains ALL the same info as in the first two images, but clearly presented in a different form and perspective. It is the basis of the Mersenne Prime Square (MPS)=z² =Mp². The emphasis here is on the simple BF1. This fractal -- 1-2-4 -- that sums to 7, is repeated 7 times to form the MPS. Going from left-->right, two fractal units sum to 14, add one more fractal unit, it sums to 21, that is symmetrical to the other side of the central fractal unit. 21=ODD Complement=OC=yz. Adding the central fractal unit of 7 to the three units of 7 on the left, gives 4 units of 7=28 = PN=xz. Adding together the PN+OC=MPS. Every MPS follows this pattern -- ALL built on the repetitive, re-iterative sequential doubling of quantity one to first form the BF1 and then the same BF1 doubling sequence of that BF1 to give the MPS.

BOTTOM Left -->Right side: The four Columns of BF1 on the Left = BLUE-GREEN and PURPLE "1's" on the Right. You may notice the "x=4 across" label in the Right image. One can always find on any size BF1 the starting Row as it equals the x-value. The x-value on both Left images is always at the p-level, i.e. STEPS along the BF1 sequence -- p=3 as 1=2-4 STEPS, and as 2ᵖ⁻¹ =2² =4=x.

We've covered a lot, but once you see it, all the other PNs, and their "containers" will automatically fall in to place as they all follow the same template.

The Running Sums (∑) are very important throughout. Here we see that the ∑ of fractal unit 1-2-4=7.

more...

[inkerdinker]

Mouthwashing OC!

Name: Vera C.

Age: Late 20's (28)

Nationality: Korean

Occupation: Toxicologist -> assigned doctor

Personality:

A cold pessimist who watches others and locks herself in her lab. Easily irritated and quick to judge others, she isn't afraid to speak out and make rude remarks if it means to ground people back to reality. Weirdly, her actions don't match her words, as she is seen helping Curly the most out of the crew and listens to Anya's troubles. Has the toughest skin out of everyone and is less disturbed by blood and disturbing content. Is later revealed to be highly empathetic and compassionate, working as a caretaker before being employed as a Pony Express worker. She took the job so she could pay off her parents' loan and take them on vacation. Her standoffish personality resulted from years of bullying with her past classmates in college and having to create a "shield" for herself. Suffers from suicidal thoughts and would risk her own life to help others. Has an alcohol addiction but keeps it hidden until she shares drinks with Swansea.

Relations with Characters:

Anya:

- Anya became quickly attached and dependent on Vera, being the only other female worker in the ship.

- Before the accident, Vera would help with the psychological evaluations.

- Anya would usually tell Vera how talented and mature for her age she was. Vera repeatedly tells her to stop.

- Vera unfortunately got spiraled into being Anya's therapist than friend. She doesn't hate her for it but she sometimes begs to be let go so she could have time for herself.

- Listens to her vents and rants and tries to offer her advice. Fails to get proper help and regrets not doing enough.

- Overall: Sees her more as a patient than a friend but on good terms.

Curly:

- In the beginning stages of her work at Pony Express, she would get close with Curly.

- They would both talk about life if they were to leave the workforce. Curly jokes about taking him on vacation with her parents but Vera isn't opposed to it.

- Both stayed up the latest and would ramble with each other about useless topics and make dumb jokes.

- Vera would realize that she and Curly both suffer from being called "talented", to which they both complain each other about.

- Post accident, Vera is more or less stuck with being Curly's caretaker but doesn't mind it. She treats Curly like an actual patient and offers her share of resources with him.

- While she is angry towards Curly, something in her is also doubting he caused the accident.

- Sleeps next to Curly to make him feel less alone. Talks to him through her whiteboard since he's most likely unable to hear.

- Things start getting tense when Curly refuses to eat. He started this habit after realizing that Vera was getting sick. This results in Vera questioning whether to kill Curly to end his suffering.

- Overall: Best friends (?)

Daisuke:

- His naïvete and optimism is a bit much for her but she is also inspired by him in a sense to be a better person.

- He checks in on her when she's working but gets yelled at since he forgets to wear proper lab safety wear.

- Offered him to do basic CPR training and blood pressure in case she's not around.

- Much like Swansea, she wants to make his future better and keep him away from harm.

- Realized that he was working for his mom and it made her cry when he died.

- Overall: Wished she was able to treat him better when he was alive.

Jimmy:

- Was the first person she wanted to punch right upon first meeting him.

- For one reason that led him to insulting her work and touching her tools without permission.

- Was to stay away from him after nearly slapping him for hurting Anya.

- Jimmy would continue labeling her as his enemy after the encounter. This would get worse when Vera questions his location during the accident and gets suspicious.

- This would further spiral when she admits to asking Curly whether he wanted to end his life. He saw her as a murderer and tries to get rid of her to "save" Curly.

- Overall: A slight annoyance turned into full hatred.

Swansea:

- Her and Swansea are pretty much buddies, both drinking and without.

- In one drinking session, she accidentally leaks about her past and her motive as to why she was working. This changes Swansea's perspective and is less harsh with her.

- With Curly out of commission, Vera now talks with Swansea the most. She promises him that if she gets enough money she'll take him on a vacation too.

- They also enjoy sitting with each other in complete silence, with nothing but mouth wash.

- Overall: Two adults that suffer with each other in alcohol.

Trivia:

- Vera's name is based on Aloe Vera, a plant used to treat burns.

- She is mentioned to be good at fast card games.

- Curly asks her what her favorite animal is and Vera replies with: "Cuttlefish, you better not share this with anyone."

[bloggingboutburgers]

First of, I'm a big fan of your work. I love your comics and art and was happy to hear about the engagement 😁

As for my question, I love writing stories and creating OCs/characters. In your recent comic you called out that the only ace/aro rep always seems to be "the creator said so on Twitter" (a problem with a lot of rep. in media).

So I was curious, if I wanted to create an aroace character (and write a story with them), how could I naturally show them being aroace? Do you perhaps have any idea?

Thank you so much for the kind words!^^

Arguably my complaints are ironic because I myself haven't done proper aroace rep in my own fiction thus far – though I guess I'm compensating for that with my current comics, haha 🙈 But also, I've said it before and I'll say it again cus I'm annoying like that – Bojack Horseman did it, in my opinion, so that gives the rest of the media less excuses I guess.

So, again these are my personal views, and they're possibly demanding, but this would be my checklist for ideal aroace rep:

The aro/ace character needs to... BE a character. Actually have arcs, that matter within the story. Whether they're about being asexual or not doesn't really matter as long as THEY matter as a character.

...Ngl I feel they need to matter BEFORE they're revealed as aro/ace too, and obviously after. If they don't, they'll just feel like a placeholder who's just there to tick a box to me.

The fact that they're aro/ace needs to be addressed and not pushed under the rug or left up to interpretation. Leaving things up to interpretation will have so many people interpret them as allo for sure (just like in real life). And conversely, saying they're aro/ace may spark some curious questions and possibly awkward conversations (just like in real life). (...Again tbh Bojack Horseman was great at doing it naturally. The confusion from the ace character themself, the ace character's friend assuming they're gay because yeah that always happens, the MC having a friendly yet clueless "haha you're lucky that'd save me so many problems if I didn't have sexual attraction"... I could go on.)

By that I also mean... Actually NAMING the orientation at some point. If it's not named people who consume the media and don't know such an orientation exists will be none the wiser. (I'm guilty of that myself tbh. In one of my webcomics I had an alloaro character but never had the orientation mentioned within the story, I left it at showing he has sex and him having a conversation with his family explaining he doesn't have a favorite person because he just can't, but I feel like that's not enough, and I've been feeling a bit bad about it.) A good way of bringing that up fairly naturally would be to have the character figure out their orientation within the story, as a way to have the audience learn alongside them; but it could also be played for drama, which I don't think I've ever seen and would like to dabble with myself at some point – like, imagine you have a friend you hold dear who's key to your personal development and suddenly you find out they see you as sex / romance prospects and not as a friend like YOU do? That'd be crushing but that could definitely make for a good conflict. I should try writing that. I'm rambling anyway. Bleh.

Another thing that, to me, is key to the aro/ace experience is that the character may have some moments of questioning their place in the world. Our world is obsessed with sex and romance and fiction exacerbates that to the point where some characters barely even exist if they don't have romance. This could range from "Do I NEED to even identify myself as something" (again, Bojack Horseman did that great) to "Friendship is the most important relationship to me but not to my friends, what if they all abandon me once they find the one person they consider 'more important'". I dunno. I feel like there could be some interesting storylines there. I definitely would love to dabble into that myself a bit more, though I lack the time and talent – those concepts and the lack of things that are done with it live in my head rent-free.

...Actually I feel it could be good to show aro/ace characters as full of heart (if it fits their personality), having their own feelings and emotions outside of the usual romance spectrum, to show that they're just as human and compelling as the other characters. (...AGAIN Bojack Horseman did that great imo, I feel bad that I'm only ever quoting that show but that's still the best example I can ever think of.) Like – betrayal, loneliness, grief, kinship, literally ANY other form of love than romantic love... We feel all of those too (aside from people who don't experience any form of attraction at all, in fairness), and those deserve to be addressed in stories just as much (if not more) than the pining or simping that's kinda everywhere.

Oh yeah and speaking of being human... Yeah, human. We need more human aro/ace characters. Making it so that only the aliens/gods/demons/robots/whatever are ever allowed to be aro/ace only serves to dehumanize these orientations.

...IIIII think that's it. I might be forgetting some things I'd wanna add on later but I think that covers everything that would make for ideal rep in my own opinion