#half a decade long fixation GO

[just-another-colin-kinnie]

Woah fun to find a blog that likes mcrp when i get back into it

I haven't seen this mcdc series you're making art of, but your art is pretty

THANK YOU ive had a certain passion for it for about half a decade so a weird amount of quality goes into my art for it lmao

you should erm watch it it's not 1 to 1 with my art because my latest piece is based off stuff im making up but ITS STILL GREAT !!!!

just LOOK at how silly they are

[slut4thebroken]

mouth cockwarming hcs

Idk I had an idea lol but I couldn’t figure out which character to use so I just decided to do this instead

Bucky Barnes

Dick Grayson, Jason Todd

Spencer Reid

Cillian Murphy, Emmett, Jackson Rippner, Jonathan Crane, Lenny Miller, Neil Lewis, Raymond Leon, Robert Fischer, Tommy Shelby

(Warnings: daddy kink for a few of them (no incest), a little bit of age play ig?, ionno lol)

Bucky Barnes - He’s no virgin, obviously, but cockwarming in your mouth? That was definitely a new one. It’s not his favorite, but he likes seeing you so relaxed and calm. It reminds him that he’s capable of being gentle with someone so delicate. Plus it’s not too hard— he’s had decades to practice restraint, so he can handle sitting still under you while you nap with his cock in your mouth.

Dick Grayson - Honestly, he gets it— he has an oral fixation too lol, but he usually eats pussy instead. Dick prides himself on being a gentleman though so he’s had plenty of practice putting up with a boner for the sake of not ruining an innocent moment with a girl… Usually he just reads a book or watches a movie to try and not focus on the fact that his cock is literally in your mouth.

Jason Todd - He thinks it’s cute. You’re already so tiny compared to him, but when you use his dick as a pacifier? You just look so fucking adorable. If you’re ever in a situation where you can’t cockwarm him with your mouth, usually you’ll settle for suckling his fingers or his thumb— but you don’t like it as much because the calluses on his hands are too rough compared to his smooth, (sometimes) squishy cock.

Spencer Reid - He gets a little antsy to be honest, but if he has a book or some paperwork to go over, he can usually sit still long enough for you to get your fill. He knows exactly why people find comfort in this sort of thing, and he knows exactly why you specifically find comfort in it. So he doesn’t judge or think it’s weird. He likes being the one that you go to for this comfort.

Cillian Murphy - He finds it a little odd, but as long as you’re happy, he’s happy. Plus he likes how paternal and protective he feels when you’re laying on his stomach suckling on the head of his cock while he pets your hair. It’s usually enough to get you to fall asleep too. He thinks it’s cute hearing your soft snores as you drool a little bit around his cock.

Emmett - Makes his daddy kink go wild tbh. His little girl using his dick as a pacifier? Yeah. Half the time, he can control himself. But sometimes (usually after at least 20 minutes so you can have enough time to enjoy yourself) he’ll gently push on your head, urging you to start sucking more. You whine, but end up doing it anyway just to please him.

Jackson Rippner - Doesn’t like it at all. If you do it right after he fucks your face and shoots his load down your throat then he can usually put up with it for a little bit. But other than that, he doesn’t have the patience for it. Sometimes when you’re napping and he sees you sucking on your thumb instead, he feels a tiny bit of guilt very, very deep down... But not enough to get him to change his mind lol.

Jonathan Crane - He thinks it’s weird as fuck. Honestly he wants to delve deeper into whatever thing from your childhood gave you an oral fixation, but he resists (for now at least). He’s usually pretty good about not turning it sexual, unless he’s particularly frustrated or stressed from work or his… extracurricular activities.

Lenny Miller - He doesn’t really mind. Honestly, he finds it a little relaxing too. He likes coming home after a long, stressful day at work and just laying with his little girl, petting your hair while his dick rests in your mouth, feeling you suckle on the tip while you hug him tightly until you both fall asleep.

Neil Lewis - He’ll try it because you want it so badly, but after less than ten minutes of his cock resting in your mouth, he’s already hard and leaking. He ends up whining and squirming, trying to get you to suck his cock properly until you eventually just give in and blow him. If you do it right after an orgasm, he can usually last longer, but if not, you have ten minutes tops before he gets too needy.

Raymond Leon - He feels the same way about this as he does about most ‘relaxing’ things: it’s a waste of time. So he often tries to work while you’re falling asleep. You’ll lay between his legs with your head resting on his hip, his cock sitting in your mouth, and he only complains if he doesn’t have enough space to use his laptop/tablet.

Robert Fischer - He understands… When he’s feeling subby, he’ll sometimes do that on your nipple. So even when he’s getting hard, he’ll try to ignore it and let you enjoy this for as long as he can handle it. He just reminds himself over and over again that you always let him nurse on your tits for however long he wants, so you deserve to nurse on his cock every once in a while too.

Tommy Shelby - He’s a master of self control honestly so he doesn’t mind it. Sometimes you’ll both lay down for a nap and you’ll suck on the head of his cock until you fall asleep, sometimes he sits up in bed and reads or does some work. Either way, he doesn’t really mind it. Plus you always seem extra inclined to reward him for his patience when you wake up from a nap with it still in your mouth.

[vatelixx]

Ton 618,

S3-S4ish Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Fluff (no angst… surprisingly). Autistic Spencer (present in all of my one shots bcos it’s canon to me).

──── domesticated time inbetween cases & blind adoration.

Warnings: literally none (who am i???), brief mention of past trauma (Hankel).

w.c: 1.5k

— They’re both nerds who are a little too invested in space. Light biblical imagery & Greek mythology references. My writing has been sufficiently domesticated (dw i’ll be back to angst soon, war is not over.)

Loosely inspired by:

a/n: just giving him what he deserved to have.

────────────

For the first time, in a long time, there is little residing in Spencer’s mind. Beyond warm hands, and soft skin, and the pulse of someone else’s body. Obsessed is one word for it, a textbook definition that can’t truly articulate the ache he derives from the thought of you. Obsessed, fatefully ruined, if this is the work of divine intervention, then consider him, once obstinate in his atheism, entirely, profusely devout.

He’s still thinking about you. What’s new? The memory of your lips pressed against his, the tattooed promise of more, more because it will never be enough. He wants, god when has he ever wanted? Life before appears bleak now, black and white. Academia, pursuits of knowledge, lonely nights and the transient fear of forever being stuck in a cyclical cycle of loneliness.

You think he’s pretty. He smiles on the way home from work, Morgan pressing him, because ‘kid you can’t be that happy for no reason.’ There is a reason, a monumental, life-altering one that waits for him at the door. He likes that, the domesticity. He’s never asked for much, content in his mishaps of intimacy, always baring the weight because he wants needs to be good. For the people around him, for the home he’s carved into his skin, for anything that starves off the decades of isolation.

When he threads his arms around your waist, leaning all of his weight into the contact, you both go stumbling back.

He’s soft. Of course he’s endured more than anyone should, the sharp edge of addiction, the stifling weight of a morbid job that has him fixated, hook line and sinker, compass pointing South every time he’s thrown into the field. But for all of that, he still obtains naive, blinding light.

He burns. Or more so, he warms.

“Hi, hi. Sorry— that wasn’t very eloquent. Can I try again?” He’s halfway out of the door; you have to lean forward, grip his wrist, tug him closer, “Okay.” He laughs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

He’s certain your name is imprinted onto his heart. Carved just for you alone. There is no one else. There could never be anyone else.

That night he falls asleep on your shoulder. Hands interlocked, body splayed out across stressed leather, abandoning his book for the soft drab of safety. There’s a tangled wire of headphones draped between you, knotted further when you pull him, half conscious to bed. He follows mindlessly.

You spend his allocated time off as recluses, abandoning civilisation. No sunlight, his apartment is permanently drenched in molten light. Scattered lamps, balancing off stacked books and messy surfaces. Every morning he’ll wake you with butterfly kisses and the promise of a breakfast he will consistently burn. He’s content, over the moon, to forget the world around him. For it to just be, just the two of you.

Today, as usual, you eat his charred attempt at food. He’s trying, he’s definitely trying, even if the end result is… a health risk. Still, you eat it regardless, without complaint, you eat it.. and then he’s just… kissing you senseless in the middle of his kitchen. Cold tiled floor, and mismatched socks. Fuck, he loves you, he’s never loved someone the way he loves you.

“I’ve been dreaming about falling into black holes recently,” he says when you cradle his face. Pretty features besotted with the sight of you. “Weird. Kinda cool. Please don’t eat anymore of my food.”

“No promises,” you grin, and he has the audacity to pout.

Because that’s not fair, burnt food can cause carcinogens to form, to obstruct digestion and metabolism. “My cooking is going to kill you. Your death will be on my hands. The grief will be immeasurable. I’ll become a hermit, never leave my apartment again. Don’t do that to me.” hands wrapped around your wrists, he preserves the contact. “Please don’t do that to me.”

“Well only because you said please—“

He sighs, audibly, ”You just died, you’re dead, and the only thing you can focus on is a word. A word I very generously repeat, at any given moment.” — he’s polite, he will use his manners, and he will unceremoniously echo please please please to obtain even a fraction of you.

He’s senseless. Too far gone.

You take his hand, press it against your heart. “Still alive. I think?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “For now.”

“You’re dramatic—“

He cuts you off, “Did you know one of the largest black holes ever recorded is 66 billion times the mass of the sun? Ton 618.” Pausing to kiss you (a vital necessity), his hands play aimlessly with your hair, strands sliding through the crevices of his fingers. “Imagine falling into that—“ kiss, “You would die obviously,” kiss, “But it would be a pretty cool death.” Kiss. 

Time dilation, worm holes, cosmic demise, you. Sigh— you.

“It would take over 10 billion years for its light to reach earth.” you say, and yeah. Okay. Just casually recite facts to him. That’s okay. He won’t melt, because he’s a rational, dignified, highly-cerebral adult.

Lie. You always know when to talk, sometimes, sometimes, he gets so lost in thought-loops and spirals of intellectual confusion that you have to draw him back to the present. He disintegrates. Every. Single. Time. One intelligent word and the threads of him are woven tightly around your finger.

”You’re stealing my job. And—and you’re doing it better than me. I’m taking a vow of silence. No more words. I’m becoming a monk. Except, maybe without the celibacy?”

“Whore—“

“For you? Always.” he says, knocking his shoulder into yours, “You’re missing the important aspect to this. Don’t discard my threat.”

“Spence, if you ever stop reciting random facts to me at..” you scramble to check the time, early morning, it’s hard to differentiate the hours when they all bleed into one convoluted mess of intimacy. “At 9AM, we will have serious issues. I might get HR involved.“

He’ll ramble about the laws of thermodynamics. Dedicating hours to the philosophical differences between determinism and free-will. You’ll call him a nerd, and he’ll laugh, muffling your protests with his mouth. It’s routine. Something to fall back onto.

 “Hey! Don’t drag HR into our domestic affairs! That’s—“ he interrupts himself to kiss you, again. Just because he can.

Once he’s satisfied that his lips will ache for the next millennium, he continues. “Anyway. I think we should get old together, and then, when we’re losing our minds, and we can’t tell the days apart, we just.. take a casual trip to space, travel through Ton 618. I’d be scared, so I’d hold your hand when we fall. Getting sucked into eternal darkness would be an acceptable way to go.”

He laughs, “You know, as long as you’re by my side, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, before holding out your pinky. “Deal?”

He feeds his own through yours, “Deal.” 

Yeah, just promise eternal devotion to him. That wont have any lasting, fatal effects on his sanity. It’s not like he’ll cling to it for the remainder of his ephemeral existence.

Later that night, when you’re draped in limbs, skin pressed against skin, you sigh against the warm slope of his neck. “You’re reciting the periodic table in your sleep again..”

It’s a habit. A permanent, engrained idiosyncratic that he’s endured since adolescence. He stirs awake, turning to face you in the hazy light. Features swollen, sleep-soft and pretty. “Was I?” He murmurs, finding the audacity to ask, “What element was i on?”

Because that’s clearly essential.

“Osmium,” you say, tucking strands of tousled brown behind his ear. “Gonna continue?”

“Mhm— yeah. Iridium. One of my favourites, thank god you woke me up before I got to it.”

You humour his tendencies; you’re nothing if not a condoner of his weird quirks. “Discovered by Smithson Tennat in 1803.” is your response, “The name comes from Greek Mythology, Iris. Two stable Isotopes, 191 and 193.”

There you go again. Fracturing his mind, and stealing his information before it can fall from bruised lips.

He thinks you might be cut from the same cloth. He thinks he was probably just made for you. “I like the way you say Isotopes.” He mutters, “Like the way you kiss. You always take my top lip.”

There’s no epiphany. No sharp blade, dragging, penetrating, skin, forcing you to confront stifled feelings. They’ve always been there. Red string of fate, Plato’s Symposium: Aristophanes’ account of the ‘other half.’ Hero and Leander. It doesn’t matter. There’s only the here and now.

He does this thing. Often. Where he’ll moan into your open-mouth. Fingers sunk deep into your hair, keeping you impossibly tethered to him. You’re not sure what planet he fell from, but you’re glad they deported him, if only for your selfish benefit of circuiting around him.

“I’m in love with you,” the admittance is easy. Maybe the words have always been waiting for you to verbalise, bated breath, inexorably interlinked. Maybe they’re long overdue. Something pleading to be let out. But, maybe, it matters more to wait until this, when everything is soft and untouchable. Fresh, untainted. He’d like to live in your skin.

Here’s the thing, Spencer always thought he would be the first one to say it. Reciprocation was always a fantastical hypothetical, something he could only blindly hope for. But, to have his illimitable feelings, in their extensive capacity, matched? That’s— more than he ever thought he deserved.

He presses his forehead to yours, “Saying ‘i’m in love with you’ doesn’t measure up, doesn’t articulate even a fraction of what I feel for you.”

He’s pretty sure he could die right here, in this one fragile moment, and be happy with everything he’s accomplished.

[lamb-teaa]

The day he was reborn, he devoted his entire life to finding her.

That's all Sylus cared, to be reunited with his beloved, the other half of his soul, his queen through life and death.

And when he finally found her, he vowed he would never let her go, even if she had no collection of him, even if she rejected and feared him at their supposed reunion, even if it might take him another decades for her to open her heart to him again for they are eternally bonded, defying the tragic fate that had once befall their unfortunate life.

They were meant to be and Sylus was more than willing to wait for her to return to him once more.

He had endured centuries chained to the abyss in his previous life, how would this be any difficult?

He just needed time. As much as she needs, he's willing to wait, until she's back into his arms just like before.

That was all he cared about, all he hoped for, all he wanted.

Until Sylus met you.

Was the universe out to get him? What sort of sick joke was this? The moment he locked eyes with you, standing behind the counter of the quaint flower shop, the familiar glint in your eyes sent a strong wave of déjà vu throughout him.

At first he simply mistook you as her lookalike, a doppelganger. Yeah, just someone who looked unnervingly identical to her, that has to be it, so there's no way-

"Long time no see, Sylus."

A familiar voice too - right then and there he felt like he had been sucker punched straight to the stomach, his heart beat spiked up uncontrollably, his sight fixated on yours as he remembered those familiar gaze in your eyes.

The familiar greed, the familiar desire, the familiar vengeance - so you remembered, but she didn't, but how-

How could there be two of her?

Sylus's head spun with disbelief and confusion, he couldn't bring himself to utter a single word out as he stood shell shocked in front of you. He had randomly chosen this flower shop to buy flowers for his hunter lady after his usual dealings outside of the N109 Zone, but this unexpected encounter with you just threw him extremely off guard.

Especially by how calm and composed you look, as if you hadn't just dropped the bomb of remembering your previous life together with him.

Yet the familiar fierceness in your eyes still remains, despite the ever calmness you exude around you.

And Sylus didn't know how he felt about it, about you - Ecstatic? Bewildered? Relieved? Scared?

What should he do? What is he supposed to do?

The soft hum of your voice snapped him out of his muddled thoughts, his entire body stiffened when you leaned forward, tilting your head up at him with a teasing yet mocking look - another familiar gesture that made his heart swell with longing.

"Seems like you've been faring human life quite well.."

Your voice, steady yet lighthearted trailed off purposely, just as he remembered all those lifetime ago and for a moment, Sylus felt like he was brought back to their past. Memories of the bittersweet banter and playful jabs flooded his mind, overwhelming his senses, and his heart screamed for him to pull you into his embrace, demanding where you've been all this time, why you felt so familiar but at the same time you don't and how does any of this makes sense-

But his reverie was shattered by your next words.

"..Especially having other me by your side."

—⁠ teaa's end note: i call this Split AU. another unpolished fic plot idk if I'll ever gonna write so it'll remain vague ooft (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

[snippychicke]

Poppy Seeds -- Part One

As you may have guessed, I fell into a new hyper fixation. Poppy's Playtime of all things. >.<

Inspired by TooManyPsuedonyms work, which in turn was inspired by @semisolidmind fanart/cabin!Au for Playtime Poppy.

I know right now we have no idea who or what Ollie is, but I decided to go with the assumption he is just a kid and not the Prototype as some theorists are assuming. This will likely be debunked in chapter four, but I'm running with it until then.

Dogday/Player!reader (attempting keeping it gender neutral)

Warnings: will touch on the after effects of trauma, but nothing is super explicit. Maybe some unhealthy coping skills (Dogday holding Reader on a pedestal) But otherwise we're giving everyone a happy ending. (Everything is wonderful and nothing hurts)

One: Home

Your hands gripped the steering wheel tight as your old truck climbed up the steep incline. It hadn't liked the rough road on a good day, let alone with Kissy and Dogday in the back trying to drag it down. Now it whined and complained, the wheels occasionally skidding on the gravel. Ollie clutched to Poppy tightly next to you, his sunken eyes wide with fear. Poppy, to her credit, looked confident that everything would be okay.

By the time you reached the cabin nestled high above the valley, it was close to midnight. It was a sizable two story home, complete with a barn, garage, and even a chicken coop. Thick forest surrounded the homestead, assuring complete privacy. A year ago your grandparents had moved into an assisted living community in town, leaving the whole place to you. The rest of the family had not been happy but in your defense you would come out every school break growing up to help them out.

And then, after you left Playtime Co, you had moved in under the guise of getting your life sorted out. Your grandparents never asked why it was taking you a decade to figure it out. Which you were glad, because you didn't know how you would have answered them.

Ollie’s fear eased into wonder as he looked at the flock of sheep you had in the pens up front. You were just thankful they were still there, looking rather healthy despite the fact you had been unexpectedly gone for a week or so.

When you had received the letter and VHS about the old Playtime Co you had interned 10 years ago while in college, you thought you would be gone for a few days at most considering it was a few hours away. You prepped your home as best as you could for being gone that long-- giving extra water and feed to the animals, setting the sprinklers for your garden on a timer-- but had little hopes of your own survival let alone that of your animals after being dragged deep into hell.

You didn’t bother with the detached garage, but pulled up right next to the porch. You were exhausted, and you could only imagine everyone else was as well. The truck seemed all too happy to shut off with a rough sound. You looked over at Ollie, who was still looking at everything in wonder, though Poppy was carefully extracting herself from his grip. “You okay there kiddo?”

He looked back at you, “This is where you live?” he asked instead, voice full of awe. “It looks like it's from a fairytale book!”

It really wasn't, it's a typical farm for this part of the country. Hardly one of the fanciest or beautiful, just simple and sturdy.

“Let's get inside and get settled for the night,” you offer instead of remarking. “I should have the stuff for some sandwiches at least.”

“Sand…witches?” Ollie repeated, sounding confused.

“Meat and bread,” Poppy answered, unbuckling the boy. “Sometimes with ketchup, mustard, mayo, cheese.”

“So, food? I like food!”

Your heart ached. You knew the boy had been raised in the factory, hidden away and protected from the Prototype or hungry ‘toys’. The fact he had was a miracle enough--especially considering how small and thin he was. He had to be ten at the youngest, but barely looked as if he was half that age.

The passenger door opened, which considering how much trouble Kissy had with her hands, was surprising. Yet the pink creature reached in and pulled both Ollie and Poppy out of the truck.

Dogday waited for you as you exited the truck, your legs shaky from the long ride. However, his attention wasn't on you but the dark sky above. It was a new moon, meaning the Milky Way arched overhead with dozens of stars. A glance over to Kissy and the others showed they too were amazed by the stars--you could hear Poppy trying to explain all of it to Ollie quietly.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” You said as you stepped closer to Dogday.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I-I’ve never seen the night sky like this.”

“Well, now you can see it every night,” you said, shouldering his arm lightly. “Best place for meteor showers too.”

Dogday tore his gaze away and looked down at you. “Are you sure we can stay here, angel?”

“Of course. As long as you want, even if it's forever.” Granted, you didn't know where else they would go, especially Dogday and Kissy. But you didn't want to assume anything either, or make them feel trapped.

His hand found yours, so giant compared to yours but soft and warm. “Forever it is then.”

You felt your cheeks warm against the chilly night air as you laughed self-consciously. “Right, you might wanna sleep on that kind of decision, ‘Day.”

Two: Sleep

You woke slowly, feeling warm and cozy. Something soft was surrounding you, with the faintest hint of vanilla. At first you thought maybe you were wrapped up in a thick blanket, but when you opened your eyes to matted brown fur you realized it was Dogday instead, his arms wrapped around you and holding you close as if you were the toy. You could feel him breathe softly, each inhale and exhale caressing your skin softly.

(You didn't want to think about the amalgamation of organic and inorganic parts inside of him. You saw enough when you helped attach his legs to leave you with nightmares.)

For once, Dogday looked relaxed. Dark eyes closed and his smile softened. You couldn’t resist running your fingers along his face. He had been one of the few you had instantly trusted in that hell. One of the few that never even seemed to think about harming you.

Poppy had used you for her own means, not giving you a real choice ever since you released her. Kissy Missy had always been kind but you had soon realized that her partnership with Poppy may have played a part in it. And of course there was Ollie, though it took a while for you to trust the faceless voice on the phone, especially after you learned that the Prototype could mimic voices and Ollie had a very… peculiar way of phrasing things.

Yet Dogday… he had raised his head, and saw you as someone special as soon as his gaze met yours. Begged you to leave him behind and to run when the miniature Critters started to swarm. Actively fought to defend and protect you despite missing the lower half of his body at first.

And ever since, had refused to leave your side. While everyone else did their part, he determinedly stuck with you. Even last night after everyone finished eating and all anyone could think about was sleep. Kissy happily cuddled Poppy and Ollie in her arms as she climbed up the stairs to claim a bedroom. You expected Dogday to follow suit…

“Hey, uh, angel?” Dogday said softly, sounding rather shy. He had stuck around to help you clean up, though all that consisted of was a few plates, cups, and butter knives. Though the number of sandwiches consumed had emptied out all the bread, lunchmeat, cheese, as well as peanut butter and jelly in your pantry.

“Yeah?” You were getting used to the nickname, though you still felt as if it was undeserved the way he said it. As if you truly were an angel from heaven, sent to save.

“... Could I sleep with you?”

His question surprised you, and you almost dropped the cup you had been washing. Thankfully he quickly grabbed it before it could fall very far. “Sleep…with me?”

Granted those last two… days? You weren't sure, but you and him had found safe spots to watch out for each other while the other slept. It was the only time during the whole ‘adventure’ you managed to sleep. Wrapped up in his arms, feeling him breathe, listening to his heartbeat. It reminded you weren't alone anymore.

“I… don't want to be alone,” he continued, drying off the cup and placing it on the shelf. “Even if I know you and the others are nearby, I…”

Your surprise shifted into sympathy and understanding. Kissy, Poppy, and Ollie were together… and now that you thought about it, being alone right now did not fill you with any sort of ease.

“Yeah. I mean, if you don't mind cuddling close. My bed is barely big enough for two normal-sized people, let alone one me and one… well, Dogday.”

His smile widened. “With you? Never.”

Dogday shifted in his sleep, turning his head to nuzzle into your hand before his eyes slowly opened. His smile widened slightly, and you heard more than saw his tail thump against the bed which in turn made you smile wider as well. “Morning,” you greeted softly.

“Good morning, angel,” he said just as softly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Best sleep in a long time,” you admitted with a slight laugh. Trying to sleep in the factory had been a scary experience. Finding small places to hide long enough to close your eyes. Waking and jumping at every little sound. Plagued by endless nightmares.

And you had been there for just a few days, a week at most.

“What about you?” you asked. Him and the others had lived in that hell for a decade. You didn't startle awake from him lashing out at nightmares. Which you had seen him do a few times before at the factory. You had held him in your laps as best you could, reassuring him he was okay as he broke down.

He leaned closer, nuzzling your cheek slightly. “Next to you, how could I not?”

You laughed between his flirty words and his fur tickling your skin. “You're such a flirt!”

Three: Morning After

“It's so bright outside!” Ollie gasped as he looked out the window while you worked on breakfast. Thankfully none of the eggs had spoiled, nor had any milk, meaning you were whipping up a full course of scrambled eggs and pancakes-- as well as cooking the few boxes of frozen sausages you had found in the freezer.

Dogday was currently watching them like a hawk, occasionally licking his lips as he moved them around in the skillet.

“Actually. That's cloudy. See how the sky is gray. Not blue?” Poppy pointed out, also gazing out the window. “On sunny days, it's a bright vibrant blue, and even brighter.”

“Really?” The boy looked up to you to confirm the doll's words, and you nodded your head. To think he had never seen the sky before. To be unable to tell a sunny day from a cloudy one.

“It actually looks like it could rain,” you pointed out. “Maybe we should hold off on a bath until after you have fun in the mud.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought if you get caught in the rain, you'll get sick?”

“Psh, no. At least, not as long as you can dry off and warm up afterwards. It'll also give me time to look through stuff down in the basement. I think there should be some old hand me downs that should fit you.”

“A good bath can do wonders.” Poppy hopped down from the windowsill and into Kissy's hand before the giant monster also gently corralled Ollie to the table where the food was waiting. “It's been such a long time.”

“Er, excuse me for being intrusive…” you set down a towering plate of pancakes before sitting yourself. “But can you guys get wet?”

“We may not be flesh and bone anymore, but we can still enjoy a good shower,” Dogday answered as he set the plate of sausage links in front of you. “Or even a swim.”

“Why is the water white?” Ollie interrupted, looking oddly at the glass of milk Kissy poured in front of him. “I've never seen it that color before.”

“It’s milk,” Poppy answered. “You used to love it when you were a baby and we had access to some.”

Ollie sniffed suspiciously before taking a drink… and then nearly gulping the entire glass in one go. You took the opportunity of everyone chuckling at the boy to split the sausage between the others. Kissy noticed first and clapped excitedly, her mit-like hands muffling the sound.

“Angel,” Dogday sighed, though you weren't sure he was touched or exasperated. Or maybe both.

“Shh, I saw the way you were eyeing them. I can always buy more when I go to town.”

He was silent for a while before taking a bite of the sausage, savoring it unlike Kissy who had all but inhaled hers. Ollie was following Kissy’s example with the banquet of food, while Poppy was benign as dainty as could be, cutting everything into tiny bites, even for her smaller size.

You couldn’t help but savor your own food, feeling rather happy and optimistic about the future.

[siribaes]

beggin’

armando aretas x (oc) [ black!fem! ]

a decade ago armando spent an unforgettable summer with an unforgettable girl, who taught him everything. his sex teacher. now decade later he’s face to face with the teacher once again, determined to show that her lessons didn’t go to waste.

contents: some dom & sub dynamics. voice fixation. size kink. praise kink. pet names. fingering. brief! p in v. cūnnilingus. p!ssydrunk armando bc duh. slight impact play (no face slapping!) they’re in love but in denial about it, minor drug mention, etc. mdni!

suggested tunes📻: elevator by flo rida & timbaland, strip tease by danity kane, get naked (i got a plan) by britney spears, radio by girlicious, virtual diva by don omar, push by enrique igelsias

author’s note: this is slight au, so think of this being the early stages of the revenge plot prior to isabel’s escape. lol the chokehold that the long lost love/lovers reuniting has lol >> i tried to make this as filthy as a possible :) not proofread or edited!

club exquisite was in full swing. bodies packed the building, from wall to wall, people were dancing, drinking, or doing both simultaneously. multicolored strobe lights swirled and danced, combinations of blues, greens and reds illuminated the dance floor, complimenting the dj’s killer set of miami’s finest.

it was lively and fun.

armando, however, was having anything but.

tucked away in a corner booth of the v.i.p., armando sat bored out of his mind, sipping on way too sweet champagne. he should’ve been doing something more useful with his time. instead, he was stuck playing babysitter for the son of a future drug connect, all this per his mother’s instructions.

. . .this marriage between his son and your cousin, alejandra will benefit us. our partnership will bring us one step closer, it’s all apart of the grand design mijo. . .

was sipping champagne that tasted like super sugary, ginger ale a part of the grand design? apparently. watching the groom-to-be snort a line of coke off of girl’s ass was a part of the grand design too. armando took another sip from the flute before sitting it down on table, watching as the girl giggled and kissed sebastian on the mouth. armando never cared for sebastian, they were just so different from one another. sebastian was a pretty boy who liked pretty things, he never worked a day in his life and instead of doing his own thing, he basked in the glory of his father’s notoriously ruthless reputation. armando was self-made, haunted by his father’s death and forged by the fire of mother’s imprisonment. armando blazed his own path and was destined for greater things.

yet, he was here in miami, clubbing with sebastian’s and his pack of idiot friends.

a heavy hand shook him out of his thoughts.

“primo,” sebastian slurred. he swiped at his runny nose, before running hand down his half buttoned shirt. “c’mon, we’re going to the real v.i.p.,”

slightly relieved, armando followed sebastian as the bachelor party were lead by security out of the main dance floor. as they weaved between the crowd, armando trailed slightly behind, keeping a careful eye out on the crowd. despite never being in a fight in this his life, sebastian had a fuck ton of enemies. he was like that. the music became a faint murmuring as the group walked through a door and into an elaborately painted hallway. the walls were a warm golden color, while the ceiling and its floors were covered in mirrored tile. the group continued on, armando continued to linger in the back. amongst the drunken laughter of sebastian and his friends, was this clicking sound.

click! . . . click! . . . click!

armando searched around for the sound as they continued down the hallway, eyes roamed around until he found the source, woman in a pair of high heels. they weren’t just any, regular pair of heels, they were black-patent leather so kate louboutins. fortunately enough for armando he’s familiar with the shoe, he may or may not have purchased a pair or two for his past situationships. armando continues to observe; taking in the details, the woman’s shapely and toned legs, the rich brown skin, and the intricate zipper tattoo that began at the back of her ankle, and traveled up her leg. the remainder of tattoo was lost from the fabric of her dress.

a curiosity sparked inside of armando, watching the woman confidently strut the mirrored floor. he wanted to see just how far the tattoo went. she continued leaving a lingering smell in her wake. it was a combination of warm and spicy, like cinnamon and peach pie. her fragrance filled the molecules in the air he could practically taste it. after turning a corner, the group came to halt in front of pair of doors. from the other side, a pair of security guards opened up the doors.

sebastian and his friends drunkenly ooo-ed and ahh-ed and the ornate nature of the room. armando could care less about the sliver couch, the decked-out bar or the strippers that awaited them upon their arrival, he focused on her. although he got better view, she still alluded him, he could see her from the back, fully, a black bandage dress, accentuated her curves and that ass. . . it looked so round and perky like you could bounce a quarter off it, or grab a handful.

something slowly churned inside of armando as he moved further into the room. he leisurely grabbed a seat on the far end of the couch, with the hopes of seeing his mystery girl's face. the party continued on with the speakers on the room ceiling playing a feed of the dj’s set back out on the dance floor. sebastian and his groomsmen settled on the couch, excited for their lap dances. the lights dimmed too, not enough obscure one’s sight completely, but dark enough to bring on a certain atmosphere to the space.

armando scanned the room for his mystery girl. somehow she’s disappeared on him.

“aren’t you pretty one,” a voice whispered to him, distracting armando from his search. standing before was a woman, one of the strippers. her voice was overly smoky and performative. even the way she batting her long, wispy lashes, she was trying way too hard. he tilted his head away from his obstructed view, “you wanna dance, papí?” armando glanced up at her, a laugh bubbled up inside of him, he suppressed it, for her sake of course.

“nah, sweetheart. i’m good,” armando rasped. the woman shrugged, on to the next. when the stripper moved, standing directly in his sight was his mystery girl. even through the darkness, she was as clear as day.

her heart-shaped face, her button nose and glossy lips, her disney-drawn eyes, brown and wide, in they way they’ve always looked when she was shocked or anxious.

armando’s mystery girl, was no mystery at all. he knew her.

before he could call out to her, she bolted out of the room through the doors. armando glanced at sebastian, who was having a grand ‘ol time being motorboated by a voluptuous stripper. he’s fine. armando took off, following the cinnamon-peachy scent out to the hallway.

she was almost at the end of the hallway. . .

“leyna?” she stopped. she slowly turned around and faced him. “you runnin’ from me?”

her brows furrowed. “i wasn’t running. i was just. . .getting some air,”

armando’s lips twitched. he sauntered over, baring no shame is as he took, no, drank leyna in. it’s been so long, his eyes roamed over leyna. armando took his time, observing, noting every single detail, both old and new. he zeroes in on her legs, watching has she nervously bounces her right leg, the tattooed one. her louboutins make a soft clicking noise against the floor.

armando smirks.

“still shakin’. . .you must be nervous,” armando gestured, it was a tick leyna’s had since she was a kid. leyna frowned, she stopped bouncing. she folded arms around her chest.

“please, i’m not nervous,” she sassed. her glossy lips pursed, forming into a small pout. such a brat. he wanted to kiss the pout off her lips. “anyways, what are you doing here, in miami?”

for a moment, he thinks. armando could tell her the truth flat out: he’s here in miami for business, and his only job was ensuring that sebastian, sober or not, makes it down the isle. . .or he could stretch the truth out. make it a game for himself. anything to distract leyna, even if it’s for a short while.

so, armando shrugs. “business,”

“business? that’s it? it’s been ten years armando, that’s all you have to say?”

armando steps closer to leyna. his over 6-foot frame easily towers over her petite 5-foot-3 frame. has she always been so tiny? he reaches out towards her, the corner of his lips twitch as leyna’s chest rises as her breath catches in her throat. he twirls a long strand of between his fingers, before giving it a gentle tug.

“s’ somewhere we can talk?”

“armando,” leyna sighed. her voice was all high and pitchy, it scratched a certain part of his brain. a flood of memories came surging through. he need hear leyna say his name like that again. “i’m working. both of us should get b-back,”

leyna moves past him, armando doesn’t protest. as she starts walking away, armando reaches into his pant’s pocket.

“how much?” leyna spins around on her heels. a flicker of curiosity dances in her eyes.

“huh?” armando watches leyna eyes light up even more when pulls a money clip out. he thumbs through several bills before he lifts it up.

“its ‘bout three g’s in my hand. should be enough for a shift plus tips, yeah?” her eyes bounce between the money and armando. he can see the wheels in her mind turn, she chews on the bottom of her glossy lips.

“10-minutes. that’s all i can do,” armando nodded. he placed the money in her hand, his fingers gently brushed against hers. ten minutes is all he needs.

armando follows leyna down the hallway, opposite of the party. his eyes roamed, watching leyna’s body sway as she walked. he shouldn’t be turned on from a walk but he was. leyna didn’t walk, she glided. so effortless, and so easy, better then any it was something about seeing her so confidence all these years later. it was refreshing, armando dealt with so many fakes and try hards in his line of business. leyna’s confidence was real. she was real.

“i can feel you staring,” leyna sassed. they stop at a door, she quickly inputs a set of numbers on a keypad. the door clicks.

“i like what i see,” leyna shakes her head, she opens the door, stepping aside to let armando walk in front of her.

the room itself was half the size of the v.i.p. room, and opposite in aesthetics too. the walls were painted a nice, creamy beige, with a matching colored couch. on the far wall, there was an elaborate shelf display old-used bottles of champagne. armando steps inside, taking the room in. the door softly closes, with a click. the room is quiet.

“so,” leyna drawls. she takes a seat on the couch. armando follows suit, sitting next to her. their knees almost graze each others. she flips her hair over her shoulder. “wanna tell me the real reason why you’re here in miami?”

armando chuckles. “a wedding. my cousin ‘s gettin’ married,”

“alejandra?” she remembered, of course she did. she was always to so knowledgeable and attentive. she used to be like that to him.

“yeaaah. she’s been lovin’ bein’ in charge of everybody with the plannin’ and stuff,”

“i hope she’s not bogging you down too much,” his lips tipped into a teeny-tiny smile. she still was still the ever-doting teacher, worried about her student.

“nah. wedding plannin’ ain’t my thing. besides, i’m just assigned babysittin’ duty for sebastian,”

“mhm. i would’ve never paired them together. alejandra, from what i remembered, was so kind, and funny, smart too! sebastian is just a grade-a asshole who likes wreck every club he goes to and piss in public,” armando chuckles as leyna shivers, maybe recalling a memory. armando reaches for the hem of her dress, he toys with it between his fingers. she doesn’t stop him.

“she loves ‘em i guess,” part of that was true, their marriage was arranged yet, alejandra told him that she’s learned to love parts of sebastian. there’s a part of him that wished it wasn’t like that for her.

“i wish her the best,” leyna spoke solemnly.

the room fell quiet, armando still toyed with the edge of leyna’s dress. he tipped his head, looking at leyna.

“you’ve been good though, yeah,” he meant for it to be question but it came out as a statement. she had to be good though, she looked good, and had this fancy ass job at one of miami’s most exclusive clubs. life had to be good.

leyna’s leg began to bounce, as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “yeah, i guess. my life’s been pretty boring since you’ve seen me,”

“tell me,”

“well. . .” leyna trailed. her leg still bounced. armando wanted grab her ankle and make her stop. why was his girl nervous? “i graduated, i gotta b.a. in business administration, got this hostess job short after, met my best friend ana here, let me tell you she’s literally the best cook,” she was rambling, slightly, but armando didn’t care, he wanted to know every single detail. he missed his girl, his bambi. they need to make up for lost time.

“we’re going into business together, a restaurant. i’m going to take care of all the logistics, put my degree to good use, finally. so, yeah, i’m really excited about it, as you can see. but yeah, uhm, what else, i was engaged,”

armando stopped toying with the hem. he turned and took her fully, her right leg bounced even more so. that’s what she was nervous about.

“what happened?”

“uhm,” her beautiful features held a pained expression. a twinge of anger sprouted inside of armando, seeing her like this. whoever made his girl upset needed their ass kicked, especially by him. “to make a long story short, he cheated, multiple times actually. i just got tired being the laughing stock in every room,” she lowered her gaze and fiddled her hands.

armando slowly reached for leyna’s hands. her hands were so soft under his touch. with his thumb, he drew light circles on the back of her hands. a strange emotion was bubbling up inside him, he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was. a little anger, some jealousy, a little sadness too, it was just too much fully explain but the his urge was clear. armando wanted to pull her close, and take care of her like she truly deserves.

“he didn’t deserve you,” she looks at him now, her big brown eyes all wide and glossed over. long lashes fluttered against the tops of her round cheeks, her resemblance to bambi was spot-on. the air became thick around them, and that urge, thrummed in his bones.

armando wanted leyna and he wanted her bad.

“you deserved somebody that’ll take care of you,” he rasped. his words were sincere and true, leyna was one of the kindest, tentative, sweetest people he had ever known. she shown him a kindness when most people wouldn’t. leyna deserved the world, and then some. “you deserve someone who’s gonna protect you, an’ spoil you, an’ just fuckin’ be there,” words were spilling out of his mouth now, like faucet left on. he leans in closer to her, glancing down her glossy lips. he licked his own. “bambi, you deserve someone that can make you feel good,” armando was so dangerously close he could see a breath get caught in leyna’s throat, her chest slight rose up in response. he caught a glimpse of leyna’s jet-black bra that held up her ample cleavage. the peachy-cinnamon smell radiated off the column of her neck, it enticed him, slowly drawing him closer and closer to her.

armando leaned his forehead against her’s.

“fuck, bambi,”

“. . .armando,” leyna whispered. her voice was so pitchy and soft, it smoothed over him. it triggered a hunger for leyna, more veracious than ever before. ten years of distance and unresolved feelings, danced in his blood. his palms itched with desire to squeeze and caress leyna’s soft skin. he wanted to touch the softest part of her.

“please. bambi, ‘jus lemme care take of you, make you feel good. . . i never get what i want,”

leyna back away from him, keeping a steady gaze, she caressed the side of armando’s cheek. her manicured acrylics lightly scratched at his goatee. a bolt of electricity shot through his body when her thumb swiped at his bottom lip.

“i’ve only been with a few men after you,” leyna confessed. “none of them, including my ex, made me feel good like you did. you were the only one,”

armando groaned, lowly. everything in him surged to the surface, so much so he was bursting at the seams.

“c’mere,” leyna obliged. he pulls her in for a kiss. at first it was chaste and sweet, armando tried to ease into the kiss, but the pillowy, softness of her lips and her sweet peachy smell drove him insane. he deepened the kiss, moving his lips hungrily, against hers, while he cradled her head. when he licked her lips, leyna opened her mouth to allow him to explore with her with his tongue. she tasted like peach pie.

"i need it," leyna moaned into his mouth. armando hovered over her lips.

"you say somethin' bambi," he teased, he slid his hands down her frame, stopping at her ass. he rubbed and squeezed, before smacking it. she squeaked.

"baby, please," leyna whimpered, she climbed into armando's lap. she slowly, ground down on his lap, she gasped, feeling his hardness. the look she had in her eyes, a mix of lust and longing, shot straight through him and went to his dick. he snaked a hand towards the back of her neck, he gently gripped the soft flesh. she stopped her movement.

"take that fuckin' dress off," he groaned. leyna blinks. she rose from his lap and proceeded to shimmy out of the dress. she let it pool at her feet before stepping out of it. armando couldn't help himself, all of her smooth curves, and deep rich skin, he just wanted to take a big bite of her. he pulled her back to the couch, switching places, and slid between her legs.

there was no pretense, armando immediately spread her legs wide went straight for leyna's pussy. with his thumb he rubs at her clothed pussy. he revels in the small squelching noise that her pussy makes. leyna whimpers, looking down at him with those big, brown eyes. he chuckles.

“still sensitive?” leyna quickly nods. armando chuckles again, he peels her to the side, admiring the slivery trail of arousal that drips from her pussy onto the fabric. he hums. such a pretty pussy. leyna's pink pussy drips and drools with arousal, fully open and ready, all for him. with calloused thumbs, armando rubs small, droopy circles on the inner parts of leyna's thighs. he inched forward, replacing his fingers with chaste kisses, they create goosebumps on leyna's skin. he licks his lips, keeping his eyes on leyna, kisses her clit.

"fuck! armando,"

he anticipates. before she could ask, armando lays his tongue flat against leyna’s dripping core.

“oo-ooh,” she coos. “you ‘remembered,”

how could he forget, images of him buried between leyna’s shaky legs are burned into his brain. countless lessons from her, teaching him, guiding him. he swears he can hear her voice, way back when during that time.

. . .spread your tongue, a little to the left. yeah ‘just like that, s’ good. good boy. . .

a forceful yank on armando’s curls bring him back to reality. he adjusts his grip on leyna’s thighs, spreading them wider, the pads of his thumbs caressing the plushness.

“fuuuck me! oh my g-god,” leyna whines. armando smiles against her skin, his tongue licks a long stripe against leyna’s core. her arousal is sweet, like peach ice cream. it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever, will ever taste. his sweet girl. armando groans, pulling back slightly, he brings his calloused thumb to leyna’s swollen nub. armando rubs her clit, reveling in her response to his touch. she practically glows, deep brown skin, completely flushed, reddening a bit at her chest. her glossy lips formed into a cute pout, her bottom lip poking ever so slightly, just begging to be kissed, to be bitten by him. seeing her so overwhelmed, so pleasured, sends wave of arousal through armando. his erection painfully rubs against the fabric of his slacks.

“eyes on me, baby,” armando rasps. leyna’s struggle to stay open, succumbing to euphoria between her legs. smack! leyna’s disney-drawn eyes shoot open, to look down at armando. for a moment armando sees something flicker in them, it strips him bare, milliseconds feel like years under her gaze. armando pulls back, spitting directly onto leyna’s pussy. with a new vigor, he dives back in, his tongue licks and drags up and down her softness. his tongue swirls the mix, leyna’s honeyed arousal and his spit, gathering and spreading it onto her clit. he begins suckling the nub, feeling leyna’s sugary essence drip down his goateed chin.

“a-armando! wait s-slow down,”

“uh-uh. you’re my big girl,” he spits, again. armando slurps leyna’s clit, hard. no better then a starving man. “you can take it,”

“c-cumin’. i’m cumin’ baby, pleaseee,” leyna lets out a melodious whine. better than any song or music he’s ever heard. nothing can compare to his girl’s angelic voice, all pitchy and delicate. it’s music to his ears.

“ 's i got you. i got you bambi, let it out,” armando drawls. he sucks at leyna’s clit as it throbs against his tongue. her legs clamp down around armando’s head, this makes him push harder to get her over the edge. he switches his approach, one hand pries open leyna’s leg, with the other he slips his middle finger inside her entrance, slowly prodding her open, he flattens his tongue to lap at her clit. with the other hand he reaches, palming one of her bra covered breasts.

“s-shit! don’t stop please,” leyna is babbling now. she rakes her nails through armando’s thick curls. armando can feel her tightening around his middle finger. she’s close. . .

bam! the band snaps. leyna orgasms hard.

her sugary, syrupy essence flows out of her. leyna holds armando’s head close, she rides out her aftershocks, jerking lightly when his tongue and nose glides over her sensitive clit. slowly, armando pulls away, a string a saliva connects from his lips to leyna’s pussy. he rose up from his crouched position. armando towering over her, his eyes gazing down at her, dilated pupils heavy with dangerous mix, care and lust, maybe even something more. the soft lighting catches armando’s glistening goatee and cheeks. his pink tongue swipes at his bottom lip, like a coyote eyeing its subdued prey.

leyna was everything at the same time. his baby take care of, his princesa to spoil, and his bambi to devour.

“h-how’d you get so good,” leyna stammered. her breathing is still a bit choppy.

“learned from the best,” he rasps, he eyes slowly rake over, as if he was studying her. he wanted to remember her in this very moment.

leyna smiles, sheepishly.

“c’mere,” armando beckons. leyna obliges, she sits up, scooting closer to the edge of the couch. armando tilts leyna chin upwards, he leans in, capturing her lips. he nips at her bottom lip, when leyna opens her mouth, he seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. she tastes herself on his tongue, it starts off tangy but quickly bleeds into a saccharine taste. their tongues wrestle. before, in this war of mouths, leyna used to win, mostly due to armando’s lack of experience, but now it’s much different. he wields his tongue masterfully like knight and their sword, twisting and tasting every inch of her mouth.

“you ready for me princesa?” leyna nods. he watches as her mouth opens and then closes when he slips his shirt over his head. she's pratically drooling at the sight. she should be, countless hours of training have contributed to his sculpted body, all muscles and hard edges. mindlessly her fingers trace over his chest. nails drag over the ridges of his six-pack. she stops her ogling when she sees a scar near his rib cage. armando notices.

“bar fight. fucker, got me good with a broken bottle. had to get a couple stitches,”

“oh baby,”

“hey, hey,” armando gently grabs leyna’s hand. he drags it up, so it cups his cheek. “i’m good,”

his voice holds sincerity as that strange feeling returns inside of him. that urge to hold and take care of leyna, to protect her from his woes, the world, and all its troubles. leyna reaches down to unbuckle his pants, but he stops her.

“not tonight, bambi. wanna be inside of you,”

leyna gulps. he cocks his head to the side.

“don't get all shy on me now," armando tilts her chin. "you know what to do, princesa,"

leyna peels out of her slightly ripped and soaked panties, she tosses them aside. she reaches behind for the clasp of her bra, she unbuckles it, carefully she lays it on the couch next to her dress. when leyna reaches down to slip off her heels, armando tsks.

“nah. leave ‘em on,” armando bites his lip, his eyes sweeping over her naked frame. she’s changed a lot over ten years, she’s curvier, with an obvious plushness and fullness in her breasts and ass. noticeably, there’s a small tattoo of a lotus flower on the upper right side of her rib cage. “fuck, bambi. you all grown up,”

leyna opens her mouth to retort but she shuts it as armando unbuttons his pants.

"you trust me?" armando huffs, he slowly pumps his hardness, feeling pre-cum leaking from his tip.

“of course, i trust you,” leyna replies softly.

“shit princesa. you can’t say stuff like that,” armando murmurs.

he slowly spins leyna around, her back was at his front. he made sure slowly grind his bulge into her, so she could feel all of him.

“soy el rey ahora,” there a slight edge in his voice, it contrasted with the soft circles he drew on the back of her neck. “on all fours, princesa,” leyna obliges. she moves towards the couch, planting herself on her hands and knees, and arches her back. armando groans as she makes a show of it, wiggling her hips in the process. “so pretty liked this. my sweet girl, my bambi, imma fuck the shit out of you,” armando all but growls. a hand reaches into her scalp, fisting her hair. he forcefully tugs at her locks, pulling her head backwards.

leyna whimpers. “baby ‘s rough,”

armando roughly spits on her pussy. he watches as the spit slides down, mixing with her slickness. he’s not nice, not like before. all the care and attention he paid towards her pussy, that armando was long gone. now, replaced with a meaner, tunnel-vision armando. he pushes himself, filling her to her hilt, his stretching out her pussy, all of ridges of his dick rubbing against her gummy walls. she's so warm and tight, a delicious contrast of pushing and pulling him further inside of her. a chill runs down leyna's spine while her manicured nails claw at the fabric of the couch.

“oh fuck!” leyna shouts, armando smacks her right ass-cheek. he executes a few shallow thrusts, barely moving in and out of leyna.

“how bad you wan’ it?” armando drawls.

“so bad baby, please fuck me, please,” leyna’s hoarseness sounds ethereal to him. the breathy way she sounds, the want, the need, makes him even harder. so much so it pains him.

“i got you,” armando tightens the hold he has on leyna’s hair and hip. he pulls all the way out, admiring the mess his girl makes on his dick. the glossy shine the covers him. he stifles back a moan, her warmth and softness send waves of pleasure straight to his dick. he bites down on his lip, watching leyna’s ass ripple against him with every stroke. a bolt of electricity shoots through him as she clamps down on him, her walls tighten, and grip at his dick. she's close.

"i feel you, you cumin' bambi?"

“y-yes, oooh fuck! i’m so close. don’t stop,"

a loud chiming erupts over the sex sounds leyna makes. armando can feel a vibration in his pocket. he reluctantly reaches and sees who’s calling his phone, he answers, while still keeping a steady pace. pumping in and in out of leyna.

“fuck, you want,” armando growls, one hand on the phone while the other holds onto leyna’s shoulder. she moans a little too loud, so he covers her mouth. over the phone one of sebastian’s groomsmen informs that sebastian has wandered off with one of the strippers, no one can find him and he’s left his phone behind. “fuck me. fuckin’ pendejo, i-i’ll be over in a minute, shit,” armando slows down his pace before pulling out completely, leyna whines at the loss of contract.

“i gotta go,” armando sighs. leyna now sits facing him.

“but why? what’s the matter?” his heart pangs at the disappointment that edges out in her voice. he quickly redresses, buckling his pants and slipping his shirt back over and on.

“a situation came up,” he leans down and kisses her on the cheek. “imma come an’ find you,”

without another look or word, armando walks out of the v.i.p. with a hard dick and an odd feeling panging in his chest.

[scuttlingcrab]

wip time

After 84 years, finally finished the one-shot I've been working on, focusing on Emmrich reminiscing about his time in the Lighthouse post end game. It's a whopping 12k words (my longest one yet, I think I might be crazy lol). Sweet Maker help me. Here's a wee excerpt, the rest hoping to come your way and on to AO3 at some point tomorrow. Once I make a fresh cuppa and do some editing. *sweats profusely*

***

In the end, it was Rook who proposed to Emmrich, bypassing all the spectacles and formalities that would typically accompany an offer of marriage. She didn’t care much for rituals, she had made that pretty evident upon their first outing in the Memorial Gardens. Rook had appeased Emmrich then as she lit the candles in the mausoleum, but she had lacked the enthusiasm he had hoped to garner from a fellow Watcher, her thoughts preoccupied, overburdened, as they often were in the beginning. 

She was more intrigued by the tea he had Manfred prepare after the rites concluded, convinced he had set it up as a means of courtship, as a way to exclusively impress her. Emmrich couldn’t look at her the same after that encounter. The first minute crack appeared in his composure as they sipped their tea, exchanging pleasantries, leading it to shatter the more he stayed within her mesmeric presence. 

Rook’s words, her initial interest, were only the start of his fixation. Emmrich suffocated under the avalanche of possibilities, of what prospects awaited him with each secretive glance, every purposeful brush of a finger, her hand remaining over his for a second longer than necessary. It was enough for him to notice, for his skin to prickle. Sparks ignited with each touch, so severe it could set the entirety of Arlathan Forest in flames if they weren't careful enough. It didn’t matter if they were clearing away darkspawn or seated at the kitchen table for supper, Emmrich’s eyes gravitated towards Rook, seeking her, needing her. Tracing the contours of her face, the crest and trough of every muscle against her robust frame. 

Emmrich had decades to plan what he would’ve done if he ever had the opportunity to propose, to ask such a paramount question. ‘Will you do me the honour of marrying me, my darling, my love?’ The bespoke poems he would’ve crafted, reciting rich words of devotion as he got lost in the beauty of his beloved. The intricate tableaus he would’ve erected in honour of them, going so far as to reanimate Nevarra’s most acclaimed musicians; coordinating only the finest orchestrations while they danced amongst the dead. And oh, the grave gold they would’ve shared, the intimacy of sliding a ring on an empty finger. 

His previous partners often accused him of being melodramatic, a hopeless romantic, a touch too clingy as he bared his heart. Suffocating. Overwhelming. Childish. How else was one supposed to show their affections? Emmrich would not settle for half measures, they deserved the world, the infinite possibilities of the Fade itself, nothing less, always worthy of more, more, more! 

His heart never stopped beating with unrequited love, no matter how it withered away with time, or how many fresh wounds were added to its surface, replacing the scars that had long since faded. He was accustomed to the pain of rejection. It was a special type of grief, of the paths he could’ve walked, hand in hand with the ghosts of yesteryear. 

Emmrich assumed he'd never find a partner who could quite match his fervour, that is, until Rook. And it only took one inconsequential argument with her to destroy what Emmrich craved, what he had painfully searched for his entire life. No thanks to his crippling terror of mortality, the guilt, the shame of stealing Rook’s youth like a lecherous old heathen. When love was finally within his grasp, he was so unwilling to accept that anyone, let alone Rook, the very object of his desires, would want to remain by his side. That he was worthy enough to keep hold of their attention. 

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

◈ Pairing: Zhongli x fem!Reader ◈ Summary: You return to Liyue after spending years abroad in Sumeru. Unfortunately, Zhongli has not changed one bit and you find yourself trapped in the friendzone. ◈ Contains: Modern AU, age gap, previously teacher-student, neighbors, teenage crushes, light angst, minor character death, problematic tropes, friendzone

Friend

Zhongli sighed softly, cushioning your bruised ego as he rejects you yet again in the most gentle of ways.

This man had been many things to you over the years, but there was one person he refused to be, your lover. It was as if he had made a silent contract with some higher power to never cross that invisible line.

The first time you aired your feelings to him, you weren’t even sure if it was even love. It was at most a silly crush then, nothing like the unmovable rock that had taken up permanent residence in your heart. When your fates first intertwined, he was just your history teacher. Prim and proper, handsome, although a tad long-winded whenever he opened his mouth, you were instantly infatuated as many of your classmates were. Perhaps if fate hadn't decided to meddle further, this shallow crush of yours would've came and went as nothing more than a temporary fixation.

"Zhongli... I was just kidding. I'm not a teenager anymore." You tried to laugh it off, but your hands trembled under the table. "How many years has it been?"

"Far too many." Zhongli chuckled. "I've missed you much, friend." He says that word with so much sincerity, your heart breaks a little.

You never bothered to explain why you had been single for the past few years and he never asked. Hutao would occasionally narrow her eyes at you when you brought up a certain "friend" in conversation, but even she didn't link this mysterious individual you refused to name to the the man that used to be your history teacher. The three of you had really gone a long way. Hutao went off to take over her grandfather's funeral parlor. You received an acceptance letter from the Sumeru Akademiya and went abroad. Before you know it, half a decade had flown by. Zhongli became the receiver of your ever frequent messages and calls. Somehow you had grown even closer to him while you were thousands of miles away. His replies were often longer than warranted and always thoughtful like he was. You could almost hear his voice when you read them. While most of his students were glad they no longer needed to sit through his lectures, you had undoubtedly come to miss them.

At that time, your colleagues were pairing up left and right, so predictably, you felt left out. You were hopeful then that you'd find your special someone and hit it off too. Contrary to your optimism, the more you dated around in Sumeru, the more exhausted you became. There was an itch in your heart and nobody you met could scratch it. While venting to Hutao about yet another failed date, realization finally hit you. You had been looking for traces of Zhongli in those dates. In between the endless text messages, occasional calls and hushed goodnights, you've never actually felt the sting of loneliness. Of course your dating endeavors were a complete failure.

You never fell out of whatever infatuation you had for him. If anything, your feelings had only grown stronger and more grounded. The dates stopped and your romantic life came to a full halt.

"You're going to end up alone. Just you wait." Hutao giggled.

"I'm alright with that." You calmly replied. "I have friends."

Till this day, you still remember the way her brow went up.

What you didn't disclose was that all the way in Liyue, Zhongli was completely unaware that he was the reason why. That was fine. If anything, the man had always been alone for most of the time you had known him. You could always keep him company as a friend and truthfully, the label over your relationship mattered less than he did. Labels had never really amounted to much in your book with the amount of times people around you have fallen short of them.

You remembered how you used to deliberately drop the 'Mister' in front of his name every time you greeted him. He eventually gave up correcting you and allowed you to address him directly whenever he ran into you outside your home. Zhongli had coincidentally moved into the apartment a few doors down. Your mother was ecstatic when she found out the handsome man she met while grabbing mail that morning was your history teacher, determined to wrangle him in for extra tutoring sessions even though you assured her that your grades were nowhere near failing. You had an image to keep up in front of your crush, even if sacrificing it would give you an excuse to stare at Zhongli's handsome face for a few extra hours every week. Although your mother's tutoring plans never came to fruition, Zhongli's phone number was now sitting in your contacts thanks to her persistence.

All your friends knew about your crush on your history teacher. There was no need to hide it because nobody took it seriously except you. Hutao was especially vocal about it, calling Zhongli dusty and old-fashioned. You liked that about him though. He exuded a sense of calm with the way he spoke and carried himself that you naturally gravitated towards. Even your mother found him trustworthy enough to entrust your safety to him in case your estranged father showed up at the door one day.

You still remembered the calming warmth and scent of the tea he placed in your shaking hands when he sat you down at his table.

"Everything will be alright." He took a seat across from you, expression grave.

You could tell that he didn't know what to say to comfort you, so you forgave him for telling that one lie. The sirens blaring loudly outside the door were muffled as he pressed his palms against your ears. Nothing was alright that day, but at least you were safe. At least you weren't alone.

"Thank you, Zhongli." You spoke up the next morning over breakfast.

"There's no need to thank me. I simply did what any neighbor would've done in that situation."

Your eyes met his. One glance told him that you disagreed, but you didn't say anything to refute what he said.

There were plenty of neighbors present, some of which were standing right there in front of your door watching when it all happened. If it weren't for Zhongli, you would've still been in there, bleeding next to your unconscious mother by the time the cops arrived.

"I am also your teacher, your elder, even if you refuse to address me so." He added softly.

"So every neighbor, every teacher, every elder would've done what you did?" You asked bluntly. In an ideal world maybe, but you knew better.

Zhongli drew in a hesitant breath, falling silent at your question. Perhaps he should not be speaking for anyone but himself, especially when the person the cops dragged off in handcuffs was your own father.

"You may consider me a friend then." He finally said after what felt like an eternity.

You eventually moved into a short term foster home after your mother's funeral. Luckily, you were allowed to continue attending the school you were at due to the end of the year being only two months away. He could've asked you to delete his phone number from your contacts then, but he didn't. How could he offer you friendship and then confiscate it less than two months later? Since he couldn't bear to sever that string of fate that anchored you to him when he had the chance, Zhongli could only watch as you tightened it. Now that you had returned to Liyue, it was clear to him how much things had changed. Zhongli was more or less the same, but your outer appearance had changed quite drastically. Despite the differences, both of you could feel the connection you shared. Unlike when you left, you had returned to him as a close friend.

Everybody you were acquainted with eventually came to know about Zhongli, but some knew a bit more than others, Hutao for example. At first, she was skeptical about how closely you had gotten entangled with him over the years. He was almost a whole decade older than you and was even your teacher at one point in your life.

"He's just a close friend." You reassured her. "It's not what you think it is."

Nobody could give their unsolicited disapproval if the two people involved refused to define the relationship.

You even handed her your phone to go through your text messages, swearing you haven't deleted a single one. Sure enough, your conversations with Zhongli were about the most sterile exchanges imaginable, save for the frequency.

"You text him more than you text me." Was all she could say when she handed you back your phone.

A friend, that's what you labeled him as whenever you mentioned him, no matter if it was to your closest friend or a stranger. Zhongli also abided by this unspoken rule, albeit rather heavy-handedly. Whether it's to remind you or himself that there was a line he couldn't cross, only he would know. Zhongli might care deeply for you, appear at your doorstep at the slightest hint of distress in your voice, take care of you when you're too sick to get out of bed and bring you dinner at work when you have to do overtime, but he couldn't be your lover. It wasn't like you never tried to change his mind. You've hinted it a few times, even borrowed the disguise of alcohol to say it straight to his face. There's only so many times a person can take rejection before they simply stop asking.

"I'm much too old for you."

"Perhaps I remind you of simpler times. Nostalgia may be the culprit. Nevertheless, I'm flattered that you've attached such fond sentiments to me."

"You've had a cup too many, dear."

"You've simply gotten used to my presence. When things finally settle into their places, you will see that it is not as you assumed."

"You will always be precious to me. Please do not joke about this matter."

He always phrased it in the most considerate ways, but the reply was always the same. Why push the same button over and over? You were no longer an impulsive teenager. It did you no good to continue prying an affirmation out of him, especially when all his actions contradicted his words. Even Hutao began rolling her eyes whenever she sees the two of you together, with the way Zhongli acted around you. If it was cold, his coat was predictably draped over your shoulders. If it was too warm, she would catch him gathering your hair into a ponytail and tying it with the dexterity of someone who had done it a thousand times. When you ate out as a group, Zhongli would always be glued to your side like an overprotective husband, pulling out your chair for you and cutting your food. You allowed him to, silently indulging in his antics just as he allowed you to get away with many of your more questionable gestures. However if anyone so much as makes a joke about how couple-like the two of you acted, both you and Zhongli would immediately refute it without any hesitation.

If he called this friendship, then perhaps there's no distinction needed. It wasn't like there was anyone else he was treating the way he treated you. He could keep his excuses and you could continue denying your feelings. Maybe one day, this rock would crack and start blooming, but until then, you were satisfied with this so-called friendship. After all, it wasn't like any sane person could approach you with him there. If you were interested in Zhongli and learned that he had a friend that he looked after like a dragon guarding its precious gem, you'd see yourself out.

Even a blind person could see that Zhongli was in love with you. What mattered that he insisted on calling you a friend?

AN: I was going through Zhongli's voicelines and realized how many times he deliberately calls you "friend"

DAMN YOU HOYO. WHY YOU GOTTA HURT ME LIKE THIS?

[obimaulartfire]

Do you ever just...wake up and think about how Obi-wan was, for most of his life, Maul's reason to live?

Let me explain, and this is one of the main reasons I was drawn to ObiMaul in the first place. (long ramble below)

We're all aware of the events at the reactor fight, and it'd be an understatement to say it was a very hostile first encounter. But it's in the aftermath where the dynamic gets interesting.

Maul survived on his own, for years, with only his top half. As a former biology major, sometimes I think about how possible this would be in real life, if at all. It would be insanely uncomfortable at best, and impossible at worst. But through the excruciating pain, Maul survived, fueled purely by his intense hatred/obsession with Kenobi (and some star wars darkside magic, I'm sure).

Maul says this himself when first meeting Obi-wan again in season 4 of The Clone Wars:

"You would never imagine the depths I'd go to to stay alive, fueled by my singular hatred...for you."

Imagine being on the brink of death, with half of your circulatory system GONE, your heart beating irregularly, and your "lower half" being in constant pain, but still finding something to live for, and living...for YEARS. That's impressive. Hate-filled or not, it's hard to deny that for that time, thoughts of Obi-wan literally kept Maul alive for a decade.

Maul comes back to the series having been left for dead by Sidious, with spider legs he made himself, and no sense of time and a destroyed sense of sanity. Yet, he lives.

And additionally, revenge on Sidious is only second in his thoughts to his revenge on Obi-wan, even though Sidious is technically the one who left him for dead. Since Maul can't sit still, he did many other things during the Clone Wars in accordance with his own ambitions, likely to attempt to reclaim that part of his life that had been lost to Lotho Minor, but that's a tangent for another post.

He gets revenge on Obi-wan (I guess) by killing Satine, but even that isn't enough for him, as evidenced by the Satine hate shrine that we see in Rebels, when Ezra visits Maul's cave on Dathomir:

(on a side note, there is no sane heterosexual explanation for this^, I'm sorry/j)

Why would you keep a memento of someone you've killed? Why would you cross out their eyes? Maul didn't hate Satine that much, and it's my opinion that he did this because she was important to Obi-wan.

And that brings me to my next point: Rebels Maul

Y'all.... there's a reason the title of my blog is "Twin Suns Changed My Brain Chemistry", because I vaguely had feelings about these two in Clone Wars, but Rebels really cemented this dynamic for me.

I cannot emphasize enough that in Rebels, Maul thinks Obi-wan Kenobi is dead. Whether he got killed in Order 66 or when Vader and the Inquisitors started purging Force Users, there was maybe a .000001% chance that any Jedi, especially Obi-wan, would have survived that. And yet. When we enter Rebels, we find Maul on Malachor, stuck on the planet looking for the Sith holocron.

WHY is he trying to find the Sith holocron? In Maul's own words:

"As for me, I...seek something much simpler, yet equally elusive... Hope."

Hope? That surely isn't a Sith ideal. It's revealed later that the only reason Maul wants to combine these ancient artifacts is to learn whether or not Obi-wan Kenobi is alive. I shit you not.

This implies that Maul has had Hope that Obi-wan has been alive for what... 15 years? That's a long time. At this point, Maul may be like, 49 or 50. He has been fixated on Obi-wan for 30 years of his life. Thoughts of Obi-wan kept him going and going and going for 3/5ths of his life. Even when he thinks Obi-wan has died, he spends 15 years trying to find him, just hoping that he is alive. But for what?

It's unclear to me what Maul, in canon, really desires from Obi-wan. But one thing for sure is that Obi-wan acts as a...source of emotions for Maul. A source of feelings, and a reason to keep going through times that other characters would give up.

Other characters may have survived, but Maul lived because of Obi-wan. Through being bisected, the Clone Wars, being chased by Vader and the Inquisitors, and through periods of despair.

And before the end, he just wants to find his reason to live again, and dies in his arms.

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

september 1, 2021 6:15 p.m. basil's restaurant

ten minutes ago

[ktmurphy86] i might be a few minutes late, but i'm almost there.

grant scrolls through the metric ton of messages piling up in his notifications until he reaches the very end, and with a lump in his throat, opens it to respond. or like it. or send a thumbs up like a cool cucumber.

baby steps, he tells himself. one task at a time. the responses to all the messages from family, friends, and former co-workers inquiring about his exam results will come later.

just meet your sister first and–

“you seem different.”

he nearly jumps out of his skin as kelly’s high-pitched voice supersedes his thoughts.

“hopefully in a good way,” grant replies, looking up as he slides his phone off the table and into his back pocket.

it’s been nearly a decade since their last encounter, and he’d still recognize her from a mile away.

kelly’s hair is dyed platinum blonde like always, but now it’s twice as long, and her natural brunette locks–peeking through at the root–are streaked through with shocks of silver. her ice blue eyes are just as piercing, only underlined with tiny wrinkles. she’s still thin, too, but rather rail thin; her sweater dress seems to wear her more than she wears it.

“yes, in a good way.” kelly pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down with her arms wrapped across her waist. the candle between them casts a strange yellow glow over her wiry features. “you look better, much healthier.”

“uh, thank you. you look great as well.”

she half-smiles. “it’s just hair dye and botox. i look old. i didn’t inherit the ageless ó súilleabháin genes, so i'm going grey very early like all the callahans. by the way, you weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“oh, no, no, not at all. i have my car, but i didn’t want to deal with traffic, so i took the subway, but then that also kind of took a while. i pretty much just got here.”

“okay, good.” kelly pauses for a moment, her lips pursed. “well. i thought about what i'd say to you the whole ride over here, and now it’s all gone.”

for a moment, they exchange no other words. they drown in the silence, staring into each other’s eyes and into the past.

she’s surprisingly warm, all things considered. the last time they’d been in the same room–

grant is distracted again from his thoughts, watching as a strange sadness falls across her face. she reaches up at the collar of her dress and tug at it like it’s choking her, and her eyes then drift away to stare at an indistinct point on the table between them.

“it’s weird to see you again,” she admits suddenly, her gaze still fixated far away from him, “i didn’t think you’d message me back a few months ago.”

“to be honest, i didn’t mean to. i replied by accident one night and then just decided to follow through with talking to you. and now i'm here. yeah. um, anyway, why’d you reach out to me?”

“i was on facebook a couple months ago, and one of those ‘look at what you posted this day years ago’ things came up. it was a picture aunt bridget tagged us all in. it was the whole family at one of your high school hockey games, i think your freshman year state championship game.” kelly shrugs. “i didn’t even know any of those pictures were still there. that was a real surprise, given i unfriended and blocked everyone i'm related to on there when i left home after high school.”

grant nods. “a picture of me probably very sweaty and gross with helmet hair made you want to reach out to me?”

“not quite. my kids were with me at the time. we were in an airport coming back from vacation, so they were bored and nosy. ‘is that you? who are all these people?’ i was then immediately caught in my lie; i'd been telling them their whole lives i had no family left, and their only extended family was their dad’s parents.”

“yikes. i'm sure that was awkward.”

“it was,” kelly says plainly, “my oldest kids weren’t happy with the news. they’ve been, um, a little jealous of their friends for having lots of cousins and big family events for the holidays, and it didn’t go over well when they figured out they do have a big family. besides, they rightfully did see it as a betrayal of their trust. if mom lied once, what else might mom be lying about? the tooth fairy? santa claus? the easter bunny? yes, those, too. sorry. also, if you didn’t already guess based on my new last name, i married jack, and…”

“i figured you married him. you’d already been together a really long time even when i last saw you. we all grew up together, and you guys were middle school and high school sweethearts and all.”

“he’s a good guy. as i was about to say, though, jack is very partial to you. he always liked you. he thought you were a sweet kid, and he won’t let me forget what happened between us. so, after the facebook incident, he encouraged me to contact you, if only for the kids’ sake. after living in a huge family, i don’t think it’s all that fantastic, but he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder being an only child, and he doesn’t want the kids to have no one besides his parents in their lives. don’t get me wrong; i will never ever get involved in callahan or ó súilleabháin bullshit again, but i will consider reconnecting with you and letting you meet the kids.”

grant bites into his lip as that nagging anxious lump returns to his throat. “well, why me? why bother getting involved with any of us again after everything? even if it is for your kids, what's your motivation?"

kelly outright ignores his question. “tell me what you’ve been up to for the last, what, eight years? nine years? i don’t remember how long it’s been. you're at least talking to our dad, i hear.”

"how do you know that?"

"my in-laws may not know anything else about you these days, but they've seen you with him around our hometown."

[wyervan]

hiiii just wanna start off by saying I love your art style and general vibes ✨️ I'm a stay-at-home partner always in search of fun things to do, and I've recently gotten back into art after not engaging with it since I was a kid (largely because your sun n moon fixation rubbed off on me 😭). I've never tried digital art and it looks cool! Do you have any advice for a beginner like me?

Oh it makes me so happy when people say I inspired them to start creating again 😭 The DCA and the fandom brought me out of my own years-long artistic funk last spring. Clown power, yeehonk 🤠 🤡

I’m planning a significantly longer post in response to an ask I got ages ago all how I learned to draw the way I do, so lookout for that.

But in the meantime, here’s a couple things I can think of off the top of my head:

Specific tools don’t matter much. I currently use Procreate and would recommend it if you have an IPad. It’s an extremely simple but effective program.

On desktop, I use Clip Studio Pro, but Krita is another program I’ve used and liked AND it’s completely free.

I do also have loads of experience with Photoshop and other Adobe products but can’t recommend them at the price, not to mention they’re not super beginner friendly.

Hardware-wise, I almost exclusively use my IPad to draw because it’s so portable. I also have a Huion Kamvas pen tablet monitor that hooks up to my desktop. But I started doing digital art with a dinky lil Wacom tablet that was less than $100. There’s definitely a bit of a disconnect at first, not looking at where you’re drawing but rather on a screen, but you get used to it.

Bottom line is to use whatever tools are convenient and comfortable for you! I even know of a great artist that exclusively draws with their mouse. I realized I hated sitting at a desk and that stopped me from practicing digitally. I got an IPad and now it’s much easier for me to work comfortably on what I love.

Point two I’d like to make is take advantage of the capabilities of working digitally. This means using the godsent undo button to your heart’s content. Download fun brushes to play with and add texture. Use perspective grids. Turn on line stabilization so your strokes are extra smooth. Like what you’ve sketched so far but want to try something different? Duplicate the layer and work from there so you can go back to the old version if you change your mind. Radically change the colors or values with adjustment layers. Use clipping masks. Abuse the liquify tool.

A lot of this might sound like gobbledygook to a digital art beginner but just googling any of this terminology will get you loads of tutorials and information for your specific setup. Also I’m happy to go into details about specific digital art techniques I’ve picked up with over a decade and a half of experience.

Finally, and most importantly—make what you want to see in the world AND what feels good to make. This ofc is not exclusive to digital art, but I always want to stress this to new artists. I realized after I got into the DCA fandom that I had been letting shame, fear, and perfectionism keep me from creating the content I was really interested in making. But then man, idk. Frickin’ robot clowns amirite ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it’s like there was a secret agent sent into my brain and he uploaded a DCA virus into my mainframe or smth idk hacker style. tktktktkt. they’re in.

Anyway. Hope this helps! Feel free to send another message if u have more questions :3

[apoptoses]

Do you think Armand ever helped Daniel manscape? Or subjected him to it 😬 Its’s mentioned that he often bathed, shaved and dressed him to his liking and I see Armand as the type of lover who would obsess over and hyper fixate on every part of his partner’s body, pubic hair included 🫢

oh boy anon DO I. Buckle in because i've got THOUGHTS.

so like, shaving his face? absolutely, that started out as a totally benign request when Armand got curious about modern disposable razors. Daniel was down, it's fine, he does half his face to demonstrate and show Armand how to handle the razor and then lets him finish the other half. And it's nice, it kinda makes him feel spoiled to sit on the edge of the tub and let Armand tilt his head around and wipe the shaving cream off his face. He's happy to let Armand have full control over that particular grooming chore.

(Does Armand sometimes nick his jaw? Yes. Does Daniel think that's on purpose so he can lick up the blood? Also yes. Does he care? Not really, secretly it's becoming a turn on.)

Naturally, it escalates.

It starts with shaving Daniel's chest just to see what he'd look like with it smooth. Then it's his armpits, because Armand wants to know what they look like bare and how long it takes for them to grow back (three very fucking itchy weeks, where Daniel can't stop squirming and thinking about Armand every time he tries to sneakily scratch at the stubble through his shirt).

At this point Daniel tells him no shaving below the waist, uh uh, not doing it. He keeps everything trimmed short and that's enough, thank you very much. Obviously Armand takes that as a personal challenge.

(in the end all it takes is a few well placed bites, a whispered "please, lover?" and those big brown eyes looking up at him through dark lashes and Daniel crumbles, but he's never going to admit that)

And so he ends up laid out with his legs spread, ass half in Armand's lap while Armand lathers him up with shaving cream and gets at it. It's weirdly hot, he feels all vulnerable and squirmy and Armand's hands are cold and wet with shaving cream and touching him all over. Daniel notices he's not just being tidied up, Armand is taking everything and he goes to protest. But then Armand strokes him with the shaving cream and his brain melts.

(and does his face burn when Armand asks him to lift his knees to his chest so he can get his ass? absolutely. does Daniel jump to obey anyways? you bet)

By the time Armand wipes him down with the towel he just feels so weird and bare, he's got this urge to put his hands over his lap and hide. And Armand just keeps staring in that way of his making it worse. Daniel feels about ready to curl up and die, but then Armand touches his bare skin and oh it's so sensitive. And then Armand bites him low on his groin where his teeth have never been before and- yeah, okay, maybe this was worth it.

They keep it up for a few weeks, because every time Daniel looks in the mirror and sees himself he feels like Armand's possession and he likes it. They do it again with a straight razor, and then once with wax (which makes Daniel cry and that's the most confusing turn on he's ever had). And then the novelty wears off, until decades later when Daniel is a vampire and he remembers it'll all grow back overnight, no itchy phase needed at all.

But YEAH they're both into it not even just for the grooming itself, but the giving over of control, the intimate secret, the constant awareness Daniel has that he's bare somewhere because Armand wants it and he can't stop thinking about his sensitive newly naked skin.

And they switch once. Armand hands him the razor and it's fun, but Daniel is too into Armand with all of his hair intact for it to be anything but a novelty. He'd much rather trim his hair for him, or pull it back, or get out the manicure kit if he's going to do any grooming stuff for Armand.

HOPE THIS HIT THE SPOT, ANON ♥

[respectthepetty]

Be my favorite has got me. I’m down the rabbit hole as it were. I didn’t mean to be here, I fell and I refuse to get out of said hole.

Also….. Is this the first time I am seeing a characters growth and story through self realisation without the love interest?

Like Peesaang went on this journey from seeing the two men kissing in the club, going to the bar, going to see Max, and really taking the time with his feelings. I loved it!!!!!!

Not the ‘ I don’t like men, I just like you’ like….. A to the Men (amen) am I right?!

I'm going to be honest with myself - I've been in this hole since 2021. The initial 2021 trailer (with MIKE!) told me Be My Favorite was either gonna be a mess or a masterpiece, but I prayed it wouldn't be mediocre, so I am THRILLED that My Strange and Obnoxious Fixation™ has paid off. If the second half hurts us, y'all are going to witness a full grown adult have a meltdown on your dash that could rival one of those badass kids in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, but, so far, IT'S A WIN for me!

And the biggest reason is because of the characters. I am truly invested in JittiRain's evolution here because this is not her norm. I was very prepared for miscommunication, manipulation, and misdeeds, but instead we are getting MAGIC!

I'm sure other shows have done the self-realization journey without it being directly tied to the love interest, but what I'm liking about it here is it just isn't Pisaeng. Usually, the dynamic is one of the leads is pretty solid while the other has to find his way, but both of these guys are figuring it out, and we get to see that evolution. In fact, all the characters are working through their issues.

I read a few posts today of people stating they are feeling better about Kawi now after he showed growth from his initial behavior in the first few episodes. Same with Not. I still dislike that little jerk, but him sending a message to Kawi wishing him good luck was nice to see after he roasted Kawi for trying to find a talent.

Also, Kawi still helped Pisaeng on this journey of self-discovery, but Pisaeng didn't go on this journey to get Kawi. Kawi wasn't treated like the pot of gold at the end of the queer rainbow. Kawi questioned Pisaeng in episode four. He asked Pisaeng why he hadn't been direct about his feelings with Pear. Kawi asked Pisaeng what he was doing when he went in for the kiss. He told Pisaeng to be honest, with himself.

Pisaeng, a guy who believed he was being honest and open, having his actions questioned made him haul ass out of there. Kawi jump-started that reflection.

But Pisaeng is honest and open. He spoke to Pear the next day. He saw the men kissing, and although hesitant, he went to that gay bar. He spoke to Max and decided to confess to Kawi. Then, he returned to the bar.

I hope, and feel, that we are getting the same story from Kawi. He hasn't been honest with himself for a long time, and this statement isn't about queerness. This is about his life in general. However, he doesn't react the same way as Pisaeng. Kawi needs more support. He needs a bigger push. He needs people to guide him. Because for over a decade, Kawi has had nobody and feels like he has nothing.

Pisaeng has known something was wrong with what others believed to be his perfect life, so he was quick to adjust. Kawi has dreamed about what he believed would be his perfect life for at least twelve years, so he is very reluctant to reevaluate the choices he believes will get him that perfect life.

Kawi is doing everything under the guise of getting Pear and more money, but just like Pisaeng, he will have to be honest with himself and realize he is doing all of this because he is extremely lonely. Kawi doesn't need to get laid and get paid; he needs friends.

Both Pisaeng and Kawi need a friend.

And that's what I love about this. You're right! We aren't seeing a story of growth that involves the love interest.

Instead we are seeing stories about change that involve friends.

Because if we are being honest with ourselves, we all need a little help from our friends.

[euporie-art]

Hellooo there!! I saw your blog description and I am a benbaro shipper who would like to interact with you please! My benbaro obsession has gotten well fed by wonderful artworks and correct thoughts such as yours (thank you!!) recently but I fear my obsession can never be completely sated...

So if you like, feel free to use this ask to express whatever is currently on your mind! Just ramblings or a headcanon or something about benbaro or Barok or Albert separately or TGAA in general that you have thoughts about; this is a free pass to let it out! I'm always curious about how my blorbos look in other people's eyes

OMG HI I have read all of your benbaro fics and they make me fucking AJDJFHWIJFKTOEMTK (a good thing) . I need to get hit by a car. I love them so much

prepare for a whole lot of fucking yap because I am insane about them so much. and I have no job so I kinda just stew them in my brain all day at the moment, among other tgaa pairings and characters

(i honestly very rarely fixate on ships within fandoms. but tgaa gave me 3 pairings I would die for. asoryuu, homumiko, and benbaro. they all make me insane I'm going to eat drywall)

I think about them a lot. I don't even know where to start.

so I'll go w some dumb headcanons. sprinkling in some pretty bad drawings.tbh (please ignore how inconsistent my art style is)

I think some time after tgaa2 he moves back to England and lives with barok, who obviously has more than enough money to spend on him, so Albert grows his hair out again (he has a very stupid hat/helmet thing he wears to protect his hair if he's working on something potentially dangerous)

First off I think Albert had long hair in university. most of the time when people draw him in uni he looks almost identical to his 2-3 design WHICH IS FAIR AND NOT BAD! but I have some thoughts of my own

pray forgive the discourtesy of this looking shit I drew it quite quickly. but. I think he had long hair in university and was a little more particular about his appearance. however i do think he had pretty bad acne in his late teens. the acne was just a hormonal teenager thing and cleared up by his 20s.

After moving abroad I think he cut his hair short because he had less time to look after it, and wanted to put any money he had towards funding his inventions, so he did pretty much the bare minimum when it came to looking after himself (I must clarify I do think that Albert is attractive, this is not me trying to "yassify" him. I have a soft spot for cute nerdy guys I'm dating one but he likes Elden ring instead of science)

because he's pretty much been alone for like. a decade. and basically just spoke in Law Words for half of that. I think barok is very direct and literal with how he speaks so he worries about not seeming "romantic" enough, so to compensate he's very physically affectionate and likes spoiling albert with nice food, gadgets and supplies for his inventions, and new clothes.

I think barok is extremely clingy once he gets used to having Albert around again. he's like a cat he'll just kind of bonk his head into him sometimes and sadly gaze at him until he gets attention. very cuddly and a bit melodramatic. I love characterisations of barok where he's really pathetic tbh. also him being shy is fun I enjoy it greatly

albert on the other hand I actually think he's the more bold/confident one (I hate when barok is portrayed as a dominant bad boy or whatever its so stupid he literally gets shy when his 10 year old niece invites him to dinner). albert talks baroks ear off about anything and everything, humours his clingyness, and drags him outside to have a life beyond his job and engage in whimsy and fun . he's also very verbally affectionate I think. he makes sure to try and help barok feel less alone, because I think he has lingering guilt for not being there during the professor bullshit and klints death. it may have been after he left England for Germany, and he didn't even know when it was happening, but i think he has a lingering, irrational guilt for not being there for barok at his worst hour

ALSO a lot of the time I see people drawing Albert talking a lot about science shit w barok listening happily, but I also think it goes the other way too! I think barok will rant about wine pairings and different types of grapes n shit. Albert stares at him lovestruck and adoringly the whole time. he has no idea what a pinot noir is (neither do I, I don't drink)

final thing or I will be here all fucking day: my boyfriend and I came up with a headcanon that barok has a really pathetic looking Italian greyhound named petunia, he likes dressing her up in little outfits. I think when albert starts living with him he starts calling petunia their daughter, and has the ability to make the exact same sad and pathetic expression as the dog

jk tiny bonus: I have a very dumb "100 years on" au stewing in my brain where everything is set in the 1980s and 1990s instead of 1880s and 1890s. in the 80s section, when barok and Albert are in university together, barok is a sulky and mopey trad goth and they listen to The Cure together. albert dresses normal and listens to talking heads i think. this is stupidly self indulgent because I like 80s fashion and clothing. I have not even thought about the 90s section because I don't want to 😊 (I HATE 90S FASHION.)

[lemissingmask]

[ID: Sketch of Eve Baird standing in front of Jacob Stone, who is holding one arm and bleeding from that arm, the side of his face and his lip, and has an expression on the verge of crying. End ID]

-

Day 30: Mind games

Penultimate part of the vampire!Stone series. Ficlet below the cut (and really there’s no comfort at all in this one)

-

Being a vampire wasn’t so bad, as long as Jake kept himself mentally and physically occupied at all times so he didn’t have a chance to think about it.

And as long as he avoided mirrors or other reflective surfaces, which wasn’t exactly easy.

And as long as he pretended he didn’t have to drink at least half a litre of blood each day just to keep himself from fixating on those arteries close to the surface of his friends’ skin.

But he was still a librarian and things were still better than they had been before he became one. Right now it didn’t always feel that way, but he would learn to live - or not live - with it. In time he would be able to see his world now as still far happier than it had been back in Oklahoma.

And, until then, Jake was at least already well practiced in distracting himself from the reality of his situation.

Hours alone in his room at night as a child, mind absorbed in a text, just to make that uncertain waiting bearable. When his father was drunk, and Jake didn’t know whether his door would crash open at any moment, or he’d be yelled at to get downstairs because he had yet again done something to disappoint or anger his dad.

And the respite he could find in his studies afterwards. The peace and freedom, the stories and paintings and carvings of entirely different existences, far away from his home in Oklahoma.

When he was working on the pipeline, at home or anywhere else, letting his mind wander into the artists and poets and history he had recently been studying made the long days more bearable. And those times sitting at a bar with his friends, half listening to them, half writing his next academic paper in his head, never wholly present.

For decades he had hid in the things he loved to save him from reality.

Sure, he hadn’t had to do it for a while, but at least now he had more to hide in.

He had the library. He had access to every art portfolio in history, to manuscripts and tomes available nowhere else, to artifacts spoken of in legend and myth, and of course his work as a librarian and the company of people he liked and trusted and could be himself around.

It was easiest to still be himself, to pretend he was still human, when he was with them.

Alone he didn’t have to pretend nothing had changed, and sometimes he slipped.

Sometimes he felt the feral creature inside him, straining to escape, and he struggled to bury it.

He usually could.

He could return to studying or working on a paper or go find Eve or Flynn to train or play chess or something. He could watch a film with Ezekiel even though the films were always the worst, or he could listen to Cassandra try to explain some theorem that he would never understand.

Things felt like they might be bearable, and in time he might become desensitised to the more terrible parts of this existence.

And in any case, even if it never got better, his friends had worked hard to find a way for him to be able to go out in the sun. They had really tried to help him and he owed it to them not to give up, and never let his sadness show.

Jake expected things to stay the same or become more manageable. He didn’t anticipate things getting worse.

At first it was just an off feeling, stronger outside than within the familiarity of the library, but gradually seeping into every part of his life.

His head hurt constantly. It felt too crowded, like there was some oppressive, sharp thing clawing to get a better hold.

Jake ignored it as much as he could. He would learn to deal with it and keep going without any of his friends knowing and starting to worry.

And he could have. Jake was sure he could have if it had just stayed at that.

But it didn’t. It kept getting worse.

The ding of an elevator or footsteps on a hard floor in places where there was no elevator, was no other person, where the floor was carpeted. The feeling of heavy, cold chains around his wrists, the sensation of his own blood, warm, spattered on his skin.

For a second, Jake was back there, before he realised he was not. He had been rescued and he was on a job with the other librarians. He would look around, seek out the source of the noise or sensation, but there was never a cause.

Once or twice, he was noticed. A concerned look or quiet question, but he shrugged it off.

“Jus’ not used to havin’ better eye sight,” or “Thought I heard somethin’.”

They shouldn’t worry. It was fine.

But the headaches were getting worse and it was getting harder to distract himself from that sensation in his head.

-

“Stand back and let the master work,” Ezekiel grinned as he pulled out his lock picks so they could break into the apartment the clippings book had sent them to.

The man who lived there had a string of impossible good luck while the rest of his town suffered increasingly ill fortune. Now they were at his brand new fancy apartment, and he wasn’t answering.

As the thief got to work on the lock, and Cassie mused over the possible magical causes for good luck she knew, Jake’s mind drifted. Something stronger tugged at it.

He heard a door open, close, somewhere down the hall and shifted so the person wouldn’t be able to see Ezekiel breaking in.

They walked away without sparing the librarians more than a glance.

Jake turned to watch Ezekiel.

But the footsteps were back.

Familiar footfalls, getting closer.

Jake tensed, a stab of fear piercing him.

He knew that footstep well and he knew what followed.

Spinning quickly, he turned to face the vampire, to put himself between it and his friends.

But the hallway was empty.

Completely devoid of anyone but them.

Turning back he met the confused expressions of Ezekiel and Cassandra, and realised they must have said something.

His throat was raw, but he found he could just about get out a hoarse, “Sorry. Thought I heard…”

He broke off, looking back at the empty passage.

Still nothing. No vampire in his cliche leather coat.

Just them and the door.

The door they wanted him to kick down because there was a deadbolt inside the door that Ezekiel couldn’t shift.

“Sure,” Jake stepped up to kick down the door, very keen for getting the hell out of that hallway, and the tricks it was playing on his mind.

But what they found inside the apartment was worse.

The man was dead. Not just dead. Bloody and dead.

He was laying on a coffee table, a knife embedded in his chest, but it was his slit throat that had killed him.

It hadn’t happened long ago either. Jake could smell the blood, still wet, the body not even fully cool yet.

He froze in the door, for once wishing the magic carved into his body didn’t keep him from the whole ‘have to be invited in’ part of vampire lore.

“Explains why he wasn’t answering...” Ezekiel murmured, grimacing at the body.

“Stay here,” Jake pulled his gaze from the blood dripping steadily from the table to the carpet, “I’m gonna check we’re alone.  Door was dead bolted from the inside an’ we’re fifteen floors up.”

Searching the place got him out of that room too. There was only one door leading from there to the office, bedroom and bathroom, so Jake systematically searched each for any sign of something or someone, wishing a window was open or the aircon on so he could get some respite from the smell of all that blood.

“He’s dead, you realise,” a familiar voice spoke clearly, but from no direction, “He doesn’t need ‘all that blood’ anymore.”

Jake stopped, his hand on the handle to the wardrobe, and forced himself to remain calm.

He opened it.

Empty, just like the hall, just like the room.

It was his imagination. His mind was messing with him. The vampire who had held him in that cell, fed on him, smiled when he tried to resist…he was either still back there or he had been killed in the rescue. But he definitely wasn’t here. He wasn’t here and the words he spoke were just twisted manifestations or Jake’s own vampiric nature that he would never give in to.

“It would be a waste to leave it all there, coagulating, getting cold.”

“You’re not real,” Jake whispered, shutting the wardrobe door.

But the voice had a point.

Jake needed blood and if he just drew a little of what was left in that man’s body…it was only going to end up being washed away.

“It’s clear,” Jake said, returning to the main room and avoiding looking at the body.

“You wanna wait this one out, mate?” Ezekiel asked, nodding unnecessarily to the corpse, “We can video call you if there’s anything arty to see.”

“Or just video call you anyway. Show you what we see while you wait outside, away from all this?”

Jake shook his head and forced a smile, “It’s fine. I got this.”

-

He didn’t hear the voice again for weeks. Long enough to think he had just been having a bad day and it was a one-off incident, and therefore long enough for him to let his guard down.

Battling a seven foot tall creature that had emerged from a bog was messy and exhausting, made more difficult by the presence of the terrified woman who had accidentally summoned it, and who once the fight was over and the creature defeated, ran and threw herself at Jake.

She was scared, and he had saved her, as far as she had seen, even though Cassandra and Ezekiel had actually done the work to destroy the thing. Jake had just played decoy to buy them time.

But this woman was there, pressed against him now, and the vampire’s voice whispered in his mind, “Doesn’t she look delicious? She’s flustered, heart racing…you wouldn’t even have to work for it. You could simply puncture one vein and let the blood be pumped right to you.”

Jake swallowed, feeling cold and hoarse and raw, and his eyes followed a path from her flushed cheeks, down to the exposed left side of her neck.

The smallest movement and his teeth could sink deep into that flesh. Within seconds. She wouldn’t have time to even start to get away.

“No,” Jake whispered, pulling free and stumbling back.

She looked confused, hurt, and started to speak, but Cassandra cut in, smiling and saying something that seemed to make it a bit better, but Jake wasn’t listening.

The desire was there. He wanted to drink now and that thought wasn’t going away. He still could, it would be harder but it was still possible.

“Hey!”

Ezekiel’s voice snapped him out of his mind.

“You okay?”

Jake nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, just…I-I need a minute.”

“Swamp thing’s gone,” Ezekiel shrugged, still looking at him with concern, “Why don’t you go ahead back to the library?”

Jake didn’t want to. That would be giving in and admitting he was struggling, and his mind was faltering. But that woman wasn’t safe until he was gone.

He nodded.

Ezekiel clapped him on the shoulder, forcing a smile, “See you later, mate.”

Jake left, walked the fifteen minutes in the drizzling rain back to the ruined church where Jenkins made the back door earlier, in a secluded part of that private field.

A few minutes of unease, awkward explanations. Yes they defeated the swamp beast. Yes Flynn’s proposed incantation worked. Yes everyone was fine.

Everyone was fine.

Except him, and he knew they could all see it.

He retired to his room, took a long hot shower, and willed the water to make him feel warm again. It didn’t and he knew it never would.

His head was pounding and his throat was dry, and as he stepped onto the tiled floor he heard footsteps that were not his own.

But the vampire wasn’t here.

He couldn’t be here, and yet there was that voice again, “They’re talking about you, you know. Having one of their gossips.”

“Shut up.”

The voice didn’t.

There were periods of respite but they got increasingly rare as the days went by. And it wasn’t only taunting and attempts to make him do what Jake knew vampires were meant to do. The voice mocked his friends, whispering cruel comments that made Jake feel guilty to have inside his mind at all. And twice it offered helpful information that helped them with their research. Jake didn’t want to say it but when they exhausted everything else he did and it helped.

And the vampire was pleased.

Sometimes it reminded Jake of those days he had spent in the basement, chained to the wall and fed upon by other vampires, speaking of that time like some friendly shared past.

All of that and Jake tried to hide it. He couldn’t admit it, but even to himself. It meant his mind was falling apart, and his mind was his most important thing. Without it he had nothing to offer.

But he couldn’t keep going.

-

Jake was back in that fancy apartment with the dead man they had broken into. The blood still fresh on the coffee table and floor. He was standing in the bedroom where he had searched and where they found the clue that led them to the artifact responsible, and he was looking straight back at the body.

“Before it coagulates,” the vampire murmured, “You could drink a few days worth. Save a blood bank the inconvenience of being robbed.”

Jake took two steps forward.

“He doesn’t need it. The crime scene cleaners won’t want it,” the vampire pursued him as he walked slowly closer, closer enough that his boots stepped onto the stained carpet and closer still.

Jake felt a pressure on the back of his neck, pressing him down towards the bloody throat, closer and closer until he could practically taste the rich liquid in the air between them.

But he couldn’t smell it.

He smelt mango.

And coconut.

Cassandra’s shampoo.

Jake stumbled back, the pressure suddenly released from his neck. He fell hard against the wall.

This was Cassandra’s room.

She was sleeping soundly, completely unaware that Jake had been…that he had been inches from her throat, close enough to have felt the warmth radiating from her.

He hadn’t been here. He had been in his room.

Jake forced himself shakily to his feet and staggered back out the door.

He had been seconds away from feeding on one of his friends, maybe killing her.

He hadn’t. He hadn’t done it but it was close and that voice was still at the edge of his mind. He could feel it. He could feel the vampire’s presence or his memory or some messed up trick of his own failing mind.

Whatever it was, Jake couldn’t stay.

He got dressed in the first thing he could find, threw on a coat, set the back door, and left.

-

“It’s cold, isn’t it, Jake?”

Jake clenched his jaw and walked faster, ignoring that voice in his head. It had been talking more since he left the library, three days ago now. He thought he set the door for a forest in Alaska, somewhere that he could minimise the chance of meeting people, but within a day of walking he had reached a town. And that town led to a city and there were people everywhere.

He had barely stopped walking, as if he could stop the onslaught on his mind if he just kept moving long enough.

“Do you know why you’re so cold all of the time?”

Jake glared ahead, “Pretty sure you’re about to tell me.”

“It’s because you insist on drinking that vial processed concoction. You need real blood, fresh from the vein.”

Jake turned down another street, walking directly into the wind. Biting and sharp and painful.

“You’ll never be warm again until you learn to feed properly.”

“Maybe I like bein’ cold.”

The laugh in his head made his steps falter.

Jake hated that laugh. It was tied to that prison, the chains, the blood being drawn from his body.

It had been warm, his blood, as it touched his skin. So much warmer than he was now.

If he could just get that warmth. Just for a moment…

Jake hadn’t realised his feet had stopped moving.

He had stopped in the shadows a few feet from a couple holding hands, looking into a brightly lit window.

They couldn’t see him.

They didn’t know he was there.

One of them laughed, cheeks flushed pink, and the other turned towards them. They hadn’t turned their collar up despite the wind. Jake could see the vein right there, accentuated by the bright light from the shop.

Jake pressed back towards the wall as they began to walk closer to his position.

In a few seconds they would be within reach.

But then the one with the flushed cheeks grabbed the other’s hand and tugged them back to the shop and inside.

A growl startled him.

His growl.

Jake hadn’t realised he had tensed his muscles, ready to move, that his fangs were already bared to bite into that soft skin.

Jake ran.

He had to get somewhere without people, without lives he could take. Or no human lives. Maybe other animals would do, just to keep him from being a danger to people. Or he could find somewhere and lock himself in, away from anyone and anything, and let himself slip into a coma by not feeding at all.

He just has to run. Get away.

He ran until his legs gave out, a misstep sending him crashing to the ground hard, and his body too exhausted to get him back up.

But he hasn’t gone far enough.

Someone came, grabbed his arm, angrily yelling that he couldn’t sleep here. He was so close and so alive, warm and angry and the vein in his neck was standing out so prominently.

Jake yanked his arm free, twisted to get his hand in the man’s hair and pulled him closer.

Then, finally, his fangs pierced through real human flesh.

-

Jake had slipped. He knew he had slipped. He was trying and he kept trying but he kept finding himself with new blood on his clothes and under his nails, and feeling awake and alert and warm and craving more.

He kept trying to get away from people but without the back door he couldn’t go far quickly, and he couldn’t escape it. There was always someone. He could avoid towns but that wasn’t enough. In a forest there were hikers, farmland was worked by people, abandoned buildings were shelters for those with nowhere else to go or teenagers looking to get high.

Jake tried.

But it wasn’t working.

There was one other option.

D.O.S.A.

If he found them he could get them to lock him up or kill him.

He just needed to get a phone. They had to have a number.

He’d call them and get them to get rid of him.

The phone he had wasn’t his. It had belonged to someone with five missed calls from ‘Jim’, and a background photo of a sunset over Boston. Jake could only presume it had been one of his victims’.

It was unlocked, and he searched for a number. Got through to D.O.S.A much faster than any government agency had answered to his knowledge.

“There’s a vampire,” Jake said before they had managed to do more than announce themselves.

“A vampire? Where?”

Jake looked at the sign in front of the empty parking lot, and repeated what it said verbatim.

Somewhere in Portland.

How did he get to Portland?

“You better be quick. He’s already killed a lot of people,” Jake continued, talking deliberately, forcing the words out, after they had confirmed the address, “And he won’t stop.”

He hung up and walked into the concrete structure to wait.

Time had lost all real meaning days ago, but even still it seemed an incredibly short amount of it had passed before he heard footsteps.

Not the vampire. He had fallen silent since Jake made his first kill.

Also not the multiple sets of military boots Jake had expected from D.O.S.A.

Just one set of boots.

He stood up and turned to face whoever had been sent to take him out, faltering at what he saw.

Eve.

Their Eve. Their guardian.

Was she working for D.O.S.A? Had Ezekiel hacked something and found out where he was from them? Had the clippings book sent her?

But where were the others? Jake couldn’t hear anyone else.

None of these questions made it to his lips before Eve had raised her gun and fired.

Two shots, deliberate and direct.

The bullets tore through his left shoulder.

And that made no sense.

Eve had good aim. If she wanted to kill him or just to stop him long enough to get his head off, she should have gone for his heart or his head.

She hadn’t.

The gunshot wounds hurt.

They hurt like hell but neither was lethal. This wasn’t going to stop him.

He stumbled back as she walked closer.

He was bleeding, his thirst growing. She had to know this was dangerous. More for her than for him.

He didn’t make it far, backing into a wall.

Eve grabbed over the gunshot wounds tightly and spun him, elbowed the back of his head far harder than he could’ve imagined, slamming his face into the wall. He instinctively tried to push back, but she held him with impossible force, then tugged up his left arm, struck at the elbow.

Jake felt the joint snap. He might have heard it too if the sound hadn’t been drowned out by his own scream as he dropped to his knees.

But she kept her grip on that arm, yanked him roughly back to his feet.

The agony was unbearable, but it was lost in the rapidly fading clarity of his mind. The pain and the despair and the anger were all riling up the feral creature inside him.

Eve shouldn’t have pulled him back to his feet. She shouldn’t have given him the opening.

He thrust his right hand at her throat, catching in a tight grip, a grip that would have bruised, crushed…except something was wrong.

She was cold.

Eve was deathly cold.

It didn’t make sense. Unless…

Unless he had already killed her. Unless Jake had turned her, she had been one of his victims. He had done this to her and now she was taking her revenge.

But it wasn’t possible.

She couldn’t be a vampire.

Flynn wouldn’t have let it happen. The library wouldn’t have let it happen.

But her throat was beneath his fingers, and she was as cold as he was. No warm blood tempting him, calling to him.

Jake released his hold and stumbled back.

Eve just stood and glared. Cold and hateful and…and suddenly not there.

She dissipated in a burst of sparks and ashes as a sword sliced cleanly through her neck.

-

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

After almost a decade away from my Warrior Cats phase, I've been relistening to the first arc audiobooks at work, and have fallen back in (uh oh). Get ready for intense cringe, because I am once again mashing my two fixations together and here are what I think each HOA character's warrior name is and which Clan they'd be most suited to:

Nina: She's obviously a ThunderClan cat with that main character syndrome she has, but I feel like she def would have been a housecat first. I feel like her warrior name would be equal parts soft yet fierce. Maybe drawing on the "with this circle of light, I seal the circle of life" chant and also her connection to the Eye of Horus, her warrior name would be something like Falconlight

Fabian: I'm sort of stuck between ThunderClan and SkyClan for him, but since I'm less familiar with the newer books/modern day SkyClan, I'm gonna go with ThunderClan for him too. His warrior name would be pretty unassuming, I think, and others would underestimate him based on it. Maybe Mousewhisker or something?

Patricia: She strikes me as a ShadowClan cat, but I also think she'd be a pretty solid SkyClan cat (she has always been a tree-climber in my heart), but I think at the end of the day I gotta go ShadowClan. She's clever like a fox, so the warrior name I'd give her would probably be something like Foxpounce.

Amber: Amber is an easy one, because she's obviously a RiverClan cat. They're very conscientious of their appearance, and they're known for their grace and elegance. Her name is easy too, since the first half would obviously just remain "Amber". So the name I'd give her is Amberdapple since the cats with the suffix "dapple" always get described as the prettiest.

Alfie: He's obviously a WindClan cat. He's a little speedster, and idk it fits really well. The name I'd probably give him is Bounceclaw, because he'd be such a bouncy kitten, but then once he grew up and got the fierceness and bravery that Alfie gains by the end of the show, they'd give him a name that reflects that.

Jerome: He's also ShadowClan, because they have to be very adaptable to survive. He plays the long game on a lot of his schemes, so maybe a name like Spiderfur ("fur", because he is proud of his hair).

Mara: Also ShadowClan. I think the name Marshfeather fits her. Idk why, it just does. She'd also probably be a medicine cat, not a warrior, but I don't think she'd really believe in StarClan.

Joy: I'm caught between RiverClan and ShadowClan, but I think I'm going to go with RiverClan. Keeping with her actual name I think a nice warrior name for her would be Merrystream

Mick: Mick is a ThunderClan cat for sure. The name Lionclaw fits a strong character like Mick

Eddie: He’s a half-Clan cat for certain. Maybe between ThunderClan and ShadowClan? Maybe a name like Thistlefur would fit him (cuz his hair is so spikey when we first meet him).

KT: She gives me ThunderClan vibes, too. Her warrior name would either be super long, or super short, but I think it would definitely reflect her quiet ferocity: maybe something like Nettleswipe?

Willow: Willow is a WindClan cat, since they're known for being the most spiritual. Her name is also very easy since, like Amber, it fits in the world of the Clans. She would also definitely not be a warrior, she'd be a medicine cat. Willowflight would be a suitable name for her.

BONUS:

Victor: He would obviously be the leader of one of the Clans, probably ShadowClan. Ravenstar (originally Ravenfeather, before he got his nine lives and leader name) would be the obvious name for him.

Mr. Sweet: Easy, he'd be the leader of ThunderClan and his name would be Sweetstar (previously Sweetgoose)

Trudy: She'd be a permanent queen in the ThunderClan nursery and she'd be called Rosewing (because she takes cats under her wing).

Sarah: A former WindClan cat by the name of Softraven.

Rufus: The former ShadowClan deputy by the name of Darkflame.

Vera: A rogue who joins ShadowClan and takes the name Sunstrike.

Caroline: A former rogue, turned ShadowClan cat called Addermist.

Harriet: A WindClan warrior Sleepymoon.

Mrs. Andrews: A RiverClan warrior named Dapplewhisker.

Jason: A WindClan warrior named Sneezeheart.

Robert Frobisher-Smythe: Former WindClan leader named Stormstar (previous name, Stormrumble)

Louisa Frobisher-Smythe: Former WindClan deputy named Nimblefoot.